Sunday, September 21, 2008
Evidence that, no matter how much I try to be a level-headed, even-handed, sane baseball fan, I am still at heart a simple surly Red Sox fan:
This whole Yankee Stadium thing is making me throw up in my mouth a little.
I watched the game, because it is historic and all that and I'm a fan of the Game of Baseball with the caps and everything. But all the ceremony surrounding this, the media sobbing, the whole fucking circus-- ugh. For fuck's sake. Where was the outcry for Tiger Stadium? I know there was attention given to it, of course, but I don't remember it being ANYTHING like this, and Tiger Stadium WAS STILL ORIGINAL TIGER STADIUM, as opposed to this, which is Yankee Stadium Circa Mid '70s.
Tiger Stadium was a National Historic Landmark (and they still knocked it down, woo, Detroit!). Yankee Stadium is not one.
And of course this last EMOTIONALLY CHARGED HALLOWED GAME featured such starting Yankee dignitaries as Johnny Damon (member of the Red Sox team responsible for one of the greatest Yankee collapses in modern memory), Xavier Nady (who's been on the team for three months), and Jose Molina (catching in place of the injured Posada).
Ugggggh.
I know at least part of this, maybe most of it, is just my gut reaction as a Red Sox fan. I won't deny that, I own it, man. And I do understand that this is a big deal... but it is NOT as big a deal as people (maybe read: media) are making it out to be. That this should get more attention than the closing and subsequent (much-delayed) demolition of Tiger Stadium is, honestly, ridiculous.Labels: baseball, media, MLB, surly Red Sox fan, Yankee Stadium, Yankees
11:42 PM
Monday, September 17, 2007
Red Sox
Saturday: good. Sunday: bad. For once I have a lot of support out here in Michigan when I pay attention to the Sox, because every Tigers fan with half a brain realized that we badly needed the Sox to beat some Yankee posterior in this series. I actually got a couple high fives on the strength of my Sox hat at the Michigan game.
When David Ortiz came up in the bottom of the 9th with the bases loaded and two outs and the Sox down by one, it seemed inevitable that the game would be won, or would at least go to extra innings. David Ortiz! Situation of ultra-clutch! Clutchiest situation to ever grasp the world of clutch hitting since Derek Jeter last had to clutch at his underpants to keep them from falling down! EPITOME OF CLUTCHIFIED MOMENT.
We're talking about a David Ortiz who had just walked off a ballgame, and a Mariano Rivera who was visibly struggling.
Alas, it was not to be. Although these games did live up to their epic Red Sox/Yankees Rivalry to the Death billing (The Beast from the East vs. Roger Clemens' Personal Pool Boy! Matsuzaka vs. Pettitte! Man vs. Myth! Beckett vs. Wang!! Battle of the Ancients! Schilling vs. Clemens! Games to Test your Endurance!), the end result was not what we wanted.
It doesn't matter so much for the Red Sox, if you discount the whole 'insane rivalry' thing. It's probable that they'll just coast into the playoffs (although really, if they keep on losing... and the Yankees keep on winning... ugh, it doesn't even bear thinking about), and then we can start worrying. But, as everyone today is going to tell me-- man, this SUCKED for the Tigers.
Blue Cats
Forward down the field,
A charging team that will not yield.
And when the Blue and Silver wave,
Stand and cheer the brave.
Rah, Rah, Rah.
Go hard, win the game.
With honor you will keep your fame.
Down the field and gain,
A Lion victory!
GOOOOO LIONS!
Shock. Amaze. It wasn't just a Lions victory-- although it WAS a LIONS VICTORY!!-- but it was a Lions victory led in large part by Jon Kitna. The Lions looked energized when Kitna was in the game, and Kitna looked energized in turn. Let me just repeat this, so that you may more fully savor it.
Jon Kitna was the spark that fired the offense.
Jon Kitna led the Lions offense.
Jon Kitna. Good things. Quarterback. Detroit. Good.
You know what he looked like? He looked like Joey Harrington did in the game where Joey had the flu and the scruffy beard and the bloodshot eyes and, because he didn't give a damn, he threw for a bazillion yards and looked more like a real live quarterback than he ever had before. Nobody remembers the game for that; they instead (quite rightly) remember it for the horrific end, but if that series of completely ridiculous and tragic events had never taken place, that game would have been remembered for how Joey looked. LIKE A LEADER OF MEN.
