The Death Star Explodes
THE CHOKE'S ON US
-Headline of the Daily News
Seitz was right of course, Cairo is exactly the type of player who a) sticks it to the Sox, b) has a Leyritz-esque moment or c) does both. While we’re on the subject of Jimmy “The King” Leyritz, can we talk about the outfit he had put together last night? Christ on a bike, Jimmy ... the hat? The jacket? Is there anything worse than one of those patch-of-every-team jackets? And for Leyritz to be wearing one in the Stadium that prominently featured a Red Sox logo on the chest? You’re a fucking mess, Jimmy. Get help before you end up like Pepitone.
The evening’s proceedings got off to an inglorious start as Dale “Rally Killer” Sveum - the inheritor of Wendell “The Windmill” Kim’s throne - sent Johnny Damon to an early demise. It was a decision shocking in its disregard for baseball wisdom. Dale, if you’re reading this: NEVER MAKE THE FIRST OUT AT HOME. NEVER. It was the type of moment that makes Sox fans so gratingly defeatist; with the chance to step on Brown’s neck in the first, we instead used that same foot for target practice.
The sting was quickly cool when Kevin Brown grooved a pitch right into Papi’s wheelhouse; we were out of our seats before the ball met the bat. Asked for a statement after the game, Ortiz offered his sincerest apologies to the ball’s wife and family.
DAMNED YANKEES
-Headline of the New York Post
I watched Lowe go out for the bottom of the first with great trepidation. As noted yesterday, the guy’s been a mess all year. When you actually have to go the press to make the case that you’re not a head case, well … He had stood tall in Game 4, leaving the game with a 3-2 lead after 5 1/3 innings, but last night he was pitching on two days rest. It was evident early on that the old axiom that sinkerballers tend to get better movement on their pitches when they’re tired was in effect. He made quick work of the Cerberus. Suddenly I was a little more relaxed. Then he dispensed with Matsui and Williams, walked Posada and retired Lofton.
In sharp contrast to Lowe, Brown was a mess, constantly missing his spots, none of that nasty movement that’s made him so good over the years. After walking Mueller and O-Cab, he was officially done and Torre called for Vasquez. When the Yankees picked up Vasquez this past off-season, I was crestfallen. I’d been a fan for a couple of years, loved his game and I figured he’d be the kind of guy who was just cocky enough to feed off of New York City. I was delightfully wrong. To be fair, you can only ask so much of guy coming into a game with one out and the bases juiced.
First pitch to Damon, 6-0 Boston.
For the next ten minutes I kept looking to my friends, asking, “Did Johnny Damon just hit a grand slam? Did that just happen?” I can report that every major news source I’ve checked has confirmed this to be true, so I have no choice but to believe it.
After two walks by Vasquez, Loiza came in to put out the fire. Despite a too-adventurous fifth, for the second time in three days, Loiza was the calming presence the Yankees desperately needed, getting them through the seventh without further damage.
Ah, the seventh. Amy and Martin showed up as we turned back to the game following Ronan Tynan’s (I can’t even be bothered to check the spelling, I’m so tired of this guy (don't tell Ashcroft)) two-and-a-half minutes of tyranny. Everybody was laughing and drinking and having a high time. I offered Amy my seat, “Please, I’m gonna be pacing till this is over anyway.”
Lowe got through the fourth, fifth and sixth innings on ten pitches each, only 69 for the night, allowed 1 run, 1 hit and 1 walk. He was a buzz saw. And then Captain Hazelwood stumbled on his way to the liquor cabinet, sent the wheel spinning and damn near steered the SS Red Sox Nation right into the craggy shores of history. He inexplicably pulled Lowe and brought in Pedro Martinez to pitch the 7th.
I know that Fran-coma has admitted (seemingly bragged) that he didn’t watch last year’s ALCS, but would somebody please buy him a copy? Please? And didn’t he at least watch Game 5 of this series? He was able to get tickets, right?
“Hmm... big lead, late in Game 7, Yankee Stadium, Matsui due up… what’s the worst thing I could possibly do? I know!”
I couldn’t stand it. It was like storming the beaches at Normandy, taking a look around and saying, “Fuck it, we’ll let Canada deal with it.” I immediately pulled out my phone to have Matt to talk me off the ledge. Matsui’s double was rattling around the right field corner by the time he answered.
“Explain this to me.” I demanded. “Convince me that this makes any sense, show me the logic behind this. Convince me this isn’t the single worst substitution you have ever seen in a baseball game.”
