13 hours ago
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Those red hats were an eye sore. What happened to the blue ones?? I wore my blue flag hat especially for Memorial Day, and I’m stuck watching these Technicolor accessory debacles all afternoon. I never, ever, ever want to see red on a Yankee. Ever. I can get on board with most ilks of Yank caps, but I am categorically averse to any red-hued iteration. It’s unnatural and sickening. 
And seriously, it doesn’t make me anti-patriotic just because I f’n hate the red hats. It’s just that my specific blue flag hat is the essence of patriotism, as it was actually given to me by my good friend who’s a fighter pilot. AND accompanied by a certificate stating that “On May 28, 2008, this New York Yankees cap was flown into combat in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom in a Marine EA-6B Prowler, callsign Bosox 32, in honor of Kris Pollina.” It was easily the best gift I’d ever received. And from a Boston fan too! (Happy Memorial Day, TW. J )
For those keeping score, of which I suspect there is none, Memorial Day Weekend has continued to dominate me through 4 straight innings of shut-out play. Team Kris looked like it was going to stage a comeback rally in the bottom of the 3rd, with runners* in scoring position†, but ultimately ended up popping up to end the inning.
Not that the weekend was a total bust, but considering the palette I was working with, I should’ve been able to tee off. Gorgeous weather, 3-day weekend, Yankees homestand…all blanked by the fever curveball.
I may have still been a little delirious by the onset of the Yank game. I had the ill-advised brainchild to go to the office at 4am to get work done then instead of “wasting my Monday afternoon.” 6 of one, half a dozen of the other…I wasted my afternoon trying to remain conscious long enough to execute normal daily routines. (The office is creepy as f’n hell at that hour. I kept thinking someone was going to jump out from the shadowy maze of cubes and file cabinets. I’m not sure who? Sometimes I had visions of the CEO, who maybe was there because that’s what CEOs do: work 24/7, jumping out from her office and yelling FREEZE! Sometimes I had visions of walking in on someone stealing file folders and having to say “I swear, I saw nothing!”)
At least I got to capitalize on being awake in time for McDonald’s breakfast before passing out on my couch amid the 740 printouts I lugged home in accordance with my inability to absorb anything I read on a computer screen. I’m single-handedly setting the Go Green movement back about 40 years.
The Yankees game was EXACTLY the type of game I needed yesterday. A stress-free rout with no one getting hurt and every player looking somewhere in the range of satisfactory to stellar….with Cano and Hughes posting admirable fantasy numbers for Team Blue Wizzrobes. (The only downside was that I’m playing my sister this week, and Team ARod’s Hip’s star 3B went 5-5. But just as I’d gladly absorb the blows of Papelbon and Beckett disaster outings if it meant they did, indeed, have disaster outings, I’m ok with being on the other side of a Arod batting 1.000.)
I taped the game, which effectively erased everything I had on DVR that wasn’t on Save Til Manually Erased mode. Because my sister was on her way back from Long Beach and I knew she was missing the game and there was an at-bat that was so priceless that it was like going to Thanksgiving dinner at the crazy side of the family’s place, and every time some inappropriate bomb was splayed across the table, you were in the maddeningly frustrating situation of having no one to share that “Are you hearing this?” look.
And Melky’s face plant while rounding first was around that kind of level of awe-inspiring hilarity.
Not just a trip. Not a stumble. But a full out bellyflop into the dirt. It wasn’t too far a cry from this classic coup de’ grace.
As always, the announcer’s narration 100% enhanced the beauty of the scene:
“Here’s the pitch…and MELKY HITS A BULLET INTO LEFT! This will score a runner…Melky rounds first…falls…and has to go back to first. Man, what a rocket that was! But his teammates are certainly gonna have fun with that one.”
I must have listened to “Melky rounds first…falls…” about 24 times. But no one got a bigger kick out of this than Cano, who looked like he was going to have to be carted away from guffawing-induced chest pains.
Other notable aspects of the game:
Phil Hughes looked brilliant again. I know Girardi wants to preserve his young arms—a respectable stance—but taking out a pitcher in the 8th who’s pitching a 3-hit shut out? Not sure I’d be too happy about that if I was the one on the mound. You got 3 more outs to nab that illustrious CGS for your resume. Just give the kid the ball back.
ARod goes 5-5. Best. Player. Ever. You can’t name one active player that’s more talented than this guy. Not one.
Every Yankee got at least 1 hit, for a total of 19 hits on the game. Kevin Long is officially the clubhouse Tony Robbins.
NOT ONE OF THOSE HITS WAS A LONG BALL. The Yanks scored 11 runs without posting a 
single ding. I didn’t even know that was possible for this team. Maybe it’s like Dumbo and his feather. He thought the only way he could fly was with his magic feather. And then at the end he loses it and manages to sour around the big top anyway! (As a side note, the Elephants on Parade scene in Dumbo is right up there with Heffalumps and Woozels in Winnie the Pooh as unnecessarily creepy dream sequences in otherwise innocuous cartoons about cute talking animals.)
And speaking of creepy, Papelbon continues the grand tradition of Sux classlessness. The NYSJ gives us bitingly acerbic commentary on this, continuing the grand tradition of NYSJ (and NY in general) whip-sharp domination. As adorably awesome that the Yankees and their fans are, that’s how disgusting Boston is. I won’t belabor the point, but it makes me sick to see that freak on page 3 of the NY Post throwing a hissy fit over a NY reporter. Their city has given us the likes of an adulterer, a wife beater, an absentee father, a manslaughter-er, and one or 2 senior-citizen-terrorizers…and a fanbase that’s pulled out a chair out from under my braced leg, stolen cabs from me while I was on crutches, and bailed on bringing me back from hospital post-surgery because the Masters was on.
They’re lucky there are people like my Marine buddy. For about a million reasons.
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Joe Mauer. What do I win?
Batting Champion. Gold Glove winner at the toughest position in the game. Handles pitchers like Mystery handles sorority girls. And now has added homerun power to his arsenal. That used to be the only knock anyone ever had against him. And if this baseball thing ever doesn't work out for him, he can always go back and play QB for Florida St where he has a full ride waiting for him.
Oh, and he's 26. Stealing from your Ted Williams quote...Joe Mauer is good and he's getting better. I can't stand it, he's so good.