There's Your Karma, Ripe As Peaches

Yankees Smoked by the Royals -- Again

I leave XM Radio's MLB Home Plate on in my office most of the day and when I came back in yesterday afternoon, Rob Dibble was busy fellating himself over being so fearsome on the mound from about 1990 - 1992. This is a pretty run of the mill occurrence on The Show, a shitefest hosted by Dibble and Kevin Kennedy - a couple of assclown braintrusts with no opinions that make any sense. When they aren't congratulating each other on careers well done or getting unnecessarily furious about this topic or that, they attempt to answer questions from hapless callers.

Yesterday featured a call from a panicked Tigers fan that was concerned over the (then) 0 - 7 squad's chances of making the post-season. No really - I'm serious. And I don't mean that he was worried. He was in an absolute fright. How could that hack Jim Leyland engineer such a catastrophe? How can the 2nd highest payroll in the league not make the post-season? So much for hope.

And he's right. Looks like it's time for that paper bag, Tigers Fan.

Though no team has ever gotten to the post-season after losing its first 7 games, you don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that there are 154 games left to play and these are the Detroit Tigers, not the Texas Rangers. [I can't believe I just said that.] Hell, you shouldn't even have to be a Rob Dibble.

But rather than talk about a week's worth of games full of flukes, aberrations and mishaps or the fact that the Tigers are a good ball club with good hitters making mental errors and pressing a bit too much, the Nasty Boy took up the torch and pitchfork. After excoriating the organization for being such a colossal waste of talent, he and Kennedy then tried to calculate the number of games Detroit would need to beat the odds, eventually deciding that going .500 in April MIGHT leave Detroit with a chance but even then - who knows because other teams are good too - like the Royals and the Cubs!

Seriously? Is this where my subscription money is going? To keep this mindless dickbag employed? They can't find anybody better than this? The reality is that at 1-7, the Tigers are 3 games behind the Indians - their true competition come September. And with their lineup, this team should be able to sleepwalk through April and still be able to hit their way into the wild card. Christ, the Yankees don't even get out of the rocking chairs to participate in the league schedule until it gets warm in mid-June.

Case in point, here's where we are now:

• .244 BA (.167 RISP), 21 walks and 25 runs (Detroit has 22 runs)
  
• Errors in seven games in a row and no steals
  
• Like Torre, Girardi seems unaware that Kyle Farnswacker sucks balls
• Posada has a dead arm and Jeter has some flaws in his nether region.
  

And honestly, I can deal with all of that for now. Even being outscored 19 - 7 in two losses to Tampa Bay, which is pathetic, can be taken in stride... I think. But something that cannot be tolerated - and something even the Tigers wouldn't allow - is scoring just 2 runs in 2 games against the Kansas City Royals.

We're missing Jeter and Posada, sure, but that's no excuse for getting pwned by the dregs. Zach Greinke shut us down and shut us out, allowing 6 weak sauce hits over 8 innings.

Have we no pride? Is there no line that is drawn where the team agrees to not be bent over and rogered by every perennial bottom dweller in the league? Now, I know that the Royals are all new and improved but they're still the Royals and managing 2 runs with Rodriguez, Matsui, Abreu, Damon and Cano in the lineup is nothing short of foul. That said, at least we're not the Tigers. If you haven't heard - they're not gonna make the playoffs. Chumps.

A-Rod Selfishly Helps Yanks Afford Pitchers

To A-Rod: Thank you for hitting .314 with 54 homers, 156 runs batted in and .839 RISP this season. Without it, I wouldn't have had the luxury of bitching about and, eventually, melting down over the Yankees playoff result. Your regular season magic was and is highly appreciated - just as it was last year and the year before that. I hated you for a long, long time but I eventually came around before this season, finally recognizing that you played your heart out for us, day in and out. I would have loved for you to stay in pinstripes for the rest of your career. Hell, it even seemed like you might be down for the ride, dropping two ridiculous lies in as many months:

"This feels like home. It’s hard to believe that I played for another two organizations. So much has happened to me here, adversity, some success, that I feel like anything but New York feels weird for me now."

“I understand I have an option, but I want to be a New York Yankee.”

But alas, your pimp has spoken - amazingly, on the same night that you dare to snub Hank Aaron, a man of penultimate integrity and class... Looking back, that seems painfully appropriate. Apparently, you can't deal with the uncertainty of not knowing "what the composition of the team was going to be." As if the brass isn't going to pony up the money to keep three of the four remaining pillars of recent Yankee lore. Correct me if I'm wrong, Alex, but aren't you the same whore that signed a $252 million contract to play for a team that called Rick Helling its ace and had Dough Davis leading the pitching lineup with a 4.45 ERA? How dare you have the audacity to talk about team composition. You are a prostitute and a weasel and worse, Alex Rodriguez, you are not a man.

A man comes correct with honesty. He stands up and says, "Thanks for the opportunity but New York's not for me," "I want to test my value on the free agent market," "I want to define my legacy on a championship team." Those comments would have stung but at least you'd have your dignity and your pride. By feasting on the mercenary market, the Yankees set ourselves up for those possibilities. We could have handled it.  But no. Instead of standing up and dishing truth, the only thing you manage to accomplish is proving that you are a sackless, vacuous punk. What a legacy, Alex.

Don't let the door hit you and your tepid .136 postseason average and 0/18 RISP in the ass on the way out, you fucking weasel.

Rudolph Giuliani Is a Traitor, Fraud and Whore

Rudolph Giuliani is dead to me.

In an attempt to curry favor with voters in New Hampshire, that poll-riding hooker switched allegiance from the New York Yankees to the Boston Red Sox.

"I'm rooting for the Red Sox," the Republican presidential contender Tuesday told a Boston audience, just a few T stops from Fenway Park. "I'm an American League fan, and I go with the American League team, maybe with the exception of the Mets. Maybe that would be the one time I wouldn't because I'm loyal to New York."

