26 reasons I strongly dislike the Yankees

(Because hate is so 2003)


1. Georgie Porgie. How else would we start this list? He's the ultimate rich-man bully, a first-ballot inductee to the Blowhard Hall of Fame, and the reason the Yankees are synonymous with "Evil Empire." The turtleneck-and-blazer look kicked serious sartorial butt, however.

2. Derek Jeter's casual awareness of the camera, especially his "signature" fist pump. I'm not saying I hope he drowns in a vat of Driven, but I might do a celebratory fist-pump myself if he did.

3. Derek Jeter's uncanny knack for hitting back-breaking flare singles to right when a game is on the line . . . or, hell, his uncanny knack for crushing go-ahead three-run homers off fat 84 m.p.h. splitters from Curt Schilling. Did anyone not see that coming? (Other than Tito, that is.) Jeter, who has been a glorified singles hitter for much of the second half as he's battled various injuries, has hit six of his 11 homers this season against the Sox. Does Theo even employ advance scouts?

4. Clemens. Like you have to ask.

5. Reggie Jackson, the '70s prototype for today's preening, self-involved athletes.

6. Curtain calls for run-of-the-mill home runs. Are Yankees fans really that desperate for affirmation? Yes, I'm sure Andy Phillips heard you cheering for him. Yes, I saw him look you in the eye when he tipped his hat. Yes, I'm sure he'd be your friend if you ever met. Now, please, wipe that nacho cheese off your mustache, hike up your pants so the family of four in the row behind you doesn't have to eyeball your plumber's crack for nine innings, and sit the bleep down. Thank you. (Scary thing is, we had female Yankees fans in mind there.)

7. Brian Cashman, for screwing up a good thing for the Red Sox by realizing the Yankees' resources would be better utilized by building a farm system and paying for elite amateur talent than by signing the biggest-name free agent every winter.

8. Joe Torre, serial nose-picker.

9. A-Rod's redemption. Quick, someone show him his career postseason numbers before he starts believing he can do this in the playoffs, too.

10. Don Zimmer, the cherubic, Pedro-chargin', steel-skulled baseball lifer who contributed to several Yankee pennants, most notably 1978.

11. Jason Giambi, who continues his desperate quest for a PED that can prevent him from sweating like he's being held hostage in a sauna.

12. Wade Boggs, 1996 World Series. The only time in my life I've seen a jackass riding a horse.

13. "BER-NIE WILL-IAMS CLAP CLAP CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!" (Dumb tradition. I will, however, concede that Yankees fans are excellent clappers. They are also quite adept at jumping jacks, rubbing their bellies while patting their heads at the same time, engulfing KFC Famous Chicken 'N' Biscuit Bowls with a spork, and drooling.)

14. Shelley "Red Sox Suck" Duncan. C'mon, what kind of name is Shelley for a dude? (I was going to make a Shelley Winters joke here but thought better of it because 1) my target demographic doesn't know her from Angela Lansbury and 2) she was actually hot in the days before electricity. So consider yourself spared.)

15. Duncan, Shane Spencer, and every other Quadruple A grunt who sold his soul for a sliver of late-summer adulation in the Bronx.

16. Johnny Damon, if only because he looks washed up against every team but the one for which he made his name.

17. Karim Garcia, a thug who looked like he could be the shorter, fatter, talentless Giambi brother. (Whoops, that was Jeremy, wasn't it?)

18. Suzyn Waldman. Did you know that the shrill shill who New York Daily News columnist Bob Raissman refers to as Georgie Girl and Ma Pinstripe was born in Newton, Mass? No wonder she got so verklempt seeing Rogah in George's box. She's a traitor, too.

19. Michael Kay, the epitome of every pompous New Yorker who basks in the Yankees' reflected glory.

20. "IT IS HIGH! . . . IT IS FAR! . . . IT IS GONE!! . . . Another A-BOMB for A-ROD!" Yup, I'm pretty sure John Sterling is actually made of cheese.

21. Graig Nettles, for cheap-shotting the Spaceman and being a world-class phony to boot.

22. Mel Hall, expelled TATB Hall of Famer.

23. Bucky . . .

24 . . . and Boone. Bite me.

25. The fact that the only way the Sox can finish the damned pinstriped vampires off is if they've first spotted them a 3-0 lead in the American League Championship Series. Seriously, it's the Red Sox inability to drive a stake through the Yankees' black hearts when they had the chance that is the reason New York will be playing meaningful games into October.

26. The sense of entitlement the Bleacher Buttafuocos get from rooting for a franchise that has won this number of championships. Man, let's just hope I don't have to increase this list by one next year.

As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:


How I miss the days when the Yankees pinned their hopes on the likes of Bam Bam Meulens.

TATB Live: Sox vs. '62 Mets

The rain has stopped after a half-hour delay, the Sox have taken the field, A-Rod has finally arrived after a delightful afternoon with a worn-out peroxide case at the Foxy Lady . . . and I've got the laptop, the clicker, and am fully prepared to be glued to the couch for the next three hours. So let's play ball already. But before we get this thing going, a few quick thoughts:

• The Sox's lead over the Yankees in the American League East is 13.5 entering tonight. Come Sunday night, here's hoping it's at 16.5 and Joe Torre wakes up Monday morning to learn that the classy New York tabloids are demanding Georgie Porgie roll some heads. Sox fans have been waiting a lot of years to spend a nice summer without concerning ourselves with the Yankees. Don't waste the opportunity now - win tonight, win tomorrow, blow 'em out Sunday, and stick a fork in 'em for the rest of the year. Who needs the drama besides the 'EEI banshees?

• I always think of Tim Wakefield as something of a Yankee killer, perhaps because of his efforts in the 2003 and '04 postseasons (Aaron Boone excepted), but he has a 7.84 ERA against the Bombers this season and has won something like one of his last eight starts against them. My point: Now would be a real good time to start living up to his reputation.

• I'm beginning to realize that Derek Jeter's barely concealed disdain for A-Rod actually reflects pretty well on the captain. Who knew that judging a person's character was an intangible?

All right, to the ol' ballyard . . .

FIRST INNING
. . . and while we're still writing pecking out our lame intro, the Yankees go 1-2-3, with Mike Lowell throwing out Captain Jetes on play right out of the Brooks Robinson Gold Glove Handbook. Not a bad start for Knucksie.

