Friday, August 7, 2015

After an incredible night - CC, Trump and Stewart - here come the "Juggernaut Jays"

Wow. Last night was like that episode of Lucy, where she's desperately wrapping chocolates on the assembly line. Everything just kept coming.

At first, it was the Yankees-Redsocks game, top of the fifth, bases loaded and the aging Big Papi facing the aging Big CC. Two blimps, crashing in the sky. Then came the GOP demolition derby - with Trump growling at Meghan Kelley (Syracuse native, BTW; she obviously learned how to flirt with a camera from Jim Boeheim.) Then came John Stewart's final at bat... Lib Fans Bid Kid Adieu - with no less than Springsteen himself. Damn. The highway jammed with broken heroes.

This is what America was supposed to be, when George Jefferson wrote the Constitution, or the Bible, or the first TV Guide: Nonstop, must-see gut-wrenching events, with the future of the free world thrown in on the side. It's a wonder one of the far-flung networks didn't rerun the John Sterling Kitten Superbowl, (or was it the Puppy Bowl?) to do mop up, like Nick Rumbalow in a 15-run rout. You had to watch. Not a good night for bowling leagues.

Everything started with CC's strikeout of Ortiz in the former Daily News Fifth, when somebody named "Larry" from the NY Post joined The Master and Suzyn. I gotta give Larry credit. He called the moment. He said you didn't want to overstate the importance of one pitch, one out, one game, blahblah - but with the bases loaded, a one-one tie, and the hate-filled, NY-stomping, anti-Yankee kaiju at bat, the future of CC Sabathia, if not the Yankees, seemed to hinge on one throw. All year, in similar situations, Sabathia had stumbled. A grand slam, and we would be sunk. But not last night. Papi swung through. Is a dream a lie if it don't come true, or is it something worse?

Then came the Republican flea circus. Every time Trump came to bat, it was like watching Ortiz facing Sabathia. You felt as though the season was on the line. He fouled a few off, dodged some bean balls, got booed, roused cheers, kept his hair on - has his own Big Papi scowl - and so it's on to the next series, against Iran, or Mexico, or Rosie O'Donnell. Say what you will: The guy takes his swings. Would be a horror show as President, but fun to watch. More than anybody on the planet, Trump reminds me of George Steinbrenner. But let's face it, the real Boss knew the score: Poor man wanna be rich, rich man wanna be king...

Then came the finale - Jon Stewart. Yeesh. Every week, somebody says farewell, as if we're in the middle of some huge, cultural sea change: Letterman, Leno, Colbert (who replaces Letterman), the Grateful Dead, Mariano, Jeter, that NBC anchor (Elmira guy) who claimed to be riding on the helicopters - we're devouring generational icons the way Lucy did chocolates. Hold on to your Kleenex, folks. CC and Papi will soon be gone. Can Aaron Judge and Luis Severino replace them? Will we be alive to see their farewell someday? Big wheels keep on turning. We snickered when Johnny Carson said goodbye. It would never happen to us. Then Mickey Mantle and Jerry Garcia checked out barely a week apart. Now we know: It's a death trap, it's a suicide wrap... 

Tonight, wow... the Juggernaut Jays. I speak for the Yankiverse in saying I never again expected in my lifetime to treat a series against Toronto like anything more than a cup of cold piss. But here they are, winners of 8 out of 9. Kansas City couldn't stop them. They're here, they're fortified, and they're turning up the assembly line, full speed. Well, you want something done, you gotta do it yourself. It's time to go Lucy on some chocolates. In other words,  show a little faith...

1 comment:

John M said...

I expect players to be idiots sometimes. It goes with the territory.

But how does a manager allow Drew to swing away? How does a manager pinch hit for the hottest hitter on the team the night before with the game on the line? How does a manager use Bettances and Miller for just one inning apiece when you're playing the rejuvenated, on-fire team that's breathing down your neck from second place? Why is tomorrow's game more important than the game at hand, as we've seen time after time, season after season?

Where the hell did we get this guy? I thought the plodding Salieri, Torre, drove me crazy. I had no idea what being driven crazy could really be.