Loyal to New York? The only things Rudy Giuliani is only loyal to is his career and, given the amount of wives and mistresses he's had, his penis. Mets support? Please. And that American League argument is even worse. The league line is reserved for the half-hearted and the bandwagon-jumpers. It's not for people that claim undying loyalty for sides steeped in history, pride and tradition. The fact that Giuliani is using it is not only foul and fraudulent but also completely insulting.

I can't even begin to fathom how Giuliani has the audacity to think something like this would ever be acceptable. Duke fans don't throw on Carolina blue when North Carolina is contending for national championships. Manchester United supporters don't sport kits of The Mighty Arsenal when we're riding high in the Champions. Why would anyone ever logically believe that a supposed diehard New York Yankees fan would switch allegiances because of league affiliation?!

Real Yankees and Red Sox fans would rather throw themselves off a bridge before rooting for their rival in ANY situation. It could be Red Sox vs. The Antichrist and I'd be on the sidewalk rocking the sign of the beast and talking smack about how eternal hellfire and damnation rules the school. But not Giuliani. That rat-faced cunt sold us out for an election and what's worse is it's not even the main one! It's a fucking primary!

"Somehow it makes me feel better if the team that was ahead of the Yankees wins the World Series," he told a group of mostly local reporters in explaining his sudden backing of the Red Sox, "because then I feel like, well, we're not that bad."

Later, at a town hall meeting in Lebanon, N.H., Giuliani yukked it up with a couple of audience members who were wearing Sox caps. "If I keep looking at that hat, I may start crying," he said to chuckles, before adding, "Good luck to the Red Sox!"

All this proves is that Mayor 9/11 was never a real Yankees fan in the first place and for that, he should never show his face in the Bronx again. Frankly, I think he may need to stay out of New York City altogether. For years, Yankee Stadium has been Giuliani Propoganda Stadium, throwing him on the jumbotron more than the score. He's on before, during and after the game. He has pre-recorded "Go Yankees!" video clips and his traitorous cunt face is all over the place during "God Bless America." Rudy Giuliani needs to transfer his headquarters to Massachusetts, as he should not be permitted to further insult and taint the City of New York with his cowardly suck.

Before I go break something, here's what I would like to know - how can anyone trust him now? Sure, he's a politician, which makes him a weasel by default, but if he is so sackless and weak that he cowers on his knees at the feet of Red Sux Nation, how is he going to stand up to Iran? Two years from now, we'll turn around and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad will be dropping bombs on Israel while Giuliani waits on the sidelines to give him a rimmer.

As far as I'm concerned, Hizzoner can eat a dick. But that'll be no trouble for him, as I'm sure they're offering plenty of it with a side of chowda on Yawkey Way.

Post-ALDS Meltdown

So I cried on Tuesday night. I can admit it now. It wasn't a boo-hooing sobfest or anything... I'm not an 80-year-old delusional Cubs fan. But when the Indians stormed the field, I started throwing anything I could get my hands on before running out of my house in madcap hysteria, cursing the gods, George Steinbrenner and nature herself. Sure, you say I should have known better.. that I should have seen it coming. But I didn't.

Was I being smacked over the head with signs? Oh, sure. Brian Cashman allowing Ian Kennedy run off to get married; Chien-Ming Wang throwing beach balls over home plate; Roger Clemens pulling up lame and rubbing our noses in it with that ever-present Cingular commercial; lineup going 1 for 11 with runners in scoring position and 2 outs, hitting .228, managing eight runs on 6 solo homors and stranding 24 runners on base; God sending one of the Plagues of Egypt to attack Joba Chamberlain. I'm not even going to mention Alex Rodriguez. But through all of that and more, I honestly believed my Yankees would pull it out until the 27th out was officially logged and Jorge Posada's whif lead directly to the thunderstorm that blanketed Japan today.

In any case, I made my way into the street, where a crowd of random passersby watched me have a complete and total meltdown. After they ran away, I continued to rant and rave like one of those homeless crazies you find under a Central Park bridge, and, somewhere along the way, suffered an involuntary stream of tears. I really don't know when they started... I came out of my dementia cloud to find my face soaked and tears still falling. There wasn't much I could do to stop them... borne of frustration, anger, annoyance and dashed hope, they continued for at least ten minutes.

After a while, I pulled myself together, had a shower and a lot of sex. It's amazing how little those things helped. By morning, I was back to wallowing and lashing out at anyone who even had a hint of a smirk.

I'm pretty sure most of my morning conversations went something like this --

Victim: Good morning!

Me: GO FUCK YOURSELF! I WILL NOT BE MOCKED! 

Even now, I can't really make heads or tails of it - the loss, I mean, not my behavior. Dead in the water at Memorial Day, my Yankees stormed through the rest of the season to take the Wild Card and actually make a brief but futile run at the AL East. It wasn't like we were fighting tooth and nail at the end and barely squeaked into the playoffs. It was ours for a month. We owned the Wild Card fight and for once, the New York Yankees were going to be the hot team! And it'd be us that steamrolled over the complacent division champions for our shot at Number 27. But alas. Here we are again.

After the Alex Rodriguez exercises his contract and heads off to Anaheim or Chicago, I'm going to take a Yankees news nap. When I wake up, I hope to find:

• Joe Girardi as the manager
  
• Pitching staff of Andy Pettitte, Joba Chamberlain, Chien-Ming Wang, Ian Kennedy, Phil Hughes, Mo Rivera, Luis Vizcaino, an innings eater, a solid long man and a stable of healthy, young middle relievers
  
• Carl Pavano, Kyle Farnsworth, Mike Mussina, Jason Giambi and Kei Igawa relocated to the Lost island
  
• Johan Santana
• A-Rod magically still in pinstripes (that's right!)
  
• Another outfielder with an arm and some pop in his bat

Too much to ask? Of course it is. This time next March, I'll find this:

• No decision on Torre's employment
• Pitching staff of Andy Pettitte, Joba Chamberlain, Chien-Ming Wang, Ian Kennedy, Phil Hughes, and a stable of discontented, young middle relievers that are constantly offered as trade bait
• Mike Mussina and Jason Giambi doing Snickers commercials from Yankee Stadium
  
• Barry Zito
• Barry Bonds
  
• Juan Pierre

Ain't No Other Man

Is it necessary to explain how amazing Andy Pettitte is or can you figure it out for yourself? Because if you can't, I will happily make a case! .... Alright then.