(As an aside, Joey Harrington was sacked 7 times in a Falcons loss yesterday. I wonder if the offensive line is really that bad [in which case, why pick up Joey, someone that everyone in the universe knew could not run an offense with a weak line, as so manifestly proven by his time in Detroit?] or if something like the anti-Joey behavior that infested the Lions has already started to take hold in Atlanta. Poor guy. Who can tell if he's effective or not in a new offense if he can't stay on his feet long enough to get his bearings downfield?)
Point being, that's how Kitna looked this past Sunday.
Now, I've heard a lot of the "pundits" saying that the Lions are basically being liver flukes right now, and they're "pretenders", and cat knows what else. On the one hand, I tend to agree. These are, above all, the Lions, which means that they'll be managed poorly and will find exciting new and previously unexplored ways to lose. On the other hand, how many of those so-called football experts do you think ACTUALLY sat down and watched the Lions game? I would guess not very many.
Michigan
Finally won. Woo. Thanks, Irish.Labels: baseball, football, Lions, MLB, NFL, Red Sox, rivalry, Vikings, Yankees
9:01 AM
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
My excitement for the upcoming Yankee series is only heightened by having seen what the Tigers just did to them.
Traditional baseball thought indicates that the Yankees can react in one of two ways. They can be crushed by these epic defeats and wither away to a mere memory of a ghost of a team, OR they can be fired up and energized by the way they were dispatched, leading to an overwhelming surge of victorious marching. Real-life baseball thought indicates that their offense is great, but it's only as good as their pitching. If Pettitte, the Clem-bag, and Wang all pitch really well, the Yankees have a damn good shot at taking the series. If Pettitte, the Clem-bag, and Wang pitch less-than-spectacularly, the Red Sox will come down on them like a sack of overweight capybaras tied to anvils.
Obviously we are all hoping for the capybaras.
When you think back to the start of the year, it seems insane that we're worried about the Yankees now. They've shown that they can be the most annoying team on the planet, though (as if we've forgotten), and the scariest thing is that if by some catastrophic chance the Sox drop in the division, the wild card is by no means ensured. As the Tigers grapple with the Indians from afar, all Tigers fans view with wild card race with deranged and immense fear. I would be pretty happy to not have to do this with the Red Sox as well.
It is true that the Yankees have a juggernaut offense.... but they do not have overweight capybaras tied to anvils. That kind of "knock 'em down and out and then laugh 'cause they got flattened by a giant hamster" power will hopefully only reside with the Sox. We just saw it against the White Sox (admittedly not that hard a team to capybara-paste, these days) and hopefully the Sox will have got a taste for it now. I know I have.
Let the capybara-wrangling begin!Labels: baseball, capybara, MLB, Red Sox, rivalry, Yankees
11:52 AM
Monday, July 02, 2007
So, I went to Yankee Stadium yesterday. That photo you're looking at is, of course, former Sox Mike Myers, whom I still can't bring myself to dislike even though he now wears the Pinstripes of Great Evil.
I will freely admit that I went to Yankee Stadium expecting to hate it. It's the Lair of the Beast, the Den of Foulness, the place where iniquity and depravity are nurtured until they are hatched and spewed forth all over the AL East. You don't expect much from a place like that.
Yankee Stadium, however, refused to live up to my expectations, instead turing out to be fairly pleasant, as ballparks go. The place is architecturally bland, without the charm of a Fenway or the innovative interest of a Comerica. The seating, at least in our section, was roomy compared to Fenway (then again, everywhere is). The section numbering was, if I may be so bold, absurd. Half the stadium is odd numbers, and half is even numbers... this means that section 28 is not next to section 27, it is directly across the field. Does that make sense? No. Why not have them consecutive? It's not hard. Who sets up a building like that? Just plain old weird.
ballpark as Captain Obvious
The fact that EVERYWHERE YOU TURN are NY symbols and pinstripes is extremely unnerving. I liken it to the first time I ventured into East Lansing... green and white and Spartans helmets everywhere. I felt like I could barely breathe. SURROUNDED BY THE ENEMY. I didn't want to touch any surfaces for fear of getting the Spartan stench on me. And the thing of it was that I KNEW it was irrational, but that was my gut reaction.
Anyways. That, only with Yankee stuff. Let me tell you: the merchandise stands? With row upon row of Yankee hats and nothing else? The human body can be trained to react with a physical sense of revulsion to a simple symbol. 100% of fact.
With all that said... the park just wasn't as bad as I was expecting. While it lacks any particular personality beyond those arches 'round the top, it also manages to avoid the "inexplicable design elements because we can't think of anything better to do" sickness that afflicts US Cellular in Chicago (random pinwheels for the win!). There were a lot of food options, the hot dogs were (horror of all horrors to a seasoned Fenway-goer) cooked through, there was even a catdamned bakery in the ballpark (did not partake, mostly due to horror at the sight of... cookies frosted with the Yankee symbol. Shudder-inducing).
