Back To The 2 Stroke Dance of Failure

Seriously, how many games are we going to win from this point forward, 2-1 or 2-0?  We could be playing the University of South Florida and lose a lot of games to them when we only scratch out 2 runs.

If it wasn't for Bird's one game heroics, we lose the last game against the Twins 3-0 instead of chalking up a 4-3 win.  Note to reader;  he gave us our 2 run shot for the game.  Only he did it twice, which was a miracle.  That won't happen again.

You can see a pattern early with this team, where you just know know they aren't going to score more than 2 runs.

Here is how it goes;  Jacoby gets on and Brett takes a perfect pitch fastball for strike one.  Then he fouls off a tough pitch, and prepares himself to strike out.  Jacoby stays at first.  A-Rod is, at least, a bit unpredictable.  But when the Yankees are in their 2 run mode, he either strikes out or hits into a DP.   If Jacoby tries to steal, the batter fouls off the pitch. No matter what the specifics, Jacoby starts and ends at first base. In the tightest of games ( including a 0-0 start ) the Yankees don't do anything to get that initial runner into scoring position.

All through the line-up you see it.  Drew will not bunt a runner over in a tight game, he won't even try. He usually has 75% of the left side of the infield undefended, but he is going to swing for the seats and hit into a double play.  Similarly, McCann or Beltran will hit a screamer, but right to their second baseman, playing in mid right field, for a routine out.

A once hot Didi is now 3-17 and not hitting in the clutch.  Last night's game was within a base hit of a win.  But, no, we can't push across more than 2 runs.  The new kid drew a walk.  Fine and
 dandy ( better than striking out ), but that is not what we need from him.  We need RBIs.

We have more 1,2,3 innings than any team in baseball, when on offense.  Sometimes, our pitcher, who just threw 22 to scrape out of the top half of the inning, can't even get his warm-up jacket on before he is back on the mound.  It as though our players have no sense of baseball, or how the game must be played.  Lot's of swinging at first pitches for quick outs.

It reaches a point where if our starter gives up one run, we barely have a shot.  If he gives up 2, the best we can hope for is a tie, which we will lose in extra innings.

If you see this syndrome early, do something else.  Why stay for the inevitable disappointment, frustration and torture?

It's scary when Mushnick is right

He was right about the bastards tearing down old Yankee Stadium. And he's right about them rescheduling games. "Apex of greed?" Hm-mm. It's just scary, when he's right.

Inconsistency, thy name is Nova

Joe Girardi, last night, in 9th, protesting balls and strikes.

Today's talking points of the Yankiverse go like this: Everyone should expect Ivan Nova to be inconsistent, because that's what happens to all pitchers on their way back from the John... the Tommy John, that is. 

But Nova, as a Yankee, has been a pillar of consistency: That is, he is consistently inconsistent. One day, he carves the plate. Next day, he cuts the cheese. And it always seems to balance on the fulcrum point of one single pitch - one pinprick in time - that determines Nova's auto-erratica.

Last night, it's the 4th: Two outs, nobody on. We're down 2-0, but at least Nova seems to be cruising. ning out. So what does he do? He walks Abe Almonte - the seventh hitter, a former Yankee farm hand, who is batting .250, without power - he walks him on five pitches, not even close. Then Nova serves up a single to center to great Giovanni Urshela - batting eighth and hitting a crisp .230. And then, of course, he gives up a single to Jose Ramirez, number nine, who is six batting average points above Stephen Drew (.194 for Curse of Drew watchers everywhere.) All with two outs. For some pitchers, you would say this was a glitch in the Matrix. Not with Nova. It was the way of Ivan Nova. It was Classic Ivan Nova. It should be the Wikipedia entry for Ivan Nova. By the end of the fourth, it was 3-0, Cleveland, and we were in a hole too deep to escape.

