2.5 with 8 to play! Yankee Yoonaverse in panic mode! Perfectly acceptable excuses like "the division was a long shot anyway" at the ready!

Tonight, 10:30 PM:

Anthony: This is it, baby, tied up! Just how we planned it. Keepin' the pressure on Baws'in.

Vinny: That's right, baby. Yankees, baby.

Anthony: Can't be stopped. What'd I tella ya? Surging, baby, surging. Another crown for God's team. The Great Mariano is ready if we have to win this in extras.

Vinny: Joba, baby.

(together): Joba, baby.

Tonight, midnight:

Anthony: Playoffs, all that matters, baby.

Vinny (crying): Joba, baby?


You may know this about me, but I love it when the Yanks almost win but still lose. This was the ultimate. They come back in the ninth with a TYR: errors, bloops, and they look assured of a win. But Paula Zaun's 14th inning homer wins it for the Jays. What a weird night. The Jays seemed to have it locked up, up four going bottom nine. We're about to leave for a little trip, and we figure we'll just wait til that game ends, knowing the Sox have already won, Beckett getting his 20th. And we sit, and wait, and wait. And finally we just leave, only to find out much later in the car that the Yanks had lost it in extras. Huge game, division-wise.

Considering we missed the playoffs last year, I like the fact that we're two wins away from clinching this year. Magic number for the division is 7.

Who'd have thought Gabe Kapler's* dreams would lead him right back to where we need him?

Looks like Gabe wants to play again.

My girlfriend was adamant--adamant!--in her belief that Gabe should not have retired. She was completely baffled. "Why would he stop? He's so young?" I tried to give her all the smart aleck answers: Maybe he just can't do it anymore. Maybe he just really wants to manage.

She called me out on those stock answers, and now Gabe is calling himself out. We'll see where he ends up. I can think of 29 teams he'd be perfect for!


*spelled "Kaplar" by females. Seriously, has anyone else noticed this? What is it about the heterosexual female mind that specifically says Kapler should have an A instead of an E? I think this is a testament to the hunky qualities of Gabe. Women are so flustered at the mere thought of him that upon reaching the second vowel when spelling his name, they're lucky their fingers are hitting the keyboard at all. Any thoughts?

It seems I have a chance to purchase Indians ALDS tickets*. If you're a Red Sox fan who lives near Cleveland, who's willing to assume the Sox will get the Indians in round one, and is having trouble finding tickets, e-mail me and I'll give you the code.

*Why, you ask? What, don't you go around to all the team sites and enter their contests? They're free!

Remember I told you about NYC public access superstar Fancy Nancy? I guess she's a movie star now. Or, already was. But she's in a new movie called Across the Universe (out today). And she's also the co-star of this Fountains of Wayne video. (fn fans should recognize the red "NO" jersey.)

Of course, she's not Fancy Nancy in these things. She's Regular McRegulation. I don't even know if I'm supposed to know her real name. But apparently I do. It's almost like knowing about your first grade teacher's sex life. For some reason.

In "whether there is or isn't political commentary at Joy of Sox" news, Joy Boy's got a thing about the Iraq Moratorium up there. "Check it out," as late-20th-early-21st century humans might say. If he ever puts it up for a vote whether people want to hear his left-wing, commie pinko opinions on his blog again, I'll be voting YES!

I'm really into this White & Nerdy video by Weird Al. Love the Pac-Man lights. There's so much stuff I actually do in there. I was thinking, though, where do "baseball card/boxscore geeks" fit into the nerd scheme? Are we actually cooler than the D&D crowd? Or do they not acknowledge us since athletics are involved?

It's also interesting how Al will make me realize that some pop song I ignored is actually pretty good. Oh, and Al actually rolled onto the stage on a Segue to perform this song last night.

