I wasn't 100% comfortable with watching an elimination game with some guy I was really into, because I was pretty sure it would be over as soon as it began if he saw how I acted in the first moments of the off-season.
But I did it. And what's worse, he wanted to watch it at the Riviera Cafe--a known Red Socks bar. And what's even worse than THAT was that the Yankees almost got perfect gamed by Kenny F'n Rogers, in his 67 year old glory.
I couldn't watch. It was physically painful. And I remember all of us Yankee fans pleading with him to leave the bar, so we wouldn't have to watch Detroit celebrating their big win over the Yanks, and so we wouldn't have to watch the Boston fans celebrate their big win over Yankee fans.
"Why would you want to leave? This is the last time we get to see the Yankees play baseball for another 5 months. I don't care if they're playing like shit. It's Yankee baseball, and I want to see them play."
Yeah, that sounds so poetic and all, and would make any diehard fan feel the same way an employee feels when someone says a meeting is "optional. It's up to you if you want to attend."
Anyways, I don't care how overtly devout he was, nor did I care that it may detract from any "fan credibility" I might have. Some games are just stupid, and as my mom famously said, Life’s too short to do the things you don’t want to do if you don’t have to do them, unless you have to do them, in which case, do them."
This was a stupid game. Of course I watched it, but unlike the profound if somewhat melodramatic ex, I didn't enjoy it. I don't enjoy all Yankee baseball. This was one of those games.
And there are some games when the Yankees lose a crushing one, or get blown out, or any of these famed levels of loss. I've already cited the losses I've loved. But this game? Stupid.
It's not a winning/losing thing. It's a "blech" thing. Like this game should have had one of these on it:
|Mr Yuk stickers. Would be kind of funny|
to use these as wedding invite envelope
My favorite Decoys didn't show up, and instead it was the Granderson Almost Cycling Game.
Preston Claiborne gave up his first run ever (a ding to Wieters.)
Kuroda got hit with a line drive AGAIN, and had to be taken out in the 3rd.
He also gave up about 203 hits in the 2 innings he pitched, and basically like 85 of them were homeruns.
I don't know exact number, I think I remember announcer talking about the homeruns between both teams in this series, and it was upwards of 15 maybe?
OH, ALSO! The Baltimore Orioles consider themselves a division rival with the Yankees. There are 5 teams in the AL East, and Orioles are back 3 games. Tampa, 4 games. Toronto 9, and Boston nipping at our heels like the annoying bitches that they are, back half a game.
And that apparently makes the Os and the Yankees rivals. Stop trying to position yourself as relevant!
Actually, it's kind of funny. Or ironic, maybe, but I feel like I still haven't quite actually grasped the real definition of "irony." (That and "sublime.")
But ironic in the sense that Boston/NY fans will every now and then go into extended periods of eye rolling at the mention of the Greatest Rivalry in Sports.
And here's Baltimore, who would KILL to have be in a rivalry. They probably look at us and Boston fans thinking, "They don't even appreciate what they have!"
Ehh, maybe we can set you up with our friend, Baltimore? I mean, we know this nice team in Florida that's available. Pretty cute. They just started the whole online Rivalry.com thing, but I'm pretty sure they'd be into meeting you for a game, if you're interested?
The only thing I really liked about this game was the new kid hitting his 2nd bomb in 3 games. Every time a rookie is doing well, I can't help but imagine their parents watching the game and going crazy with pride and excitement. Congrats, Mr and Mrs Adams. Your kid is KATN-ing.
Cano singled in a run, Grandy's swing looked basically 400x better than it has in the last week.
As for our DIVISION RIVALS: no small ball for this group!
(Yeah, how come no one gets on THEIR case for the long ball? The Yankees win by going yard, and they're a bunch of overpaid useless roiders who are headed for an inevitable implosion/degeneration. Any other team does it, and it's wow! Isn't that refreshing? To see the little guys displaying all that power?)
Whatever. Markakis, Davis, and Wieters all took our pitchers deep. How unorginal is that? See, this is why this was such a stupid game to watch. Nothing interesting happened. One of the great things about baseball is that every single game is insanely unique.
(STOP. I know you're saying, yeah every sport is like that. No. Not like baseball, anyway. Tell me that the 2008 and 2012 Super Bowls weren't the same game, and then you can take your case to the DA.)
And this game wasn't unique. It wasn't a carbon copy of another game, per se, but it was unoriginal. Show me something good.
I guess if a 6-3 loss at the hands of Fake Hammel is all you can give me, then I'll take it. But only because I'll finish a book whether I like it or not. And I'll do the same for this kind of mumbo jumbo.
Yankees are off Thursday, and then back on Friday for a mega week of media bonanza fun. Our other DIVISION RIVALS are hosting us in Tampa. Then 4 games against our local rivals and little bros, the Mets. Then a weekend with the Socks.
