First, I am not angry.
Alright, maybe Saturday’s game got me a little peeved. After Friday’s blow-out, a neat comeback win could have sparked that 10-game win streak I keep praying for.
And yesterday’s debacle? That wasn’t pretty either. That ball that dropped in short left field? That horrific, Tim Tschida-worthy call at third base? Nasty! But I find solace in the fact that, beyond these few excruciating moments, we were simply shut down. Sure, a lesser man might wonder just what the feck is up with Senors Embree and Timlin. But I’m not a lesser man. Just ask Maria Colvecchia of Bayonne, New Jersey.
So what’s suppressing all this anger? What’s keeping my inner-Scarface in check?
The fact that the Yankees lost, too.
A day in which the Red Sox win and the Yankees lose? That’s the king of days. A good time all around. We’ve got Fred Astaire and Ben Vereen jumping around with canes and hats. David Lee Roth and the Van Halen brothers playing grab-ass as they announce their new world tour. Halle Berry stops by my house to apply for that French maid position.
A day in which the Yanks lose and the Red Sox lose? That’s the next best thing. We’re not losing any ground. Yeah, we’re not gaining any either, but, dude, we’re not losing any.
A day in which the Sox play and lose in the early afternoon and the Yanks play later in the evening in a nationally televised game is a good day, too. Because then you can sit on your goofy Irish ass and make feeble attempt after feeble attempt to coax a Bombers loss, be it conjuring A-Rod voodoo dolls from old baseball cards or teaching your four-year-old daughter the “Yankees Suck” chant just to set the karmic mood right where you want it to be.
And I did. And they lost. So chew on that, Mr. Steinbrenner.