So what do we do? Here's an idea: Next time Nova walks a leadoff man, or a .220 bottom feeder, Girardi should climb out of the dugout and go into his Al Pacino "In Justice For All" act, screaming like last night in the nineth. Joe should disrupt the game for 30 minutes, tearing bases from their morings and digging up home plate, if possible. Security guards - if not NYPD or DHS - should be called to drag him off the field. It should be a Girardi rain delay. Maybe then, after a half-hour of watching and throwing warm ups, Nova can bear down and get the critical out.

Of course, our other option is Chris Capuano, who is akin to the mercy rule in girls softball. Capuano threw two innings last night and didn't give up a run. That's his seasonal highlight.

This Cleveland series was supposed to be a breather. The Indians staggered into town after getting pummeled from all known races - including the Bud Selig Memorial Away Field One Day Wild Card. Suddenly, we take the night off and lose for nine straight innings? Or is that we're still rolling the dice with Ivan Nova? And this time, we lost. Because I'll be damned if I want to see the guy in the post-season.

Tex Pipp? At last, through Greg Bird, Yankee fans understand Hope Week

I didn't expect to see Greg Bird in pinstripes this year. Hell, I'm not sure I expected to ever see him... Period! (Wait: That's NOT a reference to menstrual cycle. Only a deviant would think of such a thing.)

It's been so long since a true position prospect crawled up from the Scrantonmordial ooze - last season, IL batting champ Jose Pirela rotted on the vine, and this year, Rob Refsnyder is turning up on milk cartons - that I figured Bird should buy a bungalo in the Poconos - (has a snappy ring to it, no?) - for the equity. Beyond that, despite what Cashman blathered about keeping the kids, I think everybody expected him to load up a package for James Shields or Moonlight Graham - anybody over 30 - and he still might. (There are people today who will say Bird is at peak foliage for a trade value, so now is the time. I feel sorry for those people. They can never celebrate Hope Week.)

But let's not forget the man who begot Greg Bird Day at Yankee Stadium: Dustin Ackley.

Two weeks ago, shortly after shaving his jihadist beard and joining the Yankees, Ackley tweaked a thingy, setting off a chain reaction that caused Garrett Jones to be released twice - (He and "Cuttible Chris" Capuano are still vying for this year's "Most DFA'ed Yankee" award.) and so the Yankees needed somebody, anybody, to play 1B and give Mark Teixeira a rest. And the rest, as they say, is...  history?

Let's put this into Yankee insider perspective: This isn't a Wally Pipp. It could be a Kevin Maas or even a Mason Williams. We hope Bird is The New Mattingly, with Luis Severino, The Yankee Pedro, and Aaron Judge, as Winfield II. As for Jorge Mateo, the SS in Tampa? He's the New Maury Wills And Refsnyder - well - either the Next Robbie... or the New Pirela.

Either way, Greg Bird arrived yesteday. What a glorious day to be a Yankee fan.

What we think about, when we think about Dustin Ackley

One of these days, Dustin Ackley - the 1B-OF who came over in Cashman's trade deadline deal-making ibogaine-delirium, and who was supposed to replace Garrett Jones, "the glove of stones," but who suddenly reported back problems, which the honest-as-the-day-is-long Seattle Mariners brain trust knew ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about, when they dealt his ass like a basket of peach pits - is almost healed. He will soon play rehab games.

That's great news for everyone who is obsessed with following the 40th slot on the Yankee depth chart. Because that's where the healthy Ackley might fit in.

Every time I see Greg Bird - who has now played a key role in two Yankee victories - I ponder the fact that if Dustin Ackley were healthy, Bird would still be walking the mean streets of Scranton. Instead for a young and exciting player in his first MLB opportunity, we'd be watching another veteran hitter who couldn't adjust to MLB pitchers after they adjusted to him. 

Actually, that's not fair to Ackley. But he was hitting about .220. So don't get me wrong. I hope the guy figures it out and, thus, saves his career. If Chris Young can do it, anybody can. And I'm not even ripping Cashman for the deal: Ramon Flores, the promising young OF we traded to Seattle, just wrecked his ankle and will be out for months. Fate works in mysterious ways.

