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Isn't there a quote that's like, "Sometimes you eat the dog, sometimes the dog eats you?" I don't think I'm getting that right, because never do I eat a dog, nor does a dog ever eat me.

Ok, nevermind, I just looked it up. I may be mixing up something an old boyfriend used to always say whenever the Yankees won "Even the sun shines on a dog's ass once in a while" (which is probably the least applicable expression when it comes to the most successful team in the universe. That's right. I'm including all the planets.) with "Sometimes you eat the BEAR, sometimes the bear eats you."

My tendency to mess up cliches/expressions is straight up Mom genetics right there.

Mom was excited when the NY Times emailed her at midnight,
alerting her to news of the Yankees advancing to the World Series.
Again, though. I never eat bear. That saying sucks, the only options are eating bear or getting eaten by one?

I googled it. Apparently spitball pitcher Preacher Roe said it while playing for the Dodgers in 1954, after being taken out of the game in 2nd inning.

Still makes no sense. WHAT BEAR? Why was there a grizzly pandemic in 1950s Brooklyn? Probably because people back then were apparently eating bear. An eye for an eye, hipsters. A tooth for a tooth.

By the by, I say we ate the bear because last night the calls were in our favor, the extra inning ended joyously, and it was my favorite game of the year so far.

You know. All things that a nice slab of bear meat will do for you. Conversely, getting eaten by the bear means all those things happened in THIS game, too. Only they happened for the bad guys.

Sorry, I'm pretty cranky. The night started out promising.

(ROAR. I just realized I hate that expression, too. "Started out promising." Promising what? If the night had promised me both NY teams playing would lose heartbreaking games within 45 seconds of each, then yes, the night held true to its word. Sweet Christ, I haven't even gotten to the recap yet.)

So the night started out with hopes of another great evening of baseball. (Take note, Oxford minions. Before you start releasing figures of speech into circulation, consider how simple and painless it is to just talk literally.)

The NY Ranger game NY Yankee games were both playing, separate tvs, good sightlines. Both took early 1-0 leads. Both lost by 1 with late heroics from respective opponents.

Bahhh. Ok, here it is.

Hughes didn't pitch badly. Actually, he probaby should get some more credit than he is. If you look at what the fair-headed children of the family have been putting up, you'll see that the red-headed stepson isn't doing much worse/better.

Well, keep up the good work, Phil! Also, please consider entertaining the possibility of one day thinking about growing your pitch arsenal to the respectable number of "YOUR FASTBALL ISN'T MACHIII SPEED. FIND OUT AN OUT PITCH." That's a real number, by the way. Just like bleen.

Pronk drives in GGBG after the latter's lead-off double. (Over-under on how long before Pronk becomes Redonk in the world of NY Post headlines? 2 weeks.)

Os answer 2 innings later when Dickerson goes yard. The good guys regain lead with an RBI single from the aforementioned Pronk.

Yanks stop scoring runs. Actually, Yanks pretty much stop getting on base. New kid Adams breaks up a pretty annoying put-out streak from the Os starter, when he hits a single in the 7th.

As Keith observed about this spunky neophyte: "He plays a tidy third." Yes, he does. And Keith and I are nothing if not raving lunatics about neatness.

Os closer Johnson gets another chance to not "send the game to hell in a handbasket" which I decided in yesterday's recp will be the replacement phrase for blown save, since it more accurately captures the disaster that ensues when you come in with a lead, and single handedly ruin everything.

Johnson got the save, though, and he was all excited.

Our reliever on the other hand, didn't get his ass in the sun or whatever the hell the expression is. He got eaten by the bear. Actually, since the originator of that expression was saying it in reference to getting pulled from the game, we probably would have been better off if Vidal Nuno did that version of getting eaten by a bear.

Instead, his version of bear ingestion consisted of letting up a walk-off homerun to Nate McLouth. Nice going, Vidal.

While we're getting into improvement-needed areas, your lack of tilde over the second N in Nuno is distracting. It looks naked.

Wikipedia evidently shares this sentiment, and you know how for a little while they were putting banner ads the size of Spain everywhere, begging for donations?

Well, if there was ever a reason for me to humor Wikipedia and all it's uncitable glory, it's because they stood their ground when it came to the tilde.

They're running with it, because Wikipedia doesn't take ño shit from anyone.

Alright, so game over. Yanks lose. Shaving cream walkoff celebration.

Got to give the Os credit for being the most excitable walkoffers in the league, though. And yet, I'm 100% in agreement with this guy. Is shaving cream REALLY the only available item to work with for celebrations?

I mean, some states like Michigan consider it a crime of battery. If we're opening the doors to doing things in this realm, then it really seems ridiculous that they're limiting themselves to shaving cream.

Would be kind of funny slash horrifying if an imaginative "I bat in the box, but I think outside it" player presented this or this as potential walkoff celebration replacements for the shaving cream.

Then the NYRangers lose. 3-0 to Boston.

I have to admit, I'm very surprised at Boston fans out there publicly broadcasting their fortified confidence in the series. "Say goodbye, NY" etc etc.

I mean, it's not like blowing a 3-0 lead is something that the Bruins have never done before.

That's right. The last time a 3-0 lead was blown in any sport was by a Boston team.

Yeah, I'm still cranky. But now I'm cranky AND tired. See you tomorrow, when the Yanks try to get out of bed in the morning with the stigma of being 19-1 in games where they score first, hovering over their heads.

XVIII ac I deterius est.


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