“I… uh… I can’t.” At least he was being honest. But you can’t take the Pollyanna Californian out of the boy and so he tried to tell me that Fran-coma was determined to exercise all of the demons - including El Diva’s - from last year. I had to remind myself that he thought he was helping.
As this conversation was taking place Ritik was leaving a message asking, “FatMan, why’d we do this? Call me back, explain this to me.”
By the time I got off the phone, Amy turned to me and noted, “It’s amazing. When we got here it was so loud and now everybody’s really quiet.”
When the coroner finally pulled the sheet over the seventh, the Yankees had pulled to within 5, 8-3.
Tuesday’s offensive hero, Strollin’ Mark Bellhorn, welcomed Tom Gordon to the game with a towering shot that crashed high against the fencing along the right field foul pole, 9-3. Flash got through the rest of the inning unscathed, but a pair of singles and a pair of sac flies off Gordon in the 9th made it 10-3
Around this time Fox put up a graphic showing the greatest upsets of all time, ‘Nova v. G’town, Jets v. Colts, USA v. USSR. Then it occurred to me, “Hey, you stupid fucks! This doesn’t rate as one the greatest upsets of all time. It’s not even an upset; the Sox were favored by most people to win. This is the greatest choke of all time, the greatest comeback of all time, it is not an upset!”
If you yell at the TV loud enough it can hear you… really.
WHAT A CHOKE
-Back page of the New York Post
After recording the first two outs of the ninth, Timlin gave way to Embree, who promptly got Sierra to hit a grounder to Pokey who in turn tossed it to The Minx for the final out. Bedlam. The calls started rolling in. D'man was in SoBo and told me it was incredible, "Literally like Mardi Gras!" he hollered over the shouts and screams and car horns.
After we had calmed down a bit, we rolled around the corner to the 'Shine, where Marnie was working. She's a Yankees fan; when I walked in with my arms raised in triumph, she was displeased. Then I saw my friend, Dirty Fiend, in NY hat and shirt. We smiled at each other and he approached to give me a congratulatory hug. As we neared one another, I felt something brush against my right arm, followed by a thud against the wall to my left. Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw a Silver Bullet strike Dirty in the face, splitting his lip. Marne had thrown a can of Coors Light at me and nailed Dirty on the rebound. He touched his bloodied lip, looked at his crimson hand, smiled and said, "This is your night, FatMan, you just can't lose." We drank on the cuff for the rest of the night.
Everybody here at the branch assumed that if the Sox won I would be calling sick. Not a chance; there was no way I was going to miss out on the opportunity to walk around the office with a shit-eater on my face making everybody shake their heads in disgust.
Around 11 a.m. the following day, Frank and I went down for a smoke. We stopped in the coffee shop and he started grumbling about being an angry Yankees fan, to which I responded that I was an elated Sox fan. The third guy in the shop turned and offered what his mother used to call a smile, but what the rest of knows as a sneer.
"Ahhhh... so you win once in 85 years."
"Well, at least we're no longer the greatest choke artists in sports history."
"Yeah, well you still don't have 25 world championships."
"Listen, when you know how many World Series the Yankees have won, maybe then we can talk baseball."
-Headline of the Daily News
Tell me what you think of this:
Miguel Fucking Cairo.
Has a nice ring to it.
-Seitz, 4:45 PM
Seitz was right of course, Cairo is exactly the type of player who a) sticks it to the Sox, b) has a Leyritz-esque moment or c) does both. While we’re on the subject of Jimmy “The King” Leyritz, can we talk about the outfit he had put together last night? Christ on a bike, Jimmy ... the hat? The jacket? Is there anything worse than one of those patch-of-every-team jackets? And for Leyritz to be wearing one in the Stadium that prominently featured a Red Sox logo on the chest? You’re a fucking mess, Jimmy. Get help before you end up like Pepitone.
The evening’s proceedings got off to an inglorious start as Dale “Rally Killer” Sveum - the inheritor of Wendell “The Windmill” Kim’s throne - sent Johnny Damon to an early demise. It was a decision shocking in its disregard for baseball wisdom. Dale, if you’re reading this: NEVER MAKE THE FIRST OUT AT HOME. NEVER. It was the type of moment that makes Sox fans so gratingly defeatist; with the chance to step on Brown’s neck in the first, we instead used that same foot for target practice.
The sting was quickly cool when Kevin Brown grooved a pitch right into Papi’s wheelhouse; we were out of our seats before the ball met the bat. Asked for a statement after the game, Ortiz offered his sincerest apologies to the ball’s wife and family.