Another clip I keep watching is this Feist performance from Letterman. (It's the song from the ipod commercial that you can't get out of your head and you surely either love or hate because you're a human being.) Feist used to sing in Broken Social Scene, who I saw and described on this blog back in 2005. (The day Schilling became a "closer" and "blew" that "save" to the Yanks as I recall.) Anyway, yeah, those vocals kind of rip of Joanna Newsom, but I still love that song. And this performance on Dave is really cool. I love songs that have that buildup, going from "kid alone in basement" to "all-out 4th of July sing-along bash." Or maybe I should say Canada Day bash. That "bash" is a weird word, eh? Amongst the singers in the background are my boy from Mates of State, and, yes, my girl from Mates of State.

All this music's getting pretty incestuous, with all these people working with other groups. And, is this what's popular now? These people that are just kind of normal people, making really understated, uncomplicated music? Do people like Nickelback more or fake indie-rock more? Have people decided anti-folk is an actual term? Is this yet another "year indie broke"? Can someone tell me what's going on?

In other news, a Yankee fan asked (in a rejected comment) why people are reading my blog. Let me clarify that statement: THE Yankee fan who has come to my blog at least ten times a day for over a year is asking why OTHER people are coming here? I don't know, guy, but I must be doing something right. Obviously.

You know this Richie Rich fashion boy who bought the Bonds ball? And how he's asking the public to vote on what he should do with the ball? (Note: this is called a publicity stunt and we're all playing right into it.) Option A is send it to the Hall of Fame. Option B is to put an asterisk on it and then send it to the Hall. Option C is to send it to outer space on a rocket ship.

Has anyone bothered to ask this guy how exactly he'd go about sending a ball into outer space? Is there a point where you get so rich, you just buy rockets and then take space cruises from your back yard? Woohoo, look at me! I'm goin' to space! 3-2-1 blastoff! Be back in forty-five minutes!

Or is he gonna go to NASA and just knock on the door? If I were NASA, I'd be like, "get the fuck outta here! We're doing important scientific shit with these rockets! We don't save room on board for shit that people wanna get rid of! What kind of a ragtag operation you think we're runnin' here?? If I see you snoopin' around here one more time I swear to god I'll kill you with my bare hands. Now take your stupid ball, and go design some more T-shirts that nobody gives a shit about. Jerk."

Here's a vote for ya:

What should I do with the lint I just pulled outta my innie?

A. Act like I and it are special.

B. Some stupid second shitty option that nobody cares about.

C. Act like I have the power to control what goes to/from space.

Suddenly, we've got the third best record in baseball. Tonight, we went to the Weird Al show in New Bedford. We got in the car afterwards, and heard the four words we didn't want to hear: "one and a half."

Our problem this week is hitting. Two runs per game since Sunday. But we've got Manny, Youk, and Coco out. Just have to hope these guys are all ready for October.

Thanks to Detroit, this division title is meaning less and less, for both the Sox and Yanks. If it comes down to the last day, would Torre waste his ace just to say they came back from a big deficit? And would Tito waste his just to say we were able to hold the lead? I hate the wild card, as I've said. Both us and the Yanks have put ourselves in a position where the division doesn't matter, since we're both in anyway, and we're too close to each other. The good thing about winning this division is winning it with enough time to rest everybody afterwards. Now, the winner most likely won't get too much extra rest. Then again, the loser will get the same amount of rest.

Let's just say that now that it's this close, and now that both teams are just about in the playoffs, I won't mind if my friends get to see the clinch on that Saturday with the tickets I gave them. I already said it would be anti-climactic a few days ago, but now it's even moreso. Not that I won't be happy when we do clinch....

What we've blown has been blown already: the chance to clinch early and prepare fully for the playoffs. Because we've blown that, it doesn't matter now. One extra home game in the first two rounds, that's it. Besides, the wild card might even get the more desirable opponent at this point. It's all just totally stupid. I understand the Yanks won on a wild pitch tonight. Whoopdee-woo.

