Immediately, MDC gives up a 2-run hit. 8-3. I'll be getting on a Metro-North train soon and won't have access to this crap. At least now if we win we'll know it was a huge comeback win. I'll have to see what happens after my ride...

Chan out.

How am I going to survive this series, let alone the playoffs?

Looked like we were gonna pull even, after manny homered to make it 4-2, then we had second and third, no out. But we have made 6 outs in 6 innings on the first pitch. God damn it.

We only ended up with one run there, so 4-3 them going to the seventh.

Hinske 3-3 with two doubles.

And KySny's doing quite well.

[Edit: I wasn't gonna say anything. But I actually went back in here and typed the line about Snyder. It was a risk. And sure enough, two hits in a row. Hopefully this line will re-un-jinx the un-re-un-jinx. Un.

Crap. Couldn't even hit "publish" before yet another hit. 5- effin-3 them. Let's see, World Series winning pitcher who knows Yankee rivalry and loves Boston and wants to stay? Or unproven platoon outfielder? Hmmm.

Let's get two on A-Rod please. Nope. In play, run scoring play. This better not be a homer. Unless it's some sort of boomerang ball with talons that can get Bronson and bring him back... double. 6-3. Here comes Delcarmen.]

Got to see the first three innings on TV on lunch. Frustarting, then sigh of relief with Johnson. Then equally frustrating with man in ScoPo the first three innings but no scoring. Then saw Hinske double in bar on way back to work. Frustrating again to see just the one run.

As I wrote that last sentence, saw Damon homer on the Gameday, after Johnson gave up walk to number nine. Oh, we've got plenty of pitching, we can just trade away Bronson. We've got literally the losingest pitcher in all of baseball, who admits to being "jittery" before a yankee series. Bronson's been here before--Wait, why am I even arguing something so obvious? Seanez, Tavarez, Johnson, Snyder. You're telling me any of these guys is anywhere near the pitcher Bronson is?

Looks like next two guys singled. Bronson would've saved this season for us.

Speaking of Snyder, they just put him in. Red Sox-Yanks, ame 1 of a five-gamer, in August, 1st place on the line, and we don't have anything near a quality starting pitcher.

Plenty of time, though. We're ready to break through against sweaty wang.

The motivation for the Sox right now should be:

If we win this game, at 1:05 on Friday, we'll have a chance to go into first later in the day against Ponson!

But unlike the marathon, you DO need to prepare (see below). So start working on your upper cuts for Wang, and Jason Johnson, please limit the runs in the first inning to, let's say, three? Can we do that? Two, three tops? Please?

[Take 5. Inspired by Michael Leggett.]

Click the box above for a funny marathon skit featuring Farley and Myers. Taped by Jere, November 10th, 1990.

Mike Francesa, of Mike & the Mad Dog, just said, I kid you not, and I'm paraphrasing a bit here:

"Next time you see Manny hit one over the Citgo sign...or whatever it is. Citgo? They change it every time I go up there. What is it now? [producer saying something in his ear--quite possibly "What the hell are you talking about?"]...Yeah, the billboard across the street. They're always changing that."

The Citgo sign has been in that spot since 1940, fourteen years before Francesa was born.

If Mad Dog were there, surely he'd have said, "Terrible job, Mike."

(Francesa also said in the last half hour that Papelbon has come down to Earth, and "that's just fact." An incorrect fact, I guess. Maybe he's dropped from Pluto to Jupiter, but no closer.)

Yanks got killed today. We're 1 1/2 back, 2 in the loss, heading into the weekend. Okay, this time, let's win the series first. Then get the lead. Then pull away. Then watch as the Yanks miss out on the playoffs. That's my goal anyway.

If you want to vomit, and then have pieces of the vomit have sex with each other and give birth to incestuous vomit babies before it hits the ground, read this article.

The Yankees have molested ground for their new stadium, to open in 2009. This is a portion of the article:

The generations that lie ahead, boys and girls from seven Bronx community programs, marched into the concourse to a large applause. They are part of what Bloomberg said will be a resurgence in the South Bronx with the stadium's construction.

"It's a pleasure to give it to you people," said principal owner George Steinbrenner. "That's what we're doing. This is for you people."