DAMNED YANKEES
-Headline of the New York Post
I watched Lowe go out for the bottom of the first with great trepidation. As noted yesterday, the guy’s been a mess all year. When you actually have to go the press to make the case that you’re not a head case, well … He had stood tall in Game 4, leaving the game with a 3-2 lead after 5 1/3 innings, but last night he was pitching on two days rest. It was evident early on that the old axiom that sinkerballers tend to get better movement on their pitches when they’re tired was in effect. He made quick work of the Cerberus. Suddenly I was a little more relaxed. Then he dispensed with Matsui and Williams, walked Posada and retired Lofton.
In sharp contrast to Lowe, Brown was a mess, constantly missing his spots, none of that nasty movement that’s made him so good over the years. After walking Mueller and O-Cab, he was officially done and Torre called for Vasquez. When the Yankees picked up Vasquez this past off-season, I was crestfallen. I’d been a fan for a couple of years, loved his game and I figured he’d be the kind of guy who was just cocky enough to feed off of New York City. I was delightfully wrong. To be fair, you can only ask so much of guy coming into a game with one out and the bases juiced.
First pitch to Damon, 6-0 Boston.
For the next ten minutes I kept looking to my friends, asking, “Did Johnny Damon just hit a grand slam? Did that just happen?” I can report that every major news source I’ve checked has confirmed this to be true, so I have no choice but to believe it.
The Yankees finally got it going in the third as Cairo got “hit” by a pitch. I know the rules is that if it touches any part of the body or uniform, it’s an HBP, but please, shouldn’t the ball’s path be changed just a smidge for a guy to get a free pass? Any-hoo, Cairo stole second and scored on Jeter’s single. By the time A-Rod was ahead in the count, 1-0, I was on Travelocity pricing airfare/hotel/rental car packages to Chicago so I could smite Seitz for his prophesy. Before my credit card had cleared, Lowe had induced both Rodriguez and Sheff to ground out.
Vasquez seemed to settle in following his first-pitch implosion, but after a lead-off walk to O-Cab in the fourth, he officially spit the bit. If, like me, you’re an obsessive loser, you keep the game cast up so you can track pitch counts and check for Seitz’ snide comments. I turned away from the TV for a moment and when I looked back, I smiled at the replay of Damon’s salami off Vasquez of two innings before. Only it wasn’t a replay, it was another home run, 8-1 Boston.
HELL FREEZES OVER
-Back page of the Daily News
My mother called me this morning to congratulate me, recognizing the huge contribution I had made to the Sox’ triumph. She was at home with her boyfriend (Yes, I’m from a broken home. Yes, my mother is living in sin. It’s too painful, don’t ask) playing Scrabble last night when she told him she just wanted to check the game so she could “have a sense of (her) family’s mental state.” She’s the only one who didn’t drink the kool-aid; she’s sort of bemused by our Wile E. Coyote-ish commitment, but she knows that whether she cares or not, the Red Sox’ fortunes effect her. She says I was a zombie for six weeks after ’86, I don’t believe her, but I can’t remember that time, so maybe she’s right. She turned on the TV, “I looked. And then I looked again. And then I said, ‘I’m sorry, Peter, but does that say 8-1, Red Sox.’” Peter told her that it was in fact the score.
Congrats.Typical Seitz. I imagine Bill walking around Chicago wearing a t-shirt that says “Schadenfreude Is a Dish Best Served Warm”.
Of course, if 1986 is an indication, the inevitable WS meltdown will be monumental.
-Seitz, 9:57 PM
After two walks by Vasquez, Loiza came in to put out the fire. Despite a too-adventurous fifth, for the second time in three days, Loiza was the calming presence the Yankees desperately needed, getting them through the seventh without further damage.
Ah, the seventh. Amy and Martin showed up as we turned back to the game following Ronan Tynan’s (I can’t even be bothered to check the spelling, I’m so tired of this guy (don't tell Ashcroft)) two-and-a-half minutes of tyranny. Everybody was laughing and drinking and having a high time. I offered Amy my seat, “Please, I’m gonna be pacing till this is over anyway.”
Lowe got through the fourth, fifth and sixth innings on ten pitches each, only 69 for the night, allowed 1 run, 1 hit and 1 walk. He was a buzz saw. And then Captain Hazelwood stumbled on his way to the liquor cabinet, sent the wheel spinning and damn near steered the SS Red Sox Nation right into the craggy shores of history. He inexplicably pulled Lowe and brought in Pedro Martinez to pitch the 7th.
I know that Fran-coma has admitted (seemingly bragged) that he didn’t watch last year’s ALCS, but would somebody please buy him a copy? Please? And didn’t he at least watch Game 5 of this series? He was able to get tickets, right?