Here's one of those wasted early opportunities that sometimes come back to haunt you. The Sox load the bases with two outs on a walk by Papi, a single by Manny, and another walk to the rotting corpse of J.D. Drew, but Lowell grounds to One-Step Range Jeter to get Chien-Ming Wang off the hook. Seems to me he's one of those guys who tends to settle down if you don't get to him early, so this might be one we're lamenting later.

SECOND INNING
Tom Werner is seated alongside Christie Brinkley. If they're actually a couple, then that's a major upgrade from Katie Couric. In baseball terms, that's like trading Milt Pappas for Frank Robinson.

A-Rod's leading off the inning. Surprisingly, he does not come to the plate to the strains of Motley Crue's "Girls, Girls, Girls." He works a walk. By the way, would it be cruel to suggest that Mrs. A-Rod is a first-team member of the Butterface All-Stars? ("Yeah, dude, her body's hot, but her face . . .") It would be? Okay, then let's just say A-Rod always does what he can to ensure he's the prettiest one in the room.

Wakefield is threatening to turn this one into a blowout early, and not the way we'd hoped. After A-Rod's walk, he whiffs Jorge Posada, but Robinson Cano, one of the main culprits in the Yankees' offensive underachievement, cranks one into the rightfield seats to make it 2-0, Yankees. Bobby Abreu (the Yankees' version of J.D. Drew) then doinks one off the wall, and Wakefield walks the next three hitters (including Benedict Damon with the bases loaded), to make it 3-0, Last-Place Team. Fortunately, Jeter hits into a 6-4-3 double-play on the first pitch he sees to limit the damage. Intangibles!

Dustin Pedroia pokes a double to right, putting runners at second and third with one out, and I have to admit the little feller is winning me over. I still wonder how he gets away with swinging like a righthanded-hitting Reggie Jackson up there, but what's going on with him right now seems to follow the pattern of his entire career dating back to college: he struggles at first in adjusting to each new level, but eventually he gets comfortable and becomes a very productive hitter.

After Julio Lugo plates Coco Crisp with an RBI groundout to cut the lead to 3-1, Kevin Youkilis works a walk after taking a ball three that everyone in the ballpark the home plate umpire thought was a strike. That's the kind of respect you get when you're hitting .354 and have a 22-game hitting streak. Papi, who has jokingly referred to himself as Ichiro during his recent power outage (16 games without a homer), Suzukis one to left to score Pedroia. Then Manny follows with one of his patented yup-he's-locked-in ropes to right to load the bases, pulling his incredulous how-did-you-not-score? comedy routine when he sees Youkilis still standing at third. Unfortunately, Manny is probably right in wondering why DeMarlo Hale didn't take a chance, considering that Drew is up next, and Drew pops to third to kill the rally, just as you, me, and Manny expected he would do.


THIRD INNING
One out, and here's A-Rod again. Got an email from a reader this morning suggesting Dr. Charles and the Red Sox production team should play the snippet of the seagulls from "Finding Nemo" chirping "Mine! Mine! Mine!" on the scoreboard every time he prances to the plate. I suppose I'm not doing it justice if you haven't seen the movie, but hey, I thought it was a clever idea. However, the Sox fans in the third base boxes apparently had their own creative ways of taunting A-Rod tonight - there are a lot of dudes wearing masks with a blonde woman's face. Whatever it takes, I guess. Of course, the best way to get to him is to make him look like a fool on the field, and Manny does just that, playing A-Rod's wall ball perfectly and making his trademark, oddly effective quick-release throw to nail him by five feet at second. It must have been a long walk back to the dugout, though at least he got to check out what he must have thought were some hottie blondes on the way. Anyway, it's an easy inning for Wakefield.

Doug Mirabelli is now a sizzling 2-for-his-last-23 after singling to left past A-Rod (still checking out the masked blondes) and Jeter (still shooting hate lasers at A-Rod). Crisp, who reached on a fielder's choice and swiped second, holds up at third, and the Sox have something brewing.

Pedroia, a gritty, gutty little gamer whom you'll recall I've championed all along, doubles to left, and it's 3-3. Also, Hideki Matsui plays left field like he's blindfolded. Just thought I should mention that.

Don Orsillo, my favorite vinyl-covered automaton, mentions a stat that everyone's been repeating the past few days . . . and damned if its not one that's worth repeating again. When Roger Clemens gave Suzyn Waldman the most pleasure she's had in years by - goodness gracious! - showing up in Steinbrenner's box, the Yankees were 5.5 games back of the Sox. Four weeks later, they're 13.5 back, which means they've lost two games per week in the standings since the Rocket's announcement. Man, I do love that stat.

FOURTH INNING
So I abandon my post here at the keyboard for a minute to help Mrs. TATB put the kids to bed, and I come back just in time to see the Yankees, with the bases loaded already, take a 4-3 lead on a wild pitch. Time to get Wakefield out of there, and don't let me ever mistake him for a Yankee killer again.

Wakefield's still in there, one out, and the Yankees lead, 6-3, now. I rarely have a beef with just about anything Terry Francona does, but seriously, what's he waiting for? It's apparent that Wakefield doesn't have it tonight, and worse, it's one of those nights where, typical of a struggling knuckleballer, he's giving away runs (he's walked in one, another scored on a wild pitch, a third on a passed ball). Don't let this one get out of hand. Get Kyle Snyder in there.

And after another walk . . . here's Snyder, about four batters too late. I knew he was pitching well, but I have to admit, I didn't realize he had a 1.53 ERA. Not too shabby for a long reliever.

Snyder hits A-Rod (unintentionally, we're sad to report), bringing up Posada, who promptly rips a three-run double into the left-field gap, blowing this one open at 9-3. It's a six-run inning, the Yankees have batted around, and Wakefield ends up charged with eight runs in 3 2/3 innings. Not quite what we had in mind at the beginning of the night.

An eight-pitch inning for Wang, who's helped by Manny double-play grounder, his team-high, Rice-in-'87-like ninth of the season. Drew also grounds to second. At this point, he should change his number from 7 to 4-3.

FIFTH INNING
Uh-oh. Lowell, who was hit by a pitch earlier in the game, is replaced by Eric Hinske. Given that Lowell leads the Sox in homers and RBIs, it's fair to say his absence for any length of time would be damaging. Here's hoping it's just precautionary.

