Last night I went to bed happy. I got a great, long night of sleep. I woke up to discover the Yanks were up 5-1, and the Red Sox were not on TV because the Yanks were on Fox. I flipped on the computer to see the Sox sown 2-1...no, it just changed, 3-1....no, it just changed again: 5-1. That's right, I basically got to enjoy yesterday's events for about 0 waking minutes.

Then the Red Sox made it 5-3, but when Jason Johnson got in trouble, we brought in Tavarez, who promptly made it 7-3. Can someone tell me if this is a joke? Or some kind of psychological experiment on Red Sox fans? Jason Johnson and Julian Tavarez are not only on our team, but are the two pitchers used in a game in mid-August in a pennant race. Is this what you're telling me? Is that payroll we see in cents or something? I'm very confused about this. These should not only be fired, they should be facing the firing squad. Somebody in those fancy offices should do something about this. Immediately.

In the Yankee game, all the usual crap. We've got McCarver telling us on an A-Rod error, "We're not here to make excuses, but not too many 3rd basemen in the league would've had that one." (Note: they all would have. Definitely.) Then we've got an ump calling an Angel out at first when the ball was far from Giambi's glove when his foot hit the bag. "Not even close," admitted the non-Buck partner of McCarver. Then after the Angels overcome that to get second and third, Guerreo gets picked off second by Posada. Only he didn't really get picked off. He threw to Jeter who made his patented "pretend tag," to end the freaking inning. Even McCarver admitted he "wasn't so sure." But Fox opted not to give us extensive replays, partly because they had to go to commercial.

Bonus good news: We've come back a little as I'm writing this. Pena, who homered earlier, tripled in two, so it's 7-5. Too bad I can't watch the game, depite having paid A HUNDRED AND SEVENTY DOLLARS for a stupid baseball package.

Ooh, "in play, run-scoring play"...

Dong! Mirabelli ties is with a two-run shot! Yeah, dude! Let's bring in some real pitchers for the rest of the game! Please! Let's win this! It's the Orioles! More later...

After all that, we're only 2 games back, on a one-game winning streak, and the Yanks have lost 3 of 4. We may be 1-5 in our last 6, but they're 2-4. Hardly the "heavyweight" that our friend BSM is making them out to be. C'mon, BSM, it's not only fun to say they're stinky, it's true!

Tonight it was the Lidle/Ponson start, and hilarity ensued. A-Rod and Ponson himself were letting balls get by them in the field like they were humans and the balls were human-repellent-covered spheres. And the Angels were whacking the ball like ball-whacking creatures of some type or kind.

Their lineup tonight was lightweight: Nick Green, the Melk Man, Fasano, Wilson. Their rallies were, as usual, started with the help of errors. I'm just saying, they're beatable, and as I'd hoped, we suddenly find ourselves looking good again. This is where the media should be saying how this time it was the Yanks who didn't take advantage of the other team doing shitty over the last six games.

The Yanks did end up costing me some sleep, though. Here's how:

Tonight, Chan and I dedcided to hit the 10:40 showing of Little Miss Sunshine down in Union Square. The Sox game was over, and the Yanks were two outs away from losing, down three, at 10:15, when we left. We got to the 86th Street subway literally five seconds too late to get on the express train. Crap. Ten minutes later at least, another one finally approached. However, we quickly noticed it was a...dun dunnnn...Yankee train. In other words, the people were packed in like sardines, each one in pinstriped garb, on their way back to Grand Central (en route to their Westchester mansions) from the Bronx. I had no desire to board that train. I would have, if it hadn't been so crowded, or if more people had gotten off. But getting on that train would've been uncomfortable in more ways than one. So we waited for the next one. Equally packed. We decided to go for the local, and by the time we got to 14th Street, Father Time, who I call Clockie McGee, starting now, had made the decision for us that we were seeing the midnight show.