Ackley's injury opened the door for Bird. Maybe the key is not hoarding old guys in their final incarnation. Maybe it's having a wave of young players, hungry for a chance.

Girardi On Trial

(Sorry for getting this up so late...I had it scheduled for this morning, but it didn't go up.)

I know you have to support your guys. I know CC has pitched a couple humdingers recently (God bless him and Great Aunt Sadie; the good days are very much appreciated). I know he started off great last night before he was left in too long, ran out of gas, and almost lost the game -- not his fault, since I also know he's going to keep telling Girardi that he's good to go for another inning and will probably believe it, too. But Girardi...I mean, is he out to embarass CC the way he did Jorge by making sure he's in situations where he'll most likely look bad? Or what?

The Twins chased Sabathia with three runs in the top of the seventh. Sabathia pitched 6⅔ innings, allowing four runs and five hits, striking out five and walking three. 

"I thought he threw a good game," Yankees manager Joe Girardi said. "It seemed like the sixth and seventh, the innings started to get a little harder for him as his pitch count started to mount, but I thought he pitched a really good game."

If it clear to the manager that it was getting harder for the pitcher in the sixth, why did he get sent out for the seventh? If it was clear that in the seventh, as the opposing team started scoring runs, why was he left in as long as he was? If you had to leave him in risk losing the game because your bullpen was wiped out from the night before, why not say so? (And if that was the case, why leave CC in for those extra two outs and give up those runs? Did those two outs do anything to help the bullpen situation? Answer the question, please...)

CC did pitch a really terrific game -- for five, let's say six innings. One or two runs in 6+, great outing. Three, quality start. Four or more...not so hot. But Girardi has to cover his inexplicable tendency to leave CC in for too long too often, so he basically has to say that, in toto (that's the Latin, not the band), CC pitched "a really good game." It was about 6/7ths true.

If the court would allow the reporter to read back what was said by A-Rod...

"If you look at the first four innings, I thought it was vintage, old CC," Rodriguez added.

Isn't it true that four great innings is exactly what you need in a long relief guy?

(Objection....relevance!)

I withdraw the question. Five or six really good innings is what you need in a starter, minimum, and CC did provide that for the third (or fourth?) time in a row. We congratulate him on his achievements. (A string that started directly after somebody wrote a post about how he should be removed from the rotation...ix-nay on the everse-ray uju-jay attter-chay.)

But, tell me -- and tell the court -- how many times has Girardi left CC in too long this year and we lost the game? How many times has Girardi left CC in too long this year and we ALMOST lost the game? How many times has he saved Miller and/or Betances for the next day and lost the game? How many times has he played Drew when the offense is sputtering or let him bat in a key situation -- which, in either case, has helped lose the game?

In a pennant race, these games all start to add up. Instead of a nice, cushy lead, we're fighting for our lives. The question is, if you or Duque or Mustang or Alphonso were making some of those decisions instead of Girardi, would we really have to be fighting so hard? Would we?

No further questions, your honor.

As Boston signs Dave Dombrowski, the lover of threesomes, let us give thanks again for Didi Gregorius

In December of 2009, Dave Dombrowski - as of today, the new Boston pooh bah - pulled off a highway robbery.

As head of the Tigers, he orchestrated a three-way deal that sent future journeyman Edwin Jackson to Arizona and future HR-K machine Curtis Granderson to the Yankees. In return, Arizona got Ian Kennedy, the best - (and at the time, least hyped) - of our young pitching trio (Hughes and Joba, remember?), and Detroit received Phil Coke, Austin Jackson, Max Scherzer, Daniel Schlereth. Basically, they received the bones of five future powerhouse teams, including one that would come within a bloop single of a World Championship. You can argue that the Grandyman had some fine seasons in Gotham, but whenever he trudged back to the dugout, bat on shoulder, shaking his head, all I saw was Jackson, Coke and Kennedy, and the team we could have been, if only the Yankees had believed in their own players and hung up the goddamm phone when Dave Dombrowski called.

