Then thou shall count to three, no more, no less.
I thought for sure last night, that the Yankees held the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch. They were going to blast that rabbit to shreds. That *harmless* little bunny.
Well, that’s no ordinary rabbit. RUN AWAY!!! RUN AWAY!!!!!
I’ve been trying to figure out what the problem was. Lost sleep over it as a matter of fact. You really can’t blame Joba, even after a poor start, which led to a 3 run shot by Jason Bay, and an RBI single from Big Fatty (as my 6 year old son affectionately calls him). Joba got his act back together in the 2nd inning. The next 4 2/3 innings, he was almost flawless, totaling 12 strikeouts for his outing; a career high for him. When Joe came to the mound in the 6th inning, my heart broke. I felt like I was at the prom and some chick walked over, and took my date. I got to tell you, I think these Joba rules stink. But I do understand them. And I couldn’t help but to think what would have happened if Joba stayed in. Can “pitchous interruptous” be coined as a new term? It’s now in my dictionary, even though it would have never been used as a term in my Labor Law classes at Cornell.
The Yankee bats just weren’t supportive. And when they tried, they were snuffed. What would have happened if Cabrera didn’t try to stretch his double into a triple in the 4th inning? Would the mood of the game have changed? If only that Cabrera shot didn’t bounce into the left field stands in the bottom of the 6th inning, giving Swisher the opportunity to round for home? Game could have been tied, 4-4 at that point. And during both of those innings, what would have happened if Molina made contact? My head is spinning. I know. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.
The bullpen. I don’t even know where to begin. It appears that Coke has the most dependable arm out there right now. Again, I can’t help to think what would have happened if the bullpen was on last night, but even if they were; it still goes back to the bats ultimately.
My Yankee optimism still lurks. But yet haunts me. Since 1985, the Yankees have never lost their first five games against the Red Sox. Yogi Berra also lost his job. I’ve been reading a lot of the message boards and some fans are thinking that Joe should meet the same fate as Yogi did. I think that’s absurd. While we can all be critical, don’t point out Joe just yet. Luckily it is just May, and the season is very long. I believe the Yanks have fallen to circumstance and a pinch of bad luck. And the Red Sox? Well, that rabbit’s got a vicious streak a mile wide. And so far, it’s been a killer. But who’s to say that they won’t fall to circumstance and a dab of mal temps? Yup, the season is that long. And that’s why I have faith. We’ll see you again, rabbit. And next time we won’t skip 3 on the count with the hand grenade, Monty Python style.
Focus shifts to the Rays tonight, who are 2 games behind the Yankees. Game starts at 7:05 in the Bronx.
Stop stealing the blanket, man!
Ring…. Ring…… Ring………
“Hello?”
“Ummm. Yeah, Tonya?”
“Yes, this is Tonya.”
“Hey, listen. I’m inquiring about your services. You know…skills, connections?”
“Who is this?”
“That’s really not important. I just need your help.”
“Skills? Services? Connections? I have no clue what you’re talking about, lady.”
“Yes, you do…..My friends…ummmm…The Hamiltons, led me in your direction. They said, ummmm…you’re the person I need to talk to.”
“The Hamiltons? What?”
“Ummmm, I mean the Franklins”.
“The Franklins? Oh….the Franklins! I know the Franklins! Keep talking”.
“Well, you see…I’ve got a….situation…up on 161st street. We got robbed last night. Can’t let it happen again tonight. You know what I mean? I heard, ummm….that you’ve got a way to stop that kind of stuff. I’ve got the supplies already in the building.”
“You’ve got what I need already?”
“Oh, yeah. And a kid to hand you more supplies when you need them. I’m not fooling around sister. This ain’t Ice Capades.”
“Do you have a description of these robbers?”
“Yeah, there were a bunch of them. They got names on their backs, too. Pretty silly, if you ask me, that they need THAT kind of attention.”
“What time do you need my crew there?”
“7:05.”
“Consider it done.”
CLICK.
“Megan…… Megan…….”
“Stop stealing the blanket, man! I’m cold….and having a great dream.”
“You don’t need Tonya Harding.”
“WHAT? Oh, yes I do. I need her like a bagel needs cream cheese.”
“And lox?”
“Oh yeah…mmmmm…lox.”
“Wake up!”
“COME ON MAN! LET ME FINISH THE JOB!”
“Megan, wake up. Look, it’s me, Alex.”
“Alex?’
“Alex! It’s 3 o’clock in the morning! What are you doing here?’
“I’ve come to tell you a bedtime story.”
*Eyes try to open, squinting. Alex Rodriguez is sitting at the foot of my bed. With a cape on*
“Megan, once upon a time, there were a group of guys, who wore stripes. A great group of guys. Hardest working guys out there on the diamond. They built a new house, during the offseason. A big, strong house. One day, they came home, to find a group of no good thugs. No good, I tell ya. They wore the color of the devil. And they robbed the place.”
“I know! I watched last night on YES! Jeez, Alex. You came all the way to Pennsylvania to tell me this? Tell me something I don’t know, huh?”
“There’s more to the story, little girl. They fought a worthy fight in the end.”
