Our five-game winning streak now resembles that unfortunate final slice
of pepperoni pizza that we bagged in plastic Friday night and set on the kitchen table like a hunting trophy. The cheese has congealed, the crust has turned gray, and one dime of
pepperoni now shows a distinct recreation of Phil Hughes’ image.
Which steals my appetite. Dammit, Hughes. I’m still sore from the hack job he
pulled two nights ago. You score eight times, and you ought to win an effing game. But
it’s something about Hughes' locker room analysis – oh, he was merely overthrowing because, goodness gracious, friends and family were in the
stands; next time, he’ll take that into consideration, along with air pressure,
humidity and the magnetic resonance of the upper atmosphere, wearing aluminum foil
under his hat to lessen the impact, so it will never happen again! - leaves me wishing the bum could be sent somewhere
farther from his friends and family – like our rest stop to rest stop travelers on the Thomas Dewey New
York State Thruway.
John loves to say that despite all the trials and tribulations
of this season, it’s amazing that we’re
only two games out of first. Well, we’re also a game ahead of last-place Boston
– and considering what they’ve endured - which includes Bobby Valentine - we should be nervous.
We better hope that a) the Orioles aren’t for real, b)
an asteroid hits Tampa and c) Carl Crawford & Jacoby Ellsbury don’t
come roaring back for Team Schilling.
That five-game streak is dead pizza. So much for the
idea that an International Juju Intervention could actually save a season.
(Still, five in a row after the IJI. Ringadingding, baby.)
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3 comments:
Sadly, this is a mediocre team. We may or may not squeak into the playoffs, at which point the hot pitching staff wins, but there will be no Yankee dominance this year. Just a plodding ball club that could have been a lot better -- without the infernal and relentless too-smart-for-anybody's-good scheming of the Crack Baseball Advisers. Reminds me of the 1980s.
I turned it off in the middle of the seventh. At first I felt guilty about giving up. But then I remembered that the Steinbrothers gave up on this team months ago when they decided that avoiding the luxury tax was more important than winning. They'd rather keep OUR MONEY in their pockets than use it to pay players who could make us better. We pay $$$ for tickets, mediocre food, cable TV, and they keep the money, unlike crazy George who at least tried to use it to win games. I'll bet they're even paying the lovely Meredith Morocketits less than they paid our old buddy Kim Jones.
Don't forget, the Los Angeles Poo Holes (formerly Chones) of Anaheim of Disneyland have owned our sorry asses since the glory days of the late '90s. If we avoid getting swept by them in a 3-game series, it's almost a moral victory.
That said, every time YES has a dugout shot I expect to see Jack Clark in there. Thank you, Hank and Hal and Cash, for gutting our team.
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