Well, before this turns into a GOP Presidential debate on the deportation of Brian Cashman, let's note that, last December, the universe played catch-up. We sent future minor-leaguer Shane Greene to Detroit, who dispatched Domingo Leyba (huh?) and Robbie Ray (huh? again) to Arizona, bringing to NY a lad named Didi Gregorius. Between April 1 and April 15, Greene was baseball's best pitcher. Then he werewolfed into Pumpsie Green, or Seth Green, or Shecky. (Your choice.) And Gregorius, who was nearly hooted out of NYC in April, has found a new life.

Last night, as CC was twirling his four inning no-hit masterpiece, Gregorius made two astonishing plays that easily could have opened the famed Sabathian flood gates if - I shudder to even think this - if we had tried to coax one more year out of Derek Jeter's body. In fact, Gregorius has so out-preformed Jeter in the field - (and that's not a knock on Jeter, his range simply withered) - that today, we take it for granted that our SS snags balls we haven't seen touched since 2010. If you're looking for one single reason why the Yankees have surged, it's easy to notice A-Rod batting third and Tex crushing it at 1B... but Gregorus' defense and timely hitting have been a drone CARE package from heaven. These days, nobody even thinks about Jeter unless the Yankees are retiring a number. Who anticipated that?

Not Dave Dombrowski (who, by the way, picked Boston's pocket a few years ago for Detroit's SS Jose Iglesias.) Yesterday, he signed as the new Redsock president, and let's face it: He's certainly an improvement over Larry Lucchino, whose most memorable moment was in name-calling, labeling us "the Evil Empire." Boston picked up a solid baseball executive. It's not like they signed another Yoan Moncada, but it should push our worry needle just a tad.

If you ever look at the St. Louis Cardinals' or San Francisco Giants mast-heads, what you see at the top are are ex-baseball players. You don't see the resource-draining lard of an owner's family and entourage, as you find with the Yankees. Until recently, that soul-crushing debris included Felix Lopez - ex-husband of Jessica Steinbrenner - literally, the guy who married the Boss's daughter. (And I can't help but wonder if he was the tip of the iceberg. One thing I've learned in life: Turkeys come in flocks.) 

The Cards and Giants - baseball's most successful teams - build despite drafting high and not spending the moon on free agents. Both have front offices full of baseball experience. On the Yankee mast-head, Cashman's name is listed eighth - after Hal, Hank, Jessica, Joan, Randy Levine, Lonn Trost and Anthony Bruno.

I was hoping the Yankees might sign Dombrowski. John Henry got to him first. Of course, you never know: Too many cooks can thicken the broth, because one usually gets pushed in. But today, let's thank Boston's chief executive for our renewed hope. He helped us get Didi.

Another Hope Week Casualty: Blingee

Blingee is ending. The beloved photo-ruining service was known for giving the world, among other treasures, the only known photo of Alphonso's soul.

A few more memories after the jump.

UPDATE: Blingee lives! Whew! Thanks for the heads up, Anonymous!

Read more >>

I Thought The Post Won Today's Front Page Competition...

...Until I saw the Daily News:

Dept of Meaningless Perspectives: If it were one league, the Yankees would be in trouble

Sixth best record in baseball. Don't get me wrong. Not complaining. Just didn't realize we were running behind the Pirates, Cubs and Dodgers.

The Curse of Hope Week?

Strange things happened yesterday. Unworldly things. Scary things.

Of course, you all know by now that Bryan Mitchell has a liner shiner and a lifetime membership on the MLB Cringe Injury highlight reel. Not only that, but one of Mark Teixeira's dogs is barking, after The Indispensible One fouled off a pitch. There was the viral video of CC the other night wanting to fight a Toronto intellectual. And John Sterling couldn't figure out Justin Wilson's name. He called him "Josh." Unworldly things. Scary things. 

Hope Week.