I keep hearing how Bobby Abreu looks indifferent at best these days, but man, I don't think the Sox have gotten him out since he came over from the Phillies. He just clanged his second double of the night off the wall. And who said the Yankees weren't hitting, anyway?

Just as Lloyd Bridges once picked a bad day to stop sniffing glue, I apparently picked a bad day to start liveblogging the Sox. (Snyder just walked Melky Cabrera, the Yankees' seventh freakin' free-pass of the night.) So we're going to change gears a little bit here if/until the Sox get back into the game and comment on a few peripheral Sox-Yankees items.

• Seems like every time I read about one of Mike Timlin's rehab appearances at Pawtucket, he's giving up a run and a couple of hits per inning, which has done nothing to alter my suspicion that he's cooked. I appreciate him for all he did from 2003-05 (he was as guilty as anyone for what happened last August, IMO), but it's because of those watercolor memories that I worry Francona will be tempted to use him in crucial situations, something he hasn't been able to handle for some time now. I'm not saying I think he should hang it up . . . but it might not be the worst thing, just to save Tito from the temptation.

• Looks like Jason Giambi might be done for the season after injuring his foot "circling the bases" against the Blue Jays. I'm guessing "circling the bases" is a euphemism for A) "getting his foot shattered by a Selig henchman" or B) "sticking the needle in so far that it chipped a bone," but the way he was going, this might be a blessing for the Yankees anyway. It gives them the chance to play Cabrera regularly in the outfield while DHing Damon, Abreu, or Matsui, which probably makes them a better defensive team while keeping the old dudes' legs reasonably fresh.

• Is it me, or has Jerry Remy seriously toned down the pimping of his RemDawg trinkets this season? Wonder if he got a talking-to from Dr. Charles. Probably woke up one morning to find Wally the Green Monster's severed head in his bed.

• I don't care what he low K-rate suggests. If Wang can stay healthy - and judging by his minor-league track record, that's a big if - he can be a very successful pitcher for years to come. That sinker is an incredibly effective out-pitch, and it's not like he's a slopballer - his radar-gun readings reach the mid-'90s. I'm not going to hold it against him because he's uncommonly efficient.

• Papi's on pace for 29 homers. That's hardly lousy, but it makes you wonder how much those hamstrings are bothering him.

• After Wakefield's performance tonight, I officially consider Julian Tavarez the fourth starter.

• I usually forget to mention these things here, but while I think of it, my latest column on FOXsports.com is up, just as it is every Friday. Check it out if you get the chance.

• Quick note from the game: Torre just got tossed after the third-base ump blantantly blew it and called Bobby Abreu out on an attempted steal of third. My question is this: Why's he stealing third in a 9-3 game? That strikes me as something A-Rod would do. Also, Drew has left the game with a hamstring strain. There are no words for what a flop he has been so far.

• Even though he has just six fewer RBIs (31) at the moment than he had all of last year, I still don't get the Sox front office's fascination with Julio Lugo. He's played better than expected at short, but he's a mediocre offensive player who isn't getting on base nearly enough from the leadoff spot. Tell me again what was wrong with Orlando Cabrera?

Well, we're in the eighth now, it's still 9-3, Yankees, Remy and Orsillo are getting giggly, and it looks like the Sox lead over New York will be 12.5 in tomorrow's newspapers. I guess that 16.5 thing isn't going to happen after all. But I do want to mention, before I sign off for the night (assuming there is no miracle comeback in the works), that even if the Yankees sweep this series and cut the Sox lead to 10.5, I am entirely convinced that the Sox will win the American League East this season. There is zero chance that the Yankees can re-enact their comeback of '78, for one reason more than any other: Terry Francona is a far superior manager to Don Zimmer. He knows how to handle a pitching staff and manipulate a bench, he doesn't bury quality players with petty grudges, and he'll pace his regulars over the course of the season so they aren't deep-fried come September. Futher, this Sox team is much more well-rounded than the '78 crew that had a fearsome lineup, no bench (see: Frank Duffy), and a mediocre starting rotation after The Eck, while these Yankees, with their endless pitching question marks and aging core, are vastly inferior to the Guidry-Gossage-Reggie club that went 100-63 that season. The only people that think this severely flawed Yankees team has a chance to make up 12.5 games over the Red Sox in the coming months are the same ones who refuse to admit that the events of October, 2004 changed the dynamic in this rivalry forever. The Sox are better, and assuming there is no deluge of injuries, the final standings will confirm as much.


Postscript:As Remy just noted, things just got interesting for the rest of the weekend. With one out in the bottom of the ninth, Youkilis just got drilled in the shoulder by Scott Proctor (pitching for the 2,838th straight game), and Youks, who extended his hitting streak to 23 earlier in the game and thus probably figures he shouldn't have to put up with such b.s., started heading toward Proctor as the benches emptied. Proctor was ejected immediately, arguing the dismissal vehemently, and it appeared Posada was trying to convince Youkilis that the near-beaning was accidental and not retaliation for Cano getting hit in the top half of the inning. Whether it was intentional or accidental, it's fair to say that the odds of A-Rod getting a faceful of Varitek's glove tomorrow just increased exponentially.

Nine innings: 05.21.07

Playing nine innings while hunching that Manny is about to break out of it big-time in the Bronx . . .

1. Ten-and-a-half games? Nice, but not enough. Not nearly enough. When these three games are over, I want the Yankees reeling. I want the deficit at 13.5 games come Wednesday night. A month from now, I want it at 20-something, and by September, I want them chasing the Devil Rays. I want them blasted in the 120-point headlines on the back and front pages of the Post and Daily News. I want George "Weekend at Bernie's" Steinbrenner's publicist issuing harshly worded press releases chock-full of unintentional comedy. I want the newly unemployed Joe Torre sitting on his porch in Hawaii, wondering where it all went so wrong and if his legacy is irreparably damaged. I want the Rocket to have second thoughts and a convenient hamstring "tweak." I want Matt DeSalvo and Tyler Clippard to realize they aren't Aaron Small, 2005. I want Suzyn Waldman muted. I want Brian Cashman to wish he'd gone to nursing school like he secretly dreamed. I want A-Rod to bicker behind the scenes with Derek Jeter while counting the days until he escapes . . . er, opts out. I want Robinson Cano to continue his Chuck Knoblauch impression, I want Johnny Damon to continue hemorraging body parts, and I want Mariano Rivera to mournfully long for those golden days when no one could touch his cutter. Is that too much to ask? Well, yeah, probably. But you get the point. For once, the Sox have a chance to deliver an early-season blow that the Yankees may not be able to recover from; if the Sox can rough them up over the next three days, the aftermath in the Bronx is going to be gruesome. So why not daydream big? It might make it all the sweeter should it become reality.