So, am I forgiven for following the Yanks (even after I said they were dead, which they still are, in terms of being able to go far in the playoffs) all year long instead of "ignoring" them?

Friday, we start winning, take the meaningless division, and be "that team" that has the momentum going to the playoffs. Please. The four-game win streak and Yankee five-game losing streak is still possible, in which case we would have some time to prepare for the playoffs. A long shot, but I'm rooting for it. Starting.....now!

Weird Al played all the hits. Some in medley-form, but if he didn't do that, the 2.5 hour show would've been 4 hours. I give the guy and his band a lot of credit for putting on such an elaborate show night after night, and always packing people in. Ah, the Weird Al show. Those were the good old hours of tonight, before I found out the baseball scores.

Every day, second-grader Davey Shapiro walks a half mile home from school. That's a long way for a six-year old, but Davey can handle it. Every step--until the hill. His final two hundred yards slope upward, and can seem like Everest. With an autumn chill in the air and a sore leg from a kickball injury, today he might not make it--Mom's always ready for that call for a ride.

He's too young to see the metaphor. But tell his story to a baseball fan in his neighborhood, and watch their eyes drop to the floor.

"A struggle at the end. Sounds like a team I know," says Hal Shapiro, 38, with an embarrassed chuckle. "Except the Yankees can't call for a ride."

The New York Yankees, once the pride of all baseball, are having a tough time lately. You can get a shirt outside their (fittingly) soon-to-be dust stadium that says so. Anybody can have a bad millennium.

But it's not all bad. From April to September, there are highlights. The team still wins division championships. But nobody throws a parade for a division champion.

"It's almost our achilles heel now," says Frank Tortelli, a vendor outside the stadium. "We're a laughing stock--'Ooh, how many division championships do you have?' I can't even look these opposing fans in the eye anymore."

Davey Shapiro has a "circular file" full of division title pennants. "Every year, my dad gets me the 'Division Champs' banner. And every year I throw it away. I know he means well, but it would be like a wall full of bronze medals or second-place ribbons. I'm tired of getting laughed at."

At this point, Hal just hopes his son will get to see a world title in his lifetime. "Just once," he says, almost tearing up. He tries to console his son with tales of yesteryear. The relationship between father and son is as tragic as the team they follow. "Son, I can remember when the Yanks were great even in October," says dad. Davey is quick to retaliate. "Was that back when phones had cords?"

This winter, like the one before it, and the one before that, looks to be a cold one. The harsh Decembers and Januarys make one wonder: Is this what Yankee fans want? If it was suddenly 80 degrees in January, would they know what to do? It's almost like they look forward to the misery, the heartbreak, the tragedy. And it is tragic. A team with this much money should be able to seal the deal. Occasionally at least. The fans show up. The team makes the post-season, year after year, unlike their brethren, the lovable loser Chicago Cubs.

"We got a Cubs fan in our school. He gives me good advice on how to deal [with the losing]," says Davey's older brother, Scott, 9. "The first baseball game I can remember was Game 7 of the 2001 World Series. I cried. We cried. Poor Davey. At least I can say I was around in the good old days." He smiles. "Even if I can't remember them." And then the smile is gone.

"The thing is," adds dad, "we considered 2001 a victory. For the city, for the team. For America. We knew we'd get a real win the next year, and the next, anyway. But we're still waiting. I still blame the security at Logan [Airport]."

He's talking about 9-11. It's not lost on New Yorkers that planes from Boston knocked down the symbols of the city--and seemingly the Yankees' dynasty. It's almost as if a "curse" fell upon The Bronx that day, as the titanic buildings fell a few miles away. The "big dig" down at Ground Zero has led to a hole that to this day is unfilled, much like this century's trophy case at Yankee Stadium.

"Boston," Hal says derisively, "they did this to us."