I didn't see one single rat.
many Yankee fans, no rats
The pitching matchup was to be Pettitte/Haren, which sounds good on paper. It turned out to be not so good. Haren wasn't as sharp as he usually has been this year, and Pettitte got creamed. The A's batted around on him in the 2nd inning, and in that inning managed to score SEVEN RUNS. After having already put up a run in the first inning.
ahhhhh I'm fallliiiinnnngggg
You know how lovely it was to see Pettitte get lit up like that? We're supposed to fear him. And here he was, throwing all the hell over the place. A Yankee meltdown, like a fine wine, should be savored.
i am bobby abreu. i am sad. i make error. crowd make fun of me for rest of game.
i am andy phillips. i play first base because everyone else dead. look at my silly walk.
i am derek jeter. i have owie. i get hit in hand because i lean over plate like homeplate is magnet for my nose.
Oakland, on the other hand...
i am jack cust. i get congratulated because i am perpetual backup who suddenly showing power. i hit 3-run homer against big bad yankees. i da man.
i am kurt suzuki. i am baby. i play almost never. i get RBI single and two runs in this game because yankee pitching really IS that bad.
It was exactly as fun to watch as it sounds.
The entire photo set is here, for your viewing pleasure. I just have one more thing that I want to draw you attention to.
We are all, of course, familiar with the catcher ass pat. It's a time-honored baseball tradition, as everyone knows that a pitcher's sense of courage and stamina is directly tied to his ass, and patting of that ass will ease his pitching woes. Normal. Baseball-y. Imagine my surprise, then, to see that Jorge Posada has taken this tradition a step further.
You're probably going to have to click that to get to the larger version to see this, but Posada is TUGGING ON MIKE MYERS' PANTS. Like, he has a bit of pants material between his fingers, and is pulling on it. This would be totally unremarkable except that baseball pants are so tight... it's like walking up to someone wearing spandex, grabbing a bit of it (probably having to pry it up off their thigh), and tugging. I mean, imagine that. Am I wrong in thinking that's a little... weird? I can't imagine doing that to my friends (whereas ass pats, depending on the friend, I can see in a joking context), so... yeah, I don't know.
Posada has DEFINITELY upped the pitcher/catcher love ante on Pudge Rodriguez, the previously acknowledged king of such displays. Pudge has to step his game up now. All Star Weekend is a prime opportunity, so be on the lookout for that.Labels: Athletics, baseball, in attendance, MLB, photoblog, Yankees
11:19 PM
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Fun with Roster Photos! New York Yankees, 2007
I feel like harassing Yankees today, especially since next week I will, weather permitting, be venturing into enemy territory.
Usual disclaimer: all these photos are from the official MLB site and are directly linked, so they WILL change year to year and as guys switch teams. The images you see may no longer correspond exactly to the comments if you are viewing this in an archived form. But I am OK with this, because it lends an air of strange surreality to the whole thing, and also reassures you all of the happy laziness of bloggers. (I also copy-and-pasted this disclaimer from the last time, so you can REALLY be reassured that the laziness of bloggers is going strong as ever).
Pitchers!
 Brian Bruney
If a toad could look self-satisfied after swallowing a particularly juicy fly, that toad would look very much like Brian Bruney here.
 Roger Clemens
Holy freakin' cats aahhhhhhh!!!! THE PASTY ZOMBIE FACE OF DEATH! I am NOT just saying that because it's Clemens either; just look at him!! His face is melting off of his cheekbones!
 Kyle Farnsworth
The rectangular block goes in the rectangular hole, children.
 Kei Igawa
Yet another ballplayer falls victim to the old "quick, he's starting to smile, take a photo before he gets there so he looks like he's actually uttering the sound 'durhurrrr'!" photography trick.
 Mike Mussina
It's pretty hard to screw up Mike Mussina, but the half-squinted eyes and the half-smirk, plus the washed-out prison mugshot lighting manage the job quite nicely.
 Mike Myers
Give him some pointy teeth and a helmet and you've got an orc straight out of Lord of the Rings.
 Andy Pettitte
His left eye has some serious designs on laziness. I don't THINK Andy Pettitte has a lazy eye, so it seems likely that we can put this one down to another fine piece of work from the photographer.
 Scott Proctor
Sixty-five years old, AND with the dreaded triangle neck.
 Mariano Rivera
The very first pitcher to successfully play Major League Baseball while heroically battling leprosy.