2. All right, I'll admit it. My pre-Boston perception of Julian Tavarez couldn't have been more wrong. I thought he was a hothead, a lunatic, a selfish clubhouse cancer and unpopular teammate who didn't particularly care about winning. Oh, he's still a hothead and a lunatic, but it's become apparent that he's an endearing and extremely well-liked hothead/lunatic, one whose tantrums usually are the direct result of his frustration with letting his teammates down. It's funny, but he has many of the same characteristics, both positive and self-destructive, as Oil Can Boyd had back in the day. From his comical one-sided dugout chats with Dice-K to his part-time gig as Manny's unofficial spokesman to his willingness to pitch in any role and situation that the team requests of him, it's clear that Tavarez and the Red Sox are a good fit. Who knew? Surely not me.

3. Where have you gone, Dennis Eckersley? Maybe I've just had the coincidental misfortune of missing the Eck's NESN studio appearances recently, but it seems to me the likes of Dave McCarty, Jim Rice and Ken Macha have been getting more airtime lately. Even Jack Welch has been coming down from the Muppets balcony to throw his ill-informed two cents in. (Or two billion cents, given that's probably what he's paying for the privilege.) No Eck? This is not a good thing. With the Sox in the Bronx and the anticipation running high, I'd better see the original slickermaster on my TV tonight, offering the sharp insight and unfiltered opinions that make him the best baseball analyst there is, including everyone currently employed in Bristol, Conn. The Eck retired from pitching nine years ago, but in his second career, he's still the go-to guy in a big game.

4. It seems like every lefthander with a fastball that probably wouldn't earn a speeding ticket is labeled The Next Jamie Moyer, particularly if said lefty has a quality breaking pitch, a sneaky changeup, and the requisite savvy to make batters look foolish despite a limited repertoire. And while that probably does Moyer a disservice, given that he's pitched his way to 220 major-league wins while so many Kevin Mortons have come and gone, I must admit that they more I see of Kason Gabbard, the more I think he can be one of those shrewd, successful southpaws - yes, in the Moyer mold - who seems to find a way to win without ever overwhelming anyone. He couldn't have been more impressive Sunday, and he's been a consistently effective pitcher for over a full season now. Considering Terry Francona is an unabashed fan, I'm guessing we haven't seen the last of Gabbard in Boston.

5. Jason Giambi is in a 1-for-26 slump. And the Yankees, who curiously okayed his agent's request to omit all contract language regarding performance enhancing drugs when they originally signed him, are rumored to be looking for a way out of Juicin' G's deal after his mildly incriminating comments about steroid use this week. Hmmm . . . this cycle, so to speak, sounds vaguely familiar. I fully expect a miraculously rejuvenated Giambi to hit, say, 12 home runs next month, then tell us his sudden power surge is due to his decision to quit eating cheeseburgers for breakfast, or some other such nonsensical attempt to obscure the truth.

6. While the eminently likable Wily Mo Pena has occasionally mixed in a prodigious home run or two among his numerous strikeouts and fielding mishaps, it's fair to say he's probably not going to approach his potential until he escapes this growth-stunting bench role in Boston. He needs to get 550 at-bats for a team with no real postseason aspirations, one that can afford to let him learn certain hitting skills on the job, such as how to recognize a slider before it hits the dirt. Unless J.D. Drew runs into another wall or Manny's hamstring starts barking, there's little he can do to contribute to the cause here. I bet he's gone at the trade deadline for a better-fitting piece.

7. Saw this on the always insightful Fragile Freddy blog, and thought it was such a smart and original idea that I'd pilfer it for myself: If he hasn't already, Theo Epstein should contact the Braves about Jarrod Saltalamacchia, their outstanding catching prospect who is stuck behind Brian McCann, and see if perhaps the Sox can put together a package to bring the just-turned-22-year-old to Fenway. Saltalamacchia is rarity in that he's a legitimately elite prospect both behind and at the plate, and with Jason Varitek now 35, and George Kotteras struggling mightily at Pawtucket, the Sox are somewhat desperate for a legitimate catching successor. I doubt the Braves would trade their consensus top prospect unless they received a ransom in return . . . but you have to figure they will move him at some point, and the Sox are as reasonable a destination as any.

8. We like to break this out every now and then, just for the sake of good karma. (And also because it will never, ever get old.)

9. As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:


Larry Wayne Jones is 35? Really? Geez, as if my rickety bones don't feel old enough these days. I suppose he has been around for a long time now, but seems like just yesterday the Braves were getting spindled and mutilated by the Baseball America types for choosing a Florida kid nicknamed Chipper over can't-miss Texas high school pitcher Todd Van Poppel . . . who, of course, did miss, spectacularly.

The Sox may be dead, but TATB is live, baby . . .

Probably should have dropped a mention of this earlier, but your lazy but loyal blogger here is writing about tonight's Sox-Yanks epic as it happens, given an occasional assist from the DVR.

I tried this once last year, during a late-season Sox-Jays game, and not only did I have a blast and get a lot of positive feedback, but if I recall, the Sox pulled off one of their defining victories of the season. (Pretty sure that Ortiz cat was prominently involved.)

So with the kids snoozing, the chance to chronicle the dumb crap Joe Morgan says in a given three hours too tempting to resist, and a change in mojo absolutely necessary for the Sox, here goes . . . well, something. I'll update the post every inning or two, so be sure to check in periodically . . . you know, if by dumb luck you actually stumble upon this as I'm doing it. Man, I really do need a better PR department.

YANKEES FIRST
* Johnny Damon (not sure if we should refer to him as Traitor, Sox Killer, or simply $*&$&#&@&&#$&&face at this point) starts the festivities by grounding out to first, the first time in the series he hasn't led off with a hit. He also shattered his bat. Please be symbolism. Please.