(FYI, I'll be in Chicago starting Wednesday for ASCO, so my coverage may be spotty at best...I was going to say "in remission at worst" but you'll be happy to know even I have my limits.)
To sum up: I hope it thunderstorms like crazy tomorrow. If I can't watch baseball then I want a shitload of lightening.
See you on Friday!
Ostende mihi aliquid bonum.
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.
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.
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.
*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.
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.
I had to work a little late, so I only got to catch the radio broadcast, missed an inning and a half while on subway home, and then got back to apartment to see the final innings. And it was kind of frenetic, like almost everything I do, regardless of whether it warrants a frenzy, because of the whole "Every single important show and game is on tonight at the same exact time" thing.
Felt like I was the mother in the last scene of the "Good Son."
I mean, obviously the Yankees were the ones pulled up over the ledge, and not the Rangers or the Knicks.
(I don't buy that ending of the movie, btw. No mother would ever let go of her own flesh and blood, even if he HAD killed his brother and tried to kill the rest of the family. That's not how mothers operate.)
Not that the Knicks had any chance of holding my attention for more than 2 minutes--if that--but I was more following it because the outcome would dictate my behavior towards the Knicks fans in office (ie probably would try to get my timesheet in on time to make life easier for the Knick fan in the finance department).
|NEWS? More like OLD. As in, with headlines like these,|
it makes it sound like we should be grateful the DL is only full
of physical ailments, and not Alzheimer's onset.
As usual, half the team exited the game with injuries. It's one thing to start the season with a crop of people who aren't THE YANKEES as we've come to know them. It's another thing to have to start every game like that. Now even the Decoys are summering in the South DL.
(You know they're all just doing it just to be closer to Jeter and/or so that Jeter will think they're cool. And really, who HASN'T done that? Let he who has not faked an illness to go to the school nurse when a crush happened to also be in the nurse's office, cast the first stone.)
The only reason I'm being so glib about all this is because I'm pretty sure you'll see a mass exodus from the DL any day now, given that Joba Chamberlain has just printed out his ticket at the DL Axcela kiosk. (The DL-ela) Nothing kills a good old fashioned injured reserve party like a fat mustachioed reliever who has no respect for authority or even respect for his teammates.
Obviously the flip side is that the Yankees' opponents have scored almost nothing, which is why our boys are in this position. Which means, the pitching has just been THAT GOOD.
Has it, though? There have been a handful of dammmmn-what-a-gem type of games from our starters, but there have been more than a handful of oh-cool-7-runs-in-the-first types of games. Fatty is managing to go deep in the game, but gives up a lot of hits (not runs, just hits). Andy's done great except when it's against a terrible team.
Maybe Gonzalez will get the starting nod in the interim. \
Anyways, sorry for the vagueries (sp? word?), tonight's recap will be more much for comprehensive, as it is one of my FAVORITE DAYS OF THE YEAR.
See you back here in about 23 hours...
Aenean tempus eget requiescit.
|Ollie's Tamales at Yankee Stadium|
No one calls a PB&J a "bread sandwich." So, this would be a tamale sandwich. Just wanted to get that out of the way so we're all on the same page. (LOLZ! We'd have to be on the same page because otherwise this wouldn't be being read! ROTFL.)
Just kidding, I'm not ROTFLing at all, because the Yankees lost 12-2 tonight, althought I'll go ahead and put this in the Fun Despite Losses silo. I actually can put this in the Top 5 category, since I did tally up the list almost 5 years ago to the day. 375 days actually:
I can probably count on 1 hand the number of times I've really enjoyed myself at a Yankee game where the Yanks ended up losing.I have no idea what significance 3 and 4 have, so I'm taking those out and replacing one with this game. (May 2, 2009 and April 28, 2012 go up there, too.)
1.) May 17, 2008: 7-4 (Mets)
2.) April 27, 2007: 11-4 (Boston)
3.) April 17, 2008, 7-5 (Boston)
4.) July 9, 2005: 7-8 (Cleveland)
(In that order. I think.)
Ahh, but this was a real drubbing, you know? I mean, I was like 15 minutes late to the game because Yankee Stadium security is one conveyor belt away from mirroring that of JFK.
(In other words, I had to go check my laptop before I could get in. I swear to God, I'm always expecting the ticket checker to ask me to remove my shoes and keep my boarding pass on me. I respect the due diligence. Not crazy about the 1 beer per person rule, but cheers for the due diligence nonetheless.)
Anyways, so I was late, and I sat down and saw Hughes give up a few hits, and it wasn't until they team was congregating on the mound that I even looked at the score.
Two-thirds of an inning. He's become the more mild-mannered Burnett. Except what he lacks in nipple rings and tats he makes up for in unpredictability, variability, etc. AJ was really good or not so great. There was a neatness to his starts. Even though we'd say, "You never know what you're gonna get with AJ!" we still kind of knew what we were up against.