 Ron Villone
I had no idea the Yankees were employing a beluga whale to pitch for them these days.
 Luis Vizcaino
I feel like I say this every year, but every year I CANNOT get over how TINY Vizcaino's facial features are in relation to his ENORMOUS, OUTWARDLY POINTY cheekbones. It looks like someone took the Liquify tool in Photoshop to his face.
 Chien-Ming Wang
The wide-eyed, innocent 8-year-old was startled to find himself pitching for the Yankees.
Catchers!
 Wil Nieves
It's like his entire face was flattened and allowed to squish out horizontally, so his mouth is too wide, his eyebrows go too far around the sides of his head, and he generally looks like smarmy roadkill wearing lipstick. I don't think the angle helps here.
 Jorge Posada
If Nieves was flattened top-to-bottom, Posada was flattened front-to-back, as from a hearty SPANG in the face with a frying pan. Looks like he was pretty startled to receive the spang too. The jersey falling off to the side is clearly a dishevellment resulting from the frying pan attack.
Infielders!
 Chris Basak
Who? Well, whoever he is, he looks like his head is being jerked to the side by an invisible fish hook through the mouth.
 Miguel Cairo
Has he been Botoxing?
 Robinson Cano
This is actually a lot better than some of his past roster photos. Still seems to be sort of staring in two different directions, which would be a useful baseball skill I guess.
 Derek Jeter
After a hard night out on the town, with some hardy ladies of the night, Jeter stumbles in unprepared for photo day.
 Andy Phillips
OH MY GOD A GOPHER.
 Alex Rodriguez
The appearance of lipstick clashes mightily with the appearance of a shadowy mustache. Perhaps he likes the transvestite look on himself as well as in his strippers?
Outfielders!
 Bobby Abreu
Fozzie Bear!
 Melky Cabrera
What the hell. Is he pregnant and retaining water? Did someone decide to pump his face full of saline for obscure fetishistic reasons? This oddly swollen and rubbery beast barely even looks like Melky Cabrera.
 Johnny Damon
His mouth just kind of disappears into the rest of his lower jaw. I can't tell if this is due to the lighting or because his face is desperately crying out for a beard again.
 Hideki Matsui
As he so often does in roster photos, Matsui looks like someone has thrown acid on his face. This year, however, he's pleasantly bemused by it.
 Kevin Thompson
The eyes of a 15-year-old atop the jaw of a 50-year-old. Creepy.
Ladies and gents, your 2007 New York Yankees.Labels: fun with roster photos, MLB, Yankees
2:06 PM
Monday, June 04, 2007
I was commiserating with Beth about this game, and the bloody UNFAIRNESS of it all. "How could this happen?" we sulked. The Red Sox are playing good ball these days! The Yankees are cellar-dwelling gnomes whose supposed savior is an old man with a case of muscular crotch rot! The standings say that this series should have been ouuuuurrrrssss!
Maybe so. But Red Sox/Yankees games exist outside of the "real" world. If the standings represent the space-time continuum, a Red Sox/Yankees series represents a parallel plane of existence where none of the usual physical rules of the universe apply. In the NORMAL world, the Red Sox should have at least taken 2 of 3. But in the RED SOX/YANKEES world, records go out the window and anything at all can happen. In my deranged little Red Sox fan mind, I firmly believe this.
The Nation did its collective best. Chants of "Where is Roger?" and screams of "MINE!" or "HA!" every time a ball came near ARod... blonde wigs and masks, also directed at ARod, and all the usual range of anti-Yankeedom that unites Fenway for such games were out in full force.
There was the usual dash of Sox/Yanks drama. All the hit batsmen in the first game, and then Lowell and Mientkiewicz colliding... Yankees saying Lowell's play was maybe dirty, Lowell immediately snarking back that he learned that sort of thing when he was on the Yankees... just a mess. A glorious, typically frenzied rivalry-fueled mess.
It all came down to those moments of ridiculously perfect drama that characterize Sox/Yanks matchups. Who should hit the game and series winning homerun but ALEX FREAKIN' RODRIGUEZ, the brunt of every joke in both cities for weeks. Of course, right? Like it could come down to anything else. And then Mariano Rivera had to remember that he's Mariano Rivera, and shut us down. The rest of the league has been discovering that he's human, but of course in the strange parallel world that is Sox/Yankees, he has fully regained his alien powers.
It's tiring. It's hard being in an alternate universe where up is down, black is white, and the Yankees are an actual threat. I'm sure everyone will be glad to head to Oakland for some hopefully normalized baseball, even if it does mean Wrong Coast times and prolonged exposure to the sheer horror of Danny Haren's facial hair.Labels: ARod, baseball, loss, Red Sox, rivalry, Yankees
1:05 AM
Friday, May 11, 2007
Sox Suck
Originally uploaded by Yankees Man.
