Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A reworking of this hopefully with better results. And just think, tomorrow Jesus is one of the band
This day shall be the feast upon Boston.
He that outlives these innings, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is warbl'd,
And rouse him at the name of Red Socks
He that shall live this day, and advance to First Place,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'Tonight is the night we devour’d Francona's band.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had at Fenway
Old men forget (they mostly play for us); yet all shall be forgot,
But Sterling will remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in John’s mouth as household warblings-
Mariano the King, Jeter and Swish,
Curtis and Tex, Nuni and Cano-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Beckett and Boston shall ne'er go by us,
From this day to the Series of the World,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds Socks blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in Tampa now-a-bed (this means you, Damaso)
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us in John Henry's house.
Yep, he threw at Cervelli's head. The YES team ragged on tonelessly about Cervelli's hand clap at home, but nobody mentioned that Osama bin Lackey threw at the guy's head.
Well, screw them, and screw Lackey. We always get a Cervelli adrenal boost. That's how he plays: Run hard, yell hard, clap. With runners on, he elevates his game. He's made a career as pet catcher for certain pitchers. And he gets big hits.
Today, at River Ave, they note how Cervelli's three career HRs have each been historic - "His 2009 shot in Atlanta was basically the turning point of that season, and his grand slam in Texas earlier this year helped end an offensive malaise and a rather sizable losing skid." On a team that sometime scores 22, it's amazing to think that Cervelli never homered in a blowout. His career numbers may be low. They're sure not padded.
Which reminds me of Jim Leyritz, the wiseass who hit great homeruns during the early Torre years, now sadly remembered for his DWI and being organizationally shunned. Both caught. Both seemed snake-bitten. (Cervelli lost a year when a Tampa meatball coldcocked him during an exhibition game. Leyritz screwed up the ball in LF that lost Andy Hawkins' no-hitter.) Both knew more talented players were out there. They just hustled harder.
So next year, we have a delimna. Jesus Montero is coming. Russel Martin deserves to stay. Austin Romine will knock on the door, with Gary Sanchez ever rising. We have a system full of young catchers. But only one deserves to be the fulltime backup.
It's been tough enough watching Ace Aceves pitch for Boston. God helps us if they ever get Cervelli. Yeesh. They might as well have Kevin Bacon.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Badaboom. Yes, today we follow the lead of Irene, who took a season to arrive, brought more hype than wind, but when she finally performed Rigoletto - cried so intensely that we still need buckets. Badaboom.
Well... what to say? It's finally here. How about Six statements we cannot make about this series:
1. The games are critical. Hell no. This series is equivalent to Monday night's Giants/Jets exhibition: The winner gets bragging rights. Nothing more. By October 1, this set - unless it causes an injury - will be forgotten.
2. CC must show Boston he can beat them. Sorry. But he can beat them. He knows it. They know it. He's CC Sabathia, for god's sake. He has nothing to prove. In fact, the more he struggles against them, the more nervous every Redsock fan should be. Think Kenny Rogers against us in the 2005 (?) post. Of course, we want CC to pitch well. Prove himself? Get real.
3. AJ's post-season rotation spot is on the line. This is a joke, right? There is no way - shy of a breakdown of five other pitchers - that AJ Burnett will start in our postseason. That ship has sailed. (Oh, sure, he could throw 30 shutout innings! Why don't we also imagine the Easter Bunny rising from the sea and ending casino gambling!) After the Redsocks hammer him, as we know they will, Girardi will lower the boom. That's good. AJ needs a week off to clear his head. But it's probably not mental and a case of guts. The guy is old and whip thin. His arm might just be pitched out. Instead of calling him names, let's accept that.
4. We really need Arod back. No, we don't. Eduardo Nunez is hitting just as well as ARod was, while injured. Recently, we have played better without Arod. Yeah, we need Alex sharp in October, but the team might even be looser without him, while he struggles. At least without him, we have an excuse.
5. This is a glimpse of the playoffs. Oh? Why would anyone think so? The winner of the AL East will likely face Detroit in a five game series. That's Justin Verlander twice. The loser probably faces Texas. Boston kills the Rangers. We have a score to settle with them. The AL playoffs will probably be Detroit v. this winner.