Whoa, whoa, whoa, George. Careful what you say, there. Did he really call the little black children "you people"? Funny, I was just watching a Good Times episode last night in which a doctor repeatedly refers to Mrs. Evans and the other black patients as "you people." Mama gets pissed, especially since the doctor is black herself.

And check this out, from Governor Pataki:

"In the first game played in Yankee Stadium, the Yankees beat the Boston Red Sox. So many years later, the Yankees are three games ahead of the Boston Red Sox.

"And while we are going to have a new Yankee Stadium, some things will never change, and that is the Yankees will always beat the Boston Red Sox -- with occasional exceptions."

Haha. Occasional exceptions of biblical proportions. The whole thing seemed to be one big "we can't stop thinking about the Red Sox"-fest...from those who say "What rivalry?" and pretend they're not obsessed with us. Terrible job.

Check out the photo gallery link in the article. It was a who's who of shit-eaters: Our traitor mayor, Sterling and Waldman (fittingly, Sterling is seated directly in front of Suzyn, instead of next to her), Yogi, Billy Crystal (even though he was nice to my sister when she met him at the Claridge pool in Atlantic City in 1985, but come on, this whole "liking the Yanks when it's convenient" thing trumps that. Wait, that reminds me, I think it was the Trump Plaza pool...), Selig in the role of Steinbrenner butt-kisser, and Big Stein himself (with stylish new (million-dollar? pure silver?) glasses).

Band name of the day: Incestuous Vomit Babies

Note: If you're looking for the Denis Leary in the booth video which has been taken down from YouTube, just check out my version, which was up before that other person's, but was named by me without using enough detail so MLB couldn't find it. Scroll down below my pictures of the Cyclones game. Granted, I totally missed the beginning, but it's better than nothing.

Last night I was talking (in real life) about how worried I am about having Wily Mo in the lineup with a big Yankee series coming up. Please note (this is very important): I would feel this way even if I was totally pro-Wily Mo trade. I just see this the same way I saw Yankee fans get excited about Bubba Crosby and Melky Cabrera. They get a couple of big hits and everyone assumes they have arrived and they can suddenly be trusted as if they were an experienced major league player. (That's right, TPS: Timo Perez Syndrome.) I watch the guy at the plate, and it scares me. I feel like he's just going to swing and miss every time. Or hit into a double play in the middle of a rally. If he can get ahead in the count, he's fine. But I was checking the splits and he's hitting under .200 when behind in the count. I think the Yankee pitchers, the veterans anyway, won't be afraid of Wily. I've been having these fears of hearing "...and Wily Mo has set a record with 12 double plays in a five-game series, as well as striking out every other time he batted, except for one long, long home run."

And all this is in addition to his fielding, which is also shaky. Even when he catches a fly ball, he makes a Brewers catch* half the time.

I think this whole experience has helped me look at things more objectively. Had we acquired him in any other way, I'd probably be on the Wily Mo bandwagon. Awesome guy, hits mega-dongs. To me, that usually means: "This guy rules, I don't care what anybody says." But because I was so against giving up Bronson, I'm able to really try to see why they were so high on this guy, and while doing that, I get to look at him objectively. And I'm telling you, he scares me.

But wait! Look waht happened. We are (still not official) getting Eric Hinske!

My fears have been calmed, if only a little...

The guy has experience, and when I think of him, I think of him hitting homers against the Red Sox. He could really help us. (Then again, I thought Jose Cruz, Jr. was really gonna help us.)

My only wish is that Wily Mo was white, and that Hinske was black. I hate being on the white side of an argument. Because you automatically have all the racists on your side, which is never good.

*The old Brewers logo featured a ball in the middle of a glove, instead of the pocket. (It also used that glove to create an awesome "mb." I believe Pat coined the phrase "Brewers catch," whenever a ball was caught, usually painfully, in the palm as opposed to the pocket of the glove.

Now that's a better feeling. Okay, we're either 2 or 3 back in the loss column headed into five with the dog-kickers at home. This may seem like some kind of excuse or justification, but it's almost better to go into a series like this slightly behind than slightly ahead. The old nothin'-to-lose theory. They're the ones who will feel the serious pressure if we take game one, and then more and more until they get a win. Let's proverbially do this, Red Sox.