Now with an hour to kill, I actually let advertising work on me, despite my recent thoughts of: "Have you ever actually seen a commercial and gone out and bought the product?" I saw an ad for Coca-Cola Blak, and realized I hadn't tried it yet. I wasn't expecting much, since I don't like coffee. But I do like the smell of coffee (whatever kind my mom had in the kitchen in '79, not Starbucks or whatever). And I like coffee ice cream. So I thought I'd give cola with "coffee essence" a try. We went to some random quickie-mart, where I pet a really great kitty for a good ten minutes, and I grabbed a Blak.

One word, and it's a made up word: Pukebarf. Stay away from this beverage. Do not give it to children or the elderly.

My dream had come false: I'd have to buy a new drink, at movie theater prices, to get the liquid refreshment I'd need to wash down the M&M's I'd be smuggling into the movie. I went to the water fountain. Didn't work. I went to the Coke machine. 3 bucks. That plus the $1.85 for the Blak, and we're talking about almost 5 dollars for one 20 oz. Coke. I went to the concession stand. Small drink: $4.25, i.e. over 6 bucks for a watered down one. I went back to the machine, choosing the "bargain." Didn't take bills. Isn't this illegal? They're making all other choices of beverage unavailable so you'll have to buy their crap. I thought about, you know, breakin' stuff in protest. Instead I just didn't buy their stuff. Maybe I'll write a letter.

Little Miss Sunshine was incredible. If you're into the kind of laughing where you can't stop, see this film. It's got Steve Carell, who's worth the price of admission, even though New York movie admission has reached the 11 dollar mark. But the rest of the cast is great, too. Alan Arkin is really funny in this. It's about a dysfunctional family that finds itself taking a long road trip to the pre-teen daughter's beauty pageant together. And that's all I'll say. That and: this was the funniest movie I'd seen in a while.

Stupid NESN. I'm feelin' all good (despite Wily Mo striking out with the bases loaded, but, hey, at least I knew with 100% certainty he'd do that) tonight, with the Yanks losing, and the Sox looking like a normal team, for now. But NESN decides to compare Lowell's catch (falling into stands, early in game tonight) to stupid Jeter's catch from that crazy game in July 2004, instead of Pokey's MUCH BETTER catch from the same game! It's bad enough that the Yankee media completely ignores the Pokey catch, and uses the Jeter catch to show what he's all about (and they're right: phoniness!), but NESN? A comparison to the Pokey catch would have been perfect. It was a Sox player who made the catch, and he actually had to fall into the crowd, as opposed to diving in. This has ben the single most (all right, one of...) annoying thing for me in the last few baseball seasons. And now NESN--and Remy!--go and perpetuate the myth.

I'd be fine if the media had decided to always show both catches together. "The game with two great catches, between the two top teams. Jeter with the catch of the team who went on to choke, and Pokey with the championship catch." But no. Pokey is ignored. It was a more difficult catch. My opinion.

Moving on: I love the Mike Lowell character in the movie that is the '06 Red Sox. He's like the older brother figure. Not like Wayne Arnold. More like David Hogan. (He just stole third as I wrote that line!) Mature and experienced yet a funny goofball. He's got a steady girlfriend who doesn't quite fully appreciate him, but hey, who can? But that's just because he's perfect in your eyes. But it's cool, because she bakes you cookies and treats you like her own family. He'll give you advice for when you yourself start dating, and give you a cool nickname. He'll drive you anywhere, even if he's with the girlfriend. She doesn't mind.

Is this what older brothers do? This is just what I've seen on TV.

Did you see him kick the ball foul the other day? Comedy gold.

Tonight he got hit in the head by a pitch and then came back to make the incredible catch. Lowell rules.

I think I was right about the Sox being back to normal. When I started this post it was 1-0. Now it's 8-0. Even Wily Mo contributed with his nightly hit.

Classic Tejada tonight. Misses a ball he should catch. Gets mad about it. Big shu, nu results. And Manny continued the streak already. I wanna see this streak go to the 57th floor of the asylum that is Manny World. That's right, floor 57: The Heinz Ward.

No A-Rod, you're not getting off the hook for that game-losing error last night. TJ! And speaking of Yankee foibles I forgot to mention: They totally gave up 19 runs to Tampa a few weeks ago. This blog can't go on any longer without me saying that.

