*Thank God It's a Win.
Cheers to Jeff K. for pointing out the role of karma in this one!
Yesterday I assured a win based on the retribution factor of returning a lost wallet to someone whose name with close to identical to Wei Lin Chen. Hence, the Wei Lin Chen nomenclature lineage owed me big in the grand scheme of things.
Do I think this is why the Yankees won? Yes and no. Yes, in that these are the coincidences that form the backbone of my superstitious mania. I am nothing without my illusory corrollaries. No, in that I'm that self-aggrandizing that I think anything I do has any bearing on much of anything, let alone the Yankees performance.
Whatever, the Yankees took sole possession of the AL East again! If I was into cheesy acronyms that really mushroomed in the AOL chat room era, I'd say "TGIF!" right now. Because it seemed like a nice way to end the week.
You know what else was nice? How when I got into work this morning, I see an email that says to rise and shine because breakfast is being served in our main conference room. It was so nice because it was like saying, "Psst, we know you're all hungover from the party last night, but we need you to be productive at the office, so soak up that alcohol with a bacon, egg, and cheese wrap. No questions asked." Stuff like that is why I love my job.
Similarly, it was cool of the Yankees to stop playing like semi-conscious guinea pigs. Thank you Company Brass and thank you New York Yankees, for making Friday nice.
I watched most of the game with my new friend who doesn't like baseball but graciously put up with me watching over his shoulder while assuring him I can listen and watch game at same time, a claim that (as always) loses credibility when I'm nodding attentively, giving appropriate feedback comments, and realize I'm saying, that's so hilarious! to a story about new puppy who got hit by a tractor trailer.
We were both getting a kick out of this little 10 year old boy at the restaurant who kind of reminded me of the way the NYSportsJerk watches game. The same laser beam intensity and focus, combined with this pensive brow furrowing, like he's considering something.
When his family finished dinner and was walking out of restaurant, he was like a cartoon or something, trying to keep his eyes on the tv the whole time he was walking out. And not in an affected way, like he was trying to make a big production out of it. He seemed just reallly into the game.
And to reward this kind of aggressive intensity that will one day put in the same boat as the rest of us loony tunes who marinate in hysteria and toy with the boundaries of normal social conduct, I told him what my dad always says to me when he senses I'm worried about a game:
"Hey, kid. Don't look so worried about the game. I've already seen this one, it's a rerun. The Yankees end up winning it 7-3." (You gotta put a made-up score in there to make it look believable. And just as I ALWAYS believe my dad when he says it, the kid looked like he believed me, too. Baseball fans are the best. We refuse to be slowed by logic.)
Alright, so the game starts out with Hughes looking shaky and by "shaky" I mean that he didn't look shaky at all, but when he let up a single and then a double in the 1st, I was sure that it was going to be a long day of a baseball. But no, not what happened. I find it's easy to "have faith in the Yankees," but not easy to have faith in certain Yankees. Hughes is one of them.
But he pitched okay. From my bar stool seat, it looked like he was less nibbling that usual. Not a lot of errant throws. Which made me nervous on one hand, since I kept thinking all those strikes were going to eventually metamorphasized into homeruns. It did happen, of course, because a Hughes start isn't official until he lets up a bomb.
With a 7-0 lead in the 6th, Hughes gives up a 3-run ding to Adam Jones, and even though a 7-3 game isn't cardiac arrest-inducing, it's disconcerting given what has happened in the last month.
Girardi did the right thing though, let him finish the inning and then pulled him from game instead of letting him push it in the 7th. I have no idea how Cody Eppley is still employed by the Yankees. I'm pretty sure that in terms of "added value" Eppley ranks alongside the dotted line on a ketchup packet that shows where to cut.
He lets up a homerun to Andino, and that would be it for the O's scoring until the 9th when Machado hit a solo off R-So. Guaranteed that you will never hear word one about how Machado only hits when it doesn't count. Anyone from the Yankees goes yard in the 9th inning and all you hear is how terrible they are when it counts and they're only good when it doesn't count.
Imbeciles. All the innings count. That's why they're there.
Speaking of things that irrationally get a hard time just because they're better than everyone, Arod was gold today. 2 for 4, with 2 ribbies and a run.
I swear, when he hit that shot in the 5th to make it 7-0, I almost cried watching his swing. It's otherworldly. Poetic. Etc. Like ballet and crew rowers and calla lillies. TGIF!
This was the 3rd HR of the game for the Yankees (nice job, Arod, hitting when it DOESNT EVEN COUNT! God.) R-Mart hit a 3-run blast in the 4th, and that was nice, having a 3-0 lead. I got up to use bathroom during Pearce's AB, and I think when they announced Pearce being on deck, I figured the Yankees weren't even batting anymore. Didn't that guy used to play for the O's, too?
My buddy says, Ooh your team just went up 5-0.
If this were the playoffs, I would've ended up staying in the bathroom for the rest of the game, maybe rest of the series. Illusory corrollaries reign supreme over nearly everything. But then again, if this were the playoffs, I wouldn't be watching the game with anyone other than Dorrian's contingent since they all are well-versed in how to manage me during high pressure games.
But I'm gonna stop myself right there, since I'm not gonna talk about playoffs when we're cavelling (sp?) over a win against the f'n ORIOLES that puts us back in 1st place by an inch. I think we need to not get ahead of ourselves.
It's like when I got my very first apartment out of college and my parents came by to see it, the day I signed the lease. And my mom surveys the empty "apartment" which was really just a 12ft by 8ft room with high ceilings and a sink, and I asked her what she thought of the place, and she answered, "You're gonna need a paper towel dispenser. And dust ruffles."
Until I have paper towels to dispense, I will table the issue of a paper towel dispenser. And until the Yankees are in the playoffs, I will table the talk of playoffs.
I'm not sure what a dust ruffle is, so I'm tabling that one altogether.
Here's to a good start of the weekend and to Arod's 300th pinstriped homerum and to continuing whatever momentum this game accrued.
Gratias tibi valde. Sensere melius quam amittendi, verus?