Not with Hughes. It's like mutual flirting with an ambiguously gay person. You can't really figure out whether he/she is gay or not, and it's frustrating because if it's true, then there's no explanation for what's going on. If it's not true, then you start to wonder if the other shoe will ever drop.
Hughes is battered around like a half dead mouse my parents' cat would drag into the house (weirdly, he'd only do so on Mother's Day and Christmas. I swear to God. Every year.)
Ibanez goes yard twice in this game, one of which was a salami. (I got to my seat jusssst in time to see that one fly over the short porch.) Ibanez has one of those names that can double as a BOO or a cheer.
Imagine women in the league, women with an "oooo" name? It wouldn't matter if I batted in 23 runs, I'd still get a complex about why an entire stadium was booing me.
Unlike Ra-oool, Hoooghes probably warranted boos, but I don't really believe in booing your own player. Did it once ever, for Alan Embree in August of 2005, for absolutely no other reason other than the fact he had just come from Boston.
Sorry, I'm digressing more than usual. It's been a few days of not-blogging so I'm still scratching the sleep booger rocks out of my metaphorical blog eyes.
Ok, that actually was an unintentional good segue into this point: Why do you bat Grandy as cleanup when he's been on the DL since Reebok pumps were all the rage? Is this what we have to look forward to as the Real Yankees slowly return back to the lineup? All the "scabs" get shooed away in favor of the big guys taking 2 months to approach pre-DL form?
I don't care if it works out, I don't understand it. He has had one hit, which isn't terrible since he hasn't played a professional ball game in about 66 years. But why can't he just work into the lineup organically> What the hell did he do in the steam stub or the batting cage that was SOO impressive that Girardi thought, ah to hell with it! I got a hunch he's going to be FINE. Just FINE."
Overall, the Yankees managed just 2 runs in this game, off 2 solo shots (Vernon "The New Old Carl Crawford" Wells amd Chris "Ok, maybe I'm not as bad on offensive as I' believed" Stewart.)
The Ms had the most productive outing all season. Most offensive. On multiple levels. Everyone got a hit.
The bright spot of the Yankee performance came from reliever Claiborne (again) who pitched a couple more innings of shutout ball, after his last getting-done-of-the-job outing last week. I like this kid. Good poise. D-Rob Part Deux.
Not as crazy about Marshall, who Girardi left in for 108 pitches to perserve the pen. 5 runs on 9 hits. He may be Quantrill Part Deux. Or Proctor. Both of which are still cowering in fear of being called in from the pen at any given moment. As if Girardi had pulled a "Ransom" on them:
We do what you say, and we let you leave the club. Anything goes wrong, you're gonna turn around and I'll be gone. Okay. And if that happens, from this day on, any time you take the field at another stadium, or go to the locker room, go play, see a friend, to buy a fuckin' comic book, you're gonna have to ask yourself: Is today... Joe Torre day?Another pitching performance that wasn't too hot was that of Iwakuma. Well, not hot for the Yanks, who only scraped up 1 run. 8 hits wasn't too bad (for the Yankees), so I think the starter is going to get a lot of people jumping at the chance to be the one to identify him as a sleeper pick. His ERA is admittedly pretty nasty, but I don't think he's Yu.
(Ha, I just realized how that sounded, and now I'm thinking of all the fun he could have with break-ups, that could quickly spiral into a Who's on First edition: "It's not Yu. It's me.")
I'd be remiss in not calling out the real reason for even going to the game, which was one Oliver Perez. Cheers to my buddy Ollie for getting the tickets and allowing me and another Yankee fan to roll with the Ollie's Tamales Founders.
I'm not even going to begin to try to make heads or tails of this, so suffice to say that Oliver Perez came in for relief, the tamales raced to the other side of the stadium to get a better view (with their sombreros on), Oliver Perez pitched a perfect 8th, the tamales celebrated in earnest as if though they'd caught the winning homerun walkoff ball that sent their Mets into the playoffs, and then it really became near impossible to assign much import to a bludgeoning 12-2 loss when you're with 2 lunatics in sombreros stalking a middle reliever. (As the old saying goes.)
Way to go, Ms and Perez and Raooool. And cheers to my buddy Ryan, the only Ms fan I know. (This is really my only recourse in the face of losses. "Ok, so and so is a _____ fan, so at least I can try to take solace in the fact he's happy." If I'm being honest with myself, it rarely works. But I always try anyway, just like I always try to see if I've acquired the taste for pickles.)
Yanks have a 2-game lead in the division, as the Decoys manage to hold their shit together despite ranking a consistent #14 out of 26 in pretty much all league batting categories. They're like my fantasy team every year that leads the league in nothing except ties.
But, like Ollie's Tamales, there are some things in life (most things, actually) that cannot be understood or explained.
I usually don't like things devoid of reason, but the Decoys and the Tamales are two very notable exceptions.