* Schilling goes 0-2 on Jeter, who smells like apricots with a just hint of lime tonight. The Captain works the count to 3-2 before he's called out on strike three. Predictably, he breaks into his Do-You-Know-Who-I-Am-How-Dare-You-Call-That-A-Strike routine, ducking his head, lingering in the batter's box to offer a few suggestions to the ump, then smirking, shaking his head, and looking out at the pitcher as he walks away. Same act, every time.

* K-Zone shows the pitch to Jeter was a perfect strike on the inside corner. K-Zone, of course, does not measure intangibles.

* Schilling is dealing - 96 and 97 mph on the corners - but the Yankees are making him work. (Damon fouled off a pitch that was damn near in Mirabelli's mitt.) After whiffing Bobby Abreu on five pitches, Schilling is on pace for 198-pitch perfect game. Take that, Bill James. Seriously, where else do you get this stuff?

RED SOX FIRST
* Both children, apparently made aware that daddy is both awake and motivated for once, have decided to start howling in unison, so here's the abbreviated version: Coco makes his obligatory leadoff out (he'll make a great Pittsburgh Pirate one day); Loretta singles hard to center; Papi singles hard to center; Manny (who is hitting over .500 with 7 homers against New York this season), rockets a liner to the wall, scoring Loretta; Youkilis singles, scoring Papi; Lowell hits into his obligatory double play. (And I'm pretty sure his left foot fell off running to first base. Danged rigamortis.)

* "This is what the Red Sox needed, to get off to a good start." You know, normally I'd mock this as stating the obvious, but for Joe Morgan, it's actually pretty astute.

Morgan, three seconds later: "It was important in my opinion to get off to a good start." Okay, Joe, we get it.

Morgan, roughly 10 more seconds later: "You had to get off to a good start here if you're the Red Sox." He's officially beaten this horse into Alpo. Bottom of the first, and I'm already longing for Remy.

* Did I mention I have company tonight. Yup, Mrs. TATB is in the house, and she was kind enough to offer this pearl as her first question of the night: "If I was on the Red Sox, would I be the worst player?" Instinctively, made some wise-ass comment about most big-leaguers having played ball beyond the North Berwick, Maine girls' Little League, but given more thought, there's a pretty good chance she's a better defensive catcher than Javy Lopez. Red Sox 2, Yankees 0

YANKEES SECOND
* The perpetually sweating Jason Giambi doubles to left center, and as he lumbers his way to second, I'm reminded of the title of one a Seth Mnookin blog post a few days ago: Jason Giambi Is A Gutless, Steroid-Using Punk. I liked that title. The oft-updated site ain't bad either.

* Morgan, in attempting to praise Melky Cabrera, a completely worthwhile pursuit: "The Yankees [before Abreu] were getting a lot of production from Cabrera, from Bubba Crosby . . . they did get a lot out of Bubba, and they owe him a debt, because he did do a lot to help them stay afloat early." Bubba Crosby, 2006: .207, 1 HR, 6 RBI, .258 OBA, designated for assignment Aug. 15. I'm not suggesting he doesn't do his homework, but I suspect Joe wouldn't know Bubba Crosby from David Crosby.

* The basket case known as A-Rod, sweet-swinging Robinson Cano, and Jorge Posada leave Giambi and his chemistry set stranded at second, but Schilling's pitch count is piling up.

RED SOX SECOND
* Mike Mussina is pitching for the Yankees. Probably should mention that at some point. Not much good usually happens for the Sox when Moose is involved. He mows through Wily Mo Pena, Mirabelli, and Alex Cora in order. (Regarding Mirabelli, that trade keeps getting worse and worse - as you probably read in the papers this morning, Cla Meredith has emerged as a bullpen force for the Padres, having allowed something like 1 run over his last 17 innings. This trade pisses me off so much, I won't even mind when Lobel catches on to this and asks his patented, "What would we do with guys like that?")

* Tarp's on the field. Rain delay. Bonnie Bernstein gives the weather report from the Sox dugout as Papi and Youkilis ham it up in the background. Glad to see they're loose. The Red Sox, I mean. You guys are sick.

* This sucks for the Sox - not only do they have the early lead, but the more this drags on, the less likely it is that Schilling returns to the mound. Fortunately, staff meteorologist John Kruk is live from the ESPN studios to tell us, in between bites of a Nutty Bar, that Schilling will definitely stay in the game no matter how long the delay. Thanks for the wisdom, Krukie. Got any Star Crunches left?

YANKEES THIRD
* Fifty-seven minutes later, ESPN returns from a commercial to find Schilling delivering a live pitch to Cabrera. Guess the rain delay is over. The Worldwide Leader, my foot. Anyway, Schilling looks no worse for the delay, breezing through 1-2-3.

RED SOX THIRD
* Bonnie chimes in on Mussina's 1-hitter against the Sox back in the Despicable Summer of 2001. Ugh - thanks for the reminder. I've never been more disgusted with the Sox than I was late that season, and that night in particular. No matter how bad this season gets, it won't get that bad. Carl Everett, of course, broke up the perfecto with two outs in the ninth, then acted like himself (insert your own vulgarity) by pumping his fist and acting like he did something noble. I'm glad to see that after Seattle released him a few weeks back, he was left unclaimed. It's about time that jerk's career went the way of the dinosaur.

* Jon Miller still calls a better game than most broadcasters, but he's lost his best fastball. All these years of listening to Morgan remind us that he played for the Reds and misidentifying "cutters" must have broken his spirit. There was a time when Miller was as good as it got, Vin Scully being the lone possible exception. And if you remember the hilarious Strat-O-Matic games that occasionally filled radio time on the Sox broadcasts during the '81 strike, you know exactly what I mean.

YANKEES FOURTH
* Jeter singles, then Abreu hits a rocket off the wall, but Manny plays the carom flawlessly and holds him to a single. "Manny is very adept at playing the wall," Miller informs us, and I catch myself thinking none of the Fox broadcasters would praise this play or even realize that it is indeed the truth. Morgan resists the urge to mention that George Foster played left field for the 1975 Cincinnati Reds.

* The walking science project . . .



