I have a theory about Mark Teixeira. I theorize that homeboy loves him some salty snacks but he still thinks carbs are bad for you so he enjoys nothing better than licking the salt off pretzels and leaving the carby-bits lying around. As such, I’m betting that people hate being assigned the locker next to Teixeira because they’re forever finding bits of his saliva-softened pretzel detritus all over the place. Therefore, the locker next to Teixeira is probably where the Yankees put the rookie they’re wanting to haze.
This really has nothing to do with last night’s game other than it serves as an example of what kind of nonsense my brain gets up to when plunged full on into baseball season courtesy of Chrissy and some sweet bleacher seats.
Also, as evidenced by the blurry picture of my scorecard above, I’m not yet in mid-season form and sometimes I blame “benevolent elves” for an out made my Curtis Granderson or “black magic” as the reason Mike Cameron somehow ended up on second. And when Chrissy took over scoring when I left for an inning and a half to get a Fenway Frank (seriously, get it together, Fenway vendors. People are going to want hot dogs. Perhaps you should have some pre-made), she editorialized the scorekeeping with things like “YAY!” for Victor Martinez’s home run and made note of show-offy Jeterian plays. Of which there were entirely too many if you ask me.
Additionally, we are so starved for a competent shortstop around these parts that we’ve already developed a game involving part of the park chanting “Marco!” and another section following up with “Scutaro!” which beats the stupid wave any day. Because if you are not clear on my feelings regarding the wave, allow me to share. It is stupid. It is pretty much always stupid. The only exceptions or times when it doesn’t make me angry are when there’s a blowout going on and not a whole lot to hold your attention. Know when that doesn’t happen? During the eighth inning of a tie Red Sox/Yankees game. Which is why I will thank you to leave me alone, girl who spent at least $60 on beer and got all pissy with me because I wasn’t doing the wave and was instead, watching the baseball game, despite the fact that I did not smack her during any of the seventeen times she got up and forced the entire row to let her out so she could get MORE beer.
I mean really, people. It’s not even good beer.
Anyway, all that said, it was a glorious night because we did not freeze until near the very end and the fans, despite the opposition, were mostly well-behaved. Perhaps we’re just all so happy to have baseball back that we’re in a perpetual good mood. I predict that lasts until, you know, tonight, but it’s a start.
Oh, and I think I have the solution to the Patriots lack of coordinator issues. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to think of it. But, you guys? Jason Varitek. The man probably already has a warehouse full of Trapper Keepers. You’re telling me he couldn’t start cataloging info on opposing running backs and safeties? Let’s do it. Let’s get Bill on board. Let’s make it happen.