Now, I could make a case based on stats or opinions... if I go with opinions, they'd be tainted with bias because he's my favorite Yankee of all time and I'm also interested in bumping off his wife and replacing her in the middle of the night. But if I choose to go with stats, you'd stop reading. So let's go to a world where most meatheads like myself fear to tread -- science!

Hypothesis: Andy Pettitte is God.

Data: Andy Pettitte doesn't have the arm strength of Chien-Ming Wang, the arsenal of Mike Mussina or the element of surprise of rookie Tyler Clippard but he doesn't need it. He comes to the game with a fastball, cutter and an assurance that he'll die before he lets you down. Unlike Moose, who wets himself these days against the likes of Julian Tavarez, Pettitte brings that Jordanesque "time running of the clock" quality to the mound. Give him the ball when it matters most, and he'll deliver.

Though he started the season looking like another overpaid oldster with waning skills, Pettitte has since turned on the magic. He'd be the Cy Young favorite right now, sitting somewhere around 6-1 with 8 quality starts in 10, if the bullpen didn't go all Heathcliff Slocumb every time he was on the mound. True, he's only struck out 35 batters in 64 1/3 innings (including a mere two against the Sux last night), but he has surrendered just 64 hits and boasts and ERA of 2.66. Some may call it good defense and a little luck but as far as I'm concerned, he's been nothing short of amazing. And last night, he showed us exactly why he was signed -- to beat the Red Sox and prevail after a loss.

A huzzah to you, sir! 

Theory: Andy Pettitte is an angel sent by God to help the Yankees snag the Wild Card.

Okay, that wasn't remotely scientific but you have to give me points for using "hypothesis" and "theory" in the right order.

A Near Slip Into Yank Fan Douchebaggery

I'm wearing my Pettitte home jersey today. Normally, my wardrobe is not worthy of comment but I was just heckled for it at Outback by this sodding rotter with a cowboy hat, a wad of dip in his lip and a Texas sized belt buckle that was hanging on for dear life. By the time I spotted the tufts of hair sprouting out the neck hole, I was through. He was like a hybrid of Carl from Aqua Teen and that terrorist that they dragged out of a German apartment, topped off with a little redneck style.

Carl: "How's that Mary-ann-oh Rivi-era pitching this year? Oh, I remember. Not as well as a young man named Bobby Jenks!"
Me: Yeah
C: You know about him?
M: Yeah
C: So what're them Yanks about 11 games behind Boston now?
M: 8.5
C: Who's that jersey you're wearin?
M: Andy Pettitte
C: Well ain't you a find! A girly fan wearin a jersey of somebody that's old enough to be her daddy!

To this point, Carl didn't said anything I didn't already know or wasn't willing to acknowledge. Frankly, I was just glad he was so tame. There's nothing worse than being made fun of when you don't have a response other than that which is fit for obnoxious fanboys that can't form a real argument.

Look, I have total faith that the Yankees will come around. I know the Sux have gone off the deep-end but 75% of the season remains. If we can just get the hitting squared away and get a couple streaks and sweeps (like NOW), we're gonna be all right. This team was built for a post-season run and we're going to need to be 20 games out in September before I give up hope. But I'm smart enough to understand that you can't come to an argument with ifs, buts, faith and hope. So I kept up this, "yeah, well we'll see" response while he prattled on about the obvious.

C: That's what's wrong with you Yankees! Y'all won't ever win a World Series!...and Clemens, heeee-whoooo, you'll regret it. You'll regret it...the pitching is HO-rrendous!... Y'all deserve this.

And that's when I heard it. This voice in my head that yelled, "26 Championships! Tell him THAT! Tell him 26 championships! That's what we have! HIS team doesn't!" I didn't want to. I'm better than this! But my hand started to shake. I bit my lip and tried to ride it out but the inner monologue wouldn't shut down. As he continued, I only heard bits and pieces... random, typically unoffensive phrases that left me on the verge of a breakdown:

Carl: ... couldn't happen to a better fanbase
Inner Monologue: We have the classiest fans in baseball!
C: ... complainin and you don't even know what you got!...
IM: 9 straight AL Easts! I think we know!!
C: ... Yanks are over.. you've had your time you know what I mean?...
IM: We're only the greatest dynasty in sports... 26 fucking championships
C: ... and what's his name? Cashmens?...
IM: TWENTY-SIX
C: ... White Sox just took 2 from y'all too!
C: ... Rodriguez...
IM: TWENTY SIX!
C: ... A-Rod...
IM: TWENTY SIX!
C: ... and Jeter's not even THAT good!
IM: AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TWENTYYYYYY SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIX!

And that's when I noticed him staring at me. Apparently, I hadn't verbally responded in quite some time but had turned beet red and was blinking at an alarming rate. All I really noticed by that point was that the voice had started to fade and left a pounding headache in its wake. And I don't mean the subsurface pulsating that makes you consider picking up a Tylenol on your way out the house. This was fierce and relentless like a piston driving into my skull. I don't even know how it happened. I just internally lost it. And after looking at him for a few moments, all I could muster was a "Well, I still have hope." With that, he was out of there. I can't say I blame him.

But it's not the meltdown that bothers me. It's the thoughts that ran through my head while it was happening. There has never been a point in my life when I was confronted with anti-Yankite nonsense and nearly responded like my brain was made out of fanboy cheese. I'm completely baffled by it. Our club is in a jam but we're not so bad off that the only place I can turn is "26 Championships!" Usually, I can form cogent arguments - stats, facts, information. Usually I have something to hang my hat on. But not right now. All I have are my ifs and buts and candy and nuts. It's disgusting. I have to be better than this. Maybe I was just hungry and my slow brain function sparked all of this. Whatever the cause, I'm just glad I didn't actually vocalize those ridiculous thoughts but that notwithstanding, I am officially in a shame spiral.

