37 minutes ago
Sweet Christ. I kind of thought I’d have a little bit of buffer time before one of These Games came into the mix.
Like, “Oh yeah, you’re the new copywriter, right? Ok today is just gonna be orientation-type stuff, setting up your password, IT policy, etc. Tomorrow, you’re going to be the Key Note Speaker at ASCO. Sound good? Great! Here’s my extension if you need anything.”
That’s sort of like what just happened. ROARRR. Where do I even begin with this one? You know what? This is exactly why bulleted lists came into mainstream play.
(Are you allowed to say that anymore? Seriously, take note: it’s going to be a situation like this. Or this. Pretty soon, my beloved bulleted lists are going to become “M-dashed-Lists.”)
Til then, giddy up:
- This game started at 7, and social was fueled by the rampant Yo Momma-esque jokes (“Yo, this Yankee game so old, it’s social security is ONE. WHAT WHAT!” “Yo, this game so long, there’s some automated woman’s voice blaring an estimated hold time.” I’m fairly confident it was only yesterday that I was extolling the virtue of the expedited pitch rule.
Ah, little did I know that the expedited pitch rule is only a thing if the delays of game are related to the pitcher. Not, for example, related to the lights on the façade that just went out mid game. How does that even happen?
- No offense, Crew Over There, but lightbulbs going out mid-game is probably someone’s fault. My dad never believed in getting mad at a situation. If something makes you mad, there is a human being‘s choices behind it. Thus, you should direct rage at said person. FIND THE LIGHTBULB MISCREANT THAT ADDED 16 MINUTES TO THE GAME. NOW.
- Which leads me to my next point: you’d think I’d be all enraged at this game, but here’s this thing: I’m NOT. At first I thought it was because I was so tired, but then I realized it was because it was sort of the same way I felt, minus the exuberance, after the Giants lost to the Pats on December 28, 2007 (35-38).
It was fought tooth and nail every second of the game, for no reason other than to prove a point. The Giants could have rested, they already were in the playoffs, the game wasn’t going to decide anything.
Similarly, the Yanks could have gone the sensible route and remembered that they have a game in less than half a day, and maybe they don’t want to deplete everyone. No, they fought.
- They lost, and I hate losing, but they didn’t go down without a fight. If this was a 48 Hours Episode, Keith Morrison would be interviewing a detective who would be saying, “No, no, yeah, this one was a fighter. She fought for her life, and that’s why we got the DNA under her fingernails to nab the guy.”
I think we got the Sux skin cells under our fingernails.
In terms of game recap, in the conventional sense of the word “recap,”…uh..
- Well, the Yanks were down by 3.
- Then they scored 2. Headly tied it up with a homerun (what a lovely creature this one is. Odd, but lovely). Ortiz juiced out one to make it 4-3, and it took forever because he never moves out of the batter’s box after a bomb, until he counts in his head “one Mississippi, two Mississippi.”
- But lo, then Tex goes deep to tie it up at 4 (and people were realllly excited about the fact it was his BIRTHDAY and he hit a HOMERUN! On his BIRTHDAY! Of all days!) 4-4 game, until Pablo Sandoval’s supreme lack of metabolism drives in Pedroia in the 18th.
- Only for the Yank’s to come back with Beltran (who I’m pretty sure wasn’t in the game when I was first watching it, but that was nearly 10 hours ago at this point, so who knows.
- All of a sudden it was like he was the only person ever at-bat, and all he did was this.
- But then he drove in a run, and the game is tied once again, and it’s the 19th inning, and it reached the point in the night when I realized that there weren’t going to be enough hours in between going to sleep and waking up that would make going to sleep a worthwhile endeavor.
- Mookie Betts hits the game winner for the Sux, and the Yanks can’t cobble anything together in the bottom of the 19th. Game over. At 2:16am. But here’s the thing: the game was nip and tuck or whatever, but it 100% did not have to be. For either side.
- I’m happy the Yanks raged against the dying of the light (literally and figuratively) with every last breath, but I’m tempering this with the acknowledgement that they squandered away a number of REALLY good scoring opportunities.
I mean, it’s one thing to do the whole leaving-runners-stranded thing. It’s another all together to take said runners off the basepath all together.
- GGBG got picked off. GGBG GOT PICKED OFF. SERIOUSLY. He also got caught stealing! He’s like the worst stealth ever now!
Ok, it’s easy to say this now, but what the hell. GGBG doesn’t get removed from the basepath on those plays, and the Yanks and their fans are already in bed, spooning the memory of their sweet W over the Sux.
Ah, but GGBG took the basepath less travelled. And that has made all the difference.
- Cone’s pitching analysis was really sparkling tonight. I gotta say, there wasn’t a lot of fluff given that it went into 19 F@#$ing innings. I wouldn’t have blamed him for trailing off into a monologue about powdered milk or something. But his shit was on tonight.
- On Headly’s game-tying ding: “Wow. Yeah, with all due respect, what was he thinking with that pitch?” Awesome reaction from the booth.
- Pablo Sandoval is so goddamn fat that it’s uncomfortable. There’s CC. There’s Prince. And then there’s this.
Ok, clearly I could talk about this game for twice as long as it actually lasted. And honestly, if the next one wasn’t at 1, I would. I’m very interested to see how this next one plays out.
Cheers to kicking off the rivalry in style, if not substance, Yanks. I found the entire evening “encouraging.” And that’s the last time you’ll hear me go all communist everyone-wins-no-matter-what-the-score!-mentality.
Oh ps, the pitching was excellent. EXCELLENT. On both sides. No kudos to Dickey, since, well, he’s a knuckleballer. That’s like showering the plaudits on when a chick has long luscious hair. Yes, technically she grew it herself, but it’s not like it took anything out of her to do so.
So, yeah, aside from that lay-z-bones, I was suitably impressed by the majority of the 627 pitches thrown tonight. It’s almost 5am. See you in a few hours, Yankees! And don’t forget:
Numquam salve quid pro reditu.