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You know how there's this guy or girl that everyone knows to some degree, who isn't really spectacular in terms of looks, job, or personality? (Yeah, not even a great personality to negate the other shortcomings.)
Mariano Rivera the cat is napping in the pen.
It's only the 6th, he's just waiting for the call.
This is what one might term "Melba"* or an "NGB."†

*Melba toast. Bland, etc.
†Nice girl/guy, but...

And yet, someone these NGBs manage to inexplicably kill it with the opposite sex. Not all NGBs obviously, but of these sect, there is a definite sampling of such a phenomenon.

And in the MLB, there's the Yankees.

And what makes it even weirder is that they even manage to be unpredictable in their undazzling-ness. You know, you'd expect a lackluster team in 1st to be one of those machines defined by rote and flawless conditioning.

Nope. They can be pigeonholed as playing small ball. Nor can they be relegated to the dependence on long ball silo. They're a hybrid. They're the opposite of type. And yet they're not florid enough to be considered a motley crew of characters.

But, although my hatred for grey areas hovers very closely behind my hatred for ties, I concede that this complete paradoxic anomaly of a team is one grey area that I'll take over black/white every day of the week and twice on Sunday.

The Decoys beat the Os in 10 innings, after first giving up a 2-0 lead that was built by solo bombs of Cano and new guy Adams' bats.

(By the way, where the hell did this Adams fellow come from? Hungry Hungry Hippoing every ball without flinching. Outstanding defense. And now add pretty stellar offense to boot. )

Fatso gave up 11 hits, 4 runs, and whiffed 2. See, even our big superstar is mediocring himself to the point of greatness! I hate things that I can't wrap my head around. But, as I said, not this time. Round on the Mound lets Chris Davies go yard to cut the deficit to 2-1 in the 2nd.

Then a bunch more hits, probably some from the perennially "above average, a little above pretty good" Nick Markakis. Score is tied, grumble grumble. Until the Decoys pull ahead with Lyle-Lyle-Turns-Out-Worthwhile Overbay's solo bomb.

NIP TUCK GAME, I tell ya!

Not for long. Later on in that inning, the Os comeback to not only answer that solo shot, but also tack on an extra, giving them their first lead of the game, 4-3, in the 7th.

I never read this book. Contrary to
popular belief, it is very possible to
judge a bookby its cover. And this
one isn't doing itself any favors. has handed over the game to the "for-some-reason-the-pen-still-makes-me-nervous-I-don't-care-what-stats-say-Yankees-havent-had-a-good-pen-too-often-in-the-last-decade-so-dont-blame-me-for-insecurity" collection of relievers.

Kelly, B-Lo, and D-Rob patched together the Bridge to NeverHits-ia which is just a fancy way of saying that they effectively plugged up the scoring long enough for the Decoys to give a save opportunity to our favorite closer.

HOWEVAH, such a save opportunity only was made possible right around the time when Kay informed up that the Decoys were "down to their final two outs."

(I want him doing my Last Rites when I get old. After a lifetime of having sports announcers tapping us on the shoulder when we're all dejected watching the finals moments of a lossing effort, I think that I should be entitled to having such a countdown imparted on myself. Put that in my medical authorizations form.)

Here's the sequence: Pronk. Ding. Mo. More or less.‡

‡Hafner ties it, Wells go-aheads it. Hafner go-go-aheads it. Mo ends it.

Path to win is lined with sound effect-sounding words Everyone knows that.

Yep. Slam, Bam, Alakazam, the Decoys pull it off in 10th, after Mo breezes through a 1-2-3 inning. The Os relievers, on the other hand, have been spiralling faster then Maverick and Goose. Their saver who hadn't blown a save in like 23942 attempts has screwed up the last 3 games he's tried to save.

It's like my favorite sports genius buddy Ollie once said, "Every fan hates their closer except Yankee fans."

Mo and his 92 mph cutter saved the game instead of sending it to hell in a handbasket, which is a phrase I think I prefer to "blown save." A blown save=blown game most of the time. Let's leave the "save" part out of it.

It's not like trying to grab a bunch of balloons from floating away, to give back to the clumsy child who accidentally released them in the post-McDonalds birthday party excitement. You tried to save them, but couldn't, but you didn't ruin the kid's day. (Also, if you only open one hyperlink on this blog ever, let it be the one in this paragraph.)

It's more like trying to push someone out of the way of oncoming traffic, yet by doing so you push them into a manhole.

Buck Showalter was really gracious about the whole thing, too.

Nope. Yeah, it's totally normal to insist on keeping every one of Fatso's used pitch balls.

I'm not kidding. He was examing each of them like he was looking for freaking trace evidence of a homicide. And then he'd just casually pass along to the bat boy, like, "What? Oh that? Yeah don't worry about it. Just checking things out. Trying to watch the game."

What a clever little sleuth that Showalter is! You got it, honey! You solved the case! CC SABATHIA HAS BEEN THIS DOMINANT FOR THIS LONG BECAUSE HE'S SPITTING ON THE BALL.

Buck's outside of his mind if he thinks our ace would ever willingly take something OUT of his mouth. (Pause, in spades.)

And to say nothing (jk, about to say something) of the fact that your team wasn't exactly BLANKED in that game. The alleged spitballer gave up 11 hits. Unless he mixed in some RISP allergens with that spit, you don't have a leg to stand on.

Some might say you could blame the game on the umps, I'm sure. But to that most Yankee fans might bring up this moment.

I know I would, anyway.

After this game, I'm finding it hard to believe that there are still people saying "Man, just wait til we have Grandy, Tex, Jeter, and Arod back in the lineup."

Arod, by the by, fielded grounders today. Even his rehab updates make him sound lonely and socially awkward.

Nice win, Decoys. And nice...existence, I guess? Nice being the way you are? I love it. Keep doing everything the way you're doing it. And I'll gladly become a grey-area-convert.

Hoc est nova. Non odiore res non intelligo.

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