Did I tell you how much I hate Wild Thing being Pap's entry music? Just doesn't fit. No buildup. The crowd noise staaaarts to ascend as they see Pap appear--and then boom! Song has already kicked in, ruining evrything. Then as the cheers die down, because no one can be heard over the song anyway, the quieter part of the song comes on, creating an even more awkward moment. Get rid of that song, Jon.

The Yanks almost got away with another one tonight. With one out and a man on first in the bottom of the ninth, and Dunbar down one, Melky Cabrera grounds to the pitcher. Throw to Tejada for one, and, Tejada, seemingly on purpose, throws the ball softly and on a hop to first, after botching the footwork on the turn. He is truely the league's worst star. Anyway, the throw beats Cabrera after all. Kaat (Kay's on one of his many, many vacations) shouts "In t--," starting to say the throw was in time, which it was, but the ump, in classic "wanting the Yanks to win and making calls in their favor to get cheers"-style, called it safe. Terrible job. Then I had to sweat through Damon as the winning run, but fortunately he grounded to someone other than Tejada to end the game.

Country dumbass kills tame bear. Terrible job.

I read a different article in which they mentioned some of this guy's songs. One was "My Town." Now I don't know Tim McGraw from Quick Draw McGraw, but I did recognize that title. I'm pretty sure they play it Fenway, along with a couple of other country songs. I hope that's it, because maybe now they'll pull it from rotation.

Please note, when searching the news for this guy's name, I came up with the above article (appeared 47 minutes ago), and another one about the guy's group's new album (59 minutes ago). So, it's probably yet another celebrity attention-grabbing, album-selling, perfectly timed fake story, a la Hugh Grant.

Looks like I'm getting the good matchups this weekend. I'll be there Saturday for Beckett-Randy, and Sunday for Schilling-Moose. My score predictions? Saturday: 2,496-2,180, Sunday: 16-10.

"You know what the title of that book should be?
Yes I Can if Frank Sinatra Says it's Okay."

"And if you do...and if you doooo." (Not his line, but, you get the picture. Hey, he mentioned Sinatra in both movies. Weird.)

And don't forget the wagon wheel.

On Monday night I went to Coney Island, Brooklyn, New York City, Kings County, Long Island, New York State to Keyspan Park to see a Brooklyn Cyclones game. The 'clones are an A-ball affiliate of the Mets. Click these pics to enlarge.

Here's the old Parachute Jump. My mom went on this when she was little. Kids used to get strapped onto a chute attached to a long cable, get taken to the top and then dropped as the chute opened. Needless to say, they don't do that anymore. But the thing still stands. To the right of it you can see the lights of the recently built Keyspan Park. The ocean is to the left of the boardwalk.

Here's Nathan's. As I rounded the corner, I'd see Chan, waiting for me.

And there he is. I totally snapped this shot before he knew I was there. I love the shot. First of all, Chan, you actually stand and read the paper while waiting for me? What is this, the thirties? Second of all, candid shots are always cool. Third of all, vertical pics with vertical signs are cool, too.

This is taken from out on a pier. The Parachute Jump and the ballpark. Note: Coney Island is neither cone-shaped nor an island. Discuss.

As we went in, the guy who took my ticket asked me to move the bag I was holding so he could see my shirt. I did. He inspected it, and I told him what he was looking at: "It says The Pac-Men, it's my old band. You wouldn't know us." I was just making chit-chat because I thought he just was curious about the shirt, as I often get comments when I wear it. But no. He said, "Just checking to see if it was un-American." A-wha? I just walked away, letting it sink in. I realized later I should have said, "So you wouldn't have let me in if my shirt was un-American? Do you know what irony is, sir?" (He was a dumb guy, he wouldn't have known. Maybe instead of gettin all 'nolegable on the guy, I should have just said, "It actually IS un-American, heh heh.")
The Keyspan Park scoreboard with the fake Cyclone rollercoaster on top. (The real Cyclone is just above the HSBC sign.)

The view from our seats.

View of the PJ from our seats.

All the aisle seats looked like this.

In A-ball, the cameraman and interviewer are the same dude.

