Friday, April 20, 2007

Got the Fuckin' Numbers

One of the three or four best wins since October 27, 2004. A full four Big Matty's. And it was so subtle and surprising the way it happened, with the sudden rush of production from the bottom of the lineup. All of a sudden, it was 7-6 Red Sox. I know it's an April game, and I don't want to get carried away, but April or not, that was a Bill Simmons Signature Stomach Punch Game for the Yankees. In the only game of the series that (maybe) favored the Yanks pitching-wise, they get exactly what they want from starting pitching, as Pettite fared well. You hand your pen a four run lead. You hand MO(rtal) Rivera a three run lead. You get production from Captain Hayfever (what someone called A-Rod on Simmons' chat today, as in, "He makes a big impact in April and May, but come September and October, you're breathing easy.") You are getting ball and strike calls handed to you left and right(of the plate) all night by Randy "How can I get A-Rod up with a chance to win it?" Marsh. You are riding your own 6-2-deficit-turned-dramatic-win whirlwind. Then BAM! Your indomitable, incomparable, lights-out pitcher has ANOTHER hiccup versus the Red Sox, his 11th blown save against us. AND WE DON'T EVEN USE OUR CLOSER! That is a textbook Stomach Punch Game.

I gave up on Coco. I admit it, and if he's reading, I apologize. That game was a fucking sweet way to spend a Friday night, and I'm glad I hung in the whole way. I called my dad when it was 6-6 because I just knew he'd turned it off when it got to 6-2 Yanks. Sure enough. Then, in the 9th, when Marsh blew yet another 3-2 call, bringing Lip Gloss to the plate with a chance to take the lead, I, for a moment, wished I hadn't called my dad. I would've felt really bad if I'd gotten him to turn off whatever he was watching with my mom just in time to see the Yankees retake the lead. So he got to see what the rest of us got to see: We took their best punch, got up, and knocked them out. On their legend's watch, even. Again.

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