Monday, April 04, 2005


Who ever invented balks needs to die slow and painfully. Damn you, Abner Doubleday!

Anyway, that was not the way I would have chosen to start the season. Though we lost the season opener last year, and look what happened.

I watched in the Quincy Junior Common Room, site of the most awesome bigscreen ever. I would have preferred to watch on the smaller TV at home with the Maternal Unit and the Sibling, but watching with my fellow people of Quincy House was nice too. Even the Yankee fans were articulate and friendly. ( I will cherish while I may, because we won't be able to share the same room come October.)

It started off reasonably plesantly, Johnson being, well, Johnson, and Wells being ugly but efficient. I thought it would be one of those down to the ninth nailbiters. Possibly even extra innings.

But then.

He stole two RBI from the Doofus with one whoppingly beautiful catch. Even though Jay-P eventually scored Papi on a single, something changed on that play. It was, as Damien The Yankee Fan pointed out, the type of play that went against the Yankees Games 4-7. The Hideki Matsui who had hid in his hole after Pedro's brushback pitch was back. Returned to his old terrifying ways, epitomized by his two-run squeaker homer in the 7th.

All down hill from there. The parade of Red Sox pitchers, though they got the outs eventually, looked scared, and owned. They alternately couldn't find the strike zone with a ten-foot pole, then found it all too well, serving up base hit after basehit. None more so than the Fat Man himself, who will not get his nickname back until he pitches better. ( And BullpenBoyfriend needs to get his control on, now.)

There were the pretty moments intertwined with the ugly. There was Demure Middle Infielder himself, Chauncey, though not able to take a pitch to save his life, but guarding the left infield like it was his teenage sister. One of his plays, trying to get the forceout while pitching face-first to the ground, had it worked, would have been the equivalent of Brady making a complete pass from the seat of his pants. If Papa Jack gets him a little more patient at the plate, Edgar is gonna fit in just fine.

There was Marky, quietly having a pretty nice game, ballet dancing over baserunners.

Also, has anyone noticed that Tony Womack looks like Sheffield's Mini-Me? Complete with mustache. And oh how sweet it was watching Giambi flopping around like a dead fish at first. Too bad they had to put Tino in to take way the fun and the hateableness. Tino, like Bernie, is one of those Yankees that I cannot personally hate. Matsui, too, even though he scares the heck out of me.

Note to self: the game is truly over once Remy and Orsillo get goofy, and start making fun of John Sterling's scarf.


But what made the game at all bearable, beyond the fact that it was meaningful baseball finally, was DTYF, saying next to me, " I would trade 5 of those runs, for one more run in Game 4."

And a strange calm came over me. It reminded me that there's 161 more of these, and then there's October, and anything can happen. Right now, I gotta just lean back and enjoy the ride.