Some Cyclones. At left, and being interviewed above, is Luis Rivera. There's nothing I can find that says he's the son of the former Sox infielder of the same name. So, I'll just believe it is his son, and he will be my favorite Cyclone, until I hear official word otherwise.

I like ballparks near bodies of water, and this one is no exception. The ocean is out past right field. However, the way Coney Island is situated, you can't see the water unless you go right up to the boardwalk. So, even from this perspective, you can only barely see it. Just a lot of sky. The amusement park rides over left field prove to be the better backdrop, especially at night.

The fake Cyclone. I gather these folks go for a little ride when a Cyclone hits a dinger, but none of them did.

The Cyclone pitcher pitches.

Another action shot. Where "action"="inaction."

One of the Cyclones' mascots. No, he's not surprised. His (her?) mouth always looks like this.

The two mascots, along with the very "Capturing the Friedmans-ish" King Henry.
[5/15/2008 disclaimer: The above comment was to compare the career of King Henry to that of David Friedman, the clown, simply because both are older dudes who make their living wearing costumes and entertaining children in the New York area. No wrongdoing or untoward behavior on King Henry's part was implied. It also should be noted that David was never accused of breaking any laws. I probably should've stated this at the time of this post. Sorry for any confusion. -- Jere]

Night falls on this dude's bald spot. In the background, left to right, you can see the Cyclone (barely. Again, look right above HSBC, you'll see "CYC" lit up), the tall thing with what looks like a KFC bucket that goes up and down, and the Wonder Wheel (green, far right). No, I didn't go on any rides. The F train teetering two stories above Brooklyn is enough of a thrill-ride for me.

Chan pointed out that the way the Cyclones name appears behind each player, it looks like "Clone." I then realized their pictures make them look like actual clones. (If clones were red.) So, here's the clone of 'Clone Dustin Martin.

I like how in this shot, a guy orders two of something.

This dude looks like Clark Kent when he ran home from school to beat the car full of popular kids who were on their way to Mary Ellen's to listen to some records.

Looking up at the Parachute Jump on our way out of the ballpark. Would you believe me if I told you they do "Sweet Caroline," complete with fan sing along with the "so good"s and everything? They do. I swear. I turned around and looked at everyone in disbelief. I found myself yelling to Chan, "Look, the Yankee fan's doin' it, the Yankee fan's doin' it!" So bad. As bad as the "No Sleep Til Brooklyn" parody, called "Baseball In Brooklyn"? No. Along with that stuff, there were the usual minor league game features. Announcer dude, hot dog races, contests, T-shirt tosses, kids all over the field. But a good place to watch a game, and a fun experience.

The park as seen from the boardwalk at night. Another guy in a Red Sox hat is just off screen, as he happened to be walking by.

Finally, a blurry, hence cool, shot of "Shoot the Freak." You pay money to shoot paintballs at a live person. The hokiest of the Coney Island hokey.

I'd been to Coney Island twice before. Memorial Day 2003, when it was about 30 degrees and rainy. (If you remember how bad it was that weekend when Wakefield beat Clemens as he went for win 300, a game I was at, well, it was like that at Coney.) And last summer, but only for a little bit, just to go out on the beach for a while. No, it wasn't summer. The point is, there was no one there. And I've been to other parts of Brooklyn before, but only the "hip" parts. There I experience hipsters, who you can see anywhere. (Although the hippest--read "pukebarf"--of the hip are in Brooklyn.) The point is, I guess this was my first time fully being ensconsed in classic, Welcome Back, Kotter-style Brooklyn. And I have to tell you, I felt like an alien. I honestly thought that if I tried to talk to another fan, they wouldn't know what I was saying, because it would just be mumbo-jumbo to them. Now I know why Brooklynites think of themselves as their own city, and want to be separate from Manhattan. The two are just nothing alike. I'm not putting them down, I'm just saying, I finally got to witness the huge difference between the two boroughs. Maybe someday one of us humans will set foot on Staten Island, and we can find out what those people are like. Speaking of that, at one point during the game, they announced an upcoming game with the Staten Island Yankees, and I immediately booed, and everyone else joined me. That's where me and Brooklyn are one and the same.

