In the first one, Joba couldn’t throw a strike, looked out of sorts and received a lecture in the dugout from Dave Eiland, who, as we learn from this photo, is a “close talker.”

In the second one, Joba regrouped and was lights out, allowing only three hits over seven innings.

On the offensive side, the Bombers teed off on Porcello (the Tigers’ starter, as opposed to some sort of specialty mushroom) and on Rapada (the Tigers’ reliever, not a pasta dish involving miniature broccoli). The barrage included hits, walks, a couple of homers by Swisher, even a stolen base by Posada. Before I knew it, the score was 8-1 and I could sense that Yankee fans everywhere were yelling, “Par-tay!”

In the third game-within-the-game, Albaladejo came on in the ninth and couldn’t figure out that his job was to finish off the Tigers. Why was he even out there?

“Mo should be pitching!” I yelled at Girardi through the TV. “I know it’s not a save situation, but he hasn’t been on the mound since last Friday when he gave it up in Boston! He’s probably rusty! He needs the work!” 

Joe must have heard me because Mo suddenly appeared. “I meant at the beginning of the inning, not now!” I shouted at the skipper. “You didn’t give him enough time to warm up!”

In stepped Granderson, who smacked a three-run homer to bring the Tigers to within two. Great. Was it possible that they would rally for more? That the Yankees would lose what had seemed like a mercifully easy contest? That my entire night would be ruined?

I was pretty agitated as I jotted down the score. And then… I remembered. I wasn’t just keeping score. I was keeping score with the Magic Pen!

I gripped the pen tightly and told it to use its powers. Well, you know the rest. Polanco and his melon head flied out, and the Yankees did win.

I bet Kim Jones interviewed Nick Swisher as the player of the game, but to me the one responsible for the “W” was the Magic Pen.

And so I interviewed it. Here’s my exclusive.