Trying to Resist the Clemens Kool-Aid

So Roger Clemens is a New York Yankee once again and this time around, I don't know how to handle it. While the signing comes with a world of upside -- we're not cost any minor league talent and we can be no worse off than when Kei Igawa was on the mound -- there are three negatives that I find quite troublesome:

1. The realization that we are in such dire straits that we are willing to pay $7,500 per pitch to a geriatric egomaniac that's still frosting his tips like Lance Bass circa 2001.
   
   
2. Roger Clemens is a sodding ass. I've already devoted my "I hate your dickish personality but that's okay" good will to Alex Rodriguez. Shouldn't that be enough?
   
   
3. Accidental ingestion of Clemens Kool-Aid.

When the Yankees were sliding through April on the wrong side of the win column, there was this optimism that Alex Rodriguez's brilliance and solid hitting from the rest of the squad would helps us survive until Moose and Wang came off the DL. Everyone admitted that we'd spend some money on relievers near the trade deadline to assure a playoff run but this was something we could handle. We didn't need a Hessian soldier coming in to make things right.

But at week 6 of the season, it's getting late fast. Not only are the Yankees taking a back seat to the Mets in the press but we're also 6 games back with a 15-16 record. Something had to be done. Someone had to stop the bleeding, both in the press and on the field. Someone had to finally admit, "No, we can't do it on our own. It's time to whore ourselves yet again." 

And while I love the signing because, like I said before, this is all upside, signing Clemens is like admitting defeat. And it's upsetting to me that the smug bastard and his little K-family is getting the satisfaction of preying on our pathetic desperation. That notwithstanding, I will work hard to make sure Rocket receives my full backing. Because, like A-Rod, even though he's a bleeding rotter, well, he's ours.

Now, when I was little, doctors advised my mother put me on ritalin because I was overwhelmingly hyperactive. She disagreed, opting instead to keep me outside as much as possible and, when I was indoors, far far away from sugar. That meant Kool-Aid was out for me. But whenever I saw it - especially the cherry flavor, whose sweet elixir tasted like liquefied cherry Jolly Ranchers - I had this unbelievable urge to put my entire face in the pitcher and drown in it. That is exactly how this Roger Clemens signing feels to me. It's like I'm at the kitchen table again having milk while the other kids get Sunny Delight and then the Kool-Aid man bursts through the wall promising me and only me eternal, delicious happiness.

I want to climb on and dive in. I want to drown myself in the possibilities. But I have to keep reminding myself that Roger Clemens - while a great boon to our prospects - is not some fix-all. Signing him doesn't assure us a World Series or even a trip to the playoffs. The truth is, I don't think we'd be in such dire straights if someone could put a freeze on Joe Torre's push-button style of bullpen management. He's like a cracked out Dusty Baker down there (Or is Baker a cracked out Torre?) and no one seems to notice. It's been quietly ruining us since he began overextending Rivera (2003 aside) in 2001 and there are no signs that it will ever end.

This is heresy but after this season, it's time for Torre to be put out to pasture. Please spare me the World Series rings and Hall of Famer arguments unless you can explain his brain function (or lack thereof) in the dugout these days. It's like he's sitting down there thinking of the best way to water his lawn instead of actually focusing on important matters like, oh, I don't know, not destroying the only relievers that have a lick of skill.

I know that the starting pitching has been shite in recent years and that has forced Torre to burn up some arms. But when you have an 8-1 lead like the Yankees did last night and you plant Scott Proctor on the mound for 26 pitches instead of using instead of using Colter Bean or Luis Vizcaino to hold down the fort, there is a problem. "Hey, Scott, aren't you one of the few relievers that we have that is worth a damn?" "Yeah." "Have the ball, son. Wear yourself out."

High leverage pitchers in low leverage situations. It's Joe Torre's anthem. Where is the sense in that? It's one thing to use up your pen when the starter leaves in the 4th or 5th inning but it's quite another when the other team has already packed up and gone home and you're still gassing out the best options in your relief rotation. This happens enough to make me wonder if Torre's even trying anymore. Maybe this is a case where he needs to retire but just can't let go or maybe karma is out to get us for four championships in five years. Either way, I've had enough.

*I don't know what any of my last paragraphs had to do with my initial concerns. My apologies.

HT: Coz - stimulating conversation  

Well, Steinbrenner Had to Fire Somebody, Right?

I didn't get the Yankee game on Tuesday night (MLB tv is becoming more appealing by the day), so I watched a few episodes of "Rome" instead. It's a little early in the post for me to go off on a tangent but let's get it out of the way. I don't know how many of you have seen Rome but it is absolutely amazing.

I'm in the middle of season one and am completely captivated by it. Since I'm too much of a tightwad to buy the actual dvds, I have to rely on Blockbuster Online to provide my fix... this means I can only watch a three or four episodes a week. But when I'm not watching Rome, I sit around fantasizing about what life would be like in Rome. I've come to the conclusion that if I was ever whisked away to ancient Rome in some fantastic sci-fi event, I'd be happiest in the role of Atia of the Julii - I am not only willful and cunning but I also have no problem with being sexually voracious and totally amoral.

My other option, as I see it through seven episodes, is being a madam whose brothel caters to high-society clientele. Big money, relaxed lifestyle. Anyway, let's move on. 

So sometime Tuesday evening I got a text from my buddy Coz: "Yanks are snakebit...I'm sick to my stomach." Didn't make much sense. As far as the mlb.com gamecast was concerned, Philip Hughes was blistering through a no-hitter. What's so tragic about that? Crazy, melodramatic Coz, right? No, stupid slow gamecast.

Fully intending on writing back to mock him, I checked the Yanks website just to cover my arse. That's when I saw this headline in 24 pt. bold font: "Hughes Leaves Game In Seventh With Injury." I went back to the gamecast and it had finally updated -- the Yankees only hurler not using Just for Men had left the game in the middle of an at-bat. I looked at the headline and then at my phone and then the gamecast. Headline, gamecast, headline, phone, headline, headline, headline. The next thing I knew, my phone had the misfortune of encountering a nearby wall.