The question was: Dwight Evans, Rich Gedman, Jim Rice, and Bob Stanley are the only Red Sox players to do what?

AJM was close. His answer at least meant he knew they all played in Boston in the early- and late-80s.

The answer is, they are the only four to play for the Sox in at least one game of every year of the eighties. So they got that goin' for them.

Final reminder: For the few of you who haven't blown off the weekend series to go watch paint re-wet-ify, remember, "And the rockets' [RED!!] glare..." I'm tellin you, you're gonna hear the O's fans do the "O!" and wish you'd done the "red!" So try it. The hope is that even if only MattySox does it, at least maybe some nearby season ticket holders will hear it and do it the next day. Also, remember, only do this for O's games. No need to do it any other time. Good luck.

You caffiends are gonna love this: Yesterday I saw a tiny, mobile Dunkin Donuts vehicle parked on 42nd Street. The thing is three apples high, and has a Dunkin Donuts worker/driver inside. And it putts around hawking coffee to people that are too damn lazy to walk the, at most, four blocks it takes to get to the closest DD to them at any given moment.

And don't use them yourself! Please!

So, enough about the Red Sox. I've never seen a good team play a horrible team, and somehow find a way to basically lose to them once and then lose to them two more times in a row in the identical way. What is happening here? This is some psychological experiment, right?

I'm totally not wasting any more time talking about this series. And I'm not wasting any of my weekend watching these Little Leaguers. They can call me back when they remember how to play baseball. If I were at Fenway tomorrow night, screw that national anthem plan, I'd put all my energy into booing the Red Sox as they take the field.

There. Is that what you want to hear, Red Sox? Should I say "I give up"? Will that make you try harder? How about "I don't give a crap?" How about, in an Al Pacino voice, "Don't waste my motherfuckin' time!"?

You know what I hate? And I've probably said some variation on this myself, but, when people say "At least I have my health." Well, I had my damn health anyway. It's the baseball me that's ailing. Dragging along with one leg and flies eating my flesh.

Done. No more baseball. Fun other stuff ahead, even though I'm sick. Sickened by shitty, sickening shit.

Okay, so four and a half years ago-ish, friend of ARSFIPT Brian's old band, The Pist, played a reunion two-show gig at New Haven's Tune-Inn. I videotaped one night, and always wanted to make a little movie out of a certain part of it. I had the vision, but I didn't have the technology. Now I do, so tonight, I made my little movie. It will be right here in a few minutes. Okay, those minutes are up. Here it is. Click the box. For more details, read below. Oh, and you don't need to like punk rock or anything to enjoy this. It should amuse you regardless.



The singer is Al. The dude with the long hair is Malcolm. The song is "Mutual." The other song is... you know. Brian's on drums, but you can't see him. After The Pist, Brian sang in our band The Pac-Men. Both bands ruled.

Labels: movies

I hate National League crap. Lately they've been stealing with Coco. Nothing good can come out of this. If he's safe, it takes the bat out of Ortiz' hands. If he's out, that's one less run scoring on Ortiz' homer or double, which would've scored from first anyway in either case. Tonight we did it in the first inning. Coco gets on, gets thrown out, Papi walks and Manny singles. No runs as Youk ends the inning. Stop dicking around and let these huge bats do the work.

It's my thrid consecutive night of the Royals' announcers. This guy doesn't raise his voice when announcing that it's 102 degrees out. Doesn't get excited when the Royals win in walk-off fashion. They're pretty inoffensive, but the routine is getting old. I miss Remy and Orsillo. I put my Remy '82 Fleer baseball card up against the TV in these situations...

Let's all just cool our heads and watch some Cluckin' Chicken. Click the box below.

And if you don't like that, terrible job.

Well, the frustration wasn't there all night tonight. It waited to set in toward the end of each game...

