You bet he’s celebrating. Drink one for me, J-Mo.
Somehow, he managed to stymie the Yankees and make them look utterly inept at the plate – on a night when our own starter was struggling in every possible way.
Don’t you love the New York papers? This headline from the Daily News cracked me up. Anyhow, A.J. was wild (not unusual) but he was also throwing fat pitch after fat pitch…
…and the Phillies, who’d been slumping, suddenly unslumped. The last straw was when A.J. failed to cover first on a grounder to Tex. He left to a chorus of boos, as if he had just walked off the mound in Philadelphia, not the Bronx.
As a matter of principle, I’m against booing any Yankee for any reason (except when I’m on Twitter and have no problem typing the word “boooo”), but A.J.’s lack of hustle – particularly after CC failed to cover first the night before – made me mad. On a positive note, the pen was terrific. Boone Logan and Chad Gaudin (yes, Chad Gaudin) came through for multiple innings, giving the Yankees a chance to get back in the game. It didn’t happen. Sadly. But tomorrow night we’ll have Andy on the hill. He’s bound to be our stopper.
P.S. Super she-fan Peggy, friend of the blog, sent me pics from her daughter Kristyn’s trip to the Yankees’ meet and great on Tuesday with Cano and A-Rod. Here’s Kristyn cheek to cheek with Robbie.
Are we jealous or what?!
If I had a dollar for every time somebody on Twitter (or my husband) said, “Tonight’s game is meaningless,” I’d be a rich woman.
No matter what happened during the bloated, slow-as-molasses marathon, I was reminded over and over that the game didn’t count, that the series in Tampa wasn’t important, that the Yankees were just marking time, getting everybody some work and settling on their final roster moves.
We lost 13-4 to the Rays? No problem. It was meaningless!
CC couldn’t go three innings, let alone win his 20th game of the season? Who cares?
Tex was hit by a David Price pitch that sailed near his head? So what?
The Yankees only managed two hits off Price? Yawn!
Not one of the six Yankees pitchers could shut down the Rays except Bruney? Not even Hughes? HAHAHA!
OK, you get the point. I’d like to be one of those people who shrugs off losses, but I’ve never managed it; I’d prefer that the Yankees win every game. Since that’s not possible, I kept my goals for tonight very realistic.
* I wanted #20 for CC.
* I wanted the offense to kick it up a notch.
* I wanted the pen to stay dominant.
* I wanted the regulars to avoid any conceivable injury.
My goals were not met. Well, Tex is fine; he said the ball only grazed his hand and that he was more shaken up than injured. That’s a relief, obviously. But after he got hit, I wished I could put the Yankees in a protective bubble until next week.
I also wished I could cheer CC up. He hadn’t lost a game since July and was due for a stinker. I’m sure he’ll be great when he takes the hill at Yankee Stadium for Game 1, but he did make my stomach hurt tonight.
I wished he and the other pitchers could refrain from doing their best imitation of a batting practice machine.
There were a few reasons to smile. BJ Upton hit for the cycle – the first player in Rays history to accomplish the feat. Congrats to him. And Juan Miranda hit the longest damn homer I’ve seen in a while – the first of his major league career. Otherwise, the game was meaningless. Yeah, sure it was.
P.S. Since Pete Abe’s departure from the LoHud blog, the Daily News’ Blogging the Bombers blog by the always dependable Mark Feinsand has stepped up its Yankees coverage. Mark not only knows the questions to ask but asks them. Check him out.
….the Yankees won’t let me and I’m frustrated.
I was all set to post today about something benign, even heartening (CC and AJ are becoming great friends! Andrew Brackman sure can throw! Melky nixes the WBC so he can win back the center field job!), but it was not to be. There was too much off-the-field drama.
First, from the Daily News, we learned that A-Rod spent the 2007 season in the company of an “unsavory character” named Angel Presinal. This Dominican trainer extraordinaire, who is said to have worked with such boldfaced names as Pedro Martinez, David Ortiz, Vlad Guerrero and Robbie Cano, traveled everywhere with A-Rod at the same time that I traveled everywhere with A-Rod (well, O.K., so I wasn’t with A-Rod; I was stalking A-Rod), and yet I never noticed the guy? Not once? Not at the pool at the Vinoy in St. Pete? Not in the 18th floor lounge at the Park Hyatt in Toronto? Not at the health and fitness center at the Ritz Carlton in Boston?
I mean, it’s not as if this Angel person could be confused with a potted plant.
Supposedly, Cousin Yuri, the Boli procurer, was also along for the ride.
But I never spotted him, either.
So what’s wrong with me? Don’t I have any powers of observation? Am I a complete loser?
Oh, well. Angel and Yuri are A-Rod’s problem. And he will have a problem if his ’07 drug tests are anything but pristine. Selig can’t suspend him for fraternizing with an undesirable trainer and an equally undesirable relative. (Who doesn’t have one of those, right?) But this whole thing smells, and the scent isn’t this.
I was about to forge ahead with a much more cheerful post about two players I was eager to see in spring training, Xavier Nady and Johnny Damon, but then I read this from NBC Sports.
It wasn’t Bernie Madoff who made off with their millions. It was that other con artist the government is investigating. And now Nady and Damon, poor things, have had their assets frozen and can’t pay their bills. Never in my lifetime did I expect to see my boys in pinstripes taking to the streets.
And then there was this story from Newsday about Felix Lopez III, the son of Yankees Senior VP Felix Lopez Junior (George Steinbrenner’s son-in-law), who pleaded guilty to trafficking in steroids, not to mention the date-rape drug.
Begone, all you scuzzy people! I want to write nice stories about raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens…brown paper packages tied up with strings….
I know. I know. I just went too far in the other direction. But you get my drift.