But while my phone snapped back together in less than 4-6 minutes, the Yankees rookie pitcher will be out with a severe hamstring for 4-6 weeks. Hughes is the third Yankee hurler to suffer a hamstring and the fourth player overall, with Hideki Matsui also turning in a hamstrung DL stint earlier this season.

Two players succumbing to the same strain is bad luck but when it happens to a third, you begin to wonder. When four players are taken down by the same issue in less than a month, there is a serious problem - or - as Brian Cashman put it, "It got to the point where the perception is there's a problem here." 

No Brian, that is not the perception. That is the reality. In five weeks, five key Yankees have suffered from muscle-related injuries and even more are struggling. It's bad enough that 3/4 of our roster qualifies for MLB's AARP package. Now our youngsters are going down for the count, too?

Chien-Ming Wang is 27 and Phil Hughes is 20. There is no reason for their muscles to be a hot mess. Somebody has to swing for that and since Steinbrenner already vowed not to fire Joe Torre and Brian Cashman (this week), happy trails to Marty Miller. Miller is, er, was a strength & conditioning coach. Our genius staff plucked him out of del Boca Vista Ballen Isles Country Club in Palm Beach Gardens, where he was posing as a fitness instructor (read: water aerobics instructor for my Bubbe and her friends)...

Ya know, sometimes I get the feeling that Steinbrenner & Co. are just trying to see how far and ridiculous they can take things before it all goes to pot. I wish they'd stop; it's just not funny anymore.

The Sky Is Falling In the Bronx

Abandon ship! Fire Cashman! Fire Torre! Give Clemens $70 million! Trade A-Rod for young pitching! Red Sux in first with no sign that they'll ever lose again! Abandon ship!

We're 8-11, last in the AL East, got swept by the D-Rays, and if I closed my eyes, I'd swear that our bullpen was replaced with girls from my high school softball team. Maybe the Mets will take A-Rod for Endy Chavez and Aaron Heilman... that Chavez is a speedster and Heilman's got moxie. Or wait, what about the entire Tigers rotation plus Joel Zumaya! Yeah, that'd be the trick! But are they too smart to let that pass? Damn. Just wait until A-Rod gets off this hot streak and the pitching STILL sucks. We'll be in extra last! It'll be curtains for the Yanks then. Looks like it's time for me to cancel MLB TV and my XM subscription because at four games back in the fourth week of April, history tells me that it's all a wash:

2000: 15-27 record in May and June, 3-15 record at the end of the season, David Cone started and went 4-14 with a 6.91 ERA, worst record of all teams in the playoffs. Outcome: World Series.

2004: 8-11 to begin the year, swept at home by Boston, worst starting pitching of any 100-win team in the history of the game. Outcome: Worst playoffs collapse in the history of sports.

 

2005: 11-19 to start the season, 3-9 midwest road trip in early June, splintered clubhouse, Gary Sheffield's mustache, 54-28 record after the All-Star game with a 16-5 run to erase a four-game deficit at the close of September. Outcome: Nauseating playoffs display against the Angels.

1. Boston and Baltimore get off to a torrid start, leaving New York, Toronto, and any other schmucky team in their wake. Fans squawk. Yankees finish April below .500.
   
2. Tampa Bay bends us over and violates us. Blame A-Rod.
   
3. Yankees pitching staff is patchworked with prospects, has-beens/never was/never will be's, and oldsters that live on the DL. Losses pile up.
   
4. ESPN douchepumps and opposing fans whisper that the wheels are finally falling off
5. Yankees get hot (except when the D-Rays show); rest of AL East gets cold
   
6. AL East Champion: New York Yankees
7. Shameful playoff exit
   

Turning In My Hater Card (for A-Rod)

Last Saturday, I decided to call it a career as an Alex Rodriguez basher and with the Yankees' first game just an hour away, it gives me a weird feeling inside.

Ten years have passed since a boy named Kevin Graham approached me in math class and said, "Derek Jeter sucks dick! Alex Rodriguez is the best short stop basically in the universe." Resolute in the belief that no one in Major League Baseball could exceed a Yankee at any position, I seethed with anger and started hoping that this boy, this blasphemer, would get hit by one of the buses after school. I was vaguely aware of A-Rod’s existence but I knew that I’d be damned if he was going to be the best short stop basically in the universe.

And so it goes that since that fateful moment in Mr. Harless' 8th grade pre-algebra class, it hasn’t really mattered what A-Rod has done… whether his actions have been good, bad, or otherwise, I have found a way to completely hate and, in turn, mock him for it. But in the mean time, Rodriguez has become the best short stop basically in the universe and so remains, his current status in the Bronx notwithstanding. 

So when we signed him, I got a lot of these "what're you gonna do now? You can't cheer for that guy can you?" questions. Part of me wanted to. He's a once in a generation talent. But at the same time, I was dying for a legitimate reason to hate him. The 8th grade rage still burned in my soul. Besides, I didn't want to be that tool that bashes a guy until they suit up in my team's colors and then suddenly sees the light  on all of these magical qualities. As a result, I spent the 2004 season in relative ambivalence until the ALDS where Rodriguez all but carried us against the Twins, hitting .421/.476/.737. How can you bash that? Hired gun or not, there's nothing not to love. 

But then this happened:

And then this:

That's when I went off the deep end with thoughts like this:

"This guy is a wanking arse with no sack. If he's pulling THAT much money, he should be hitting .850 with 213 home runs, 400 RBI, 80 steals, and a serious love for playing out of position. And if he can do all of that AND hit Curt Schilling with bolts of lightning from his arse while both are in their respective dugouts AND make the sun shine on my birthday then that MIGHT justify me smiling when he comes to the plate... What do you mean, 'he can't do that'? What a fucking clown. We'd be better off with Troy Glaus."

And that's how I've been until now - an irrational, hypocritical asshole that used anything possible as justification for hating the greatest player of his generation. Purple lips? What a jerk! Saying the right thing?  Screw this guy. Not being Derek Jeter? Hang him. Why? Because he embodies this failed $200 million mercenary experiment and deserves all the abuse anyone dares dish out...

