As Dem Prez hopeful Marianne Williamson would put it, where the Yankees sit today - atop the American League - means everything... and fucking nothing.
Come October, we shall either experience the pure joy of a World Series victory, or suffer the indignity of a lost season, a lost decade, a lost generation, when the franchise's leaders exchanged a pursuit of greatness for the hallucinatory deceptions of gold.
We may be reaching the zenith of 2019, as our team cuts through opponents like chainsaws on balsa, but every home run, every victory, every solidification of our lead in the AL East... will merely become a painful memory, if - come November - this team fails to hang a new championship flag on the stadium.
As it stands right now, the Rays and Indians would burn their pitchers in the Wild Card, and we would drink the nectar-sweet blood of the victor. Houston and Minnesota would face off, and we would enjoy the home field advantage through the ALCS. Oh, and did I mention that the good people of Boston would be watching football?
Then would come the Dodgers, who have the best record in baseball, and who have failed in six straight post-seasons. You can laugh at their October mediocrity, but no good team continues to lose forever, and their time might be due.
Right now, we sit atop the mountain. Enjoy it, while we can. But if we're not still there in November, none of this will matter.
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10 comments:
Domingo gives me hope, but I'll reserve any real hope for a few months.
JULY, AUGUST and SEPTEMBER are upon us, although not at the same time. This is where the pedal hits the metal, where we separate the men from the boys, where the River Jordan flows sweetly, where the sun don't shine. You name it, that's where we are. This is crunch time, and it'll grind on for 90 days. We have positioned ourselves well, but I cannot see into the future without the face the another pitcher bobbing up out of the punch bowl. I don't see us going the distance with what we have. But Domingo gives me hope. A smidgen, at least.
AND NOW, FOR THE FINAL ANNOUNCEMENT. If you want to hook up with your fellow blog members, coalesce into one sweating, drooling bloc of humanity in the upper reaches of Hal's Palace of Doom and Austerity on August 12th for a 1:05 game against the league-leading Baltimore Orioles, sign up on the top link of this blog by tonight. After that, we shut it down so that we can begin combing the known universe for good ticket deals. My bar is low - I'll sit almost anywhere big enough to plant my butt, so I'm counting on LBJ's steady hand to guide us along in this process. And CW, expect an email soon!
I love you all.
Captain Bit
Can Encarnacion pitch? He can do the bird thing on the mound.
Which reminds me, that guy Kimbral is hateful. Where the fuck did he learn that? Clown school?
You mean Kimbrel? What did he do now?
Meanwhile, when it comes to picking up that new pitcher...
Stroman was a scratch yesterday because of a "left pectoral cramp"—the same reason he had to leave his previous start. The Blue Jays actually managed to blow a 6-1 lead in the 6th inning, at home. Nice.
I noticed that Xander Bogaerts managed to play, as he has ever since his "injury" in London. Sounds like Boston has hired itself a trainer. One who doesn't use the leeches and cupping, that is.
And rounding out the wrap-up from yesterday...didn't it used to be that every team got to play on the Fourth of July? Don't they let the Mets play on big holidays anymore?
Oh...Mets.
Kimbrel has that assinine thing when he looks in for the sign, where he holds his arms out like a putrid, bearded bird. God, that always drove me nuts. Glad the Socks don't have him anymore so I don't have to see that.
Why did it drive me so nuts? I don't know, but all that kind of crap drives me kind of nuts. Blame my upbringing. Ballplayer affectations like that just annoy the hell out of me. I can barely stand the obligatory pointing at the sky thing as a guy comes around the score after hitting a home run. When it's about a deceased parent as a dedication, fine. When it's about an all-powerful deity who "allowed" or "helped" him hit the HR, I mean, come on. Jesus is busy doing some stuff that matters, hombre. Your at-bat not being one of them.
Right on, JM! That pointing at the sky thing annoys the crap out of me, too. Every time someone does that I picture a classical God, ala the Sistine Chapel painting, throwing the finger back at said pampered millionaire ball player and saying “I’ve got more important things to do than help you hit another homer, asshole!”
I know. Call me old school, but I used to love how Jim Brown just deposited the ball in the end zone, usually after running over about 3-4 people.
That, to me, made a bigger statement than anything. It seemed to say, "Yeah, I been here before, motherfucker, and I'll be back."
Or Mantle, head down, running hard around the bases. "All in a day's work, ma'am."
Captain Bit,
You are a hero (you too LBJ) for organizing this for all us huckleberries. Must be like herding cats.
My offer is still good to pay for stat baby (I'll even buy his first five drinks if he can grow a pair and show up).
That being said, please provide a means to reimburse you for the pain and suffering involved in purchasing the tickets from a multi-billionaire (that's with a "B"). Be forewarned, I don't do bitcoin. I do have those quaint old things like actual checks and postage stamps. I have been known to even mail cash, but this would be the first time for this type of transaction.
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