This is the scariest damn thing I've ever seen. The dog looks like a person.... in fact he looks more like a person than Jason Giambi does. I am loathe to blog someone else's photo but honestly, I could not resist this one, even if it is wearing a hat of sin.
If I had a dog like this, I would take photos of it in different outfits ALL THE DAMN TIME.
Labels: photoblog, rivalry, Yankees
2:40 AM
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
It appears to be official: the Yankees are gearing up to have the worst offseason anyone could ever imagine.
They lost to the Tigers when everyone was predicting a Yankee victory in 3 or 4, all the brouhaha over Torre, the ARod thing is gonna be a mess for them, Sheffield's grumbling, the Boss is mad at anyone and everyone, Cashman has locked himself in the bathroom like that sorority girl in the MLB ad and they're just waiting for Tommy Lasorda to come by Yankee Stadium to coax him out before the place is demolished...
And, uh, there appears to be a report now that Cory Lidle flew his private airplane into a building in New York and is dead.
Um.
Wow.
This is, obviously, pretty horrible and, um, yeah, I don't really even have anything to say, I only just got back from class and my brother called to tell me and, wow. Um.
I mean, y'know, I took that photo of him up there just this past June and now he's dead? I can't even really process that.
Certain other teams have been keeping me fairly occupied lately, which, combined with work, is why it's been quiet over here, and yeah, we were quite wrapped up in some anti-Yankeeness of late. But now that the Tigers have sent them home it's becoming horribly apparent that Yankee fans are going to have a very hard time of it this winter. I mean, jeez. We like to see them beaten on the field of play, but at the end of the season we prefer that everyone goes home alive.
Assuming that Lidle's death is, uh, confirmed (we're still in the "initial reports" stage here), condolences to everyone; family, friends, teammates, fans. That's not worth much, of course, but there's not much else to say.Labels: baseball, Cory Lidle, in memory, MLB, Yankees
5:20 PM
Saturday, August 19, 2006
I love how not only is it Red Sox/Yankees, not only is it a 5 game series, not only is it a day/night doubleheader, NOT ONLY is the next day's game in the afternoon, but they have to go ahead and have THE LONGEST 9-INNING GAME IN BASEBALL HISTORY. At some point, doesn't this become overkill? At some point doesn't someone step in and say, STOP THE BAD MOVIE, I WOULD LIKE TO INSERT A SLIGHTLY MORE BELIEVABLE PLOT HERE? Seriously. You can't script this stuff. It's ridiculous.
Bobby Abreu is a freak muppet of a man. This is my intelligent, 4 am baseball analysis. When he grins really widely, he looks something like a bullfrog, and when his face is slack he looks like his head is felted and owes its existence to Jim Henson. He looks like he should be about as fast as Dougie but somehow he is a stolen base threat. His middle name is Kelly. When he came to town with the Phillies he was an amusing, heartwarming reminder of Detroit's Home Run Derby; now he is evil and I hate him and I want him to go away.
Good riddance to Jason Johnson. It's hardly his fault though, he's exactly as advertised: a mediocre-to-solid first half pitcher who falls to pieces in the second half. We picked him up in the second half. I don't know if someone in the front office actually expected him to reverse his career trends in one of the most stressful environments in baseball, or they just badly needed a warm body to trot out there and he was willing and techincally able.
Eric Hinske, though. He can stay. Talk about welcoming yourself to a new city the right way. I can't help but wonder if he's really going to accept a bench role, though. He's been an everyday player before this and now he's gonna hafta sit behind Youk most of the time, or at least I'd assume so, because he's definitely no better defensively (and might even be worse) and is certainly no Greek/RomanianJewish God of Walks. I just really don't want to see another Jay Payton situation, because that doesn't end well for anyone in the Universe.
Oh, and if there were any last vestiges of Johnny Damon love lurking in the seedier corners of New England, they should have all been ferreted out by now. I hate that he's so comfortable hitting in Fenway. It's like having Osama Bin Laden hit us with our own weapons that we gave him, and our own training that we offered him. Except I bet Osama still has the beard.
The longest 9-inning game in history. Ugh, freakin' unbelieveable. Somewhere, as the clock ticked over and the record was set, an ESPN employee died in a seizure of delight. ESPN and FOX could team up and write cheesy, attention-grabbing stories about the Red Sox and Yankees for a year and even they wouldn't come out with this shit.Labels: baseball, Bobby Abreu, Eric Hinske, Jason Johnson, MLB, record, Red Sox, rivalry, Yankees
4:12 AM
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
I'll admit it. I fell asleep during the game yesterday.