Not much to say about tonight's game. Except for a bunch of stuff. Starting with Aaaarrrrggghhh. Freakin' seriously, dude. When Papi tied it (Leyland hasn't heard the news that David Ortiz is an above average player, who will occasionally get a big hit in a semi-important point in games) I thought we had it. Then we go and eff it up.

If we had Bronson Arroyo, we'd have so many more wins right now. Replace all those Snyder/Johnson starts with Bronson. Then replace either Seanez or Tavarez with Bronson. Lots more wins. Instead we have a dude who's so inexperienced, and who apparently would've been good by now if he'd had more time in the minors, so instead of putting him there, we put him in the majors in a pennant race, starting in right field. His really long homers still only count for one run. We used to have this kid on our high school team named Matt. He struck out nearly every time, but when he hit it, it went a mile. Does that mean he A. could field? or B? should be in the starting lineup? No and no.

It's not Wily Mo's fault. The guy is trying. He can hit Sam Horny homers. But you can't just assume he's good when he hasn't proven anything yet. And they said Adam Stern needed more time in the minors!

I'm not a stupid fan. I'm not some guy who half-heartedly follows the team. I wasn't against the trade simply because "I like Bronson" as a dude. Because "I like Wily Mo" as a dude, too. I am a person who watches the games with my two eyes, and I tend to believe my eyes, except when it comes to the regular miracles Papi performs. We should have won that game tonight.

As the Wily Mo fiasco unfolded (for some reason it wasn't called an error), I flipped to the yanks game between replays, to see the ball flying out as Johnny "Will burn for eternity and Jere hopes maybe ol' Devil McGee will let him run the incinerator for a few minutes" Damon had homered to tie the game. A game in which the O's had had a two-run lead with the bases loaded the inning before. Now I'm watching (sound down, Kay is NOT allowed to speak in my home right now) as the Yankee Stadium doofuses cheer on Mariano, acting like they are somehow responsible for any good that happens on their watch, with two outs and two strikes in the ninth and a 3-run lead. Now it's over. F them. After all this, we're three back. God damn it. Hey, that should be our slogan for August: "The Red Sox. God fucking damn it." (I audibled there at the line.)

Check below for some funny stuff I taped from tonight's broadcast. You probably need a laugh right now. And later I'll post my pics from the Cyclones game.

I missed the bulk of this, but captured some.

Basically, Leary was bragging about the defense, and Youk made a nice play right after. Then he and Clark found out he was Jewish, and he made another nice play for out number two, and they started ripping into Mel Gibson. Then he made the tag on a pickoff to end the inning, leading to mass hysteria.

I've been thinking about this for years. But when Manny's hit streak ended the other day, well, that was the moment I figured out exactly how to put it into words. I'm talking about Manny's occasional lollygagging.

The situation: Manny is up, going for a 28-game hit streak, in what would most likely be his last at bat of the game. In other words, in order to keep the streak going, he'd need to do everything possible to get a hit. He squibbed a ball to the right of the mound. A weak little spinner that flew out of the pitcher's hand when he tried to grasp it. The guy goes and picks it up again and rushes a backhand toss so far from first base that Millar didn't even try to catch it. Manny jogs through first, reaching on an error.

He didn't sprint when he saw he might have a chance at a hit, considering the ball was in a sort of no-human's-land. He still didn't sprint when the pitcher missed the ball. Hell, he didn't even check to see how far the throw had gotten away to see if he could advance to second on the play.

This tells me, first of all, that Manny isn't selfish. He didn't care about getting a hit on that play any more than he does on any other routine grounder he hits (more on that later), even though it could've meant making history. But when you're working with others as a team, running out a grounder is actually unselfish, because it helps everybody. Maybe manny needs to consider that.

That brings me to my final, Jere-seal-of-approval-stamped "reason" why Manny doesn't hustle sometimes. When Manny hits a weak ground ball, or a ball that is fielded right away by an infielder, he doesn't feel he deserves a hit. At that moment, upon realizing he hasn't hit the ball the way he knows he can, or that a fielder already has the ball within a second of him hitting it, in his mind, he is out. If he gets on base after that, he will feel guilty. No, he will be racked with guilt. If he could live with himself reaching on an error or getting credit for a single that he doesn't deserve, he would hustle every time. But he can't. That's what his brain tells him.