Listen: It's great that the Yankees set aside a week of the regular season to aid worthy causes. There is always good to be done by a $4 billion entity. But their hearts had better be in the right place. If this is a public relations ploy to strengthen someone's hand in soccer stadium negotiations, or a new access ramp, or a get-out-of-jail-free card from a DWI, they better watch out. The juju gods don't go for that crap. You're either all in, or something out there with a sense of justice - maybe your own guilty conscience - is always going to bite you. You can fake out the YES cameras and the YES men, and the courtiers who say yes-yes-YES! - but you can't fool the juju gods. They read email. They dive in dumpsters. They know.

Nevertheless, today, there is hope.

Why? We won last night. Imagine how ugly we would feel today if, after all the pain and suffering from last night, we had lost. To the Twins. We didn't. 

Mitchell sustained a "small nasal fracture," which is what your grandfather called a "broken nose." Hurts like hell. Bleeds like a stuck pig. Wrecks your modeling career. Cured by aspirin and a week of watching daytime TV.

Tex's injury no longer means we must Garrett Jones, who manned first base like Hillary Clinton. We now have Greg Bird, for whom the YES men have already invoked the M-word - Mattingly. Bird triggered last night's win with a double. Want to really cringe? Imagine that two weeks ago, we traded him for a rusty gas tank. Wither goest Dustin Ackley?

CC should get over the TMZ video. In fact, maybe it'll piss him off.

As for The Master... if he calls you "Josh," dammit, your name is Josh.

Hope Week: One day in the books. Stay strapped in.

Hey Alphonso, put on your nookie-catcher aftershave: Jessica Steinbrenner is on the market

There's a new opening atop the Yankee food chain for a hustling, good-looking career survivalist.

Jessica Steinbrenner and Felix Lopez - whose marriage the NY Post cuttingly says had "elevated him from the dirt to Bomber royalty" - are calling it quits.

A few bloggers and NY insiders had taken to calling Lopez "Felix the Gardener," which sounds suspiciously like a crass reference to his ethnicity. (Certainly, that can't happen in NYC, right?) More interesting is the bizarre notion advanced this winter that Lopez was the reason why Cuban star Yoan Moncada signed with Boston. It's never been explained how Lopez could have ruined our chances - was it the whoopie cushion he used under Moncada's mom? - but the guy certainly made enemies in and around the Yankee brain trust. Long ago, they slapped a sign on his back that said "Gold-digger." And now, he's done and gotten himself gone from the masthead.

Donno what happened. Don't care. But my spider sense tingles whenever an organization conveniently loads up all its mistakes - (and not shelling out for Moncada was a big one) - and hangs them on the poor slob who happens to be walking out the door. The vagaries of love and marriage - who's right, who's wrong - those are damn hard calls to make from the upper deck. Still, it's got to really suck if you're a Yankee executive, and you work with the knowledge that some guy can marry into the Steinbrenner family and suddenly start telling you how to do your job. And if that's the case, Felix Lopez wasn't the problem.

It's Hope Week in the Yankiverse, which includes Frank Sinatra Music Download Night (tonight), Yankee Coloring Book Day (Wednesday), and Yankee Water Bottle Night (presented by Budweiser, Friday)

Hideki Irabu killed himself during Hope Week.

I'm not sure what that means. Here's my best take: In the end, hope is like a garage sale. One man's antique chandelier piece is another's old Pepsi bottle. Sometimes, the notion that we're all expected to rally around hope is what instills in us the most intense dread of all. That's life, that's what the people say. Every year now, the Yankees bundle up a bunch of heartwarming stories and hold a week-long pageant of happiness and compassion - and I guess there's nothing wrong with trying to do good, eh?

But in an age when corporations have the cash and legal right to buy elections, acts of corporate kindness always involve a camera crew and Kleenex. Hope Week's pre-game shows are like the last story each night on the network news, the tear-jerker about some plucky old vet who sticks flags on graves - (God bless him!) - but as most of the guys in those graves learned, when people shout something a thousand times, it's often because they don't believe it themselves. Hate to be hopeless in Hope Week. But I root for the Yankee team and the generally lovable confusion of humanity that wears the pinstripes - I have since age 4 and will until the day I'm in the ground. But I shall never trust the Yankee corporation, because as Frank Miller has Mickey Rourke say in "Sin City," I was born at night, but I was not born last night. 