Lusus habet rationem causae, quae nescit.
|MY BEAUTIFUL MOTHER!|
That's my mom. Stunning. Always. Me, on the other hand...if I was a cartoon, I'd look like this right now.
Except I'd be wearing a Yankee hat, and I'd be covered in paint. But the pony tail part is spot on. The resigned expression. And most importantly, the crumpled up paper balls. Except instead of paper balls, it's about 7 different Word windows open.
Each Document.doc has a stanza of poetry, 5 different attempts at trying to twist a famous poem into a Mother's Day spin. I did as much with The Raven, Annabel Lee, O Captain My Captain, Gunga Din, and the prelude of the Canterbury Tales.
And then I'd realize that the main character in all but the Canterbury Tales prelude, dies in the end. Didn't anyone back in the day have the foresight to write something where the nice Irish Catholic woman wins in the end, thereby making the task of tailoring it to fit my needs, more palatable? Thanks for nothing. Talk about LIT-for-brains, right??
It's Mother's Day, and no one wants a poem that calls to mind images of Abe Lincoln being assassinated, or a talking devil bird refusing to scram. (I know, if you've heard that once, you've heard it a thousand times...)
And the thing is, if I just wrote a post about all the reasons I adore my mother, I would never even get to post it, because I'd never be done writing. (And I can already hear my mom saying, "Kristen. God help you if you write an infinite long post and never take a break to meet your future husband.")
See, she’s not just a “cool mom.” She’s someone I aspire to be more like. I watch her do the things she does, and half of me is blown away by how her joie de vivre never wanes. (I get tired bagging my own groceries in self-check-out line. She's playing 18 holes of golf.)
And the other half of me is really proud that I get to be related to her.
I wish I was more like my mom. She never stops learning new things. She wants to try everything once, and not in a psycho bucket-list-seeing-the-ball-drop-in-times-square-bungee-jumping kind of way. In a joining clubs or taking dance lessons kind of way. Her Christmas card was a picture of her riding a CAMEL. In front of pyramids. To me, the Far East is the FDR.
She keeps in touch with everyone she meets everywhere. In the grand scheme of Fantasy Friendteams, Mom is constantly “over max roster size.”
She sends snail mail, and if my handwriting looked like hers, I would, too. As Lauren always says, “Mom’s handwriting makes me cry.” It’s true. My handwriting makes people think they’re reading a ransom note.
She has style. I’ll never have it. My mom has more of it than anyone. And class. Every time I see her she looks so polished. My socks never match, and I thought color blocking was some kind of zone defense.
And she drives me crazy in ways that just remind me how insanely blessed I am to have her as my mother and my friend.
|my best dance partner.|
Yeah, my mom can make me nuts. But let’s call a spade a spade here, how “nuts” can you make someone that already has “crazy” as part of her moniker? It’s like saying this guy is “pleased as punch.”
I was thinking this weekend about a time when my mom was talking about how Nana used to always call her at work, and she said, "God, it used to drive me crazy, and now I'd do anything to have just one of those phone calls with her again."
When she calls me at work. At my last job, my office shared a wall with the head of HR. My mom lost speaker phone privileges pretty quickly, because it's really a game of Russian Roulette when it comes to what topic is going to be broached upon picking up the phone. It could be anything from "I played a great game of golf today!" to "Did you get the newspaper article I sent you about the cannibal who lives in your neighborhood?”
One time my mom came into the living room, gasped, pointed to the sunglasses on my head, and said, "Um, where did you retrieve those from?" When I was living with my parents post-hurricane, I couldn't man my clothes while I was at work, and there was definitely a time when I went to the laundry room and saw all of my socks had been thrown out.
I think it's completely insane, but also completely endearing how she's in a way still picking out my clothes 32 years later. Except she's doing the inverse.
She thrives on stress. I empathize. I think me and my mom aren't at peace with ourselves until we're stressed out about something.
Her relationship with technology. When my mom was in Florida last year, she asked me to find something in her gmail, and when I asked why she couldn't do it, she said she only had access to her Florida gmail, not her NY gmail.
I wasn't crazy about digging through her "NY gmail" for "an email address of someone. I think it has blue cheese in the name." But I secretly like it when either parent asks for help, makes me feel a little like I’m paying off my debt of years of proofreading my papers, quizzing me for vocab tests…Looking for firstname.lastname@example.org or whatever it was, it is a microscopic price to pay.
No matter that it was done, that this would require tearing down walls, and costing more, etc. This was how she wanted it. It can be maddening beyond the telling of it, but it’s also one of the genes I’m particularly happy to have inherited.
|Mother-Daughter Yankee Fans|
So, for what it is worth, Mom, know that my sisters and I think you are the epitome of class. None of it is lost on us, and you and Dad are at the heart of everything good in us.
So, with that, I’ll sign off with one of her more oft-quoted pearls of wisdom, imparted to me before my first day of freshman crosscountry preseason training:
“Life’s too short to do the things you don’t want to do if you don’t have to do them, unless you have to do them, in which case do them. So…if you get tired, stop.”