On the other hand, Manny's brain also tells him when he "deserves" a home run. If he hits it, and knows he's done all he can do, well, that's a home run. If it ends up not being a home run, i.e. bouncing off the wall, well, he'll just have to settle for first base. I mean, what's a guy gotta do around here...

This is just my theory. I'm not a licensed psychologist.

Do I condone this behavior? No. But I'm trying real hard, Ringo, to understand this man. Do I, Jere, run as hard as I possibly can on every ball I hit, even if it's just me and someone else walking down the street, and he picks up a stone and I pick up a stick and we use fire hydrants as bases and play a quick one-inning game before our important business meeting we're on our way to? YES.

Do other MLB players dog it sometimes? Definitely. Do the announcers say john feces when Jeter loafs it down to first? No. And should players be praised for hustling every time when that's what they're supposed to do? (The Tupac "Be a father to your child" theory.) You answer that one.

There's a nobility in Manny not feeling he deserves a hit. Would I rather watch him realize he hasn't done his job and just admit it than watch Jeter reach on an error and pump his fist as if he DOES deserve to be on first base? Part of me would. Granted, there's a nobility in suicide but I wouldn't go around killing myself. I'd personally be the middle man on the Ramirez-Jeter spectrum. I'd always hustle, but I wouldn't pretend I did anything good when the only reason I was on base was because someone else effed up.

The good news about all this is that I know this problem can be overcome. In high school gym class, we used to play Wiffle ball inside when there was bad weather. Being one of the school's not-too-popular types, the last thing I ever wanted to do was be the center of attention, i.e. batting in Wiffle ball while the cool kids all looked at me. But the Catch-22 is I was really good at hitting, escpecially a Wiffle ball tossed underhand by Amy freakin' Laber. So, if I hit a home run (the likely scenario if I tried), I'd basically be siging up for a loser's victory lap of sorts.

You know what I did? I rocked Amy Laber. Again and again. I decided it was more fun to hit a home run, no matter what the situation, than worry about what the cool kids thought. So I took my solo lap, with each home run, even joking to Tom Blakely (playing third that day), that I'll "see him again soon" as I rounded third. Got a chuckle out of Blakely on that one. And it made me happy to see that none of the other kids, even the jock-types, could hit home runs as consistently as I could.

They were probably drunk, though.

When you miss a day of baseball, suddenly the entire games, which so many other people surely suffered through, become decided by a coin flip. You know the results have been dedcided over three or so hours, but you get them instantly. Unless, that is, you squeeze out the info, like my dad used to do with the horse racing results in the newspaper.

I got home from my night here:



...and, knowing nothing of the Sox or Yanks results, switched the internet dial over to the redsox.com channel. I put my hand over the screen as to only reveal to myself the picture on the top left. Each team's site usually pictures its own, even after a loss. So I had to figure out if the pic was a "we won" pic or a "consolation" pic. It was Beckett. A good sign, I thought. I checked below, hoping to see, "Josh Beckett totally pitched a perfect game tonight." Instead, it was, "Josh Beckett totally stunk, and we almost had a comeback, but didn't. You, Jere, weren't there for them when they needed you most. Terrible job."

Like a stake through the heart. Or at least through the heart of my until-then nice night. Then I opted to find out the Yanks result by checking the standings: 2.0 games back. Another stake.

Enough about that. Tonight I took the hour-ish long subway ride to Coney Island to see the Brooklyn Cyclones play the Coxsackie Muckrakers. Or something like that. The word "Muck" was in the team name.

Oh, wait. I guess I should wait to tell the story until I post the rest of the pics. Watch for that and those soon.

Caption for above pic: A lonely umpire waits for the inning to start as the Coney Island rides peak over the outfield fence or whatever. And it's summer and America and people are taken back to their youth and expensive stuff used to cost a nickel and blah blah blah.

The original fake tape of the fake moon landing has been fakely and conveniently lost. I guess now we'll just have to pretend that we pretended to land on the moon. (And that there's wind in space, blowing the flag!)

Speaking of blowing the flag, the Tigers are in town. Let me know what happens because I'll be at the Brooklyn Cyclones game. Did somebody say Tiger Town?

