"It's great to be young and a Yankee."

Strange, I'm gonna need you on Friday.

There are less than 5 people on the planet who know how to deal with me during "High Stress Alert" Yankee games. The forerunners are my sister, Strange, Ollie, and Keith.

Ollie hates the Yankees but is my most thoughtful/reliable friend.

Keith=me, so it's difficult to know what to say to yourself.

My sister is gold, but so gold that I almost feel bad about the fact that she knows what to say and I don't.

Strange likes the Yankees and me the perfect amount. He knows what to do and what not to do. I don't know how, but he does.

So here we go. Game 5. Two Game 5s. TBS and TNT must be having their own clubhouse celebrations right about now.

Me? No. I'm sitting on the beach like a homeless person. A homeless person with an ipad and enough devastation to eclipse concern about sand getting into the ipad.

Not my best day. So I get out of surgery this morning and it hurts but not as much as CYH, so it really wasn't so bad. But unlike CYH, CYM* is a bigger incision and starts opening up around inning 12. It was all very Seth in "Superbad."

Oh, wait. It was just BAD. Not super at all.

*Crazy Yankee Muscle

Do we need to talk about this game? No. I'm tired and sad and want to do what Crazy Yankee Hamster (RIP) used to do in times of crisis:†



†That wasn't my hamster. My hamster passed on, but he used did a similar thing where he tried to climb under bedding when he was uncomfortable.

This is a viable option for rodents, but not for humans. To be clear. I'm writing that more to remind myself than inform others.

I had a headache. It seemed like a good solution.

At any rate, the Yankees lost. I am a wreck. They lost because of the following issue:

If your mother's life depended on it, who do you want at the plate?

The fact that I immediately start thinking of ways to sidestep this ultimatum ("well, who exactly is holding my mom hostage? Who am I up against?") is a bad sign.

Seriously, who do you want at the plate? I would go with Jeter or Sneach. I remember having this conversation with Fingers about 3 months ago, and he asked, "What stadium are we playing at?"

Of course he did. I shouldn't have expected a straightforward answer, because Fingers is the consummate walking advertisement for fantasy baseball.

"I don't know, Jason. The guy holding your mom hostage won't tell you. He says you just get to pick a batter."

"Ok, so someone's holding her hostage right now, and--"

"SWEET CHRIST, WHO'S THE GUY YOU WANT UP AT THE PLATE WHEN IT COUNTS?"

"Like, right now? Currently?"

"No, in a hypothetical situation that occurs 20 years in the future. Currently. Right now. Your mom is about to die. Name a batter."

"Granderson."

Granderson. It was a good pick. Well thought out. Sort of. But a good decision.

Answer that question right now, and my choice becomes a function of who my mom would most like to see batting on her behalf or who would be the easiest to kill if I had to.

That was a just a really circuitous way of saying that the Yankee bats are pathetic. 1 run in 13 innings. Against the F'N ORIOLES.

0-9 with Runners In Scoring Position.

10 men Left On Base.

That is horrifying.

It's the 3rd time today my stomach has turned.

Arod is getting more and more difficult to defend, mostly because he's not lining out. He's striking out. Over and over again. He's going all in on 3 5 off suit because he's hoping for that ONE TIME when he flops a nut straight and it'll all be worth it.

It's really sad. He's not going to have a big hit. I just realized this. I've been defending him all this time and holding on to this naive hope that it'll happen, but sometimes you have to abandon your faith and face the facts. He's not going to come through for us. Once in a while he'll get on base and I'll clap extra loud and be all, 'SEE??' but then when we really need him 2 innings later...well, I won't belabor the point.

Take Arod out of the lineup, Joe. There's a game 5 situation that doesn't afford us the luxury of baseless trust.

Quite literally, baseless.

Alright, in terms of recapping it: the f'n O's won off JJ Hardy's go-ahead ribbie in the 13th off a very admirable David Phelps. The Yankees wasted a superb pitching performance from Hughes, who let up 4 hits in over 6 IP, while whiffing 8.

I close-to-detest-but-dont-REALLY-loathe-because-my-mom-says-we-dont-actually-really-HATE-anyone the following things right now:

Everyone who gets off on pitching duels and finds these games enjoyable. I want the Yankees to tee off on Hammel. A good old fashioned, unexciting yet exciting, pinstriped slugfest.

Everyone who updates their facebook status to something that establishes themselves firmly in political partisanship. No one won. You know how I know? BECAUSE YOU CAN'T CHECK THE SCORE OF THE DEBATE ON YOUR PHONE. It's not a sport. It's like saying, "Hey who won the sleeping yesterday?"

"Let me check Yahoo Stat Tracker... Oh, yeah they're both asleep. Hard to tell who's in the lead, the bad guys just coughed, but the good guys just rolled over. So..you know. Sleep. Yeah."

Everyone who walks around unaffected by the MLB playoffs.

Everyone who boos someone on their own team.

I don't know who's left, but it's kind of an interesting game of "Guess Who." I wonder who's left after that elimination process. I bet it's someone with my long lost Yankee hat.

Speaking of betting, I bet the Yankees win tomorrow. I say that for many reasons, but all of which are immaterial. Just know that I bet the Yankees win tomorrow.

It's a must-win. So we'll win. Done. Mind over matter.

And above all:



Have faith in the Yankees.