Not because it was boring (it wasn't, at least not the bits I remember) and not because of the lateness of the hour (most of you are well aware of my nocturnal habits), but because I was feeling the lateness of the hour much more keenly than usual, having just returned from Toronto, and having failed to consume my usual amount of delicious and life-giving coffee.
Yes, I, the blogger who routinely is typing merrily away at 4:30 in the morning, was tired. It happens. Usually when I don't have enough coffee. And when I'm faced with Travel, which I do not take to particularly well.
Tired.
Tired like Curt Schilling, when he's pitched a solid game on the road, and they got in really late because the plane was delayed the night before, and he's stayed up playing some Everquest over the hotel internet connection, and he just really wants to go to sleep because it's awfully late, and he's got the chain on the door (of course he's got the chain on the door), but he hasn't closed it all the way, so just when he's about to go to sleep Manny Ramirez wedges his arm through the door holding a bunny that he made out of complimentary shampoo bottles and jelly beans that he has to show Curt RIGHT NOW, and Curt has to go open the door to tell Manny how great his bunny is, and he doesn't get to sleep for four more hours because SOMEHOW Manny slipped away from his babysitters for the night, and Curt just wants to sleep so badly, he's so tired, and that is how tired I was last night.
Not that that exact scenario has ever happened, of course, but it could.
In any event, Toronto was good, if somewhat tiring, and if you ignore the fact that we got rained on twice, once by hysterically awful downpours. Very much a walking city, and while the architecture leaned much more towards brutalism and wasn't nearly as nice as that of, say, Chicago, it was still sufficiently interesting to make wandering around fun.
The Jays/Yanks game was OK. Of course the only game of the series that the Jays lose was the one I ended up at. It was my first time in a dome, too... very odd. Our seats were in the second deck, and the whole concourse up there was CARPETED. And the seats were PADDED like movie theater seats. It didn't feel very much like a baseball park, more like, I dunno, a football stadium or something else. Of course the Argos do play there, so it is a football stadium, but it was still odd.
There were a TON of Yankees fans there. In the second deck, I would venture to say that 90% of the crowd was rooting for New York. In our section there was me and my family (rooting for the Jays), and maybe two or three other Blue Jays fans. Everyone else was rooting for the Yankees. It was probably not entirely unlike being stuck in Yankee Stadium itself, except these fans, while extremely drunk and loud, were not actually dangerous, and were generally inoffensive aside from a few anti-Boston remarks and shirts.
I must give them their due: we had no problems with Yankee fans in our section, and we actually sort of held a conversation at one point with the large and communally trashed family behind us. I think they were from Syracuse. They were all staying at a Holiday Inn with, inexplicably, a Red Sox fan, who was drunker than all of them put together and left the game early after the stadium security started trailing him to make sure he wouldn't buy more beer. Evidently he and one of the Yankee fans had split an entire bottle of vodka between the two of them in the (short) ride over to the ballpark. Where they then proceeded to add to their alcohol tally by buying a bunch of beer. Jolly good times.
The highlights of the game itself were Kyle Farnsworth hitting 101 mph (on the stadium gun, anyhow), and ARod striking out swinging in each of his four at-bats in the game. That was a beautiful line in my scorecard, let me assure you. There are few things in baseball more satisfying than writing K after K next to ARod's name.
Top of the 7th in tonight's game and I'm still awake. Good sign. Manny and Trot going back to back was fun, but Curt then sucking it up on the mound was not. Oh well. Still ahead for now. Oh, and if someone can tell me why Manny and Lowell have taken to greeting each other during celebrations by touching the tips of their forefingers together, I'd enjoy hearing the explanation.
ETA: Man, that 8th inning about killed me. I do have to wake up for work tomorrow, guys. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a huge lead as much as anyone, but Oakland could've at least had some consideration and not sucked quite so badly. Yeesh.
Mad props to whoever runs the video stuff out in Texas at Ameriquest, by the by. They have a Kiss Cam that they run between innings, and tonight they put ARod, in the dugout, up on it. Too perfect. Ameriquest Field video dudes, you are awesome. ARod, when he realized he was on Kiss Cam, pulled Andy Phillips (who was nearest) to him and kissed him on the top of the head.