Neighbor and fellow sufferer Anthony Brown tries to make light of the tragedy. "I hope they don't put a Yankee logo on the new Freedom Tower. It'll fall down at the last minute, right before the grand opening. In fact, I'll be surprised if they get the new Yankee Stadium ready for '09. If not, they'll just tell us what they always tell us: Next Year. What do you think that interlocking 'NY' stands for?"

After the 2001 disaster, in which the Yanks needed three outs to win it all, with the greatest closer in the game on the mound, and debacles in '02 and '03, 2004 would be another in a line of great tragedies for this burnt-out 'burg. Gotham's Yanks blew it again, this time blowing a lead--to Boston--no one had blown before. Not even the Cubs. The Yankees' failures since 9-11 have become symbolic of a city that can't seem to pull itself up by the bootstraps.

"Boston," Scott says, showing signs of the same inferiority complex as his father, "they have it all: a world championship, a nice ballpark, knowledge of when to cheer without the scoreboard telling them to.... I wish they'd let us share in the glory for once."

Dad is quick to add to the list. "They're gonna have a lot of my money, too, when we get you and Davey enrolled in college up there."

The past two seasons have seen the tragic pinstripers come close and fail, yet again. It's as common as the turning of the leaves, the changing of the seasons. The choking of the Yankees.

And guess what? They're toying with the proud people of Metropolis once again. The ones not wearing Red Sox and Mets hats, that is. A few days of this baseball season remain, and the Yanks look like a lock for the post-season. But even Davey, who should be filled with bright-eyed optimism at his young age, says he won't get fooled again.

"It's like a pretty girl you like. You give her everything. You make her a special card on Valentine's Day. You save a cupcake for her at your birthday party. You make an iTunes playlist just for her. But she just goes for the popular kid. She never loves you back. You set yourself up for a heartbreak."

This year, Davey's parents want to see him happy for a change. They bought him playoff tickets--for Shea Stadium.

There are six home games left in the regular season, next Tuesday through Sunday. I have tickets to all of them. (All obtained at face value through the team site--so would everybody please stop saying "you can't get Fenway tickets"?)

For Tuesday, I got a single a few nights ago. Wednesday is my final 10-game plan game. Thursday, I got a SRO five minutes ago. (Loge boxes also available right now.) Friday, Saturday, and Sunday I got twos/fours for, way before the season started.

So, I've settled down (not really) from tonight's team win/Gagne loss, and I'm thinking about witnessing the clinch again. Wednesday, I have a softball game. If it's not a clinch situation that night, I'll probably play softball and let someone else have my tickets. And I don't mean I'll go to some website and try to charge 150 dollars for two 23-dollar seats like the money-grubbing civilians in scalper costumes that have taken over the world. Saturday, I've got a wedding to go to, that I've known about for quite some time. So those tickets went to a friend who's never been to Fenway before. (And if she sees the clinch, I'll never let her hear the end of it. Her and the Sox fans who decided to get married on the last weekend of the season!)

Of course, a four-game win streak combined with a five-game losing streak by the Yanks starting tomorrow, and we'll clinch before we get back to Fenway. Could happen! The momentum switches back tomorrow!!!!!

Oh, and my girlfriend and I have decided that if the Red Sox don't win the World Series this season, the final out of 2007 will be a J.D. Drew strikeout. In fact, is there anyone in the world who'd bet against this happening? Please comment if you're that one person.

Okay, guys. We've got a one-run lead. Six outs to go. Plan A: The shittiest fucking pitcher we have. Plan B: None.

As I'm watching Gagne pull a himself, I'm thinking about how he and Drew should get into a van, and go driving along side a high cliff. Drew could do the gas and brakes, and Gagne could steer. That way Drew will miss the brake pedal, and Gagne would steer off the cliff. And sure enough, the final blow--after THREE walks by Gagne--is a ball that Trot Nixon catches on crutches.

Top of the ninth now, and we find ourselves down two. Now we need a comeback....one out.

How do you not have Papelbon ready??? He can't get 4 outs tonight??? He can't get up after the first walk? The second walk? The third walk? Two outs now.

