Let’s just lay it all on the table: last night’s game was an embarassment. An abomination. A night of profound ugliness, rivaled perhaps only by 1977’s infamous “Billy Martin and Reggie Jackson Thong Night” at the Stadium.
But the tone was set early, in the first inning, when Tek threw the ball into right field while trying to nail Cabrera, setting off a bizarre chain of events that ended with Cabrera scoring and Tek lumbering down the line like Roger Ebert trailing a runaway lemon drop. It was so mind-numbingly horrific that it almost seemed like a sort of performance art piece. An homage, if you will, to the Bad News Bears, The Special Olympics and The Hudson Brothers Razzle Dazzle Show, all rolled into one.
Bottom line: Even with a Sheffield-, Jeter- and Matsui-free line-up, they pounded us into sand. We took it Ned Beatty-style, watching any last remaining droplets of pride sink into the grass or evaporate into thin air. That bit where the Yanks fans gave Beckett a standing O as he left the field? It made me sick to my very soul. The only bright side: When it’s 13-2 in the third inning, you’ve got plenty of time for completing other menial tasks, like balancing your check book or discovering if TANG is more effective when injected directly into the jugular.
My only lingering question: What the frick is wrong with Beckett? And if he is hurting, where can I acquire enough mind-altering substances to get me through the summer (at a reasonable price, of course).
In the meantime, we place our faith in Pauley. We can still take 3 of 4, people. And wouldn’t that be the best revenge of all?
