Not to be outdone, Swisher went yard about a minute later. Take that, haters! And by haters, I mean my husband. (Btw, the Swisher battle in my house is becoming epic: Tim simply refers to him as “the S-word.”
So, I was enjoying the romp (and some mint chocolate chip ice cream) when the channel switched to Bravo of its own accord. Damn you, DVR. Because Weeds and Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D List were both taping, I couldn’t watch the rest of the game! There’s got to be a way to fix that you can’t tape two shows and watch a third at the same time, right? I mean, besides making us buy actual Tivo?
When I turned back I saw that Swisher had jacked another one, and that Johnny Damon had hit his 200th career homer.
It has taken me a while to warm up to Johnny Damon, and not just because he came from the Red Sox. I know he’s still crazypants on the inside, but he seems to have matured a bit with the Yankees, if only in a relative kind of way. (Also, he dreams about A.J.)
So, congrats all around! Hopefully the Trop and Scotty Kazmir continue to be good to the Yanks tonight.
Saturday, Tim and I set off to the gleaming new palace in the Bronx at 7:30 a.m. Our trip consisted of an uneventful drive to New Haven to pick up the new Yankee Stadium Metro North train. This is unquestionably the best thing they ever did. (And, after the game they have separate trains leaving for those who are only going as far as Stanford and those going on to New Haven, so no overcrowding. Bless you stadium planners, whoever you are!)
The Stadium itself is really a lot to take in all at once. Tim and I agreed that it is now an awesome place to see a game.
Before, it had the mystique but not the comfort. Here’s my sad little no-zoom-lens picture of Pettitte and Molina warming up:
In fact, we had a perfect view of the Swisher Salute during the roll call. I think Tim might have sprained his muscles from rolling his eyes so much. Then, just because it wouldn’t be a Yankee game for us unless Tim felt tortured, they played a montage of Swisher highlights on the enormous screen during the changeover in the middle of the first inning. Delightful. Here are two of the many Swisher fans in our section (I thought I would be in the minority):
Andy looked good through the first six. The game was flying by. Everything was going good (well, not everything. WTF, A-Rod???). And then, the wheels came off. Andy suddenly couldn’t throw a strike; they took him out in favor of Aceves. I have a lot of faith in Aceves, but on this day, it was not to be.
Now, it might have been something I said. Something that was not so nice. About the family of a certain senator from the great state of Massachusetts. I don’t even know why we were talking about that. But whatever it was, Tim said I was about to be struck down by lightening, and immediately Aceves started coughing up runs. Finally, David Robertson got the Yankees out of the inning. With a 6-1 deficit. Great.
At this point, Tim and I had spent our first-born’s college money on bottles of water. I had brought a travel-sized bottle of sunscreen, which was down to its very last bit. But I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m a ride-the-game-out-no-matter-what kind of girl. So, we baked in the sun some more, and I was rewarded with a two-run homer by Jeter that just barely went over the fence and a sweet right-field shot by Tex.
In the top of the ninth, Nomar Garciaparra came up to bat, and the fans booed him as they had been doing all day. Tim, once again, rolled his eyes. “He’s been on three different teams since his was a Red Sock, ” he said. “Well, they’ll stop booing him when you guys stop booing Johnny Damon at Fenway. Get over it.” (Note: I actually like Nomar. I don’t consider him part of the Boston teams that I have grown to hate.)
“Get over it” may have been a little too strong, considering my karma wasn’t that great at the moment. We did get to see Brett Gardner make two great catches in center field, but later found out he’d broken his thumb. The Yankees ninth-inning comeback didn’t materialize, and I was forced to ride the train back to New Haven with a smirking hubby. Here I am smiling before things took such a disappointing turn:
When we got home that night, I told myself that I was not going to watch the game on Sunday. I held to it for about an hour and a half after game time. I didn’t want my terrible karma to interfere with another Yankee win.
But soon curiosity got the better of me, and I turned on the tv….just in time to see Phil Coke give up the lead! Poor Phil Coke – I definitely have a soft spot for him. Thankfully, the Yankee bats came back this time, and Hughes, Bruney, and Mo tied the win up with a nice, neat bow. I guess three out of four isn’t bad. Next time I’ll be nicer in my thoughts about the Kennedys.
2nd Inning: Dear Ozzie Guillen, Thanks for being such an asshat and helping to usher in the Nick Swisher era in New York. Love (only in this instance), Kristin
Wild pitch, Andy Pettitte. I can’t blame that on Kate Hudson. Here comes the out-of-control circus inning.
RBI single by Tampa Bay’s hobbling catcher; David Cone is calling it “quick damage.” How about a quick rebound for Andy and the guys in the field?
Nope. Tie game. Aww, hamburgers.
Michael Kay, ladies and gentlemen, lecturing BJ Upton about having dip or chew in his mouth in the outfield. My personal thought is that it’s a disgusting habit, but there’s no reason to pick on one guy – especially when several of the Yankees have that permanent bottom-lip or cheek bump during games.