Now Lugo homers. A stinking solo shot with two outs, down two. Only Lugo could frustrate me this much with a home run! And Jacoby's out. 2.5 up. Terrible job by the Red Sox team site for putting up a magic number on the official website. Let the fans worry about that. The number hasn't moved since they put it up.

In better news, I'm seeing Weird Al tomorrow night.

So, no reaction to this? I'm the only one who finds this incredible? Of course, I know right where to look now--I can't not see the Sox in the clouds. Click here for the original posting of this shot and the alterations I made to it, if you missed it.

Silva, the dirtpooch himself, on Extra Bases today:

"and finishing at home vs. the A's and Twins -- 3 games apiece"

Wrong! It's two with Oakland, then four with the Twins.

Gordon Edes, also on EB, says:

"The phenom, Clay Buchholz, gets to mahttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifke his first start since the no-no (as y'all know by now)."

He makes it sound like Clay starts tonight, when it's Sid Lester tonight, Double-H Buchholz tomorrow night.

At least they've got Amalie over there, too, so we will occasionally get some actual facts from them.

Best YouTube video ever.

It's not the yearly vid of Red Sox rookies dressed in funny outfits. Check the WBZ website for that. This is a "video" for an awesome song that I've been thinking about a lot lately. Meaning, every time the Joy of Sox game threads hit the 138th comment.

Hey, if anybody in NYC wants to go to this (courtesy PETA), say hi to Nellie McKay for me (Chan, this means you):

"Yet another carriage horse has died, this time following something that would sound familiar to any New Yorker: the beating of a street performer's drum. A carriage horse named Smoothie bolted in fear last Friday evening after allegedly becoming spooked by drumming sounds, slammed into a tree, and died. According to news sources, Smoothie's panic caused a second horse to dart into traffic and collide with a car. Loud noises, including street musicians, are a regular part of New York City, as is heavy traffic. If the drumming had not scared Smoothie, some other downtown noise might have. The simple fact remains that horses do not belong on the streets of New York City and that horse-drawn carriages should be banned.

Please join singer and actor Nellie McKay and the Coalition to Ban Horse-Drawn Carriages at a vigil for Smoothie, the other New York City carriage horses who have died, and those who continue to suffer.

What: Vigil to ban horse-drawn carriages
When: Thursday, September 20, 5:30 p.m. to 7:30 p.m.
Where: North end of Grand Army Plaza. This is equivalent to 60th St. and 5th Avenue - north of the statue - right at Central Park in Manhattan"

Joy of Sox essentially brought this up before, but:

We're 3.5 up on the Yanks, and the media talks about the surging Yanks and 1978 and all that crap. The Yanks are the same distance ahead of the Tigers in the wild card, but they portray that as "Eh, the Yanks have wrapped it up."

Terrible job as usual, most people.

Wakefield hasn't been the same since that injury. Too bad. He was pitching great before that.

So, the more the Tigers lose, the closer we get to the playoffs. I'm still rooting for them to knock the Yanks out, though. But, let's say we make the playoffs in a few days. And we still have, let's say, a one game lead in the division with a couple of games left. Do the Sox (and Yanks) play their best guys, and use their top starters in those two games? Just to get home field advantage? Or do they save their top starters, knowing they're in the playoffs anyway, and just hope for the best, thinking of the home field as a bonus if they get it? The wild card is so stupid. Apparently, this is done so the fans in Kansas City can have hope--one more team makes the playoffs out of fourteen. If they really want to give more teams hope, give them all the same amount of money to work with. Then scrap the wild card and bring back division races that mean something.

I get excited about the thought of winning the division, but it stinks knowing we were just gonna get in anyway. And when I think of us losing the division (which, of course, I only do hypothetically), I think, Oh well, what are people gonna do--accuse us of "blowing" the home field advantage but still making the playoffs and having to win the same amount of games as all the other teams? So what?

