Two Thumbs Down

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It’s as simple as that, really.

Honestly, what is there to say? I realize that today’s game is still seven hours away and if there’s anything Curt hates (besides wallflowers and shrinking violets), it’s losing to the Yankees, so we could still salvage some of this series. But to level with you for a second here, I still don’t think I’ve recovered fully from Friday night’s debacle. I say “debacle” because I was there. In killer seats, thanks to Annette. Which not only means that I had an awesome view of the offense’s tenacity in the early goings and their unwillingness to go gently into that good night (oh, it’s Dylan Thomas quoting time, all right), but I could also see quite clearly Mike Timlin’s (with an assist by Craig Hansen), incredibly ill-timed decision to go tits up. Normally, I support Big 50 because who wants to anger a guy with a tendency to go batshit? But I raised an eyebrow when he called out the offense last week as I think the last thing this teams needs is infighting. So his 7-run 7th inning on Friday was very poorly timed indeed. Mike Timlin does not usually need to be told to sack up. But methinks the time has come.

I have to say, the most entertaining part of the game may have been watching the gentleman next to us shoot quizzical glances in our direction when Marianne called me sometime during the interminable 7th inning to ask me a burning question. He could, of course, only hear my half of the conversation. Frankly, I’m not sure he would have been less scared had he been able to hear all of it.

Me: Yes?
Marianne: In a fight to the death between a shark and a gorilla, who wins?
Me: I am so glad this isn’t about baseball.
Marianne: We’re not talking about baseball. Fuck ’em. So, who wins?
Me: Where is this fight taking place?
Marianne: On a subway.
Me: Is there water?
Marianne: There’s enough water for the shark to breathe and move freely but the gorilla doesn’t have to swim.
Me: Hmmm. I’m gonna have to go with gorilla.
Marianne: Interesting. Care to say why?
Me: Opposable thumbs.
Marianne: Good call. Okay, later.
Me: Bye.

This is why it’s important to have friends. So they will call you and distract you from the horror that is unfolding before you.

Of course, long about the 8th inning, the game took on a sort of perverse humor. Annette looked at me and solemnly declared, “We’re never getting home.” “I think we live here now,” I said. She shook her head sadly. “We’re going to die here,” I declared.

I was instructed to call Steve and send our regrets that we would not be able to make it to his party after the game as we’d planned. “Please tell Steve,” I said, “that we can’t come to the party because we’re being held hostages by motherfuckin’ ballplayers in a motherfuckin’ ballpark.” “If we see Samuel L. Jackson,” Annette said, “Do you think we could ask him for a ride home since the T stopped running about twelve days ago?”

Eventually, it became a matter of endurance. It wasn’t really a question of who was going to win the game. Mike Timlin had pretty much taken care of that one. But I wasn’t going to let them beat me. They were not going to drive me from my own ballpark. Because I always berate people for leaving games early. The T had already stopped running so I knew I was going to be walking home anyway and if I left, that was one fewer Red Sox fan amidst the entirely too many Yankees fans. I was not ceeding my ballpark to them. That will never happen. I became resolute when a Yankee fan in a Sheffield jersey, (the kind of guy asking to be punched on sight), sat a couple of rows in front of us and screamed out, completely seriously, “I love you, A-Rod!”

I turned to Annette. “Now, when you say something like that, and you mean it, is the situation either that a) you have no concept of reality and your place in it or b) you’re just that freakin’ stupid?” Annette though for a second, “What I think it is,” she said, “is that you take a lot of drugs.”

And honestly, I wish they’d shared.

I did learn a few things from the experience, however. For example:

Derek Jeter makes small children cry. This is fact. He hit a wicked foul ball into the section in front of us and all of a sudden, kids were crying and the paramedics were being called in. An oldish woman was being wheeled out in a wheelchair, holding an ice pack to her head, blood everywhere. And for serious, children were crying. So, to sum up: Derek Jeter hates old ladies and children. I really do hope that woman is okay, though. That looked nasty.

David Ortiz cannot always do everything himself. But as his home run off Mariano Rivera in the bottom of the ninth inning proved, dammit, he sure is going to try.

Craig Hansen likes monkeys. When Amy told me about this picture on Friday night, the blueberry beer in my bloodstream combined with the word “monkey” and I ended up with a mental picture of a gorilla. Which, I realize, is not a monkey at all. However, this did lead to a lively discussion while waiting for “Snakes on a Plane” to start yesterday about how it would be the highest of high comedy to see Craig Hansen mauled by a rogue silverback gorilla. Come on, you know you agree.

And that’s what we’ve been reduced to. Double features of “Talladega Nights” and “Snakes on a Plane” yesterday sandwiching pitchers upon pitchers of mango margaritas. Talking about Craig Hansen’s chances in a fight with a silverback gorilla. Discussing how the fact that Rudy Seanez was designated for assignment at least makes the weekend a moral victory. Yep, these are the days of our lives. Two more games in the series. I don’t know if I’m gonna make it.

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