Tonight, to open Hope Week, the first 18,000 Yankee guests will receive a card entitling them to free Frank Sinatra music downloads, courtesy of Universal Music. Wednesday, the first 18,000 kids will get a Yankee Coloring Book, courtesy of Party City. Friday is Budweiser's Yankee Water Bottle Night. Did the corporations pay extra to be a part of Hope Week? I doubt it's a coincidence.

The week ends with push-button-emotion afternoons to honor Jorge Posada and Andy Pettitte. Their numbers - (20 and 46, but you knew that, right?) - will be retired. Certainly, both were great Yankees, though neither will make the Hall. But if Posada and Pettitte are the new bar for retiring numbers, the Yankees will be mathematically eliminated from the game by 2030.

I have limited hopes for Hope Week. The Yankees won't cure world hunger or obesity. But the week launches a soft 16-game stretch - three against the Twins (who are fading), then four with Cleveland, who we need to put down like a snarly doberman. Then it's Houston for three - not as tough as we thought they were - then Atlanta and Boston. We must go at least 10-6, and even then, we might fall into second place. In early September, we revisit the AL East - including the seven against the Bleu Cheese. By then Hope Week will be a memory. But we will still have hope.

And I assume the Yankees, over the next seven days, will install a protective cordon around Kei Igawa.

Nats make three great plays on one out

Watch this.

No One Is Talking About It

I think Brett Gardiner needs a rest.

He has been hitting, lately, like Stephen Drew.  Not as well, actually.

Brett carried the offense for much of the first half of the year and, legitimately, made the all star team.  Joe is resting other guys to some apparent advantage.

It is time to rest Gardy.

Even his base stealing has gone into the soup ( I know, he stole one yesterday.  But it was all on the pitcher and the pitch).

He has lost his early-season aggressiveness at the plate. Watch his at bats;  he is regularly taking a first pitch fastball right down the center;  then, he either takes a letter high pitch for strike two ( or fouls it off );  and, down 0-2, the pitcher plays with him until he flails at something in the dirt.  Worse; he goes down looking at one of those " close" pitches we were all told to go after when down two strikes.

Early in the season, he was lacing those first pitch fastballs for doubles in the gap.

He has a tired bat, and is a tired man who gives everything he's got.  He needs a few days off.

He'll come back a terror, when we most need him.

Where the hell is Slade Heathcott?

In the span of one week, the Yankees have experienced their worst loss and greatest win of 2015.

Today, Luis Severio - the long-awaited Yankee Pedro - pitches the most important game of his life. Of course, that's not saying much. He's 21, and bringing the International League Governor's Cup to Scranton wasn't exactly the stuff of a Capra movie. Also, next week, Severino will surely pitch a more important game. And the week after that, and so on... for the rest of his life. Because that is Yankee baseball.

Still, one thing Severino needs to experience - along with a stewardess and waterbed - is a Yankee rally.

In his first game, Severino pitched well, but a Redsock knuckleballer did to the Yankees what Carly Fiorina did to HP. In his second game, the team slogged for eight innings, rallied with him gone, and then slogged for another eight - losing to mighty Cleveland, 5-4.

It was, by far, our most painful loss of 2015. Miller blew his first save. (He is now a heart attack of a closer.) Ellsbury and Gardner did their best imitations of Robbie & the Grandyman in the 2012 playoffs - a combined 0-13 with five strikeouts. In the end, it was Brandon Pinder. Seems like a year ago.

Since then, we had The Win - when Carlos Beltran, in WWE style, went from a Vince McMahon villain to a Hulk Hogan hero. We've seen the lowest trench of the year, followed by the highest peak. Woah. Nose bleeds.

Well, it's Bedknobs and Broomsticks Day in Toronto. It's time for the Blue Jays to see what artificial turf does to a 30-something shortstop with bad hips. It's time for a market correction above the border. And by God, it's time for the Yankee Pedro to experience run support. Sweep, anyone?

