Yankees 12, Rangers 3

Our annual staff trip to Yankee Stadium (40 people) didn't disappoint. We sat waaaaaay out and up in the right field Grandstand (section 405), where the view was actually pretty decent. Got a little drunk and a little noisy, but certainly behaved well within society's norms (except for a moronic argument between me and KumoD about "God Bless America"). A good time was had by all.

I wish I'd heard John Sterling's call of Hideki Matsui's 4th inning dong-- apparently Big John accidentally launched into his "an AAAAA-Bomb..." routine and had to switch to "well, it would have been if A-Rod had hit it..." before properly crediting the homer to Hideki. Unbelievable. Hell, just listen to it here (even with the dumb video).

So I really wanna get some of this old Yankee Stadium swag. I've given up on buying a pair of seats, especially after I found out that they take them apart, clean them, and put a new commemorative frame on them. What's the point?

I do like this sign quite a bit. Note that I've never been thrown out of Yankee Stadium.

This next sign might be kinda cool too-- maybe I'll put in a bid on it.

Stupid like a Fox

Gave my Saturday tickets over to Heath today. Good things seem to happen when I do that... A-Rod hit #500 a couple of years ago, and then today. Maybe I'll give him the rest of my package.

After watching Fox's pathetic coverage of today's game, I've instead decided to see as many games in person as possible. My expectations are veeeerrrrry low for the channel 5 guys, so I can't say I'm that surprised. But y'know-- I expect a certain level of professionalism from guys that do nationally televised games every week. A low level, but at least a level.

Joe and Tim stumbled their way through the first few innings... well, I assume they did because I had the sound off. Even without any sound at all, you know these idiots are talking trash as soon as you see their faces.

My stomach churned after the neophyte John Mayberry Jr. hit his first major league homer off Pettitte and put the Phils up 4-1. A few minutes later I was scrambling turn the volume on after they misidentified some guy in the stands as "John Mayberry Sr., John Mayberry Jr.'s father." I guess the Fox ground team's memo from up-top only read he's a big black guy wearing a Phillies hat, 'cause they came up with the wrong guy. About 15 minutes later they found the real elder John Mayberry, who was a great sport about the gaffe. Hell, his son just jacked one at Yankee Stadium!

I kept my finger on the remote for a while after that, just in case more hijinks were up ahead. Sure enough, they posted an incredibly stupid "poll" about what Ken Rosenthal was doing tonight after the game (besides sending out his resume). The crew revealed that Ken was indeed going to see Springsteen tonight, and quickly cut to Ken himself out in the stands for a reaction. His microphone wasn't on (not because I muted him-- it really wasn't plugged in!), so he stood there blabbing away about "The Boss", no doubt (I guess... who knows what he was saying!). All this during the most exciting part of the game, too.

After this I just had to keep the sound on. Joe Buck supplied his usual stream of deadpan truisms, with ol' Tim sounding pretty tired as the game winded down. Buck tried to come up with something profound after A-Rod's game-tying tater in the ninth, but instead stammered something inane about the supposed wind tunnel to right at the new Stadium and how A-Rod's shot would have been a homerun anywhere. The shot only cleared the wall by about five feet!

Fox then compiled a montage of all the "face-pies" from the last few Yanks' stolen victories. It was a drawn-out exercise, to say the least (show the score deficit, play the clip of the game winning hit, show A.J. Burnett sneak up with the pie, repeat ad nauseum...), even for us Yankee fans. Anyway, Fox screws up by completely missing the Los Chicos double pie-slam by Burnett while they talk to a blank-faced A-Rod. Yeah, you could see it in the background, but come on. Let's just say that Suzyn Waldman and Kimberly Jones have spent a good deal of the month of May cleaning cream out of their hair.

A real team effort today by the Yanks (even the cryogenic Nick Swisher). Pettitte put in his seven innings, which is about all I'll ever ask of the guy. However, we need to see a bit more from Mr. Burnett if we're gonna make a real push for the division this year. More than pies, anyway.

Yankees 6, Twins 4

I completely blew off my game entry from two weeks ago-- apologies to the faithful. At that point I'd witnessed two Saturday drubbings for a total of 30 runs allowed, and I didnt' really feel like talking about it. A few quips about how good the Peroni beer was just didn't seem worth writing about.

Yesterday was a little better. I brought my old pal from upstate to the game. He doesn't really like baseball and pretty much hates the Yankees, but he's always a good sport about it. He also shares my recent cravings for Guinness and Jagermeister, so we were peas in a fucking pod.