6. This is the lineup to play in October. No, it's not. By this weekend, Jesus Montero will be getting his shot at DH, and probably a few games catching. He's hot in Scranton. If he just goes once around the league - think: Shane Spencer, Kevin Maas, or (going way back) Bobby Brown - the Yankiverse will go batshit crazy. Every Jesus at bat will be special. Savior or false god? It wil be fun. Once this team gets Jesus, everything will change. We shalt be transformed. And Boston? They will be the same - whatever that is.
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the A-Rod Less Brigade,
Monday, August 29, 2011
Naturally, it's our fault
It's always our fault. If not for us, they would own several recent championships. Everybody knows this. We stole Mike Mussina from them. He was theirs - they owned him - and how dare he go elsewhere!
Actually, the Orioles sort of hate everybody. They hate the Baltimore Ravens because the team always contends. They hate expansion teams - the Rays and Marlins, for example - who have risen during the time they've continually sucked. Most of all, they hate Derek Jeter. Yes, they hate him because they didn't draft him. Nope. They drafted a guy named Hammond on the pick before Jeet. So they're muy pissed.
Of course, they have Buck Showalter, who grinds his teeth whenever a pinstripe comes into view. This weekend, they shoved it to the dirty rotten Yankees - forced us to reschedule another travel day, while other teams played doublheaders - so we now go to Boston beaten and weary, while the Redsocks have momentum, first place and two days of rest and relaxation.
Misery loves company.
Tonight, we have one recourse: Beat the piss out of them. We need 22 runs. Beat them like a dirty rug. Pound them like pizza dough. Beat them, and steal their anger.
We're heading into Boston, and it's time for us to be pissed.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
The Prime Rib in Mid-Town-Belvedere saw its Saturday bookings halved, according to the restaurant's general manager, David Derewicz, but he was happy with the results. "The phones were busy," Derewicz said. "We have customers you can set a clock by. In a few cases, the husband had found out the wife had cancelled and called back in to remake the reservation." One of the guests on Saturday night was veteran Yankees radio announcer John Sterling, who phoned in his reservation on Friday night after learning that he'd be getting a rare Saturday night off. "He called us "the safe, friendly and reliable enclave of the Prime Rib," Derewicz said.
Yes, nine runs per game!
22 + 5 + 0 = 27/3 = 9!
And we're winning 33 percent of those games, too!
Isn't it great to be a wild card?
Saturday, August 27, 2011
CUNEGONDE (at chess table). Hot, isn't it?I'd like to see Tim and Joe top that!
CUNEGONDE. It was cold yesterday, wasn't it?
CUNEGONDE. It will rain tonight, won't it?
GOVERNOR. Wherever, you are, it's raining all the time.
Friday, August 26, 2011
He pitched last night for the traveling Wilkes Barres.
To the Yankiverse:
I do not claim to know what it's like to be Derek Jeter. (I can imagine being Ari Fleischer, but I'll spare you the details.) Nevertheless, I can state the following with utter sincerity and certainty:
While dating Minka Kelly, I could NOT hit .400 for a month.
Nope. I would wither and cry "nay." The sheer volume of activity would likely harm me in ways I prefer not to imagine. The Master says nobody can predict baseball. But we can predict the limits to mortal human endurance. Be honest, Reader: Could you summon the Thor-like vigor of a .400 month... while captaining nightly glory raids upon such an alternatively supine field of frolic?
Reader, if your answer is yes... you are living a lie.
The Internet reports that Jeet and Minka have gone Sonny-Cher, Brad-Jenn, Ben-Lo. Calculating the normal three-week lag for Internet crapola, that puts the cataclysmic breakup sometime around 5:01 a.m. E.S.T. on August 1... when Jeet's bat suddenly began finding good wood.
Yes, around Aug. 1, those weak double play grounders abruptly turned into rock-hard, stallion-rousing rope rockets. That day, el Capitan returneth to his 20s! Yes, shortly after he began drinking from the Ponce de Leon Fountain of Celibacy, his Betty White August became a Tia Tequilla April.
So what does this mean?