Chi-Sox go down 7-0, but eff with me by making it 7-6, leaving the tying run on third in the ninth. At one point, they had bases loaded, no outs, and hit three consecutive pop outs. Ozzie, tell your fucking fuckfaces to hit a lazy fly to the outfield. It's not that hard. Had they gotten just one of those runners in, the game would've turned out differently.

Damon left the game with an injury. Here's hoping he's in agony right now. But I have no idea. I didn't even hear what the injury was. I only know he had to leave the game.

In our game, it also looked like a blowout early. Then Beckett suddenly went into "how many hits can I give up in a row?" mode, as he usually does. Then I had to sit through three Red Sox double plays, two with the goddamn bases loaded. As I type, we are holding the one-run lead, with Pap two outs away, but with a runner on third.

Why are these games four freakin' hours long?

Another quick note: Where's the speed on this team? I honestly think David Ortiz is the third fastest runner on the Red Sox.

Shit. We're tied on a sacrifice fly. Make that "more than four hours long."

You know, as the (final) pitch was coming in, I realized, Wait, it's not guaranteed to go more than four hours. I was assuming Pap just gets the third out and we have at least another inning to play. Then the dude gets a hit and game's over.

Now I'm sitting here, listening to the stupid Extra Innings package music, as the feed gets cut off right when the game ends. Just sitting. Typing. Calm, despite a shitty, shitty loss. Calm, yet fuming inside. What is it about these past two nights? A whole other world has dawned. I haven't felt like this in a long time. I feel like it's 1996 or 1993 or something. I remember the Red Sox being so bad, that during one game, they had a lead, and Pat said, "If they blow this game, I'm gonna turn off the TV and not watch the Red Sox for a long time."

I don't even feel like they're dead, just that I'm seriously going to have a heart attack watching, even if they do win. The song plays on. Why don't I change the channel? Why don't I stop typing? Well, I've got to finish up an article I'm writing for all-baseball.com that will be up tomorrow, and it's late, and now I have no desire to do it. Fortunately, it's almost done already. Good night, everybody. While I never give up, I totally don't blame anyone who just goes out tomorrow night and forgets all about the Red Sox. Even if you choose a Golden Girls marathon over the game, good for you. At least you'll have your health, and there'll be no chance of Tavarez walking in on Bea Arthur and company. Rue MacLanahan won't suddenly forget how to pitch from the stretch like Beckett. Betty White will have no chance of getting swept by the Royals. Hey, is it bad when you actually start to think that maybe watching the Golden Girls would be a better thing to do than watch the Red Sox?

Did I mention I hope Johnny Damon is in horrible pain right now?

I think I know why people drink now. I feel like--that's right, this post continues--I'm rolling a dice, trying to get a three. I roll it over and over. No three. I roll it for five hours, then ten. Still no three. I know I have to eat and work and sleep and stuff, but I know the three is coming up. One more roll. But it doesn't come. I know it has to. But it doesn't. And I'm sweating and clenching my fists and my skin is crawling. No three. No three. No three. No three. No three. Thr-- no. If I had a pool I'd dive in it right now, and leave my wallet in pocket, so I could get mad about that and it would take my mind off the Red Sox and I'd be in nice, cool water instead of this sweat-trap that is my body.

Okay, when you break out the phrase "sweat-trap," it's time to just end it.

[Update: My all-baseball.com/ Firebrand guest column is up over there and is also right below this one.]

The following article also appears at Firebrand.


In June, Dan Shaughnessy wrote this article for the Globe Magazine, about the way things have changed in Boston sports since 1990. Can you find the absolutley ridiculous part of the following excerpt from it?

"From Havana to Haverhill, from St. Petersburg to St. Peter's Square, you will see Red Sox caps in the crowd. And if you go to a Sox game in Tampa, Baltimore, or Oakland, you will find yourself surrounded by thousands of like-minded road trippers whose cheers can drown out the home team's fans to a demoralizing degree. About the only place that truly feels like a road game is Yankee Stadium."