It took two months, but Yankees finally figured out a way to market the new A-Rod

Don't get me wrong: I'm all for this. But it's hard not to be cynical.

He's a cheat. He's a liar. He's a blight upon the game. Womanizer. Scumbag. We won't pay for his milestones. We won't recognize his records. He should just qui-HUH? Hal said what? Um... Come one! Come all! Let us celebrate his great achievements!

Good luck and get well, John Farrell

This is a Yankee website, and we don't give pigeon crap about Redsock players or their families. (Actually, I have no truck with Redsock families - it's not their fault. I just don't want their Redsock children in Yankee faith-based schools.) But the news yesterday that John Farrell has cancer and will miss the rest of the season has rattled my anti-Redsock sensibilities.

Dear Mr. Farrell... This is to inform you that we at IIHIIFIIc are not done with you. You need to get well, so that next season, and for seasons to come, the Yankees can brutalize you in the fashion that Redsock managers deserve.

This is sort of like that recurring Batman plot line, when the Joker suddenly turns up to save the Caped Crusader from lesser villains, because - if you think about it - when you're screwing with the Joker's arch rival, in a way, you're screwing with the Joker. In this case, cancer is screwing with us... the Joker.

All you Redsock operatives - you know who you are - never forget: It's the Yankees you should fear. Not death or sickness. And John Farrell needs to get better.

Shades of Pat Kelly's HR in 1995 and Paul O'Neill's AB in the 2000 World Series... Was last nite the game of the year, or just the weekend?

At the end, I was standing, drink raised, poised like a cobra to strike the TV with my blazing juju fists of fury. Normally, by the ninth, I'm in fetal mode, Yankee comforter between my legs, empty Dorito bags crinkling from the bowels of the couch, (down with the remote,) as I wriggle in desperation.

I do not know how many pitches the battle went. That stuff is for wonks. My estimate: 142. Tulowitski just kept fouling them off, and Miller just kept throwing sliders. I think the final pitch was a foul tip. If McCann hadn't caught it, Miller might be out there for all eternity, and I'd still be standing at the screen.

It was one game. Still, it was a psychic STFU to the hockey horns of Tuloronto, who think Tony Fernandez and Kelly Gruber are still manning the left side. We are back in first - for now, anyway - and if we can take a series on the Blue Jays' asphalt surface - well - it's a pennant race, not a wild card hoax. I maintain there is a huge difference between winning a division and winning a one-game extension of the season, courtesy of Bud Selig's final money-squeezing scam.

Last night, we saw the long-awaited arrival of Carlos Beltran as a Yankee - 16 months tardy, but better late than never - (sort of like the Yankee celebration of A-Rod's 3,000th hit.) Beltran has been "quietly turning his season around," in the parlance of the YES-ESPN talking Magic 8-Balls. But last night, he delivered the goods.

His HR had me recalling 1995, the future Torre dynasty, when 2B Pat Kelly hit an astonishing 2-run HR in Toronto, culminating a dramatic comeback. It was the last week of the season, ninth inning, and we'd been down 3-0. Suddenly, Kelly was rounding the bases, and we were ahead. We won 4-3 - just like last night. It was Kelly's shining moment as a Yankee, it caught everybody in the Yankiverse off guard, and it propelled us into the playoffs, not a one-game crap shoot.

And soon after came the At Bat - Tulo v. Miller... which had me thinking (in a reverse situation) of Paul O'Neill coming up in the ninth of Game One of the 2000 World Series. We were down by one, with one out and the unspeakably evil Armando Benitez on the mound. Meanwhile, every sportswriter in captivity had been calling for O'Neill to be benched. He worked a 10-pitch walk - foul, foul, foul, foul - and eventually scored the tying run. We won in the 14th.

Last night was one of the reasons you follow the Yankees.

Of course, by Monday, it might be a cruel joke by the juju gods. (But we are 2-1 since the International Juju Intervention. Two and one, baby, two and one.) Who knows...?