5th inning: Andy Pettitte looks confused as to what is happening here. You need some outs, big guy.
Ask and you shall receive. Double play. Nice play by Jeter. I would prefer it if Michael Kay didn’t call it a “dance step,” though. Might as well call him “twinkle toes.”
Ha! Kay just brought the hammer down on Swish for the dip thing. Cone was awesome, saying, “Wow, you’re the tobacco police!” I don’t know about telling grown men they can’t do something that’s perfectly legal. If MLB ever tried to outlaw it, I picture Josh Beckett saying something like, “You can pry my dip from my cold, dead hand.”
6th inning: Quick work by Pettitte. This is what makes pitching interesting for me. What made the light-hitting Gabe Kapler so dangerous at that moment, but you can strike out Evan Longoria and Carlos Pena twice each?
Johnny Damon! Nice work, there, Caveman. Gotta take those hanging curveballs and deposit them in the seats where they belong.
7th inning: Please welcome to the stage The Phil Hughes Bullpen Experience. I’m one of those people who thinks it doesn’t help him at all to get sent back down to Scranton. He’s a pro pitcher right now…as evidenced by that masterful inning right there.
Melky, see, what you’re supposed to do there is prolong the inning so my husband can get more and more annoyed at close-ups of Swisher on base. You just had to cut my amusement short, didn’t you?
8th inning: My question is why? Why take Phil Hughes out for Phil Coke? Why is Michael Kay so corny? Why is my husband so threatened by men in pinstripes? Why is Phil Coke walking people on four pitches?
Derek Jeter jacks a homerun. My husband says, “That’s an out in Fenway.” Man, is that annoying.
9th inning: Mo time. Long tirade from hubby on Mo’s age. Mo, apparently, is 75 years old. He hides it well. Oh, how I love when they swing at the high fastball. Game over.
So there’s been a lot of internet chatter about this Fox Sports list of hottest baseball players. I agree that the list was lacking, but everyone has a different take and a different idea of what they find attractive. Many female bloggers made their own lists.
Two things always bug me about these lists: 1.) They often ignore players who are not in their 20s, and 2.) they never include Yankees because people just hate the team that much. Also, there seems to be a trend this year wherein baseball announcers keep telling us that players who are 33 and up are entering the geriatric phase of their lives. This bothers me, rightfully, because I’m 34 myself. Shut up, stupid announcers.
I’ve decided, then, that we could all benefit from an appreciative look at some still-very-hot 33+ players, including a Yankee or two. In no particular order:
9. Paul Konerko (33)
Konerko has always been a favorite of mine. But when the ChiSox were in the World Series in 2005, I found out that he was born in R.I. and that my dad went to high school with his dad. That just added to my affection for him.
10. & 11. Torii Hunter (33) and Brad Ausmus (40)
This was a banner weekend for the Yankees. Ok, maybe not completely storybook. I mean, you don’t want to keep getting yourself in the position of having to win by walk-off. But the qualities I want to see in a team that’s in it for the long haul are there.
Even when some people are having critical lapses in judgment…
…there is an aggressiveness that wasn’t there last year. I’m seeing sacrifice bunts and nice defensive plays. I’m seeing better things from the bullpen (which I’m superstitiously scared to even type). And for some reason, we’re seeing a lot more of the guys’ tongues:
Even Phil, Joba and A.J. kept their mental composure and did their best to limit any damage.
That was a frustrating one. And eye-opening. Who knew Toronto fans would be so bitter over something that happens to bunches of teams every year. Players go where the money is. They go where they think the challenge will be. They go where they think they’ll win a championship. Trust me, the sooner you get over it, the better off you’ll be.
What cracked me up was the announcers for Toronto saying this was a big test for the Blue Jays. Okay, I know why they were saying it, but it sounds kind of silly when you consider all the Yankees injuries and the line-up they put out there tonight.
And speaking of injuries, Derek Jeter and Hideki Matsui are the latest casualties. Maybe if they try real hard, they can get every guy in Scranton to the show by the All-Star break. Don’t stub your toe, Johnny Damon. We need you.
While I was watching that (and an incredibly irritating episode of Survivor), the Yankees apparently were tearing it up. I can’t lie – I liked the fact that the Bobby Abreu Defensive Follies worked in our favor this time. I also enjoy Melky doing well, but I feel for Brett Gardner. I’m always a fan of the “gritty, gutty” players, as Pete Abraham likes to call him. I hope there will be a place for him at some point. I mean, Johnny Damon’s arm couldn’t throw out my grandmother. She’s pretty spry for an 80-year-old.
In other news, Nick Swisher doesn’t even really need to try anymore in terms of winning me over. It’s in the bag. But he just keeps showering down the awesomeness anyway. Take this little bit from Kevin Devaney of LoHud who blogged the game last night in place of Pete A.:
“Swisher’s collage was completed by tonight’s return to the stadium. He
cut out pictures of every teammate and taped them all together on the
right side of his locker. Most of the players are in snazzy suits.“
In addition to being The Man, he’s also an aspiring artist. I’m so hooked.