Despite a few bumps in the road (late babysitter, near-disaster trying to sneak knife into Yankee Stadium), we made it within minutes of Joba's first pitch. I still haven't gotten used to our new season seats, so we kinda wandered around for a while (beer, crappy food, bathroom, ATM, etc.). The section 422 beer stand can't be beat, but I'm already sick of the nearby food options. Rumors were flying around about $9 cans of PBR yesterday-- I'll confirm that another time.

I had just finished explaining how Mark Teixeira sucks to my friend when he clomped a three-run shot. And A-Rod... well, he's on another planet right now. End of the game was totally weird-- they showed A-Rod standing next to Kimberly Jones on the giant screen with pie all over his face. We left the stadium confused and in need of more beer.

Last night was a little Jager, a little beer, and a little more Jager. Not enough food, however. I ate LJ's discarded dinner (chunks of Boca burger and some cheese toast) and then had some pretzels and popcorn. Yikes.

Looks like we're taking the boy to the Philly game next Saturday. More on that next week.

F'd up

I never wrote up my last Yankee game, which was a week and a half ago. I'll talk to my therapist about whether I should revisit that one or not.

Anyway, I had a horrible commute this morning. We all have classic dilemmas that haunt us on regular basis... mustard or mayo? venti or grande? fastball or slider? Mine is switch to 2/3 train at 96th st or stay on until 59th?

I've been opting for 59th St for the past year or so, mainly because I'm too damn lazy to walk the extra 15 blocks or so that taking the 2 or 3 to Brooklyn entails. It's about 5 minutes faster, but a real bitch in the rain.

Anyway, things were fine until I got to Broadway/Lafayette for my transfer to the dreaded F. I knew something was wrong right away-- the silent crowd. Everybody huddled at the edge of the platform, afraid to say anything because they don't know anything. No barking announcements, no guys with orange ribbons explaining about an "incident" in Queens somewhere, just silence.

So I waited. And waited. I counted five D trains, four more B's, and three V trains (aka the "male nipple") until something finally came creaking down the local track. It was everyone's nemesis-- the C! That midget-sized cave-train that takes forever to get nowhere. Of course, I was perfectly positioned for an F (third door of the second-to-last car) and horribly positioned for a C. We all started running forward to get in that last car.

Not that I ever actually believed it was a C. I mean, here we were at B-Laf, where Cs don't exist. Yeah, it said C and the b*$%h on the mic said it was a C, but of course we'd be following the Culver line deep into Brooklyn, right? I mean, what's the point of running a C on the F line at 6, no 7 (at least!) in the morning?!

The C dumped us off at Jay St and staggered off into the hood. So we all waited again, for anything that would get us to friggin civilization. Finally, one of those "new" Fs rolled in, like a jerk in a new sweatsuit. Yes, it seemed like a legitimate option. We were gonna make it!

The train was a horror show. It was packed to the gills with people that I didn't even recognize as human, let alone American or New Yorker. Who were they and where did they come from? Queens?! Bayside? Who wears flipflops at 7:30 in the morning?

Worse yet was the stench? I quickly traced it to a bum lying right next to me on the brand new cyber-seat. He was wrapped in a Giants jacket, but don't you dare call this guy a fairweather fan-- this jacket was OLD. Like, pre-LT era. This derelict may have been a Gifford fan, in fact.

Worse still was the train itself. The new MTA trains really are wonders of design, but this one was a little off. The robot announcers were screwing up the stops so bad that we weren't even laughing-- I swear they called Carroll St "Newhouse Avenue". And these new trains are just not built for the rigors of the F course. The stretch from Jay St to 7th Avenue has to be one of the most treacherous in the system-- it's the Hillary Step of the subway system. I love the new trains, but they're just not built for this kind of travel. Between the swaying back and forth and the stink of Dave Jennings, I was ready to lose a few pounds all over my shoes.

Bad bad bad trip. I'm making a personal vow to transfer at 96th at least 75% of the time from now on. These kind of things just don't happen on the 2 train.

Departing time: 6:15 am
Arriving time: 8:00 am
Route: 1 to B to "C" to F
TOTAL TRIP: 1 hour 45 minutes

"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.

Don't bury me... I'm not dead!

LJ promptly re-established who's the boss around here when he shot up out of bed at 4am this morning. The terrifying sequence of events was like a scene out of The Serpent and the Rainbow ("Doctah Alan..."). Too tired (or zombified) to think rationally, I dragged the boy into bed and tried to settle him down.