. . . crushes a three-run bomb to right, his 35th of the season. In fairness, the pitch was such a meatball that Jeremy Giambi probably could have hit it. Fortunately, no further damage in the inning, though Schilling has thrown 76 pitches already. Given the flammable state of the Sox 'pen, I imagine he told Tito his max pitch count is somewhere around 250.

RED SOX FOURTH
* Manny leads off with a sharp single, which means he's now 8 for 11 in this series and 25 for 45 (.556) against the Pinstripes this season. I'm reluctant to jab those who take glee in criticizing his big-moment performance, but dammit, don't the numbers speak for themselves?

* Mussina against Wily Mo. From a baseball standpoint, it's a classic brains-against-brawn matchup. Brains wins this round, though Brawn did work the count full and got a pretty decent pitch to it before popping up to right. All in all, a good at bat for Wily Mo. Small progress.

* Mirabelli flares one to right, scoring Youkilis (single) and tying it at 3-3. Chicken parms all around. Red Sox 3, Yankees 3

YANKEES FIFTH
* Francona, during the in-dugout interview between innings, after Miller asked him if Jonathan Papelbon would be available for two innings tonight: "Two? I was thinking about four." I almost hope he's not kidding. By the way, have I mentioned that I think he's the best manager the Sox have had in my lifetime? I blame him for none of this.

* Schilling cruises . . . and better yet, Morgan and Miller are speculating that Mussina might be done after the camera catches him seeking out the trainer in the dugout. A break at last?

RED SOX FIFTH
* Sweet. Mussina is out, Ron Villone is in . . . but wouldn't you know it, the one time those dugout interviews actually might be useful, the audio kicks out during Joe Torre's explanation of what happened. (Something about a tight groin . . . he might have been talking about Jeter and A-Rod's personal chemistry, though Mike Lupica suggests they aren't exactly pals.) Morgan, being an intrepid, Emmy Award-winning journalist and all, shrewdly skips the opportunity to ask a follow-up question on what may be THE crucial development in this game, and instead asks him some ridiculous question about Abreu. M-O-R-O-N.

* Papi. Red Sox lead, 4-3.

* Seriously, do I really need to say anything else at this point? Hell, if you didn't see the home run, you already have the image of it burned into your mind's eye - the quick and mighty rip, the knowing bat flip, the majestic trajectory - having witnessed it all so many times before. And it NEVER gets old. Red Sox 4, Yankees 3

YANKEES SIXTH
* Abreu, whom I'm really wishing had remained somewhere far away from this rivalry, singles to right. After Giambi, who's sweating so profusely that I can smell him through the TV, strikes out, Abreu rolls over to third on a wild pickoff throw. But Schilling dodges the bullet - A-Rod swallows his tongue before coming through with the requisite infield popup, and Cano pokes a flare over second that Alex Cora hustles to track down. Somewhere, RemDawg takes a drag and yells to the gimp in the basement, "Alex Cora, he does something to help the Sox win every time he's in the game." The gimp squeals in muffled agreement.

* Jeter gets a whiff of Giambi and, being a great captain and all, offers him a sample of "Driven." Giambi says thanks, rubs some on his leg and injects the rest into his left buttock.

RED SOX SIXTH
* Good lord, Morgan is actually lecturing us that we can't blame the Sox's problems on the Curse anymore. If you think I'm going to spend a single moment of my existence transcribing a blithering idiot's take on a television-driven myth, you've come to the wrong corner of the internet, folks.

* The wet look is definitely working for Bonnie Bernstein. Did I mention my wife went to bed about two hours ago? Hey, at least I'm still wearing pants. Anyway, Sox leave a couple, and we move to the. . .

YANKEES SEVENTH
. . . where Schilling has an easy inning precisely when he needs one, getting two fly balls (including one by the always scary Jorge Posada), then getting a called strike three on Nick Green on his 109th pitch of the evening. When ESPN comes back from commercial, Schilling is wearing his warmup jacket and shaking hands in the dugout - sure looks like his night's work is over. If anyone other than Papelbon comes out for the eighth, Francona should be tarred, feathered, fed to locusts, and dangled from the Monster seats on the spot, my earlier praise be damned.

RED SOX SEVENTH
* Mike Myers in for the Yankees. You already know I believe the Sox should have re-signed the slinging lefty, who did his job well for the Sox. I consider his inexplicable departure one more small mark against Theo, post-World Series.

* Someone is warming up in the Sox 'pen. It's . . . (sniff, sniff . . . do I smell gasoline?) . . . (oh . . . oh, no . . . oh, the humanity!!) . . . Timlin. Good lord . . . NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! (Someone heat up the tar and collect the feathers, I'll put the locusts on alert . . .)

* With runners on first and second and two outs, Scott Proctor comes in for the Yankees. He's the frontrunner for Joe Torre's annual Setup Man I'll Burn To A Blackened Crisp By September award, given the last two years to Tom Gordon and Tanyon Sturtze. (Sturtze, by the way, was Giambi's best pal on the Yankees. Not suggesting anything, of course, particularly in regards to the 5 mph he added to his fastball in his early 30s or the bizarre shoulder injury . . . nope, nothing to see here . . .)

* Suddenly, a chance to break it open. Loretta singles, one out later Manny is intentionally walked, and Youkilis gets the fifth run home with a single. But after a Cano error leaves loads the bases with one out, Wily Mo whiffs (yup, slider down and away) and Mirabelli flies out to Abreu. These are opportunities a struggling team lets slip away.

* "In my day we didn't have bases, we had rocks." That makes me laugh. Damn, it's getting late.

YANKEES EIGHTH
* With Damon, Jeter and Abreu coming up, who's on for the Sox . . . yup, Timlin. WHAT. THE. *$&#*?

* SERIOUSLY, TITO . . . WHAT THE #*#*? WHERE THE #$&% IS PAPELBON??!!!

* Damon gets an infield single when Loretta shows his Stonehenge range, and Jeter, diving over the plate as usual, gets drilled on the hand. First and second, no one out, and The Other Javier Lopez is coming in to face Abreu. I just punted the cat.

* Lopez gets Abreu 1-2, then walks him. Didn't see that coming. Did I mention that Lopez has walked 6 in 8 2/3 innings this season and just got recalled to the Sox today? Yup, he's just the guy I want in this game.