So let's just move on to the playoffs. But I would like home field, so, Red Sox, continue playing the best baseball in the majors.

(Video of the guy who took Cano's hat here. Although as of 1 AM Tuesday, it doesn't seem to be loading up. Keep trying it. Judging from the comments, this video starts after he took the hat.) (And here's something about it on Bostonist, who retaliate to Gothamist's calling the guy a "Boston Idiot" without mentioning that fans on the field (and the backstop screen) at Yankee Stadium are about as common as a Gothamist writer saying "you're simply spectacular" to a mirror.) (Oh, and if this thing is the talk of the "USA Today"-ish Red Sox blogs, and you've see it all already, I'm sorry, I don't read those sites so I wouldn't know.)

When I talk to my dad, I know what he's gonna say about that ninth inning rally: "Too bad Pedroia didn't get a chance to swing the bat." And if he does say that, I agree. Same with Ellsbury, who got hit before Dustin walked. If I want a hit, with no offense to Papi or anybody else, I want to see Dustin up, followed by &Myers. Good to see the great Mariano still has trouble against us, and good to see that fat fuck Jobber give up a rocket dong to Lowell. Good game tonight. The Yanks will surely think of it fondly at the strip club this winter.

Terrible joba by ESPN for not noticing Stephen King behind Papi when he was on deck in the ninth. And terrible joba also when they showed two guys throwing in the Dunbar pen, and the graphic said, "62-Chamberlain." No mention of the other guy. Joba takes up a lot of space, but he's not god.

I wonder how many of these last six games with the Yanks we win with Manny in the lineup.

Scroll down for my pics from Saturday.

Click all pics to enlarge.
Do you see something in the clouds? I did, so I started snapping away, trying to get a good shot of it. It looked cool at the time, but after I got home and looked closely, my mind was blown. Of course, a non-baseball fan would not see that blue hole as a pair of socks. To help them out, I've altered the pic below. (The one above is completely unaltered--save for the web address.)

I don't know about you, but I think it's pretty freakin' awesome. Along with changing some blue spots to red, I lightened up the pic for you non-Mac users.

Below is a totally different pic. I just zoomed out a little more and added the caption.


Moving on, yesterday, the Yanks were looking to cut our division lead to 3.5. Their retarded fans were cocky as ever, still thinking it's our team that chokes, and theirs that doesn't. I can't wait til the reality sets in for them that baseball is different now. (I'll be waiting a looooonnnnnggg time, though.) No other team's fans brag when they're several games behind and haven't won a World Series in seven years.

It was a rainy morning, but it cleared out for game time. I knew there'd be no batting practice, so we got there late, around 3:00 for a 3:55 Fox game. Only a few players were on the field. Above, Roger Clemens searches the field for doughnuts.

Looks like a nice summer day, but it was cold and windy. The sun was going in and out of the clouds, though, so we'd get a little warmth when the sun was out, but the catch-22 was that it was right in our eyes.

Directly overhead, you can see the last of the dark clouds as they rolled out. By the end of the game it was completely cloudless.

I noticed Renee Russo touring the warning track with her family, I'd guess. Russo, of course, played Lynn in Major League. "That's bullshit, I have a much better body than she does!"

Russo again.

And again. Doesn't it look like mom and dad are stuck in a hurricane?

Beckett pulling a Mr. Zoppi as he always does before a start. Note of of Fenway's more underrated quirks, where the wall juts out a few feet from center field to the Monster. From our angle in the bleachers, someone could probably hide in that spot. (The "arrow" to the right of the word "company" points right into the hiding spot.

Beckett loosening up. You can see how the shadows are there sometimes, not there at other times, with the clouds going by so fast.

Kevin Cash does the floating ball trick.

Posada's freak-arms. (Another floating ball trick at right.)

Looking straight up at the light tower.

