How do we cope with tough losses? Losses in which A-Rod becomes a real (pfft) yankee?

17-1.

Let's allow a mythical yankee fan to make an excuse. MyF, whatta ya got?

MyF: Dude, you were---

Jere: Sorry, what's my name?

MyF: Apologies, m'lord. But your team was facing one of our lower-quality hurlers.

Jere: Ha! As opposed to what? We said it last year: "A-Rod don't pitch." Apparently--ah, please stay on your knees until I've finished speaking--your front office didn't learn that lesson. Put nine Sheffields in the lineup and Ridgefield Little League's Andy Jonic circa 1986 on the mound, and you're looking at another disappointing finish to the season.

MyF: Well, sir, maybe Al Leiter would--

Jere: This conversation is through. Guards!


Wow, that came out of nowhere. Anyway, my one regret about the Trot inside-the-parker was that I didn't get to hear the crowd because me, my dad, and Rebecca were making too much noise jumping and screaming. (We're here in CT because we have to get up early to go to the game/concert tomorrow.)

The funniest thing about that play: Melky White Thighs, after missing the ball, starts running after the ball, and takes a couple of quick glances to his right. In other words, looking for help from Shef. Which is funny enough, but Reb and I came up with possible reactions Shephanie may have had to this, while probably standing stock still. Mine: "No help here, rook!" Reb's: "I get paid for right field, not center!"

Also, I liked Trot's reaction, after running the bases like the fat kid in Stand By Me running across the train bridge. It was one of: The guy messed up, I was able to get all the way around. Cool. Had that been Jeter who hit that, he would have been fist pumpin' it like HE made the fielder miss the ball. Actually, he'd have done this even if another yankee hit it, from the dugout, and would have been shown by the Yes cameras even before the guy crossed the plate, for his Hall of Fame-quality celebrating.

While on the yankee outfielder topic, let's talk Ondecki MattSuhey. yankee people rave about this guy's outfielding skills like he's bought them a house in the Hamptons. But every time I watch him out there, he looks like he's on shrooms or something. He's just so awkward. It's almost like he doesn't know how to slow down once he's decided to race to a point, which usually is a point that the ball has long since bounced past. I've never seen an outfielder rolling on the ground without the ball more than him. I know, tonight he was playing the Monster. I mean really, he's only played there, what, thirty times? And then there was that time when Sterling and Waldman, who my mom has gracefully dubbed "Suzie Steinbrenner," one-upping my dad's "Georgie Girl" nickname, were talking about how easy it would be for him to just step over to center field. Well, they're choosing Melky Licker (Jerky Boys Movie reference) over him, what does that tell you? By the way, Backwards Mike Kay was talking about a guy (from Newsday, I think) who guaranteed Melky will win a batting title, among other things. A "can't miss," he called him. I can assure you I will never forget this. Of course, I'll root for that to all come true after they trade him away for a half-season of Leiter.

Tomorrow I'll be at the game and concert at Fenway. I'll be there with Witch City S. G., Pat G., and Reb Jean. This will be the Sox game with more people I know in attendance than ever, between other blogging-types and their friends. Should be sweet. And we get to see the Unit, hopefully getting all frustrated and pissy on the mound.