“Hmm... big lead, late in Game 7, Yankee Stadium, Matsui due up… what’s the worst thing I could possibly do? I know!”
I couldn’t stand it. It was like storming the beaches at Normandy, taking a look around and saying, “Fuck it, we’ll let Canada deal with it.” I immediately pulled out my phone to have Matt to talk me off the ledge. Matsui’s double was rattling around the right field corner by the time he answered.
“Explain this to me.” I demanded. “Convince me that this makes any sense, show me the logic behind this. Convince me this isn’t the single worst substitution you have ever seen in a baseball game.”
“I… uh… I can’t.” At least he was being honest. But you can’t take the Pollyanna Californian out of the boy and so he tried to tell me that Fran-coma was determined to exercise all of the demons - including El Diva’s - from last year. I had to remind myself that he thought he was helping.
As this conversation was taking place Ritik was leaving a message asking, “FatMan, why’d we do this? Call me back, explain this to me.”
By the time I got off the phone, Amy turned to me and noted, “It’s amazing. When we got here it was so loud and now everybody’s really quiet.”
When the coroner finally pulled the sheet over the seventh, the Yankees had pulled to within 5, 8-3.
Tuesday’s offensive hero, Strollin’ Mark Bellhorn, welcomed Tom Gordon to the game with a towering shot that crashed high against the fencing along the right field foul pole, 9-3. Flash got through the rest of the inning unscathed, but a pair of singles and a pair of sac flies off Gordon in the 9th made it 10-3
Around this time Fox put up a graphic showing the greatest upsets of all time, ‘Nova v. G’town, Jets v. Colts, USA v. USSR. Then it occurred to me, “Hey, you stupid fucks! This doesn’t rate as one the greatest upsets of all time. It’s not even an upset; the Sox were favored by most people to win. This is the greatest choke of all time, the greatest comeback of all time, it is not an upset!”
If you yell at the TV loud enough it can hear you… really.
WHAT A CHOKE
-Back page of the New York Post
After recording the first two outs of the ninth, Timlin gave way to Embree, who promptly got Sierra to hit a grounder to Pokey who in turn tossed it to The Minx for the final out. Bedlam. The calls started rolling in. D'man was in SoBo and told me it was incredible, "Literally like Mardi Gras!" he hollered over the shouts and screams and car horns.
After we had calmed down a bit, we rolled around the corner to the 'Shine, where Marnie was working. She's a Yankees fan; when I walked in with my arms raised in triumph, she was displeased. Then I saw my friend, Dirty Fiend, in NY hat and shirt. We smiled at each other and he approached to give me a congratulatory hug. As we neared one another, I felt something brush against my right arm, followed by a thud against the wall to my left. Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw a Silver Bullet strike Dirty in the face, splitting his lip. Marne had thrown a can of Coors Light at me and nailed Dirty on the rebound. He touched his bloodied lip, looked at his crimson hand, smiled and said, "This is your night, FatMan, you just can't lose." We drank on the cuff for the rest of the night.
Everybody here at the branch assumed that if the Sox won I would be calling sick. Not a chance; there was no way I was going to miss out on the opportunity to walk around the office with a shit-eater on my face making everybody shake their heads in disgust.
Around 11 a.m. the following day, Frank and I went down for a smoke. We stopped in the coffee shop and he started grumbling about being an angry Yankees fan, to which I responded that I was an elated Sox fan. The third guy in the shop turned and offered what his mother used to call a smile, but what the rest of knows as a sneer.
"Ahhhh... so you win once in 85 years."
"Well, at least we're no longer the greatest choke artists in sports history."
"Yeah, well you still don't have 25 world championships."
"Listen, when you know how many World Series the Yankees have won, maybe then we can talk baseball."
4 Comments:
i KNEW there was no WAY in God's green earth that you would resist going to work with a sox cap on your head and a shit eating grin on your face!!!
i STILL haven't figgered out yet why francoma pulled lowe. but afterwards, thinking about it, i realized that it was a great sign cuz he's craziern phil.
i know tonight you're gonna be sitting there screaming GO STROS!!!!!
poor seitz is between a rock and a hard place...
lisa
Do you really think I can be bothered to censor you?
-NTA
dear bill -
about beating the fellator - happy to help.
how will joe morgan put it - there he is, caught in mid-suck.....
IC
Do you really think I can be bothered to censor you?
Yes. Yes I do.
And see what you've done? You've now got Lisa signing her posts with IC, for christ's sake.
God, please bring back hockey season. I need something to watch while avoiding the World Series.
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