THE ROAD TO OUR 28TH WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP RUNS THROUGH THE DRIED-UP TRENCH CALLED ABSTINENCE.
WE AT IT IS HIGH HEREBY CALL UPON ALL YANKEES - THAT INCLUDES COACHES, MINOR LEAGUERS, YES ANNOUNCERS AND BAT BOYS (WHO FRANKLY, ARE TOO YOUNG TO DABBLE ANYWAY) - TO HANG UP THEIR SEXUAL CLEATS AND SWING ONLY ON THE BALLFIELD.
YANKEES, HEAR ME... YOU CAN CLEAN UP OVER THANKSGIVING! YOU'LL HAVE THE ENTIRE WINTER! NO SEX, FROM NOW UNTIL THE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP FLAG FLIES RIGID AS A DIAMOND PLANET O'ER YANKEE STADIUM.
STAND TALL, YANKEES! SAVE IT FOR THE PLAYING FIELD, KEEP YOUR OOMPAHS BETWEEN THE CHALK LINES... AND THIS SHALL BE YOUR GREATEST SEASON! WOOOOOOH, THOSE FILTHY REDSOCKS WON'T KNOW WHAT HIT 'EM! (Wait... could someone introduce Minka to that Adrian Gonzalez guy?)
2. You're on the ark, Teixeira!
3. Robbie Cano... can't cha row?
4. That was the 15th death of this storm, and a 15-minute call to Geiko could save you 15 percent on car insurance.
5. Curtis Granderson hits one! Oh, the Grandy Man swam, ohhh, the Grandy Man swam!
6. Suzyn has just been carried off by a large tsunami. I'm sure we'll hear all the details in her clubhouse report.
7. An A-bomb from A-Rod... Hurricane Alex conquers again!
8. It's the Hebrew Home at Riverdale. I've been there. It's like college campus - with boat access!
9. That wind gust came in at 100 miles per hour. Time Warner Road Runner can give you that kind of speed...
10. Ballgame over. Yankees swim. Thuuuuuuh Yankees swim!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Yes he did finally hit a clutch HR yesterday but increasingly it seems to be All or Nothing At All
All or nothing at all
An opposite stroke RBI never appealed to me
I'll bat into the shift though it never will yield to me
Then I'd rather have nothing at all
All or nothing at all
It's either a HR and there ain't no in-between
Why begin and cry for something that might have been
No I'd rather have nothing at all
Please don't put your hopes so close to my stroke
Don't smile or you'll be lost beyond recall
The tears in your eyes the screams from your throats makes me choke
And my heart may grow dizzy and fall
And if I fell under the spell of your call
I would be caught in the undertow
So you see I've got to say no
All or nothing at all
Ortiz points to his head again. Boston’s designated hitter and, more than that, the conscience of Red Sox Nation, talks with his hands. His fingers reveal his mood. They dance when he’s excited. They stagger at disappointment. They swirl at confusion. When Ortiz wants to emphasize a point, he moves them slowly – sometimes touching another person’s shoulder or leg or, in this case, his own head
Well, instead we've been suddenly magnetized to attract career nights from fading blood clots. Good grief: Two home runs from Coco Crisp? Hide the children! Run for the hills! The Yeti is coming. What paranormal forces in the universe merge to create the conditions in which Coco Crisp hits two home runs in one game?
Same forces that swirl around Yankee Stadium, I guess. Does the name Bobby Abreu strike a note? Two weeks ago, up comes the old Wall Flower - four HR on the season and a batting average south of Francisco Cervelli - and suddenly he's swinging like Jennifer Lopez on a Mark Anthony pinata.
Last week it was Jason Kubel. Nothing on the year. Against us, three for five. Remember Seattle's Mike Carp? We're probably the only team in baseball to remember Mike Carp.
There's some wicked juju going on out there. We may need a dead Hollywood Square or burst of solar flares to jumpstart the Yankee stretch run. Hurricane Irene, are you coming?
I'll never forget the anguish in his voice. "You have no choice, son," he said. "You've simply got to take that military deferment." I felt punched in the gut. "No!" I shouted. "No, damn you! No! That's the fifth time you've done this to me!"