I took so many shots trying to get a Yankee in front of the "GL," to create the "GIANT ASS" effect. This one's close.

This one's pretty good, too. And note Jeter with hand actually on ass.

Hinske, Lowell, Coco. My prediction for the game: Hinske will hit a homer. It took a while, but he got one. My girlfriend's was that Beckett would plunk Giambi after Youk got hit. We both would be one for one on this day.

The obnoxious Yankee fan group behind us tried desperately to get Jabba the Slut to look up so they could take a picture. (Even doing the offensive "Indian wail"--they also called Wang "Fried Rice".) I turned to my girlfriend and said "do they mean like this shot I just got while he was staring up at us for the past five minutes?" These dudes behind us were older guys from The Bronx. They said stuff like, "you have to put up with us." I opted not to inform them that I've got chunks of guys like them in my stool. Wow, Yankee fans who think they're special, what are the odds? They got what they deserved--no one paying attention to them. They left in the eighth.

The first pitch of the game. Ish. Sun out now.

# 19 goes for # 19.

Shielding our eyes, as Drew catches a pop fly.

Coco and his shadow, 75-80% as tall as his soul.

A cool shadow on the Monster.

Another one for my "bat boys collecting bats" series.

Here's a shot I've never gotten before: the sun is so low that it's illuminating the rafters on the underside of the roof above the right field grandstand. You can also see the long sleeves and hoods.

A crescent moon over Pesky's Pole.

"Boop. Lights are on."--Eddie Murphy

More lunar action.

Bronson Sardinha was in right field by the end of the game.

And, I kid you not, Alberto Gonzalez was playing short for Jeter--who NEVER sits (or makes errors, like he did Friday.) It must have been TORTURE for him to sit in favor of Alberto Gonzalez.

Lugo bats with Doug M. now in the game.

Sardinha's first major league swing--a double play grounder to end the game. Ouch!

Moon over Fenway, and Mass Pike, blurred, 2007. Leaving the game we saw those two blondes from Still, We Believe. I always see them when I move down in the bleachers late in a game. They must have season tickets in the lower part of 42 or 43. (Or they just have the same 10-game plan as I do.)

What a great game this was. 10-1, and now we're 4.5 up with 13 to play. And the Yanks are 2 up in the wild card, as Detroit won on Sunday. Jacoby "&Myers" Ellsbury needs to be in this lineup. We couldn't believe it when he wasn't in, even with Manny out. Youk got knocked out of the game, so he came in. And sure enough, he comes through with two key hits. What more can he do?

Funny moment after Jeter's first inning homer. It bounces off the batters' eye and back onto the field. Coco throws it right back up, actually pulling a bit of a "Plinko," letting it roll down the eye to a waiting fan--who promptly fires the ball back toward the infield. Coco looked back like, "You're crazy."

After the game, I watched my Huskers not win against USC, the number one team in the country. During the game, Musberger was talking about Joba and his dad (still an usher at Memorial Stadium--they showed him sitting there). He said that the Youkilis play was something that "got a chuckle" out of everyone but Youk. Terrible call, Brent. But this is the guy who once said, while announcing a baseball game, "line drive...outta bounds."

So Beckett gets number 19. 19, like the Bad 4 Good song. You know. Sam from Diff'rent Strokes' band.

You won't believe what Mike Vaccaro said in the Post. Go read it. Second paragraph. You'll laugh. Hard. According to him, we'll all remember every second of Friday night's eighth inning. I just read the paragraph (in my best dramatic voice) to my girlfriend, and she said, "I forgot about it already!" Good call.

Finally, commercial number three of the Fios-tech series is out. We've all anxiously awaited new material from the potato-headed boy, aka greatest kid actor of the last 50 years, and I have to say, I'm a little disappointed. One line this time, not that funny. Number two remains his most riveting performance. Hopefully number four brings potato-boy back into the limelight.

Sweet day at Fenway today. My pictures from the game will be up on Sunday at some point.