Okay, the moment you all, meaning I, have been waiting for. Click the box: [Update: Don't click. Video gone forever. Sorry.]



Michael Kay describes the play as it's happening. Then Jim Kaat takes over, describing how Posada uses his mask "as his right hand," and admits that the Yanks got away with it. Kay stays quiet the whole time, probably trying to figure out some way to justify this. Either that or he's getting specific instructions in his earpiece: "Michael, Big Stein has already chimed in here. His message to you is to simply move on. Don't mention this play ever again...and, hey, is Kitty still talking about it? Michael, YOU MUST STOP HIM IMMEDIATELY, do you read me?"

Scroll down for all my weekend rantings if you want. If not, just check out my Coke Blak commercial right below this.

Labels: movies

As you may remember, I recently tried the new beverage, Coca-Cola Blak, for the first time. I've made a commercial for the product. They can use it if they'd like. Click the box below.

Labels: movies

One game back with three to play before the Yanks series. I'll be at two of the five.

I'll be putting up that Posada cheating play around 11:30 PM if all goes according to plan.

In the ninth inning of the Yankees game, Jeter got called out on strikes. He got really pissed and argued with the ump. In classic Yankee tradition, he spoke his opinion as if it were fact: "That's not a strike." All replays showed he had no argument. TJ, Chetes.

Here's today's funny real-life story:

I went over to the Mexican place that's run by Asians for lunch, which was my first meal of the day, before the baseball started. I went to pay for my black bean burrito. I asked the woman if she could break a fifty. (I'd bought the $45 dollar Sonic Youth tickets a while back, so yesterday Pat gave me a fifty at the show.) She appeared willing to take my bill. She checked down below the register for change. Not enough there, apparently. She went to the back--to the fridge--to find enough change. Wow, I thought, She's giving away the secret money-hiding spot. Her hand emerges from the fridge--with a can of Pepsi.

"No, no, I'm sorry," I told her. I pointed to the corner of my bill and said, "Fifty. Can you break a fifty?"

Funny enough, but later, I realized there was more to this story. In the past, I've gotten a can of Coke with my food there. The last few times, though, I asked for a Coke, only to be told they were out. Not being a fan of Pepsi, I always would just refuse any drink upon being told there was no Coke. Finally, a few visits ago, the woman mentioned above gave me the impression that they just weren't carrying Coke anymore. After that, I stopped asking for a drink.

Today she was probably so excited that I asked for a Pepsi. An extra buck out of me from now on, she surely thought, as she searched high and low for a Pepsi. But it wasn't to be. Now that I think about it, after proving my obvious wealth, what with paying for a burrito with a fitty, maybe I should've just bought the Pepsi. Chan would've enjoyed it. Oh well.

Hey, did anybody see the new pictures of Castro, with the red, white and blue Adidas track suit? I kid you not. Watch for wacky internet- and late night talk show-stuff to come of that.

From the baseball rulebook:

"A TAG is the action of a fielder in touching a base with his body while holding the ball securely and firmly in his hand or glove; or touching a runner with the ball, or with his hand or glove holding the ball, while holding the ball securely and firmly in his hand or glove."

This tells me that if you've got the ball in your catcher's mask, and you touch the mask to the runner, he would be SAFE.

In the first inning of today's Dunbar game, Posada did this. And the umpire called the runner out at home. He'd been holding his mask when Wang fielded a grounder and tossed the ball to him. The ball ended up in the mask. Posada put his glove hand and his mask-hand in toward the runner. Then, with the ump behind him, he transferred the ball to his glove, held it up, and the guy makes the out call. (As a Stein-bonus, it appeared the guy's foot touched home before Jorge put the mask-with-ball-in-it on his body. Only in The Bronx.)

However, minutes after that play, on which Michael Kay bragged how well Wang fields his position, Wang botched an easy grounder, bobbling it twice before giving up. He gave up three in the first all told, and got out of it with a double play. Even when Wang is stinking, he can always get out of a jam with a DP. Very frustrating.

Sorry, I have to interrupt myself. Kay just took a shot at Sox fans that only we would even realize is a shot:

"Orlando Cabrera played for the 2004 champion Red Sox. Whenever he goes back there, he gets treated quite warmly. [After all], he played shortstop for a team that won the World Series when they hadn't won it for 86 years."

