Well, folks, we got our 2 runs. And what, 4 hits? ( I'm actually just guessing). I know McMann went deep. Another road trip starts out in the garbage. Oakland is awful.
It doesn't matter.
Without Slade Heathcott in the line-up ( or anyone with youth, energy, hustle and potential ), watching the Yankees is like watching nine old guys shaving in a dingy shower room of a faded hotel in NYC.
Towels around their waists, steamed up mirrors, cheap shaving cream smeared on their cheeks.
Swipe the razor, dip it in water, wipe the steam off the mirror with your hand, and take another swipe. Eyes looking into an empty, defeated, lifeless face. Dip the blade in the water and swipe again. Towel off.
I know. The Yankees are rich. Check their contracts or their bank accounts.
But they look like down and out, old men to me. They look like guys heading for the next bus out of the Port Authority terminal. Pretty much headed anywhere. No where.
Passers by see them only as anonymous shapes shuffling past. No one knows or cares where they are headed, or why.
Sad and boring. Enervating.
Very perceptive and evocative.
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