* Hey, look . . . coming out of the bullpen . . . it's Jonathan Papelbon!!! And he's pitching for the Red Sox!!! Dude, I didn't even know he was still on the team!!!

* (Deep breaths . . . deep breaths) . . . Giambi just crushed a majestic bomb that deflected off the moon, and somehow landed in Gabe Kapler's glove on the right field warning track for a sac fly. (Whew.) That looked very gone off the bat, and it capped a classic power-vs.-power at-bat in which Papelbon touched 98 on the gun and Giambi expertly worked the count in his favor and got his share of healthy hacks. Compelling baseball, that.

* A-Rod walks. God, you've gotta make him swing there, especially with Cano coming up. And if that last sentence isn't an indictment of his status as the reigning MVP, well, nothing is.

* Cano whiffs on a split, the location of which Morgan predicted. I have to admit, Morgan is making a little bit of sense tonight. Then again, I haven't eaten in five hours and the other cat is starting to look like a rotisserie chicken, so I may be slightly delirious.

* Posada whiffs on a nasty splitter, and Papelbon escapes the bases-loaded, no-out jam by allowing a single run. Somewhere, Dick Radatz is smiling. (Of course, Radatz might also say Papelbon is a **#** pansy for pitching just two innings, but that's how it goes.) Red Sox 5, Yankees 4

YANKEES NINTH
* Is it overstatement to say the fate of the Sox season depends on what takes place in this half-inning? Probably . . . but at the moment, it sure sounds like the truth to me.

* Cabrera, fast becoming a chronic pain in the ass, leads off with a double to right center, and alertly moves to third when Mirabelli fumbles a splitter. It's hustle like that that earns you coveted postgame fist-pumps from the Captain.

* Bernie Williams, a longtime chronic pain in the ass, whiffs on the next pitch. A good omen? Maybe, but I tend not to believe in such things with Damon and Jeter lurking in the on-deck circle.

* And as I write the words, "Traitor Johnny whiffs," wouldn't you know it, Jeter punches a patented bleepin' bloop single five feet in front of Kapler in right to tie it. When he's in the Hall of Fame someday, it had better say "uncanny knack for dinky clutch hits" somewhere on his plaque. I believe the word here is "demoralizing" . . . but Papelbon needs to suck it up right now, forget that his manager completely botched the eighth inning, and give Papi (and Manny, in the unlikelihood that Papi doesn't smoke a walkoff of Rivera) a chance in the ninth.

* He does, whiffing Abreu. Considering he gave up the tying run, though, maybe the cocky fist-pump coming off the mound wasn't quite so necessary. Red Sox 5, Yankees 5

RED SOX NINTH
* Rivera in. Papi up. This is one hell of a game, eh?

* . . . yup, and it just got a little bit better. Papi hits a one-hopper at Giambi, who thoughtfully plays it into a double. (He's got the range and hands of the Venus de Milo.) As Papi plods toward second just ahead of Bernie Williams's water balloon of a throw, for a brief moment it seems time has slowed down.

* Torre didn't achieve this lot in life by being a dummy. He walks Manny. I'm sure Michael Kay is blathering about this being a genius move.

* Youkilis bunts into a fielder's choice at third (hey, you try bunting Rivera's cutter), but Posada obliges the Fenway faithful with a passed ball, moving the runners to second and third after all.

* Pena gets four freebies, loading them for pinch-hitter Eric Hinske. A new Fenway hero in the making? Nope, no chance. Strike, ball, strike, strike, sit. And on the next pitch, Mirabelli predictably leaves 'em loaded, chopping feebly back to Rivera. There will be no chicken parm on this evening after all.

YANKEES 10th
* Hansen in. HGHiambi homers. Gee, didn't see that coming. This one's on you, Tito. The goddamn loyalty to Timlin is the same flaw that convinced you it was a good idea to keep running the likes of Millar and Embree out there last year. If EVER there was a game to use Papelbon for two, this was it - hell, you said so yourself during the game. You're a fine manager, but you had a horrible night exactly when your team could least afford it.

* Cano doubles and Posada hooks a liner around Pesky's Pole (is it me, or has that thing been much more friendly to visitors than the home team this season?) and it's 8-5. To his credit, Hansen looks awfully pissed for someone who grew up in New York. Yankees 8, Red Sox 5

RED SOX 10th
* So, hey, how'd Brady look last night? And Maroney? How about Dillon? Think they're deep enough at linebacker? Whaddaya say, 12-4? 13-3? Man, can't wait for football . . .

* And there it is . . . Papi flies out to right to end it. Remember that symbolism we were looking for way back in the first inning? Looks like we found it here. Not even the man who has rescued them so many times can save this defeated team now.

* * *
(Postscript: Just caught Tito's postgame press conference. Wow, is he a beaten man. He explained all too reasonably that he went to Timlin and Lopez in the eighth because Damon/Jeter/Abreu were "something like a combined 4 for 49 against them." Which is all well and good, except it forgets one crucial factor. The Mike Timlin pitching for the Red Sox right now is a far cry from the steady setup man of the past three seasons. He's 40 years old, might be hurt, is additionally weary because of the WBC, and cannot get the outs now he got in past seasons. This is one instance where past performance MUST be disregarded, because this simply is not the same guy. Tito should have known better.)

Nine innings: 08.16.06

Playing nine innings while vowing never to take Tim Wakefield or Jason Varitek for granted again . . .


1. So here we are, arriving at our annual Baseball Armageddon. The Sox are two games back and three in the loss column heading into today's much-needed offday, with the Yankees prancing and preening into Fenway tomorrow for what in preview appears to be a season-defining five-game set. While there is fun in the anticipation, I can't say I'm feeling particularly encouraged about the Sox' chances of taking, say, three of five and reassuring us that they plan on making the AL East race a photo finish. The Sox have looked way too much like the Pittsburgh Pirates lately, you know? Then again, David Wells's vintage victory over Justin Verlander and the Tigers tonight did restore some measure of my optimism, and maybe the Sox do intend to put their recent K.C.-Tampa debacle behind them and again begin playing like the team that owned the American League's second-best record for much of the summer. Had they again lost in a lifeless manner tonight, I may not have been able to resist the temptation to write this team off as fatally flawed, sluggish, pitching-poor, exposed as a pretender rather than a contender. But now, after watching Papi hit one more crucial home run, after seeing Jonathan Papelbon nail down his first easy save in some time, after watching the necessary Wells bleed another victory out of that blessed left arm . . . well, maybe the darkest clouds have passed and this team is about to find it's mojo again. Yeah, I know, I'm really taking a stand here, huh? Hey, with this schizophrenic team, your guess is as good as Theo's. We'll know the truth about their intentions in five days and, minimum, 45 innings from now. This much we are certain of: the rejuvenation couldn't arrive at a better time.