Did you catch it? Surely I'm not the only one who's noticed the thousands of Red Sox fans who go to every Yanks-Sox game in The Bronx. Or the chants of "Let's go Red Sox" around the entire park that Yankee fans have trouble drowning out. Since I was a three-year old in 1979, I've been going to see the Sox in The Bronx, and I'm consistently surrounded by other Red Sox fans. So how does this "truly feel like a road game"?

I was confused and disappointed by Dan saying this. (But isn't that the natural reaction to almost everything he writes?)

Two weeks later, I noticed something similar at Surviving Grady (my emphasis):

"I think it all started at Camden Yards. Then it spread to Toronto. It popped up in Chicago and Tampa. Other than the Bronx, it is everywhere. Red Sox fever. It seems like whatever stadium the Sox visit, the 'Let's Go Red Sox' chant can be heard."

Is it possible that Steinbrenner really is using memory-erasing techniques on us? What's next, a Herald story about the Yanks' four-game sweep over the Red Sox in the 2004 ALCS? Granted, there have been a few recent games at Yankee Stadium where there were slightly fewer Sox fans in attendance than usual, due to George's tightening of the group sales rules. But for the most part, as long as I've been going there, we've always had a big showing behind the ultimate enemy's lines.

While I know they meant no harm, what SG said is even more disappointing to me than Shaughnessy's quote, because it helps perpetuate the myth that people are becoming Red Sox fans because they won the World Series. I've been hearing media-types say "Ever since 2004, you get a lot of Red Sox fans in the opponents' parks." This ticks me off to no end. Of course there are going to be bandwagoners, but I don't think there are that many in this case. People understand that being a Red Sox fan isn't something you become on a whim. Those that don't, well, I'm sure they had their fun being a fake fan for a few weeks in October of '04, and have since moved on with their lives, buying Miami Heat shirts or whatever.

There's no doubt the Red Sox are, and have been for a few years, a really fun team. If anything, I think they, along with the new ownership, have brought some people to Fenway Park who were always Sox fans, but for one reason or another, had stopped caring as much as they had before. But I don't think "Red Sox fever" is the reason you see so many Sox fans at opposing ballparks.

When I travel to see the Sox, everyone I see and meet in a Sox hat seems to be a die-hard fan who goes out of their way to plan trips to see the team play in other cities. This has been going on since the Royal Rooters went to then "H"-less Pittsburg for the road games of the 1903 World Series. Granted, at certain times it's been easier to get into Fenway than at others. During those times, it wasn't necessary to travel hundreds of miles to see the team. But it still happened, and there are also, of course, displaced New Englanders all over the country. I remember listening to games in the 80s, and hearing about all the Sox fans in Anaheim, the only ones left in the stadium after the seventh inning, after the laid-backies split for the valley.

When I left Connecticut to go to college in Nebraska in 1993, the first thing I did was figure out the nearest baseball city, and check the schedule. A few weeks later, I'd scored a ride to Kansas City. I'll never forget telling one of the young Sox fans around me at Kauffman Stadium that if she really wanted Mike Greenwell's attention, she should yell "Gator."

When my mom took a trip to LA in the mid-nineties, she saw that the Sox were in Anaheim, and also grabbed a seat right by Greenwell for a game, reporting a big New England contingent. (When I recently asked her if she had pictures from that game, she replied, "The Clemens against Jim Abbot game?" "You remember the pitchers," I asked. "How could I forget," she said, "one guy had one hand and the other one was Roger Clemens.")

When in Philly a few months ago at the Sox-Phils game, during a "Let's go Red Sox" chant, a dude behind me mumbled something to his friend about the 2004 "bandwagon." I wanted to whip around and yell at the guy, "You think we'd let 'em on? I was at the Vet in 2003, and there were just as many Red Sox fans there."

It's not about the winning with the Red Sox. It never was. If it had been, there wouldn't have been so many of us before the championship. It's about the love of a team... whose home games consistently sell out. It just makes sense to me: "I can drive to Cleveland to see the Sox and get a box seat for only thirty bucks? What a deal!" "But Jere, what about the gas it takes to get there?" "You don't understand, thirty bucks! I'd give a hundred bucks for the chance to see the Red Sox at that price!"