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.
I didn't follow this game very well. Starting a game at 3:00 was weird enough. The downloaded the Yankees schedule onto my Outlook calendar at the beginning of the season, and the only good thing about games during work hours is that it blocks off 3 hours of my calendar. Except now everyone is wise to this, so there is officially nothing good about games during office hours.
|I wish Outlook would also send me game updates.|
And if THAT wasn't enough, the tarp would come off, get rolled up, and then...nothing. (I know all this based on twitter. This type of information was not readily available refreshing mlb.com. Social media!)
By the time I leave work and get to a tv, the Yankees were walking off the field and high fiving. And to sum up, my knowledge of the game is 70% based on twitter feeds and Sports Center.
Here's what I know:
- Fatso was mad he didn't get to bat.
- Cano had a big day, 1500th hit and passed Paul O'Neil on Bomber's Bomb List
- Colorado's manager thinks Mo's 13th save in as many chances was facilitated by an expanded strike zone.
Those umps! They'll do anything to help the Yankees win when they're on the road, you know?
Oh, also: the Decoys are in first. Sort of. 60% of the division is in first right now, and I don't think there's anyone in the free world who doesn't know how I feel about multiple superlatives. "One of my best friends..." "These are both top priorities..." etc. I just flat out don't believe in ties, period.
With one exception. So, I flat out don't believe in ties, semicolon; I love my parents the same amount, and both my sisters the same amount. That's it.
So the idea of sharing first place is making me lightheaded. Hashtag Yankeefanproblems.
In that I didn't even listen to game on radio (on account of the afternoon meeting clusterf-word), I can't even ride the WCBS ridicule wave.
HOWEVAH, there is something on which I would like to expound. And that is David Americo Ortiz Arias. (How come no one ever sings the Banana Picking Beetlejuice song when he's up? Seriously. D.A.O.A= this, yeah?)
Ah, Daoa. Papi. F'n moron. You make it easy for people like me who already profoundly dislike you. People like me don't WANT to find out you're actually a really cool, great guy. So when you do these little soapbox things, it's just like throwing a half eaten bread slice to the hoard of seagulls menacingly surrounding your beach towel.
They're out for crust. We're out for blood.
2009 he announced that players who tested positive for steroids were such a sad pathetic disgrace and should die a death that is both fitting of such iniquity and also one that is rife with agony. Basically, that's what he said. Then a few years later he tested positive for steroids, and everyone was all "SMH"-ing everywhere (which apparently means "shaking my head" and not "so much hate").
Now in 2013, he has announced that his steroid allegations and suspicions cast on him are indicative of racism, and that everyone is just saying that because he's Dominican and a lot of steroid users hail from those parts.
To really fortify his argument, he gave about 97 comparative examples. You know I'm the last person to criticize analogies, but Ortiz's were devoid of supporting Family Guy clips.
His arguments were definitely NOT devoid, however, of a Ku Klux Klan reference. Yep. Yeah, he's not on steroids. He's actually totally in control of the situation and not at all like a freebasing walrus.
H/T to espn.com:
"Yesterday the guy came to see me and asked some questions about steroids, and when you see the writing, it basically focuses on the fact that I'm Dominican and that many Dominicans have been caught using steroids. And what about the Americans?" Ortiz said.
"If you're from the Middle East, because there are some people there who put bombs and terrorize civilians, I have to see you like that, as well? If you are a white American, I have to call you a racist because white Americans were in the Ku Klux Klan?
"The thing that stung me was his statement about Dominicans. You mean that in Dominican Republic there are no players who try to do things right? We are all in the same boat. And the people here who have been caught, does that put everyone here in the same boat?"
"I have spent many years in Boston and still do not know the right way to do things: Do it right or do it wrong," Ortiz said. "If you do it wrong, they'll finish you. If you're doing well, they'll finish you, too. There's no area where you feel safe."
Poor guy. He's just trying to do things the right way. And he can't win! If he takes steroids, he gets in real PR and legal hot water. If he doesn't take steroids, he doesn't play well and gets in real Beantown hot water. Talk about a Hobson's Choice.
I can totally relate. It's like I still do not know the right way to do things. Do I cheat at Wednesday Night Trivia and google shit serreptitiously [sic. Jesus. A lot of sic]? Or do I play by the rules? It's so unfair, if I do the former, I'm a cheater and I'm disqualified.
If I do the latter, I don't get the free bar tab at end of night. THERE'S NO AREA WHERE I FEEL SAFE! (Except the sports and lit categories) There's really no other options, yeah?
Not to be an asshole, but a little bit to be an asshole, is Ortiz, um, not all there? Is he taking his cues from Schilling? I mean, most people know you don't just go on national tv and drop the F-bomb. But we gave him a pass because of Boston tragedy.
