Obviously, I am typing while standing. But last night - two outs, nobody on - then kaboom... it's beyond performance art. It's beyond the lady who read a book pulled from her vagina, or the guy who crucified himself on a VW Beetle. It strains the limits of human creativity... and infliction of pain. This shall be the legacy of the 2017 Yankees: On the 90th anniversary of their greatest team in baseball, they tortured their fans like no team in history.
But here's the rub, juju gods. We now know your dirty little plans. This hasn't ended yet. The worst is still out there, like the sequel to Bad Moms. We can see what's happening. You're setting us up for an ending so merciless, so stunningly efficient, that we beg for forehead crushing moments like last night, when we take a quick, clean bullet and go to bed. No, what you're planning will make the fake Bud Selig post-season - with that dinky, ridiculous wild card, a veritable Battle of the Network Stars showdown between Gabe Kaplan and Robert Conrad - look like the Olympics. And it won't be El Chapo who crushes us. We expect him to blow games. Nor will it be Dellin Bet Against Us. We'll never again feel confidence with him. No, it'll be someone new, something we never thought possible. It will be Knick-like, a paradigm of New York City pain. Paul Simon will throw himself off the 57th Street Bridge. Meat Loaf will crash his dashboard light. A new religion will spring forth. The Yankeeapocalypse is almost here.
Last night, we did the impossible: We made Baltimore look like a team of destiny. We breathed life back into their cadaverous carcass. Next up, the Texas Rangers, then the Rays. They say it takes strong magic to raise armies from the dead. Somehow, I think we can do it. This team is special.
Posts
7 comments:
Last night, or rather early this morning was awful. Betances was obviously bad, throwing all over the place. He was just as bad and all over the place as CC. CC should have been lifted early as it would have prevented many of those free runs he gave up.
Betances in fact should have been pulled after the first batter as the game was just that important and winnable, but nope. They let him toss balls all over the place, walked a guy that should have been a pretty easy out and then pitch to a guy that we are praying will be playing for our team in a couple years but we absolutely shouldn't sign because it'll take an historically bad out doing the A-rod type contact to get him.
Really heartbreaking. Although unrealistic, the Yankees cannot loose any games because someone will almost certainly will come snatch the wild card from them. All it takes is just one of those half dozen teams to get hot like the Indians is now to run away with this. Luckily nearly everyone is almost .500 bad this year. The trouble is that the Yanks are very likely to go .200 in 10 games sometime this month and that would easily take them out of the wild card and unable to ever catch up. They need to play at least .700 ball from now on to keep the pack at bay.
Girardi, as usual, didn't pull CC when he should've. For me, the logical spot was after the fifth. I was actually a little surprised to see the big man come out for the sixth.
Betances is officially way too old to be such a dope. He threw sliders--sliders--over and over and over, not his best pitch. And nobody stopped him. Nobody went out to the mound and said, "Throw the fastball, you fucking idiot!"
Girardi and Rothschild.
And of course, you can't let a reliever go more than one inning unless it's Green or Warren, or maybe not even Warren.
The more time passes since last night, the angrier at get at the profound stupidity in the dugout. It's just astounding.
Given the Yankees run differential and hitting and pitching performances this season, our friends in the advanced statistics department say they should already be in first place, well ahead of the Red Sox, who have been weak to mediocre offensively. But no! We have a rigid manager who prefers to lock people into roles so they feel safe and secure and know when they are coming into the game and don't have to worry about competitive pressures from within the team.
Because I am dubious about the Yankees' ability to get past Houston or Cleveland -- if they even get that far -- I am hoping that an epic failure to get into the playoffs -- not unlike last night -- convinces management to get rid of Girardi. That is probably the best we can hope for. Cashman is the cockroach who will survive the nuclear winter.
Last night I returned from dinner out.
Indian food if you have to know ( I would ).
Our lead had diminished from 6-1 to 6-5. I sent a text to Mustang and Duque that said ( in effect):
" You can't possibly still entertain the idea that we can win this game. We never win one run games. We scored all of our runs in one inning and never again mounted a threat. We also do not win games in which we fail to hit a home run ( all our six game on hit batters and an Ellsbury single )."
This is how it played out. They get a walk-off win, and we lose perhaps the most important game of the year in a fashion demoralizing beyond biblical proportion.
In addition, we have now learned that our bullpen is unreliable ( maybe Chad Greene excepted ).
This team is reminding me of the USMNT ( national soccer team). Frankly, we don't belong in the World Cup in 2018. This Yankee team, similarly, does not deserve to be in the one game, wild-card play-in.
So what are we moaning about? Leave the pineapples on the store shelves. Make marguerites of them.
We suck. That's the truth.
I am running my shaking fingers over the edges of curled and yellowed Strat-o-Matic Yankee cards from the 1998 season, talismans of a wasted life. Life had meaning then. Now it is a void leading to an abyss. I've thought of calling suicide hotlines, but even I cannot bear to face the thought of a grown man confessing to terminal despondency over an aggregation of steroidal mercenaries who care no more about me than my mother did. But I do need help. I need it, but I don't deserve it, because I am an asshole, and I therefore embrace this sickness unto death over a baseball team, spasmodically, comically clutching for rays of hope and meaning while typing manically to no one. The bleakest form of despair is the knowledge that one is damned and that there could be no other outcome--that my despair is a form of justice.
I have survived this weird season by keeping my expectations very low.
I really want the world to know about this great man who brought back happiness into my life again after my husband left me and the kids 3 years ago for another women online when i contacted Dr Believe he cast a love spell for me within 48 hours my ex husband start calling me and begging for forgiveness for everything that have happened between us. I was so happy to have my family back together with love again here is the email of Dr Believe via believelovespelltemple@gmail.com a man with the great powers you can also call him or add him on Whats-app: +2348156148821
God bless you
I am very grateful for your help in my marriage.
Post a Comment