In other words, "and they don't treat Damon warmly when he did the same thing."

As if there's no difference between the two. Do I need to make the Dunbar analogy AGAIN for Kay? Jesus.

Another evil Kayism from earlier: He said that Abreu was having a "vitamin" hit streak: "One-a-day." Ha ha, really funny, dick. Anyway, he quickly checked his stats to find out that he was actually wrong, since Abreu had 17 hits over the 10-game hit streak. So Jim Kaat chimed in with, "Joe DiMaggio had a whole lot of those multiple vitamins." Okay. We weren't talking about multis, we were talking about one-a-days. Unless he was subtly correcting Kay. But he'd already corrected himself. Either way, Kay then sneaks in "Manny Ramirez is on a vitamin streak himself." Implying he also is getting one hit a day, hence a "cheaper" streak. Even though with the multi version and the one-a-day version, we've now established that they're ALL "vitamin streaks." Great job, guys.

Another inning, another rally-killing DP by Wang. 3-0 Angels in the scond. And on a ground ball base hit up the middle, Kay says, "Anoth ground ball that finds a hole," implying that it was a mere ground out that happened to not get fielded. Uh, Kay, it was a hard grounder. It got through. Base hit. Of your "ace if we say 'he's the ace' enough times," Wang.

Kay is the personification of evil.

While watching the star-crossed Red Sox-Royals series on the Royals television network last week (thanks for not giving me a choice, Extra Innings package that I paid nearly 200 dollars for!), I heard tales of the Royals' upcoming hellish schedule. After our series, they'd go on to play 12 games over the next 10 days.

While checking game times today, I couldn't help but notice the Royals had been swept in a doubleheader yesterday by the Indians. And the linescores looked familiar. Then I checked Friday. Same deal: The Royals have been losing in the same way we lost every game to them ever since.

Friday night they blew a 3-0 lead and lost in the ninth on a three-run, walkoff triple.

In Saturday's first game, they scored three in the top of the ninth to tie the game, only to give up the winning run in the bottom half.

In the second game, they scored a run in the eighth to take the lead, but gave two right back, and then were held scoreless in the ninth.

Three one-run losses, all won by Cleveland in their last at bat.

So the Royals distilled the life that was inside of us, and then, in turn, got the life inside of them distilled by a little Tribe. And that's how baseball has always been. And always will, until the end.

Today it's Lester against the O-Bags.

And in The Bronx, it's a match-up of two of the most influential characters in the history of American film. UHF's "Weaver" spins the wheel of fish for the Angels, while Caddyshack's "Wong" looks to take pictures of a parking lot on the Yanks' behalf.

Why do I get the feeling I'll be telling Weaver how stupid he is after he suddenly turns into a drooling infant at the sight of (God for-effing-bid) a tall stadium-looking object and loud noises made by drunk (sub-) humans?

I had to head out to Brooklyn for the Sonic Youth show in the ninth with the game tied. I was confident about the win. Sure enough, Pat and I later heard the result on the radio. Manny's first walk-off since June 15th, 2003, a game we were both at, along with five other people, back when you were allowed to get more than four tickets to a single game at Fenway. And he continued the hitting streak with that winning hit. 27 games. More than halfway to the most overrated record in baseball history.

The concert was at McCarren Pool. It's an old olympic-sized pool that'd been dormant for years. Now they're having concerts there:

Opening were hipster favorites the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. I guess the singer lady always wears wacky costumes like this one. And the guitar player must not realize he looks like every other dude, all of whom are just imitating dudes from the 70s anyway. Terrible job:

I love outdoor shows. Especially ones that start in the daylight and end at night.Sonic Youth was awesome as usual. I really like what I've heard of their new album. Here's a shot of Kim and Thurston:

Sonic Youth: The punk rock parents of...music, I guess. Here's a shot of Kim dancing and Thurston gettin' all crazy:

Then the two pipe-smoking (weed-style, not grandpa) girls in front of us each passed out individually. That was the one negative of that place, the weed smell. But, it's cool. Usually the worst-smelling shows are the best.