But then most people don't follow that up 2 weeks later with a lonngggg incensed rant that sounded kind of a like a less funny version of Nathan Lane in The Birdcage trying to sound like an informed political-savvy citizen. Or a lot less funny version of when Dwight gave his Salesman of the Year acceptance speech.
Thank you, DAOA for doing such a galactically terrible job of convincing the public you're an innocent victim in the social warzone that asphyxiates us with its oppressive racial profiling of PEOPLE WHO HAVE ALREADY BEEN CAUGHT DOING STEROIDS.
Sweet Christ. It's like saying we shouldn't profile child molesters as sexual deviants just because they're child molesters.
(Too far? I never compared anyone to the KKK though, which was my benchmark of aggression that DAOA himself set.)
I'm chalking this all up to the day game at 3:00 that didn't start til 5:15. I know. It's bad to profile day games like that just because they're played in the day.
Anyways. In other ridiculous baseball news, the umps screwed up a call in an Indians/As game and the tying homerun was a legit tying homerun but was called a double and the As lost. That really sucks, I'd be pretty upset if something similar happened to the Yankees. But the Yankees never have any calls go against them, ever.
Sweet Christ, they f'd up a call. I'm not being all blase about this to be all breezy and dismissive, (as much as I'd love to turn into one of those irresistibly nonchalant chicks like Jennifer Aniston in Along Came Polly, it'd probably have better luck trying to turn into potato salad.)
I'm being dismissive in this particular case because it's early May. There is PLENTY of time. (Oh my God, I love that phrase.)
TS Eliot put in best maybe, "There will be time, there will be time. Time for a million decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."
The Galarragga thing? That probably SHOULD have been made into literally a federal case. Wasn't crazy about the midge game, either. (Oh, hey. Yeah. The midge game. Guess Cleveland is really the charmed team of MLB.)
"All happy families are alike. Each unhappy family is alike in its own way." -Tolstoy
Everyone except the Yankees hates their closer, my buddy Ollie once told me. And everyone thinks their experiences with ump missteps are the most unfair ever.
Now the damn replay machine is being called into question. I don't know HOW the umps didn't see the ball hit the rail, or maybe they did and just hate the replay machine, too, and think that continuing to blow calls will get MLB to say, "Well, these machines are clearly useless! Get rid of them, we gotta think of something else!"
But maybe we should put a cease and desist on trying to fix human error. It's pretty obvious the umps are just being targeted because of insidious conceptions and harbored discrimination. Screw the replay machine. If they screw up a lot, then get new umps who don't screw up.
It's kind of funny how players only have to be right 1 out of every 4 attempts, but an ump works with a no-tolerance-policy.
Ah well. It's May. This is the fun part of the season that we should enjoy before we're puking every day and losing weight and treating out bodies like unamusement parks (September/October/hopefully November)
I'm almost ALWAYS wrong whenever I say something bad is going to happen in baseball (ie the Grandy trade, the Pronk/Wells/Overbay aquisitions.)
But I knew this replay shit was going to cause problems. Wrote this in 2011, topic was something along lines of "What will have the biggest effect on baseball this season?"
* * *
There are a handful of phrases that I can all but guarantee will never be uttered in my lifetime: “Curt Schilling has remained mute on the subject,” “I hear Sean Casey’s kind of a jerk,” “The role of pitching in championships is negligible,” and, lastly, “I find no fault with any call made against my team during that loss.”
Every year, there is a smattering of blown calls that fans will wail about for weeks (or decades), and the degree of their fury is directly proportional to the perceived impact on the season. (No one’s coining any melodramatic catchphrases for a missed tag at second in an otherwise incident-free, early season game.)
And every year, there is that one call that slams the whole instant replay issue right back on the table. But it wasn’t until the tail end of last season that the issue appeared to be less of a hypothetical debate and more of a potential reality.
That small nugget of possibility is pretty much all any fan needs to make 2011 the Year of Unrelenting Umpire Scrutiny.
While this assignation may sound petty at worst and harmless at best, the threat of putting officiating under a microscope has an insidious effect: just as the application of the asterisk has us dismissing stats that are compromised by steroids, this year’s achievements could risk similar invalidation if we start blaming questionable calls for everything.
We charge Major League Baseball with the near impossible task of shielding the game from any and all vices that threaten its integrity. But the pressure to implement instant replay means the 2011 season will face an ethical paradox: in our efforts to uphold baseball’s classic purity, our innate need to point fingers may change the face of the game that we want so desperately to preserve.
The instant replay issue has been a ticking time bomb for years, and like Oscar Wilde once said, “the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.” We’re going to need to—the list of scapegoats is discernibly dwindling:
· The steroid maelstrom seems to be (dare I say) under control.
· We’re one billy goat away from closing the book on major team curses.
· The homerun replay is masterfully keeping ball-grabbing fans in check.
