Tagged: Mike Scioscia
Yanks/Angels Game 2: Holy Cow!
Talk about a wild one.
After that four-run first inning, it seemed as if the Yanks would send Jered I-Look-Like-A-Surfer-Dude Weaver to the showers early.
But he settled down and/or the Yankees took a nap, and despite the rainy conditions he and Pettitte both hung in.
Then came the sixth, when manager Mike So-sha started pointing to his nose and his chin and his nose again – the secret signs he uses to get the Angels to play their famous brand of small ball.
Suddenly, the Angels sprouted wings and flew around the bases, scoring two and knocking out Pettitte. Oh, Andy.
Not that Mark Melancholy did much better, serving up a triple to Gary Matthews, Jr. that put the Angels ahead 5-4. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he threw a wild pitch to Abreu and went slipping and sliding on the wet infield as he tried to tag Matthews at the plate.
I was surprised that nobody came out to calm the kid down – not Eiland or Girardi or even Posada – but maybe I was too busy cursing at the TV to notice.
Speaking of cursing, Veras entered the game in the seventh and I was not happy to see him. “DON’T WALK THE LEADOFF BATTER LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO!” I yelled. So, of course, that’s what he did. Total carnage followed, including a suicide squeeze.
Ramirez allowed more damage, and when the inning was finally over the Yankees were down 9-4. Two things became very clear.
One: Jose and Edwar were useless.
Two: The Magic Pen was in danger of being useless too.
And then a miracle in the eighth.
We got to their bullpen with hits from Cano, Gardner, Melky and Pena (and a walk by Posada) to bring us to 9-8. And after Albaladejo retired the side in order in the top of the ninth, we struck again.
After Tex walked and Matsui and Cano singled, Posada stepped in. I stood in front of the TV, my face THIS close to the screen, clutching the Magic Pen and hoping against all hope.
And then? Walkoff single and a 10-9 victory.
There was sheer bedlam at my house as the neighbors joined the celebration.
After they left, it was time to say a special thank-you to the Magic Pen. I mean, seriously. Four straight wins since I fished it out of a drawer and started using it to keep score? No coincidence there. The pen is getting it done.
For starters, the pen and I toasted the Yankees’ success and shared a nice bottle of Syrah.
Then, because the pen had been dropping hints about wanting a car, I bought it one. And not just any one.
I even let the pen drive the Porsche.
To cap a fantastic night, I went clubbing with the pen and introduced it to several of Santa Barbara’s boldfaced names, including these two.
I was a little embarrassed when it gushed over them and acted all celebrity-crazy. But I was totally humiliated when it slobbered all over Michael Douglas and leaked ink all over his white shirt.
I made the mistake of telling it that Douglas had won a Best Actor Academy Award for “Wall Street.” Before I could stop it, the pen actually grabbed the Oscar right out of his hands and stood next to it!
It was nearly 2 a.m. when I finally put the pen to bed and told it to get some sleep.
“We have a day game against the Angels tomorrow,” I said. “I need you rested and ready to go.”
Come on, people. Enter! The more pix the better!
Me To Angels: “Ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
Let me state right up front that I’m not wild about the Angels. Why?
* Their manager whines a lot.
* The name “Scioscia” is too hard to spell with any consistency and leaves me puzzled.
* The team is forever associated with “small ball,” as if they invented the hit-and-run, the bunt and the stolen base. In reality, it’s just that they have some smallish players.
* Mostly, it’s because they’ve beaten the Yankees over and over, always making us look like dead people.
But not tonight. This time the Yanks were the 7-4 victors, and laughter rang out all over the Empire.
AJ was shaky out of the gate, giving up a triple to Figgy (not to be confused with the fruit) and a solo shot to Napoli (not to be confused with the city of Naples or the Italian dessert beloved by Phil Rizzuto). Then he got it together and shut down the red-shirted ones.
(There’s so much red when we play the Angels that my eyes burn.)
What I especially loved about this game was the Yankees’ offense. For the third night in a row, we kept battling back. Down 3-2 in the fourth, Jeter came up with one of his clutch, inside-out singles to right.
Bobby Abreu, whose RBIs I miss but whose immobility in right field I don’t, bobbled the ball, allowing Swisher and Pena to score and put the Yankees ahead.
But it was in the eighth when we really spanked the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.
Cano lined one to right that Abreu might have caught if he’d actually bent over. Posada’s ground-rule double came next, followed by Swisher’s intentional walk (good one, Soscia or Sosha or whatever it is), followed by Melky’s single.
(Poor Gardner. He’s so screwed right now.)
When Pena’s double scored Posada and Swisher, that was it for the Halos. Coke and Mo finished them off and that was that. We beat them. We pitched well and Posada nailed a couple of base runners and the hits came in bunches.
But, of course, it was the Magic Pen that was ultimately responsible for the Yankees’ latest reversal of fortune. I rewarded it after the game by showering it with diamond rings and nestling it in Yankees satin. Nothing’s too good for the Magic Pen at this point. Nothing.
Confessions of a She-Fan 