I now hang my head in shame. 

I'm finally accepting something I've always known -- Though a complete head case from time to time, Alex Rodriguez busts his ass day in and out, playing out of position and hustling on every play to earn a paycheck that he more than deserves. And when he comes up short, when he's making errors or going through a cold streak, he doesn't shirk the blame. He doesn't blow it off. He works and fights to return to form. How many professional athletes can claim as much?

I'm not one of those Project A13 Pollyannas who believe that supporting Alex Rodriguez will cause the heavens to rain candy and rainbows nor am I about to become some obnoxious fangirl -- I reserve that insanity for Andy Pettitte. But I am woefully behind the curve on showing the best shortstop since Honus Wagner the respect he deserves. It's going to take some time to get used to this type of thing but I'm looking forward to it... not being a complete jackass probably feels pretty neat.

Johnny Damon Tells Lies, Remains Braindead

Those that have been around here long enough have watched my seething hatred for Johnny Damon dissipate into tempered enthusiasm and random bouts of annoyance.

Believe it or not, I used to be a fan of his when he was in Kansas City. That said, my rooting interest had nothing to do with his skills and everything to do with his supposed ethnic background. My cousin Alonso told me that Damon was an Indian and he used our fathers as proof -

"Look at their faces," he said. "They're the same! He's probably from the nation and everything!"
"But his baseball card says he was born in Kansas."
"You were born in Idaho. Are you a Coeur d'Alene?"
"No."
"See???"

Like any 13-year-old feeb, I took Alonso at face and immediately convinced myself that Johnny Damon would be the greatest Indian athlete since Jim Thorpe pwned the universe. Of course, this never happened.

Around the time that I headed off for college, I learned that Damon wasn't Indian at all -- he was half Thai and half white. You all know what a huge racist I am, so you won't be surprised to hear that I fell off the bandwagon straight away.

I remained indifferent to his existence until he wrote "Lord of the Idiots, an Autobiography." That's when I started hoping he'd choke on a bag of dicks.

Ironically, he responded by signing with the New York Yankees. Over the last year, I've come to appreciate his presence on the team and have somehow managed to defend him from time to time. But he has yet to endear himself to me enough that I'll ignore his lies and stupidity.

In an interview with MLB.com, Damon professes that he couldn't be happier with his situation; he's fitting in with the team and he's getting healthy. Huzzahs all around. If you're a Yankee fan, that's all you want to hear. But Johnny doesn't stop there -- he keeps laying it on. 

"In the end, every part of me is happy. ... I knew the Yankees and always wanted to be a Yankee, even dating back to when I was a [Kansas City] Royal." - Johnny Damon, February 20, 2007

"There's no way I can play for the Yankees, but I know they're going to come after me hard. It's definitely not the most important thing to go out there for the top dollar, which the Yankees are going to offer me. It's not what I need."- Johnny Damon, May 1, 2005

What a fucking liar! It's as if he doesn't realize that we're in on the gag and big Johnny Trickster has pulled the wool over our eyes yet again.

Newsflash Johnny - we know you're here for the money. In five years, the warranty on your wife's tits is gonna run out and you'll have to foot the bill for a new pair. That's a lot easier to do with a paycheck coming in twice a month from an organization that uses the pages of Moneyball instead of Charmin in the executive bathrooms.

Hattip: Babes That Love Baseball

Johnny Damon Hatred:
Lord of the Idiots
Schillings, Damons, and Scarves
Down With Chris Berman
Lord of the Idiots Is Off to the Bronx
I Gotta Lotta Problems With You People

Please, Bernie, Just Retire

Bernie Williams has been a New York Yankee for more than half of my life. I have a vague recollection of his 1991 debut, which is to say I remember little more than hearing my dad say his name once or twice.

But as long as I have been an engaged fan, Bernie has been there, conducting himself with humility, passion, and class. His mastery with the bat, selflessness, and calm demeanor were instrumental to New York's success over the last sixteen seasons, but there comes a time when that's no longer enough to warrant a roster spot.

Bernie claims that he is neither ready to retire nor willing to play for another team, so when the Yankees offered him a minor league contract with a non-roster Spring Training invitation, I thought he'd jump on it.

Sure, twenty-year-olds playing for the Trenton Thunder can manage as much but what better way to prove the front office wrong than to take the offer, tear it up in Tampa, and earn a spot, right? Nah. Turns out that's an insulting proposition. Williams rejected the offer, or is leaning toward doing so, at the very least. To make matters worse, he plans to stay in shape at home until the Yankees call with a guaranteed contract.

Williams said, he would maintain a waiting game of sorts by staying home, staying in shape, spurning offers of guaranteed contracts from other teams and waiting for the Yankees to change their minds and offer him a guaranteed spot on the roster... - New York Times

Hey Bernie, unless the contract is for a one day stretch, they're not gonna call. You've been around two years too long and everyone knows it. And it's not just the front office, it's also the fans. The wild cheers for you at Yankee Stadium over the last two years have been as much a sign of love, respect, and appreciation as gentle nudges out the door.

Since 2003, I've been concerned that something like this would happen but never thought Bernie would be the type to allow it. Someone had to step aside when he made the 25-man roster 16 seasons ago and I assumed he'd realize when it was his turn to do the same.

So when Johnny Damon came into the fold and Cashman gave Williams a one-year extension, I figured the end was nigh. 2006 would be the Bernie Williams Farewell Tour. Then in 2007, he'd return to Yankee Stadium for Bernie Williams Day, John Sterling would yell "Bern, baby, Bern" across the radio waves one last time, and we'd say our final goodbyes to a legend. Sounded like a plan, yeah? But no. That's not how Bernie is choosing to play it. Instead of walking away from the game with class and dignity, he's taken on the "rip the jersey off my back" mentality, which only works on an organization if you're Brett Favre.