· No bloated off-season spending from the Yankees.
· No aggravating expanses between pitches that stretch out so long I could probably establish democracy in a third world country before Rafael Betancourt gets to a 1-1 count.
· And not even a rosin bag to disturb the ball’s surface.
It’s a tough call.
But I’m not ready to default to Instant Replay to be sure.
* * *
Tomorrow's a night game in Kansas. How much mileage do pilots/stewards get out the "Not in Kansas anymore" thing? I would probably laugh because it's true. Once you leave Kansas, you're not there anymore.
Oh my God, I need to go to bed. Good series! See you tomorrow/today, Royals. (Pretty sure they were also a "sleeper pick" to win the 'ship this year. Show us what you got, KC.)
Non tendo facere rectum. Iustus facere rectum.
*Other notorious entries on this list include anything ANYTHING red, ie red lighters; anything ANYTHING from Boston, ie New England Clam Chowder...etc. You get the idea.
So everything in right in the world again since Coors is back to making me happy instead of sad. Good God that outfield is something else, by the way. Can't imagine stadium tours there being too enjoyable. There's probably territory out there that still hasn't been discovered or claimed. I'm a little jealous of Colorado fans that get to inevitably have a game interrupted by some regime of guerilla radicals aggressively staking ownership of some random nook in left field. That's happening.
This was not a boring game to watch. I enjoyed it a lot, and it was compounded by the exciting stress of flipping between YES and the Rangers/Capitals game. 631-634-631-etc. The PREV has rubbed off the remote button.
The scoring started (and nearly ended) in the early innings, with Wells taking Whoever the Hell Nicasia Is deep, putting the Yanks up 2-0 in the 1st. Helton responded in kind in the 2nd. Except it wasn't kind to people who wanted the Good Guys to win. Basically Helton responded in dissent, which means a tying ding 2-2 game.
And that was it pretty much for the rest of the game. the meat portion of the game†: (as opposed to the bookend innings) was a lot of "ball weakly hit to______"' 's.
† Some might be inclined to call this a "sandwich." I'd like this "methophor" to stop being used if no one is going to use it like a normal person. Like if someone's taking a pic of me and my sister and some random dude, the dude says, approximately 100% of the times "Ahh look! It's a Pollina sandwich!" Unless you characterize your sandiwchs the type of bread it's being housed in, then the whole "sandwich" thing is stupid.
Oh, and before I forget about this, what is Coors' lionization of Helton? I mean, every so often I feel like the camera woujld randomly zoom in on some big #17 TODD HELTON signable (whether of the stadium persuasion or the fan with a cardboard sign persuation.)
It just so happens that this week he pleaded guilty to a DWAI which is a like a baby-DUI. And apparently he was RORed. Ribbied on his own recognizance. After blowing a .102 on account of "2 glasses of wine." Guy has to pay a $400 fine.
Would not have been a happy camper if his 2-run shot a day after he gets the laughable sentencing, ended up being the proverbial "one mistake" Phelps made en route to the Rockies' win.
FORTUNATELY, the pedestrian/commuter menace didn't get a chance to go out and celebrate, thanks to Bosh [sic].
This is why you always run out hits. Because it meant the difference in a game for the Yankees. And in a race in the AL East with Boston/Orioles only 1 game up on NYY, running a hard 90 can never, ever be underestimated.
Ahh, so Bosh drives in a run, forgets to have a D in his name, and triggers the call to Mo. It will never, ever cease to amaze me and awe me and just mostly blow me away every time Mo does what he does. (His "thang.")
1 pitch. 1 speed. No one can hit it. And first the first time ever in the history of life, a one-trick pony is unquestionably superior. 11th save of the season. Yankees win, break the curse of Coors. D-Rob gets the W, even though he was pitching like Nuke LaLoosh.
(Kind of funny hearing Coors boo over the hit batter. Yes, D-Rob and all his newfound AJ Burnett-ness was gunning for some rando during interleague play. Nailed it. Actually speaking of Coors field fans, it was kind of difficult to discern who was rooting for whom. I had to mute the tv because it was getting too confusing. I like delineations, and this was weirding me out. Felt a little like Seth Rogen in this scene.)
Oh, and of course it wouldn't be a game without Girardi demonstrating some kind of "well, hey why not! Not sure who anyone on team is anymore, so let's roll the dice. Again." behavior:
Girardi employed a different type of strategy on Wednesday, inserting pitcher David Phelps into the No. 8 spot in the batting order and moving catcher Austin Romine to ninth. Girardi borrowed the idea from former St. Louis skipper from Tony La Russa.
Annd, it wouldn't be a game without the requisite "Well, you couldn't ask for a better hit than that!" assessment, right after a player fails to execute despite best efforts and best intentions. Like when Austin Romine didn't catch Young stealing in the 8th. Not that it mattered. Because the Yankees won.
It's time for this.
Suspicor nemo pretator ista.
