Yes, I know it was only the Devil Rays, but 21-4! Is there, perhaps a glimmer of hope left in this forlorn season? Well, the boys from the Bronx have, in fact, won eight of their last 10 and, even more remarkably, are now a mere 7.5 games behind Boston in the AL East. They will have to win a lot more games than the Red Sox will have to win to overtake that lead, but it is doable — well within the realm of possibility.
At the risk of seeming irrationally exuberant: Perhaps eight straight wins is enough to rekindle some cautious optimism in the outcome of this season.
It was inevitable, I guess. Not from the start of the season, but certainly once the hamstring plague took its toll on the mound. For a moment it looked like the season might be threatened to a degree we haven’t seen since the ’80s.
I, for one, am not of the opinion that we needed another right hand on the mound any more than we needed, say, another (*cough* Bernie Williams *cough*) designated hitter. But with Carl’s delicate condition and Andy’s apparent loss of concentration since returning from Texas, I can be persuaded that this is a good move.
Much to the relief of my coworkers, I wore my official Yankee clean up cap to work today for the first time since last week. Not that there was much chance that I would go for long without it. But it is such a rare event to see me without my usual topping that people begin to worry about just how serious the situation is with the team.
Let’s be clear: I didn’t wear it because, finally, a game that should have been won, was, or even in honor of the 10-1 nose bleed the team delivered to last place in the west Texas. I wore it in support of Phil Hughes who not only proved that last weeks unnecessary loss was not his fault, but also showed the senior pitching staff that all that’s ever been needed to win a game is craftsman like pitches — plus some hitting.
All I have to say is that it is still only April.
I washed my official Yankees “Clean Up” cap AFTER the game — do you think that will help?
Go ahead, say it. No, I deserve it. It’s not bad enough that I was heartbroken and humiliated. I deserve to be brought low.
Tragedy in the classic sense: Six innings of grace and beauty setting me for the brutal denouement. It could not have been better scripted by Sophocles. I pay the price of hubris yet find no catharsis. Mo…Mo! What evil malady has befallen you? A-Rod: You couldn’t get just one more home run when we needed it? Joe! What the hell were you thinking in the eighth?
If you never see another post here, you may assume the worst.
Weather from the southwest has made it cold and rainy and miserable in New York City with precious little relief forthcoming from the Bronx. April has seen more mud than cheer in the hometown. There have been signs of life, mind you, but with the entire front-end of the pitching staff recuperating on the 15 day Disabled List, little joy could be found in Mudville. But the crack, and crack, and crack and again of mighty A-Rod’s bat has turned that around.
Opening Day came and went with not a word from me. A home opener at that! Please, this is a new blog and I was still working on getting it clean and spiffy on Monday. OK, no excuses — I am chastened.
Opening day at the Stadium and a worthy game it was. The Yankees took their 10th home opener with less aplomb than we would hope for but the sun did shine on the diamond that day.