2. Seth Mnookin's "Feeding the Monster" didn't become a best-seller by accident. The thing was promoted to the point of saturation - by the time I actually read the book, I felt like I had already heard or read every key detail, whether the info came from an excerpt in the Globe Magazine or ESPN.com, an online chat, or during one of Mnookin's radio and TV appearances. The dude was everywhere - hell, I'm still waiting for the excerpt in "Tiger Beat." (Yep, still a subscriber.) That's not to say I didn't enjoy it (I did, with a few minor nits) and it certainly did have it's share of small revelations and reminders of details that escaped my memory. Two that made me raise my eyebrows: 1) Bill Mueller was among those unhappy with his playing time last season and even considered pursuing a trade. Guess he wasn't always the selfless saint he was portrayed as. 2) Theo damn near traded Derek Lowe for Matt Clement at the trade deadline in '04. Somehow, I think Buck, McCarver and the Fox nitwits would still be able to hammer us over the head with Curse of the Bambino references had that trade been consummated.

3. Maybe it's because I still vividly remember that heartbreaking picture of him consoling Tim Wakefield after Game 7 in '03, but Mike Timlin has always seemed to me to be the I-got-your-back type, a loyal and accountable teammate, one never to make excuses for his own failings. So I have to say his comments about the Sox offense needing to score more runs were as disappointing as they were disingenuous. You'd think he'd realize that the Sox hitters might be more productive if they got to fatten up their stats against the BLEEPIN' PATHETIC RED SOX BULLPEN like the rest of the league does!!! Geez, the hubris.

4. The next time you catch me beeyatching about Coco Crisp in this space, please, remind me of a couple of things: 1) I was so giddy about his performance in the spring and pre-injury that I got all Peter King-on-Favre about him, waved my pompons and bleated that he was charismatic, electric, and would own the city of Boston. 2) The broken knuckle very likely is still affecting him at the plate, and to his credit, he hasn't used it as an alibi once. 3) He's been pretty damn good lately - he chipped in with a go-ahead two-run double and a key bunt tonight - and maybe the best is yet to come. This isn't to say I don't have my complaints about him or wonder if we were slightly misled regarding his true abilities, but I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt for now. He could be the wild card.

5. If I hadn't seen him play previously, I'd be suspicious that Sal Fasano is really a composite of all Yankees fans, created in a cloning lab in the bowels of Yankee Stadium by Steinbrenner's minions.

6. About the grating doofus in the booth during the Sox telecast the other night (and I don't mean Orsillo this time): Does anyone other than Lenny Clarke actually find Lenny Clarke funny? Why the hell hasn't someone told him that loud doesn't equate to humorous? Denis Leary must be a good and loyal friend to let this punchline-challenged blowhard ride on his coattails all these years.

7. Regarding Jason Giambi's alleged mustache, a topic of mockery on PTI tonight: Is he actually attempting to grow that thing, or is it a side effect? With his scientifically swollen build and disconcerting facial hair, looks like a female East German swimmer from the '84 Olympics.

8. Well, looks like some reinforcements are on the way. The Sox signed former Tigers (and Northeastern) first baseman Carlos Pena tonight, the Jays' Eric Hinske is reportedly on the way though NESN didn't confirm it after the game, and there are multiple rumors that the Sox will acquire reliever LaTroy Hawkins from the Orioles in the next day or two. My take? I like the Pena signing - he's got some pop, is excellent defensively, and still has time to live up to his potential. It's a low-risk, high-reward gamble. Hinske? He's due something like $5 million last year, which is a lot of money for someone who seems to regress at little more each season. But he mashes righties, and the Sox are desperate for a decent lefty stick off the bench (though it should be Trot Nixon, assuming he can recover from his latest bizarre injury). As for Hawkins, he's the classic million-dollar arm, plug-nickel head. He throws in the mid-'90s, but he's got a well-deserved rep as the guy you do not want on the mound in a crucial situation. But I suppose he can't be any worse than Seanez or Tavarez, right? As far as spare parts go, it's not a bad haul.

9. As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:



Daddy Wags. Get it? C'mon, indulge me just one more hackneyed reference to fatherhood here. Please?

Eau de Intangibles

Yeah, like I was going to let this pass.

In case you missed it (and a tip of the ballcap to the dozen or so readers who sent this along), here's a snippet from the AP story that answers the question America has long been asking: If you could smell smugness, what would it smell like? Well, here it is, at long last - the sweet scent of Jete-Jete:

"I have been very involved with creating this fragrance -- everything from the blend of scents to the design of the bottle and logo," Jeter said in the news release. " . . . I wanted to make sure the final product was something men would like to wear - and that women and A-Rod would want them to wear. "

The fragrance is a blend of chilled grapefruit, clean oak moss, spice, and Ken Huckaby's cold blood.

Oh, all right . . . I made up that Huckaby part.

(But it could be true . . .)

And Jeter may not have mentioned A-Rod in that last quote there.

(But he should have . . . )

Anyway, a few more rumors and observations that may or may not be entirely accurate:

* Jeter came up with this because he just couldn't take the stench anymore - he had to do something to make Yankees fans smell better.

* A-Rod doesn't care how pretty it smells, he's still Jean Nate man.

* Giambi wants to try it out, but he's waiting for it to come out in an injectible form.

* Poor Joe Buck. You just know McCarver is going to bathe in this stuff.

* Early test samples singed the forest of hair in Joe Torre's nose. Firefighters from three boroughs were required to douse the flames.

* Even when it stinks on occasion, Yankees fans will refuse to acknowledge as much.

* Jeter originally wanted to name it after his uniform number, but quickly realized "No. 2" isn't a very good name for a fragrance.

* Cory Lidle digs it so much, he uses it as an ice cream topping.

* And finally, from reader Kevin B.: "Am I wrong in assuming it comes with a patented fist-pump dispenser?"