Friday, March 20, 2020

Flattening the curve: A Yankee fan glossary of coronavirus terms

It's been eight days since baseball abruptly vanished. You can look it up. Eight. It seems like eight weeks. No... like eight years, like a historical period long ago, back before the surging floods took away our toilet paper. I vaguely remember awaiting daylight savings time, March Madness and the next Bond movie.The burning existential question concerned who in Tampa would win the fifth slot in our rotation. We had favorite bars and restaurants. We shook people's hands. And if they were close friends, we hugged. Remember? Eight days ago. You can look it up. 

Now, I wake up each morning and cruise the Internet for Yankee news. I might as well be searching for Bigfoot. The cupboard is bare. Of course, we lead MLB in the number of players testing positive. But both are minor leaguers, so maybe it doesn't count. Occasionally, you find an injury update. It now looks as though Giancarlo will be ready for opening day. The only question is whether opening day will happen before he hurts himself again. 

Last night, it was reported that Saints football coach Sean Payton has the virus. Twitter showed photos of him at a recent public event, standing in a scrum of people. Surely, he took a selfie with everyone. It's the trappings of celebrities, be they actors or athletes. It's going to wreak havoc with sports. I don't know how the Yankees will avoid infections, unless they live and play inside a giant glass dome.

Every day - (and yeah, I really need to quit this) - I watch cable news, the Presidential buffoonery, the endless intonations to wash my hands. Fuck them. I'm stuck in my house. I'll lick my hands clean, if I want. The Yankees seem long ago and far away. I'm almost starting to forget their faces. On that note, I've compiled a glossary of coronavirus catchphrases, each with a special Yankee meaning. When you hear them, think of the Yankees and try to smile. After all, today is Day 9, and you know what that means. Roger Maris, of course.

The glossary:

Flatten the curve. For the last decade, former pitching coach Larry Rothschild's philosophy for developing young hurlers. It didn't work. 

Shelter in home. Strategy for Giancarlo Stanton, hoping to stay healthy between injuries.

Social distancing. Brett Gardner's lead when looking to steal second. 

Out break. Anybody to came to bat between Kendrys Morales and Kyle Higashioka, the "break" between outs. 

At-risk group. Pitchers called up from Scranton on the day of a double-header.

Invisible enemy. The garbage can lid that somehow bangs on itself when a Yankee pitcher prepares to throw a curve. 

Soon, day 10. And we all know who that is...


Joe Formerlyof Brooklyn said...

I was hospitalized in Fall 2000 with Legionnaire's Disease -- 25 days, of which 12 were in an induced coma.

After I was awakened, the Yankees were in the playoffs (early October). This hospital had small TVs right above the bed, where you could turn them to where you wanted them, etc.

My wife says she knew I was feeling horrible when she turned the Yankees' playoff game on, and I sat up -- this was, of course, AFTER the coma -- to turn the thing off.

Here's hoping that none of us will have to do that at any future time.

Anonymous said...

I've tried to write some lighter hearted things lately but much like after the Space Shuttle disaster or 9-11 nothing seems that funny. So a Covid - 19 parody song or similar just doesn't feel right.

Likewise taking delight in Boston losing Sale for the year and the Astros having Verlander go down (phrasing) just seems, empty.

I'm sure it will pass. I've been mildly symptomatic for around a ten days now. (Self quarantined - I'm not given to psychosomatic illness but I don't want to waste a test that could be used for someone else.)

I don't think this is going to kill me, just my sense of humor. I do worry about the rest of my family though.

I'm mostly using the time to reflect on a life only semi-well lived and trying to figure out what to do next.

Three weeks ago I had an apartment in Spain and could see the Mediterranean from my terrace. Now I'm back in Sacramento living with my ex wife. (Who is nice enough to let me do that.)

In some ways I feel like the Canals of Venice. The pause in pollution is clearing the waters and the fish are returning. Do I really want to start dumping toxins back in?

Plus we keep eating all of the chocolate we put aside for the Apocalypse and there are no eggs to be found anywhere. Strange times.

Sorry. Make of that what you will.

Boston Sucks.

Doug K.

HoraceClarke66 said...

Hang in there, Doug K. And please let us know if there is anything we can do for you.

Platoni said...

So, apparently, Judge was suffering from a collapsed lung behind that broken rib. But there's nothing to worry about, say the Yankees (and Judge, Himself). Which, of course, means we should all be extremely worried about.

I, for one, commend the Yankees for helping the world return to normalcy. Many experts say that a good way to stay sane during this crisis is to stick with as much of your usual routine as possible.

Also, Doug, please be well soon, man. Your fellow commenters need you healthy and in good spirits.

TheWinWarblist said...

Doug K., this is the apocalypse. Eat all the chocolate. I'm drinking all my best and oldest wines.

How the fuck did Judge collapse a lung!?!?

smurfy said...

That was just his extra lung. Comes with the extra-large construction kit. Nothin' to worry about.

smurfy said...

Hey, Doug, when you feel better, come on down to Pismo Beach: we get good reception on Yankees games; nobody will have a job, till they divvy the last chits. Good place for living beyond the ex.

Anonymous said...

Thanks everyone. Seriously. Much appreciated. I'm going to be fine. It's just so weird.


I miss Alex Ribs. I used to take the 101 miles out of my way just to eat there.

Doug K.

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