“BUT THEY LOST ALEX!”
“Shhhh….The robbers may have won this battle, but they awoke the giant, Teixiera. A big, sleeping giant, who can swing his sword from either side. And now….he’s angry. And after sending two long balls into the stands last night, he’s not done. He’s gathered his minions, and a man named Joba. A man so fierce, with blazing pitch speed, and eyes…. so mysterious. A wizard on the mound. They will lead the fight to revenge!”
“Are you sure I don’t need Tonya Harding?”
“Yes, Megan. I’m sure.”
“Ummmmm….hey, Alex?”
“Yup?”
“Ummmm…what’s with the cape?”
“I’m coming to save the day…..soon.”
“Oh, ok.”
“Go back to sleep, little girl. Dream pleasant thoughts, Megan. Happy thoughts…men in pinstripes…..shhhhhhh.”
WHOA!
So there you have it. Rodriguedomus came to me and told me HIMSELF, that the men in the devil’s color will be defeated; led by men named Teixiera and Joba. I feel it now. I FEEL IT! CAN YOU? Who’s with me?!!!!!
Sadly enough, they were robbed last night. Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was the smaller than average strike zone. Perhaps the rain delay didn’t help. Perhaps tipping pitches (ironically this is a household term now) had something to do with it. We all know that spying in sports is rampant among New England teams, don’t we? Perhaps last night’s game was meant to be the biggest wake up call this young season for the Yankees.
I’m awake now. I think the Yankees are awake now. And now it looks like a superhero is on the way, a little ahead of schedule, to join forces with his teammates in the coming days.
The battle continues this evening at 7:05 in the Bronx.
You’ve got to be kidding me….
In my last post (which happened to be my first here), I mentioned the ridiculous thought of the implementation of MLB cheerleaders. No, I was not for this, mind you. And now I’m a little perturbed. A good friend of mine from high school, Scott Coombs (there…I said your name. Happy now?), read my post and then led me in the direction of something disturbing, the Florida Marlins website. There they have posted a page for the Marlin’s Mermaids, their cheerleading squad. I think this is one of the signs of the apocalyspe.
Silly Megan. How could she possibly think that MLB cheerleaders did not exist? Is she that in the dark? Is she uninformed? No, not at all. Who follows the Marlins in the first place? I guess ever since they lost Jeff Conine, they needed a draw. Some appeal. Some “oompf”. I personally think they would have done better actually placing a Hooters in Dolphin Stadium. Cheerleaders are geared to the male eye. But wings? Now that speaks to all! When I get wings, I could care less if it’s served by a Hooters Girl. All I can say is that the sauce better be as hot as the weather in Miami Gardens.
I hope other teams don’t do this. Honestly. No team in MLB should have to resort to cheerleaders. I don’t care how small their attendance numbers are. Of course, not every team can be like my beloved Yankees. Not every team can go without player’s names on the backs of their jerseys, like my beloved Yankees. Not every team has the fabled history, such as that of my beloved Yankees. Every team should, however, let the focus fall on their players. Not bimbos with pom poms who stand on the top of a dugout, thinking that they’re sexy Phanatics.
Hey listen, if you’re going to have cheerleaders for your baseball team, and have them wear Hooters-like uniforms, let them toss wings into the seats, for Pete’s sake. I bet you can get a half dozen wings, wrapped in tin foil, in one of those t-shirt/hot dog nitrous-fueled cannons, and shoot them into the stands. Put these chicks to a good use.
Just my two cents.
The Perfect Plate
Without the implementation of MLB cheerleaders (PLEASE DO NOT TAKE THIS AS A HINT TO DO SO), it appears to some fans, that the food at the new Yankee Stadium is the best thing going so far. And hey, don’t get me wrong – I’m a big fan of stadium food; but my sushi platter can’t hit from both sides of the plate. And my quality draft beer can’t fly through the air to catch a looper in shallow right (though I’ve often pondered how I might make that happen). You want a real treat at the stadium? Chew on Nick Swisher for a minute. He can satisfy my hunger in a way that my brew and sushi just can’t do. Eat him up… savor the Swisher. Mark my words – he’s on deck to be the best bellyful in Pinstripes.
He’s more interesting than the Dos Equis man. Pine tar loses its grip when it sees him. Walls duck at the mere sight of him. Opposing teams write his name on their batting lineup in the dugout, just to see what it would look like. Home plate dusts itself off when he comes into the box. The wind changes its direction to be at his back. Twitter tweets about him. His smile is more contagious than swine flu. ConEd uses him as a power source. Chuck Norris would intentionally walk him. If John Tortorella threw water at him, he would stay dry. He is Nick Swisher, the most interesting man in Pinstripes.
Take your energy, folks, and redirect it. It serves no purpose to dwell on the three ring circus stories circulated by that Serena Roberts chick. We need to channel our energy to the positive. Have faith in the present lineup and look to the kid in right field, playing the game with such enthusiasm, that chalk line moves out of his way for him to catch balls. The boys of summer are back, with a new leader. Stay hungry, my friends.
I promise. You won’t be sorry.
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