I don't think either of us actually slept from 4am to 6am, but I'm not sure we were awake either. I've been told that victims of "the powder" had similar experiences in Haiti... anyway, it made for a rough morning.

Everything's been fine since. Not great, but fine. He mocked my attempts at facillitating a nap, broke my graphing calculator, and then almost created tomorrow's Post headline: "Tot Choked By Own Diaper" (or "Mr. Mom Murder Massacre"). We had fun.

I'll have a report on today's Tribe game later on. Gonna try to catch The In-Laws on PBS tonight, and maybe even Squid and the Whale (even though I've seen it at least four times-- way too many).

Back in the Saddle

Whole lot better today. Better eating, better napping, better bath, and better bedtime.

Took it as a good sign when he slept in 'til sevenish after his 6:15 sayonara last night. Waking up before your child is strangely empowering. Did some killer Duplo building, wrestled a little bit, bought the paper, straightened up the pad a little bit, and prepared for Frank Rose's visit at 1pm.

I've known Frank since we were around 6 years old. He only saw LJ when he was a few months old, so pretty cool that he's walking and sorta talking and generally hilarious at this point. Our guest brought a swell rubber duck set (yes, a set) and a great-looking board book on sea animals. Everyone got along great.

As much fun as we were having, my focus turned to LJ's bath/book/bed once dinnertime rolled around. Bath was my usual wild ride, although I kept the kid from face-plunging into the drink this time. Still an adventure, to say the least.

After that was smooth as Sade. He even got half his uni-jamas on by himself! I still worry about him being psychologically scarred every time we get to the end of How Big is a Pig? (I just shouldn't read that one), but no biggie. This was one of my better routines tonight. Even the Russian judge gave me a 10.0 on this one.

Even with today's feelgood vibes, I'm leaving the boy home with sitter for tomorrow's Yankee game. I gotta get to know the new Stadium a bit more before I charge in with LJ. He's still a bit under the weather too. I'd also hate for the boy to see Wang stink it up for the third time in a row. My dad will be ruthless with all Yankee pitchers tomorrow, especially the ones not named Bruney or Rivera.

Word up to SpaceJace again for the generous mentions in his blog, which I clearly support and love. J, I'm gonna do my best to cover the Pageant Sunday night. Space has also been heard on That Chick Sports Show on Saturday afternoons. Check it out!

Papa Don't Take No Mess (part 2)

My plan was to post each night of my "home alone" stint, accompanying each of my pieces with a report card-style analysis of my performance. I even had nifty grading fields like "transitions" and "meals/nutrition" ready to roll. After two nights I now see how ridiculous this would've been. You can't grade parenting.

Good thing, 'cause I'd be running about a 1.85 right about now if you could. LJ's days have been pretty smooth around here, but his nights are about as predictable as a Fall concert. Took three separate 45-minute bedtime cycles to get the kid down last night, and tonight he simply passed out during his 6:15 dinner. Crossing my fingers he'll make it through the night (although he's already had one Jacob's Ladder-esque freak-out, which I promptly alleviated and extinguished)...

LJ's been a saint, really. Almost seems like he's listening to me when I tell him not to do shit, and occasionally not doing it. I busted him destroying one of his books today, and he just moved on to another selection. I told him not to hang on my crappy Ikea computer table, and he stopped. I made him stop smacking me in the face after about 20 times, and he didn't do it again. Amazing, really.

Anyway, I just rewarded myself (for what?) with a tasty ham/salami/swiss toasted sandwich. This is one of the first grown-up meals I've had-- most of my food's been LJ's leftovers. I like to think of every sandwich I make being a little better than the last one, and therefore the best sandwich I've ever eaten in my life. This one was just that.

Can we please just put Joba in the goddamn bullpen already??!! Make Hughes #5 and let Joba pitch the 7th/8th with Bruney. Don't argue, just do it.

Papa Don't Take No Mess

Tomorrow marks the beginning of my 5-day stretch alone with LJ while the Mz entertains drunk architects in Glasgow.

Highlights will include:
lunch with Grandma & Grandpa Mazzola (Grandma's birthday!)
Saturday Yankee game (three generations of Mazz!)
trip to CMOM (UWS mecca of playtime)
sandbox dig at Totlot 116
daily listening sessions with AC/DC
visit from Frank Rose (LA's last cowboy)

I'll keep you posted...

Tiger's in the jungle

Well, looks like Tiger's off to a bad start today-- he hit his ball into the Amazon rainforest...