Also, I swear that Hazel Mae, in the postgame highlights, just called Ian Kinsler 'Michael Young'. Of course it's probably the prompt card writer's fault, not hers, as I wouldn't expect her to know Kinsler from Young if they were standing in front of her with their jerseys on.Labels: baseball, Blue Jays, in attendance, MLB, Yankees
11:51 PM
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
A sad and gory scene it was.
Beckett had stepped into the gladiator's ring expecting to have to face another human, equally matched in softness and might. Imagine then, if you will, his sheer horror upon viewing his true opponent.
For his opponent was massive in stature, with a long aristocratic nose, and feet shod in steel. He was broad in the chest and powerful in the legs. He had shaggy brown hair and a gleam in his eye... a gleam that promised DEATH.
For this was no man entering the ring, oh no.
It was A MOOSE.
A HORRIFYING MOOSE OF DESTRUCTION AND ALSO HORROR.
Beckett looked down at the weapons he had chosen. His baseball and glove seemed so puny and helpless before this ravening vegetarian beast. Trembling with fear he raised his eyes slowly to see the weapons of his enemy. And it was with good reason that he trembled. For THE MOOSE had no mere glove and ball. He had instead a FIERY BALL OF MAGMA, and a huge cruel glove, made from the TANNED HIDES OF HIS ENEMIES.
Frantic, with tears starting in his eyes, Beckett turned to the edges of the gladiator's ring, where the spectators were arrayed. He caught the eye of his mentor, the great old warrior, Schilling. Schilling merely bent his head, acknowledging the impossibility of the situation. It was unheard of, throwing A MOOSE from the depths of hell into the ring with a mere mortal, and yet here it had been done. There was no help for the kid.
"I'll help you, amigo!" cried a brave voice. Beckett looked around, suddenly brighter with optimism, to see David Ortiz charging into the ring, swinging a bat and making for THE MOOSE with riteous anger on his face, apalled at the unfairness of it all.
"Bitch, please. 0-for-3," THE MOOSE said, and with one kick of his steely hooves, Ortiz was sent flying right back out of the ring.
The spectators jeered, and Beckett felt sick. He hefted his glove and ball and turned 'round to face his destiny. He squared his shoulders and readied his eminently hittable fastball. He was going to go out like a MAN, dammit. He raised his chin proudly.
Looking for just such an opening, THE MOOSE took that opportunity to impale Beckett on his horrible hell-antlers. Lifting his monstrous head he separated Beckett's from its body, and raised the blood-stained bust high into the air of the gladiator's ring.
That is exactly how it happened, and don't let any NESN reruns tell you otherwise.Labels: baseball, Josh Beckett, loss, Mike Mussina, MLB, Red Sox, storytime, terrible, Yankees
4:00 AM
Friday, May 26, 2006
This is so typical.
I've never been, in person, to a Red Sox/Yankees game in my life. And suddenly I had tickets to two in a row.
And then they go and lose both.
At least they were both (eventually) close games... it would've been incomparably depressing to sit through a Yankee blowout at Fenway. And the weather, although cool later in the game, was nice both nights. And the seats were really good both nights, and I was in really good company both nights. And it was LIVE BASEBALL at FENWAY PARK against the YANKEES so, you know, I have nothing in the world to complain about.
Anyways. The first game. That being Tuesday's Wakefield/Wright matchup.
I met up downtown with my cousins Beth and Leah, their friend Deb and her son Sam. Sam is a kid who has the uncanny ability to imitate the batting stance of any number of major leaguers, which naturally led to a discussion of stances and who batted left- or right-handed. Beth tried to imitate Ichiro's stance and nearly got it right, but she held the straw (bat) out horizontally, whereas Ichiro holds it vertically. I mention this only because it's something I always notice, and not just because I love Ichiro (preemptive 'shut up'). I think Daryl once said it reminded him of holding up a sword, but it's always unavoidably reminded me of an artist holding up their pencil, vertical and at the end of a fully extended arm, to gauge the proportions of a figure they're trying to draw. Every time I see Ichiro bat, it looks like he's judging to proportions of the pitcher. And I realize full well that 0.2 of you actually care about that, but I wanted to mention it anyhow.
As for Sam, well, to demonstrate for those of us who had not seen it before (me), he stood in a wide, solid stance, holding his hands together at a high angle to his head, slowly rotating them at the wrists.
I swear to cats, it was Jason Varitek, only significantly smaller.
He also does a dead-on Papi Face.
Those necessities dispensed with, we headed into the park.
Now, this being Fenway and all, the park is technically exactly as crowded for a Yankees game as it is for a Devil Rays game, because sold out is sold out. But just like at Michigan Stadium when Ohio State comes to town, the sold out big game crowd looks somehow larger than the sold out 'nonconference' game crowd. Maybe more people who have tickets actually show up (although, again, the no-shows at Fenway don't make a significant dent in the crowd even on a normal night) and maybe they manage to squeeze in a few more at the corners.