At 38 years old, Bernie Williams is no more suited to play center field than first base. His slow legs and noodle arm make him a defensive liability and while he can still be effective at the plate, he can't provide what the Yankees truly need and have lacked on the bench for so long - the ability to pinch hit, steal, or lay down a bunt. The only thing Bernie's rocking right now is a fading talent for batting against left-handed pitchers and he doesn't even bat all that much. Please tell me how that aids our side in a World Championship run.

Now, it'd be nice if the front office could do a one-day, send-off contract but with Williams still thinking he's a gold glover, he'd probably take that as an insult as well. The truth is, the front office has treated him with respect and done their due diligence. They didn't want to reach the point where Cashman had to say,"Hey fella, you're the #5 outfielder and you aren't good enough;" where Joe Torre had to unceremoniously cut him before Opening Day; where Bernie would get the dubious honor of the non-roster Spring Training invite.

They tried to nudge him gently, they tried to push him quietly, but he refused and here we are. Bernie was a great Yankee and I've loved and appreciated what he's given us but his time is done. Soon enough, he'll see that being kept on this team as a reward for years of production would be a disservice to his legacy. And as callous as it sounds and likely is, I applaud the Yankees front office for recognizing this and putting sentimentality aside to do what's best for this team.

My Boyfriend's Back! New York Signs Pettitte!

Andy Pettitte has been my favorite player since his New York debut in 1995. Though there were plenty of players, both young and old, deserving of my loyalties back then, he was, and still remains, my man.

In the beginning, my affections for Pettitte had nothing to do with his skill. I was thirteen years old; he was my first crush. I'd say it had to do with him being left-handed like myself but that would put 80% of the MLB population up for crush status. Anyway, while most girls were drooling over Derek Jeter's intoxicating green eyes, I was all about Andy and the hole in his chin. Thinking back, I'm a little embarrassed... Liking Jeter is what normal girls were supposed to do.. what I was doing dreaming about Andy riding up to my house on a white horse, glove on his right hand and ring in the other, to propose and make little Pettittes is beyond me.

But as time passed, I came to appreciate his abilities on the mound and he became my favorite for all the right reasons. And when Pettitte departed for Houston, I was absolutely gutted. I felt betrayed. I felt used. "Why would he do this to me? I'm his biggest fan!"

Like any person with an abnormal obsession, I moped about for the better part of a month before muddling through four of the five stages of grief (I was sane enough to understand that "bargaining" was impossible). And after coming to terms, I contemplated buying his Astros jersey but couldn't bear it. By the time opening day rolled around, I was back in my NY version and through all the name-calling and ridicule, I've worn it with pride.

And now, Andrew Eugene Pettitte is a New York Yankee once again. I couldn't be happier. 

Now, don't get me wrong - I'm under no delusions that Andy will magically return to his 90s form. He's a 34-year-old with an elbow on the verge of implosion and if this were any other player, I'd have a mind to send bomb threats to Yankee Stadium. But this was the first man in my life (he has no knowledge of this) and I couldn't be more excited to see him make $16M to close out his career as a New York Yankee... I just hope his left arm still works when he does.

I Know I'm a Yankee Fan But... Can I Get A Pair?

My desire for these has nothing to do with the Detroit Tigers' victory, my wish to tattoo "I told you so" onto the foreheads of every Yankee fan that told me I wasn't worthy of being one because I didn't believe in the $205M experiment, or anything else related to baseball. 

I'd just like a pair for the weekends.

Hattip: The Futon Report

Paul Katcher's "Your Baseball Jersey is Talking"

"Tuesday's All-Star Game in Pittsburgh allows for two rare happenings: actual baseball talent in Pittsburgh and a chance for fans of different major league teams to congregate since they last saw each other at Tampa-area strip clubs during spring training. It's the most touristy event on the baseball calendar, so you can expect to see fans from all parts of the U.S. and Canada adorned in baseball jerseys and assorted regalia."

The above was an intro taste to what my fellow SportsbyBrooks contributor, Paul Katcher, has running on ESPN's Page 2 in his article about what your baseball wardrobe says about you, as well as the multitudes of uniform wearers that will be in the crowd at tonight's All-Star game.

I know ESPN is my enemy but today, we must embrace it. Be sure to stop by Page 2 and give PK's "Your Baseball Jersey is Talking" a read. It's good stuff.

*For you Yankee fans, don't forget Paul's NYY version - What Your Yankee Jersey Says About You. It's a gem.*

Mussina Gives Torre the Treatment

Mike Mussina pitched a gem in Detroit last night, scattering six hits over a complete game. But in the bottom of the ninth with only one out left in a bid for his 24th career shutout, Alex Rodriguez made an error that allowed Placido Polanco to score. So naturally, Torre tried to come out of the dugout to make a pitching change, which is what you'd expect that right? A pitcher loses his shutout bid and since it's not 1940 where the starter goes until his arm falls off, you send in the closer. But no, not here.

Torre hardly got a foot on the field when Mussina got aggressive and shouted, "Get back in there!" According to Moose, "They shouldn't have scored at all, so I just wanted to finish it." I know Torre had already been out there once and Moose really wanted to do this on his own but damn! Check out the fury:

Who knew Mike Mussina had such rage? Who could have guessed that he'd fly out of his shell over something like this?!

I officially love this guy!! I know, I know - where has the love been all this time? You'll have trouble believing this but Moose has never captured my attention - at least, not at the level that he deserves. Though he's been consistently good and often great, he's never been the best. He’s finished in the top six in Cy Young award voting eight times and hasn't won the award. He’s finished in the top 10 in ERA nine times but has never led the league. He’s finished in the top 10 in wins eight times but still can't find 20 games. He's had brushes with perfection but has become the captain of the near miss. And the biggest of all, he still has no World Series. It's this "almost but not quite" career that has left me grossly (and unfairly) underwhelmed with Moose. Further, I've seen his reserved nature as a lack of passion and have wrongly attributed that to his present level of success.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. I was wrong and am a horrible person and spoiled fan; the shame I'm feeling is immense. But I'm all over the Moose bandwagon now. That counts for something right? Yeah... probably not :(

*Update: YouTube video

In other news, remember that Seinfeld episode where Jerry and his girlfriend made out during Schindler's List? His parents were in town and they didn't have a place to hook up, Jerry had 3 weeks of blue balls and ended up succumbing to his penis' will while Jews were being carted off to concentration camps in the opening scenes. Newman was there and ratted them out their parents [You were necking during... Schindler's List?!]

