"The House that Ruth Build"

What can I say about this one?! Took my dad to see one of the worst drubbings in Yankee history. Every ball the Indians hit was fucking smoked. This really was batting practice.

Anyway, our new seats aren't bad. The section's really mellow-- like, dorky mellow. Very nice woman sitting next to me with her mother, who was about 85 years old. They'll be my neighbors for the next six months. I was honestly uncomfortable with the idea of raising my voice above normal speaking volume.

Another older woman sat directly in front of me with a bootleg T-shirt from last year's opening day. The back proudly read "The House that Ruth Build" across the top. Maybe I'll make a shirt that says "Babe Ruht #3" or "Jolter Joe DiMaggio"...

I really don't have the energy to evaluate the goddamn stadium again, but I truly like it. I'm not sure how they managed to make a fancy-ass state-of-the-art stadium that still has enough of the old one's look to feel right. Amazing.

They need to fix the fucking mustard dispensers, though. A girl was on French's detail for at least 15 minutes and couldn't get any thing to come out either of the two nozzles. My dad and I were forced to open and squirt at least six packets on our foot-longs, which was a surprisingly difficult and awkward exercise. The condiment stand was so brand new and nice that we couldn't just leave sticky packets and wrappers and napkins all over the place, and the nearest garbage was part of a recycling triple bin at least 30 feet away. Plus, the French's girl was standing right there, squeezing weird foil bags of mustard into the dispensing depots, so we couldn't defile her efforts like a couple of teenagers, right??!! We shuffled over to the nearest pretzel stand, which featured the only flat surfaces for what seemed like miles.

So yeah, I love the new place. Also found a Guinness-on-tap booth mere seconds from our seats. At what appeared to be pints (I'm praying they're "imperial" 20-oz. pints) for $11 a pop, what's not to like?!

I didn't have a Guinness this time, 'cause I had to get home to put LJ to bed. The sitter was staying until about 7:30, and she had just endured a horrific tantrum by the boy when I left at around 3pm. As I dragged him across the floor while he hung onto my leg screaming, I felt about 30% heartwarmed and 70% embarassed while I slipped out the door for a quick cab uptown. "Give him a warm bottle of milk and watch some boring show on TV-- he'll go to sleep..." was my parting advice (which worked, by the way).

I paid the price tonight, with another marathon bedtime affair. I'm completely out of gas at this point, so I'm reduced to bargaining, begging, etc. with the boy for just about anything. Somehow I got him down, even though I probably opened another line of credit with Satan himself to do so.

22 to 4???!!!! This HAS to be the low point. Tomorrow's Burnett vs. Pavano right? Don't laugh, Carl actually beat A.J. last year in a weird one at the stadium.