I guess what I'm really concerned about is the thought of other teams' fans resenting us, and worse, grouping us together with Yankee fans. But we're nothing like Yankee fans. By nature, most of them are front-runners. Anyone who wasn't born into rooting for them is choosing the team with far more championships than any other. Hell, most of our fans can't be bandwagoners by definition, since up until 2004, there was no bandwagon to jump on. We all came to your park to proudly support a perennial loser. Yankee fans would've quickly gone over to the Mets' side long before 86 years went by, I can tell you that for sure.

Look, opposing teams' fans, we Sox fans aren't coming into your stadiums to make you angry. We just love our team. And we love your team, so long as they're not the Yanks. (Though the White Sox and Devil Rays haven't been so "lovable" lately.) Welcome us to your park, as we welcome you at Fenway, and nobody's gonna get hurt. We're all in this together as the non-Yankees of baseball. We have the second biggest payroll, yes, but don't believe the (Steinbrenner-induced?) hype. The Yanks can get any player they want, and then replace that player with any other player if he doesn't work out. No other team has that luxury.

So let's all join hands and sing and dance, knowing we all share a common goal of seeing the Yankees lose.

Am I being idealistic? Well, we are talking about a world where the person who can hit a ball with a stick the farthest is considered a "hero"...

Just a warning. We're very close to hearing every blog writer and newspaper reporter say:

"Does Manny even know he has a hitting streak?"

So, just, you know, prepare to laugh yourself silly at this uproariously comical line.

If you know someone who's going to a game this weekend at Fenway against the Orioles, remember to tell them to yell out "red" during the "rockets' red glare" part of the National Anthem. Once it (surely...) gets popular then we can do it in September at Camden Yards to give those O's fans a taste of their own "dumb stuff to do at the park"-icine.

Look, you might as well do it. The twelve O's fans at Fenway will be doing their "O!" thing anyway. Let's see if we can't get them to stop that crap. Why? Not because I care about talking during the Anthem, but because it's stupid. I think it would be funny if the tens of thousands of Sox fans did it at Camden, leaving the O people to wonder if they should do it when the O part comes around, since it will be weak compared to our "red"-fest.

Things that caused Jere to scream out loud at his TV tonight alone:

Lester's usual four-pitch walks and 3-0 counts.

Hansen throwing the ball away.

Seanez and Tavarez appearing on the screen. (An idea: One time, let's take Seanez out and just not bring anyone in. Let him sit in the dugout knowing we'd rather place the ball on the rubber and hope the wind blows it to the plate and the batter swings and misses than have him pitch.)

Grounder under Gonzalez' glove to score tying and go-ahead run.

Wily Mo's double play. The guy's a dead body in the lineup, albeit one that occasionally hits really impressive home runs.

Ump calling Lopez out in key spot when he was clearly safe.

Error allowing Damon to reach as first batter of game.

Error allowing Jeter to reach late in game.

Ump saying A-Rod made tag when he didn't.

White Sox hitting into bases loaded 1-2-3 double play with bases loaded, no out.

Giambi getting hit with bases loaded in a tie game in the eighth.

White Sox tying game in ninth, getting the next guy on with no outs, but then failing on sacrifice attempt, pinch-running at first, and having that guy then get caught stealing.

And as I write this sentence, the White Sox actually give me some relief by beating the Yanks in the eleventh, right after A-Rod missed a foul pop which Jeter should've been hustling on but didn't even get close to, and the fucking Yankee announcers said nothing about (except to make the excuse that the ball was in no-man's-land).

Despite that, this goes down as the most frustrating night of the year. Easily. I am so happy this Yankee game just turned out right. I had been making suicide plans just in case. Or at least hibernation plans.

I want to just forget about this night that I thought would never end and get to sleep. Thank you, White Sox, you stupid assholes, for at least coming through.

Oh, and Leiberman lost, which is good, too. Great quote from the AP article:

"People are going to look back and say the Bush years started to end in Connecticut," said Avi Green, a volunteer from Boston. "The Republicans are going to look at tonight and realize there's blood in the water."