Well the same thing just went down during a showing of a far less powerful film with a racist, slow-witted douchepump, who, unlike Jerry Seinfeld, fears the #7 train to Shea. Last week at the Chelsea Cinemas John Rocker and his model girlfriend, Alicia Marie (who is black, randomly enough), made out like the ship was goin down during The Da Vinci Code and "spent the entire damned movie rubbing noses, kissing, biting, touching each other and feeding each other candy."

Now, Da Vinci Code is no Schindler's List but it is not, in any way, shape, or form a movie worthy of such behavior. Christ, it's not even something you should pay to see! Wait until that shit comes out on TBS and then fool around. Don't waste your hard-earned Long Island Ducks dollars sucking face and eating Milk Duds while Tom Hanks gives the worst performance of his career. That is madness.

Shame on you, John Rocker. Even though you're in an interracial relationship now and supposedly live in Queens, I'm still giving you a thumbs down. You probably didn't even bother to take off you trucker hat while you got it on. Wanker.

Derek Jeter? Overrated & Not So Clutch

See this girl? Oh, who am I kidding. Of course you do. I should probably be asking if you're seeing the text sitting next to her. If you haven't spent much time looking at Victoria Secret catalogs lately, meet Adriana Lima - the world's hottest lingerie model and.. brace yourself for it.. Virgin.

In a brief Q&A with GQ, the Brazilian says, "Sex is for after marriage. [Men] have to respect that this is my choice. If there's no respect, that means they don't want me." I remember having that level of resolve. It lasted until I was about 18 and then it was on like Donkey Kong. Had I Adriana Lima's level of discipline and restraint, I can only imagine the things I could accomplish in life.

Now, the only reason I'm posting about this issue [aside from giving you more fantasy ideas] is that she dated Derek Jeter. Assuming she's not a liar, Captain Clutch tried and failed to hit it for six straight months and walked away a total failure. When I was in high school, I thought Derek Jeter was beautiful.. delicious even.. and I knew that if I ran into him on a sidewalk, I'd instinctively drop to my knees and give him the best I had. But as I've gotten a little older and seen more of what the world of men has to offer, I've come to realize that though Jeter's cute, he's not THAT hot, and I don't understand how he pulls so much high-caliber ass. Every time you turn around, he's with the newest, hottest thing and the gossip rags have lead us to believe he's a serial dater that baits them, mates them, and throws them away. But after this, who knows, maybe it's all a ruse. His ability with the ladies is obviously somewhat overrated and as I see it, there are three options here: 1) Derek got rebuffed from the front so he went backdoor, something that Yankee haters think he's doing anyway; 2) Lima, referred to by GQ as the "world's most voluptuous virgin," is just the world's most voluptuous beard and she and Down Low Derek like to shop; or 3) Jeter's an admirable man and the couple eventually grew apart. Since Ms. Lima doesn't strike me as a girl whose into baseball or conversations that use more than fragments, I'm ruling out #3. So what's the verdict? While I think it's option one, I'm kinda hoping it's #2. Wouldn't that be fun? :)

[Hattip: Jackie Chiles]

Damn You In Advance, Mark Shapiro

The Lord of the Idiots Is Off to the Bronx

Gary Sheffield Throws Yanks Under the Bus

• The Yanks are not only lacking in class, they also have no respect for family. Apparently, this is a stark contrast to the Dodgers, where the wives are allowed to ride on the team plane and also get together for wifey-functions that create unity. Maybe we should ask Trinka Lowe how family-oriented the Dodgers are.
• Sheff concedes that he'll never pull a Jeter and dive headfirst into the stands. Boo and thumbs down on injury, says Sheffield. It might force him to do steroids again to heal up.
• Cashman insulted him by only offering a two-year, $18 million contract after a 39 HR, 132 RBI season.
  
• The Yankees have no chemistry and it's all the media's fault. No one hangs out in the clubhouse because the media vultures are clamoring for interviews. "This is the first team I've been on where no one sits at their locker. It's where you build your chemistry from, how you get to know each other, just talking about life. I'm used to having six chairs around me, but here if there are six chairs, then there's going to be 20 reporters around me."

"It happens because you're white and I'm black. My interpretation of things is different. You don't see it the way I see it. You write how you understand it, how you would articulate it, not how I, as a black man, would articulate it."

Thanks for the leadership, Sheff.

Yankee Fans: Stop Embracing "Evil Empire!"

Lord of the Idiots

(After telling his wife to leave their home near Boston and go back to Orlando, wifey came back against his wishes): I told her, "There's no reason for you to be here' ... Just to push her buttons I added, "I was with three more girls while you were gone."

"If you're good-looking and a ballplayer, girls want a piece of you [Look at the big brain on Johnny!]. For the rest of the (2002) season, I met some women, some good, some bad. I had some one-nighters that I had never gotten to experience before. It was fun. I ended up having to carry around a separate cell phone for the women to call me. I didn't want them to have my main number because my phone would have been ringing off the hook and it just got tiring."

After I broke it off with one woman, she told me, 'I don't mind if you see other girls, too.' Most women weren't so flexible. [Oh that's a shame!] I remember one who was clearly a one-night stand who'd call me up and tell me she'd told all her friends we were dating ... One other time, I was propositioned by two girls at once, but I passed. Two girls might be able to handcuff me and kill me. [You don't kill the cashcow, Johnny] Mostly, they just want more of your life than you can give them. I'm sure some of them wanted to get pregnant."

“I wanted to live, have fun, not pick out furniture.”

I think I found the right girl. She captured everything about me— - my eyes and my heart. I think I've found a winner.

Where's the Erotica?

"Enough is enough. I am bitterly disappointed as I'm sure all Yankee fans are by the lack of performance by our team...It is unbelievable to me that the highest-paid team in baseball would start the season in such a deep funk. They are not playing like true Yankees."