2008: The Year That Wasn't

Weird season. Likely that the Yanks and Mets will own the two best records among teams that didn't make the postseason. Gonna be extra quiet on the subways tomorrow morning...

I'm not as giddy about the Mets' demise as I thought I'd be. I guess it makes the Yankee pill a little easier to swallow, but I don't know. The Met season seemed like a wild ride, while ours was more like a road trip where you pull over every 30 minutes for bathroom breaks. We just never got going.

My buddy nailed it, even more than he realized. Only one thing will make this season, the Stadium closure, and all the bullshit tolerable: decent season seats at the new Yankee Stadium.

Yankees 7, Orioles 3

Too much. Way too much.

Sunday night's big finish at Yankee Stadium was completely overwhelming on every possible level. At least five hundred things happened that each merit their own story. I'll try to focus on twenty or so.

Again, a big F-you to ESPN for forcing the game to start well after 8:00 at night. Phil Mushnick got this one right (for a change!) in the Post today-- this was a complete disgrace. No child (and very few adults) could possibly sit through that six hour ordeal and feel good about it. It just plain sucks.

So I got to our seats at exactly 6:50, which was the supposed time of the unveiling of the "Yankee Artifact". That's not entirely true, as I stupidly sat in the wrong seats for about ten minutes. Either way, the Artifact was about fifteen minutes late and a bit boring. They draped an enormous pennant from 1922 over the black bleachers, and then covered it up. Sentinels were posted on either side of the giant pennant, in case a posse of drunken fans tried to steal it or puke on it. No one dared.

John Sterling and Michael Kay reunited to share emcee duties for the opening ceremonies. They were about as happy to see each other as a snake and a mongoose. I won't say they did a bad job, but the event was paced so poorly at one point that Babe Ruth's introduction on the Diamondvision was completely missed by the crowd. The video screen also gave the impression that Joe DiMaggio played for the 1923 Yankees.

The endless catalogueing of Yankee greats created a bizarre game within a game: which players were worthy of standing ovations and which weren't. Almost no one in our section stood the whole time, so we ended up standing up and sitting down over and over and over... at least forty or fifty times. I felt like a Whack-a-Mole.

The game itself was sort of exciting. Pettitte stunk, which was sort of expected. He looked tired as hell. If he was even one-tenth as tired as I was by 8:30, it's a miracle he could even reach home plate.

The far-and-away highlight of the night was served up by our beer guy in section 32. We bought two Coors Lights, and the guy just gave us the cans. He didn't even pour the beers in plastic cups! It was almost like Derek Jeter winking and flipping a ball into our laps-- it felt that special. I can't wait to tell my kids about it when they get a little older.

Things kinda tailed off after our beercan zenith. There was nothing at all to steal, unless you count toilet paper. Jeter's little speech at the end of the game was pretty cool. The whole night was pretty cool, but just way too much to take in at once. And way too long.

Yankees 1, Orioles 0

Last game ever in my beloved season ticket seats. If we ignore an afternoon where my friend and I crawled around the upper deck like oversized arachnids, it's been a remarkably smooth decade in Tier Reserved 6.

I shared the final Yankee Stadium Saturday with my old buddy Gritty. Grit's a veteran of several legendary days and nights on River Avenue (the "Black Suit Sucks" night, the "Sleeper" night, Piazza Beaning #1, as well as a bizarre bleachers excursion on opium)-- we settled in without a hitch.

Of course, the Yankees hired/asked no one to sing anything. How do they manage to screw that up every time? This is New York City!

We couldn't hit to save our lives all day. As one of our section-mates said, "This is a microcosm of our season." I was tempted to push the "every game is a microcosm of each of our lives" thing, but I held back. I just burped instead.

Hundreds of cops swarmed around the Stadium like giant ants. I might need to reconsider my "souvenir" approach for tomorrow night-- maybe stealing a urinal flush mechanism isn't the best idea. I'll be happy to make it home with my wallet and apartment keys.

Either I'm nuts or 75% of Billy's across from the Stadium is now an Apple Bank branch. They replaced a bar with a bank? What's the point?

Tomorrow night better be good. I want Bernie jamming with the surviving members of the Dave Matthews Band, Giambi arm-wrestling Kevin Millar, free beer, and George Steinbrenner descending onto the field via hovercraft. I also want to be home by midnight.

Law & Order Poll Results

The results are in!!! This thing was down to the wire all the way-- we may need a recount! I'd like a word with Blogger's statistician about his/her methods of rounding decimals, but...

1. Claire Kincaid / Abbie Carmichael (tie)
3. Jamie Ross
4. Connie Rubirosa
5. Serena Southerlyn / Alexandra Borgia (tie)

Not surprising, really. I think we'll skip the Favorite Junior Detective poll (Cyrus Lupo?!).

ADA Cheat Sheet

By request...

Claire Kincaid
Pro: old school fave
Con: too familiar with Jack McCoy's penal code

Jamie Ross
Pro: convincing manner, silky smooth
Con: chronic hair issues

Abbie Carmichael
Pro: the voice that launched a thousand conjugal visits
Con: Jason Sehorn/Republican

Serena Southerlyn
Pro: gentlemen prefer blondes
Con: dumb blonde

Alexandra Borgia
Pro: mystery woman
Con: a bit creepy

Connie Rubirosa
Pro: currently on the job
Con: may be digitally rendered

The Sexy Six

Don't miss your chance to weigh in on the verdict for our favorite Law and Order Assistant D.A.! These pretty prosecutors will only be up for the rest of the coming week, so vote now!!!