There is, however, a certain singlemindedness of purpose in the crowd. We're not just there to watch baseball. We're there to watch Red Sox/Yankees. We're there to (with a few exceptions) boo Johnny Damon. We're there to remind Sheffield (in his first game back from the DL) and Giambi (he didn't play in the first game, 'tho he did in the second one) that we know what they did and we haven't decided it's OK. We're there to make ARod's life a living hell.
So of course the very first thing that happened was Johnny Damon hitting a leadoff homerun.
Sort of put a damper on things. I don't think the crowd was ever quite the same after that, although Manny's homer perked people up a bit. But the loud, brash, excited nature of the park had beem tamped down, and the carefree attitude that allowed for multiple "Yankees suck!" chants the next night just wasn't really as present on Tuesday.
Early on, Jaret Wright fielded a ball with his stomach or something similar, causing the coaching staff and trainers to come charging out and the whole infield to come charging in, their usual Pavlovian response when Torre emerges from the dugout. Leah and I were pleased. Surely he was rattled now, all Matt Clement style (ooooo foreshadowing!), and the knuckleball's failure to locate would be rendered painless.
And, true, he only went 5 innings. It was the damndest thing, though. At no point did he look particularly dominant, but somehow he worked his way into something resembling a dominant outing. Four hits and two walks were left on the bases.
I know we do that every so often, that whole "not bringing runners around to score" thing, but it felt like we hadn't for a while and so it was a little shocking and painful to watch.
Gary Sheffield, fresh from his little rest, proceeded to go 2-for-4 on the night, much to the displeasure of everyone within a 20 mile radius of Fenway. There were the usual "Baaaaaalco" and "Steeeeeroids" chants, along with a new, more direct call: "YOU take STERoids!" *clap clap clapclapclap* Present tense too and everything. It's only a small alteration of a classic, but it cracks me up.
Later in the game it was with great joy that we watched Jon(athan) Papelbon strike the snot out of Sheffield. I know he's a free swinger to start with, but it's really impossible to not enjoy the sight of Sheffield swinging around so hard that he collapses back on his heels and hits nothing but air.
In fact Papelbon was one of the best bits of the whole game. The last time I saw him, he got his first loss, which kind of sucked at the time but we knew wasn't representative. Tuesday night was real Papelbonning. It was the kind of pitching that makes you sit back in your seat and go, "Awwww hell no!" in wonder. Which I did, naturally.
Our seats were down the third base side, right where Manny directs his glassy-eyed stare before every at-bat. Tons of people in the section (Leah included) stand and point at him and holler and Manny never ever bats an eyelash. I understand that he's often in his own little world of puppies and birthday cakes and rainbows, but you'd think he would notice that staring into the same section every time causes that section to go batshit insane.
Some other snippets from the game:
Leah: See if you can use your zoom to see who's sitting in the owner's box.
Me: No... no way...
Leah: What? Who is it?
Me: TOM FUCKING BRADY.
And, it seems, Matt Cassel on the left. We saw Tommy leaning over to get someone, I think Curt Schilling, to sign a ball for him between innings.
Mike Myers came back. He was booed on Wednesday night, but not so much during this game, probably a sign of how sullen the crowd was. Although, personally speaking, I would never boo Mike Myers. They played Austin Powers music for him, which was a cute acknowledgement without resorting to the more appropriate entrance music of Halloween.
Ugh.
The opposite of ugh.
I took so many photos of The Farns. When it came down to it, I just couldn't help it. I'll insert another preemptive "shut up" here.
It was another solid night for Youk, who I have to admit is surpassing even my expectations of him right now.
And I must say, it was a ton of fun going to my first Sox/Yanks game with Leah, mostly because you know you're at a Sox/Yanks game. There was none of this "ho hum a baseball game I shall watch impassively" business. She was on her feet at the right times, giving Manny the double point or ARod the business. Although some members of the family had led me to believe that going to game with her was something like going to a game with a rabid wolverine, I found her to be no more embarassing than, well, me, and certainly less so than, oh, let's say a full third of the bleacher sections.
That's my altogether inadequate recap of the game. The rest of the photos are right here and I highly suggest you have a look because, as you may have been able to tell, the seats were fairly freaking awesome and I got some tolerable shots.
Photos and tales from Wednesday's game soon.Labels: baseball, in attendance, MLB, photoblog, Red Sox, rivalry, Yankees
12:55 PM
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