This was the 2nd time in a week where I thought a 2-0 loss was boring to watch. And it shouldn't be! I mean, I get excited at pretty much anything. My blood pressure raises if I so much as see there are Dark Chocolate Milky Ways in the basket at reception on Candy Wednesdays.
So a low scoring game like this one should have been sending me into fits of coronaries. Kuroda pitched pretty well, (as evidenced by the relatively small amount of runs on the Rockies' end), but I think this was one of those times when the score belied the outing.
After Gonzalez' 2-run ding broke the 0-0 tie in the 6th, it was like breaking the seal. I missed the final out of the inning, but I remember thinking when I saw that the top of the 7th had finally arrived after a rapid succession of hard hits, "Wait. No one scored after the homerun?"
I was sure the score would have somehow become 5-0 in the minutes it took me to clean my paintbrush.
It didn't really matter, of course, since the Yankees were pretty anemic in the offense category. 4 hits all game (2 from Nix, then 1 apiece from Sneach and Stewart.)
Speaking of Stewart, I have to say that his offensive production hasn't been as OFFENSIVE as his preseason caveat claimed it would be. I think Kay took note of this, as well.
(Making this #110 in the list of ways that the Decoys are making baseball a whole new experience for me--talking about the storied Yankee line-up that inspires sheer terror, has been replced with little bubbles of pleasant surprise from the YES booth over a replacement player's better-than-terrible BA.)
Since it was the Yanks who lost and not the Rockies, the former is the team whose long-term hitting capabilities are called into question. HOWEVAH, it should be noted that the paltry 0-5 with RISP/5 LOB was only really slightly worse than 0-3 with RISP/5 LOB posted by the latter team.
And you know why else this game was kinda lackluster? Where's all the POP BANG ALAKAZAM magic of gravity-defying ball-traveling? I know this problem was allegedly solved by storing the balls in the humidor, but I feel like this is the same thing as those Pfiten bracelets. It's like "oooh ok, THAT was the problem! I just didn't have whatever aqua-metal is! Problem solved, ill-defined physical benefits and indirectly implied athleticism here I come!"
Similarly, I feel like that humidor thing is just one of those things that theoretically should solve a problem based on what we know about basic laws of physics and science. But that doesn't always end up working, as evidenced by the fact my Piften necklace AND bracelet have failed to cure my goofy grace.
(The supporting research for Pfiten was conducted by the Society for Aqua Metal Research, and the humidor data was provided by the American Association of Hitter's Ballparks.)
It was overall kind of an awkard game, punctuated by the announcement in the 4th exiling everyone in the upper deck. "All fans in the upper deck, please leave the seating area, move under cover due to lightning in the area." So you see all these people in ponchos shuffling to hang out near any viable cover that would allow them to comfortably continue watching the game.
(Kay: "Well, I'm not meterologist, but when you gotta leave the upper deck because of lightning, it's probably not a good sign, weather-wise." This was met with, "We do actually have a meterologist, Michael. Yes, we have one at the YES network--a great one!" Well, then. Thanks for answering all the questions I didn't ask.)
That was awkward, but "talk-amongst-yourselves" filler that went on on the field was even more so. I'm referring to when they had to fix the pitcher's mound that was getting wrecked by pounding rain. And a grounds crew comes running on the field (in funny shorts that made it look like he was just called away from a golf course in South Hampton), carrying a bag of dirt
While he was doing whatever repairs needed to be done, the camera hilariously paused on Cano and the umpire standing next to him, and they looked like a blend between a first date and an elevator ride of eye-contact avoidance and facing forward and shifting. (Still doesn't beat this moment from Cano, though, in terms of awkward behavior on the field when game isn't going on. Comment from Jay was pure gold.)
And in final awkward behavior, there's De La Rosa who awkardly held the Yanks to no runs and who awkwardly expressed concern in the post-game that he was admittedly scared during the game of getting knocked unconscious by a hit in the head with a line-drive. Life's a scary journey, Jorge. It's very brave of you to take the mound and face such risks with every start.
(Yeah, I get it. Happ, etc. Sweet Christ, the fans had to leave the game because of the rampant electrcitiy flying through the sky and striking down. Let's agree that the only thing that anyone legitimately has a reason to fear in life is the Nightmare on Elm Street movies. That, and accidentally typing someone's name in the "status" field instead of the "search" field when doing some light internet/facebook stalking.)
So it's back to Coors Canaveral today, with Phelps pitching against Nicasio, which is a name I have never heard of before in my life. So..I can't even hazard a guess in terms of a game preview. I will predict the Yankees win, though. Because they are the Yankees.
(Which is a fact that I think has been slowly but surely escaping Girardi. Seriously. Every day his postgame interview is more like, "I have NO idea what is going on. I'm not kidding.")
Well, um, just don't lose and no one cares how concussed you may or may not be acting.
Bonum est tyrannus satis.