Rays 7, Yankees 1

Took the family unit up to the Bronx for some Saturday baseball. I had a funny feeling it might not be the smoothest outing as we huffed and puffed up 116th St. It's not the heat, it's the humidity.

Lee Jr. received a nifty Yankee Student Planner as we entered the Stadium-- one of the nicer promotional items I've seen. I'm certain that any adult would cherish a gift as nice as this.

This game was the Bizarro World version of the last game I took LJ to. Moose pitched both times we went, but bequeathed a 5-0 deficit upon his team today instead of a 5-0 lead. Jr. was totally mellow last time; today he spanned the behavior continuum from peppy to cranky in a few innings. We bailed out near the top of the fifth, making a pitstop at the kid-friendly Sidewalk Cafe.

Today was a little taste of what it's like to be a fan of a really mediocre team. It almost felt like a Knicks game: lots of side conversations, people leaving early in droves, players chucking the ball everywhere but where they're supposed to... kind of depressing. I didn't even have the heart to argue when the Mizz wanted to leave a bit early. I pretty much agreed with her.

Republican National Convention

Sorry, but I can't watch this any longer without writing something.

The Republican National Convention is, um, weird. It has the feel of an overblown school board meeting, or maybe even a Christian phone-a-thon. Hmmm.

The "Country First" signs being waved around look exactly like the "Country Kitchen" logo. Bizarre new-country pitch-corrected songs fill up the interludes, while white people awkwardly clap their hands. Most of the speakers spurt and sputter, making painful bids for applause (pregnant pauses?). Eerie "Sa-rah, Sa-rah" chants creep in and out of earshot. Carrie meets Children of the Corn?

Linda Lingle (!), the Guv of Hawaii (pronounced Ha-vah-eh), is a lunatic. She just made the absurd point that you can fit 250 Delawares in the state of Alaska. I was hoping she'd try for a paradoxical brain-twister about how many Americas you can fit in the state of Alaska. I ended up simply hoping she'd fall into a volcano.

Rudy is absolutely pathetic. At least he used to have some kind of stubborn style back here in New York. Now he's a sad, sad puppet. I can't believe I used to pretend I voted for this asshole at parties.

A "Drill, baby, drill!" chant just drowned out Rudy for a little while there. I honestly thought they were saying "Kill, baby, kill!" at first. Then Rudy parries with, "Who are we offending when we say Islamic terrorists?"

Is there really such a thing as an American "hockey mom" outside of Minnesota?

Rudy's really confusing the crowd now-- they're booing stuff they're supposed to cheer for. Wait, he just got a great, authentic cheer for "We are all Georgians!!!" I don't think anyone has any idea what Rudy's talking about.

OK, here she comes now. Jeez, it looks like half the people are carrying rubber infants. Anyway, Sarah Palin just took the podium. She sounds like a valedictorian accepting her high school diploma.

I dunno, there's something funny about her. I can't quite put my finger on it-- something unsettling... oh Jesus, she's a dead ringer for my ex-wife!

PavanoWatch VIII

Maybe Carl "Cookie Puss" Pavano's running out of tricks...

He was a lot closer to his wild side tonight, walking two and beaning one in 4+ innings. Hughes is earning good grades lately, so maybe they roll the dice with Phil? If the Sox keep winning, don't look for lots of innings from any of the crown jewels.

I'm loving Phil Coke. Can I get a jersey? I think he has Farnsie's old number.

Swervin'

Today's rap artists just don't get enough credit... as writers. Maybe people just don't understand what the hell they're saying?

Here's an example of such quality prose, along with a humble "translation":

DJ Paul, "Swervin'"

I got them 28's on the Chevy sittin' so high.

The plastic cup's in the cup holder gettin' dry.

My Chevrolet is outfitted with 28-inch chrome rims, and is unusually elevated above the ground. I have a plastic cup containing a mixture of Tussionex/Promethazine, soda and/or liquor in the car's accessory holder; my cup is nearly empty.

And before I see the bottom I'm a holla at L.L.,
'cause that means I need a R.E.F.I.L.L..
Before my drink is completely finished, I plan to contact "L.L." about pouring another full cup of the Tussionex mixture.

From the bottom to top, nothin' but that pink.
I got a thick bitch playin' with my dick.
My cup is now completely full again. A woman with large, muscular hindquarters and buttocks is digitally and orally stimulating my penis.

And she done got lit, now she curious...
She's looking at my dollop wantin' to take a hit.
The woman arousing me also seems intoxicated, and is staring at my full cup of Tussionex mixture. She may want to taste the mixture.

You know I'm passin' it, long as she acting right.
If she get gonzo, I'm a smack the daylight clean up out the ho...
I have no problem with sharing my drink with the woman, on the condition that she doesn't appear overly intoxicated. If she reaches a dangerous state of inebriation, I may need to use physical force in order to restrain her. It is also becoming apparent that the woman may be a prostitute.

Kick her out the door, call up "Get High" Chris,
go and get some mo'.
After I remove the prostitute from the vehicle, I'll need to contact "Get High" Chris, the local merchant and supplier of illegal bottles of Tussionex/Promethazine. From there, I'll repeat the above process.