After a day without baseball, this first hour of the Sox and Yanks games is making me so frustated and nearly putting me in the hospital, so I'm turning to a good old-fashioned trivia question:

Dwight Evans, Rich Gedman, Jim Rice, and Bob Stanley are the only Red Sox players to do what?

Joe Namath has been entertaining America for decades. Long before his unfortunate, live, national TV, drunken flirtation with Suzy Kolber, my friends and I would imitate Joe's announcing skills and weird Pennsylvanian accent. And, of course, his famous Brady Bunch appearance: "Okay, Bobby, here comes the bomb." Here's a little Broadway Joe action you may not have seen.

[Update: How could I forget? The Wiz commercials! This one isn't a classic, but he still does the one eyebrow raise.]

Get the ticker tape ready. Prep the canyon of heroes. Start fitting the Andy Phillips World Series ring. The New York Yankees have already won the 2006 World Series...

At least that's what everyone who roots for or is involved with the Yanks would have you believe.

And I love it. I love it that their passing of the Red Sox in the standings in early August is such a huge accomplishment for them. I love it that they're so desperate that just being in mere position to make the playoffs makes them gloat like they've actually accomplished anything.

I remember, in 2000, talking to my Yankee fan friend Gold about the 1999 ALCS. He was saying how Game 3, in which Pedro beat Clemens soundly, was "our" World Series. Since we could never win a real World Series, just getting to beat up on Clemens that one time satisfied us. And he was right to a certain extent, I must admit. Not like I said after that game that I didn't care what happened. But looking back on it a year later, and even now, it was pretty sweet.

But now the tables have turned. At least "our World Series" back then took place in the post-season. The Yanks are basically claiming titles for every little thing that goes right for them.

Hell, earlier this year they had it all set up so that they'd get some kind of moral consolation prize for just staying close despite injuries, as if they didn't have the capability to just buy new players and plug them right in. And when they didn't do that at first, they glorified themselves even more: "Oh, we don't need superstars, Bubba Crosby and Melky Cabrera are taking us to the promised land."

They went with those guys until they realized there was real danger, then they promptly stuck a gun in the Phillies' backs.

But do they now say "All right, we admit, we did indeed need superstars to have a chance. We won't brag as much if we do win with the hired guns."? I don't think I need to answer that.

But I love this world. They just keep making fools of themselves, copying the Red Sox (from taking the guy that helped clinch our amazing win over them, to helmet-flipping, to Cory Lidle's recent double-point on the back page of the newspaper) but never achiveving the real goal of winning a World Series. The only thing they've got left is outdoing us. Oh, wait, but they don't care about us, with our mere six championships. There's no rivalry at all. Yeah, right.

To sum this all up, Yankee announcer Ken Singleton said, after the Yanks had taken a one-game lead a few days ago, that the Yanks "don't have to worry about the WIld Card anymore." That's right, Ken, the Yanks have passed the Red Sox in early August. The curse is surely back.


[This and other stories of how there's no point in arguing with a Yankees fan, ever, because in their minds they are truly the best people in the world and their team is the only champion for all-time no matter what any pesky record books might say can be found here at this blog all the time.]

Hansen stinks lately. Beckett stinks lately. Schilling stinks lately. Delcarmen stinks lately. Timlin stinks lately. Lester stinks lately. Tavarez and Seanez were never any good. Papelbon, for him, stinks lately. (One game-tying homer against the Rays, for him, is really bad. That's why I said "for him.")

Jason Johnson actually didn't do bad this time.

Wells is still giving up key hits on 0-2 pitches.

We started a catcher named Corky.

We actually had Javy Lopez pinch hit for someone else. Granted, it was Corky.

We won't get to see how Stern turns out because Varitek got injured. That's a shame.

Remy says it and Sterling says it ad nauseum: The something something something with the next day's starting pitcher. So, we may seem to be in a funk, I guess, but if the pitching can step it up, we'll be okay. They just actually have to do that, instead of waiting for someone else to do it, and continually throwing 0-2 pitches right over the plate.