Starting this blog on the heels of a five game losing streak seems oddly fitting. We're down and out. To say we're frustrated would be to put it midly. It'd be easier if we were completely terrible. I know many will disagree, but we're not awful. We are struggalugging. We're tired of 4-3, 8-6, 7-4 as the score every night with us only falling behind or coming up short in the last two innings. We're tired of lead off homers by the opposing team. We're tired of men left stranded with a familiar chorus of pop up, fly out, ground out, strike out. Seriously, if Got Melk is left out there long enough, we fear he's gonna start talking to the base Tom Hanks and Wilson style. We're tired of pulled groins and the DL. We're tired of roid and las drogas talk. (Thanks to Manny being banny, however, looks like we may have a few off days for that one). We're tired of the lost-my-puppy- dog looks on our handsome pinstripes. Seriously Hit-deki, your hair is too beautiful to sport a frown like that. Somebody feed CC. I will personally bring him krispy kreme at the 7th inning stretch if that's what it takes. Tex, its almost better when you toss your helmet with anger than the dagger-to-heart we feel when our own fans boo you (seriously, yankee fans what's up with that, stop it. now. doesn't. help. anything. thanks). Most of all we're tired of a fruitless rally. A loss with a rally is still a loss. But, a rally requires heart.
We don't have quit in us and we always go into the 9th swinging hard. Somehow, all of this just makes us love the Yankees that much more. Inboxes littered with Fenway accents and trash talk texts. The paper headlines (NY papers give you a hell of a tough skin). The smug looks on the faux-sawx fans we've met at bars who aren't even from the extended New England area (and we're being geographically generous). The facebook status' and twitters about just how much we actually suck. Yes, we've hit a bit of a rough patch. We've jokingly thought about starting our own team of sluggers (sorry Mets but orange does NOT look good on us). We sometimes yell POP-up-FLY-out in jest when we're at the end of our tethers and our guy is up at bat. We're not naive. 0-5 to Soul Patch and the BoSox gang obviously isn't something we're going to be putting on a t-shirt anytime soon. Losing 22-4 to the Tribe took a couple beers, or eighteen, to swallow. But, it's all in love, baby. We're the Yankees. Rally is our mascot and we do not need a stupid monkey to prove it.
We just need to regroup. We need to channel all the negative energy into hits with RISP. We need A-Rod to give us some RBI's. We need our starting pitchers to throw some star pitches and we need our bullpen to back them up with mud and bricks and stone. We're 28 games into the season and we're not scared. We think back to what one of our favorite yank blogs, LoHud said. Granted this was back on April 28th, prior to some more sweep action at home (I got slightly ill writing that), but we think it still applies: "The Yankees are like Swine Flu. There's cause for concern, but there's no reason to panic". We enjoy people counting us out too early.
Just last Friday, HipHip and I were at a game that seemed like it was gonna get rained out from 4 pm on. It didn't. We were at a game where it seemed we were gonna lose on the hour. We didn't. The night included three rounds of soaked jeans, about twenty rounds of inaugural brew (delighted that you can still get a 6 buck beer at the stadium, its not really anyones fault but ours that we spent 100 bucks), a consistent five hours of screaming Swisher's name even after he was taken out with a sore elbow (but assured us he was ok via twitter) and a score that seemed solid but vanished faster than you can say-was-that- a- replay? We stood for seven innings--dirty, muddy and drenched with a group of guys who couldn't remember our real names so cheered plays with us by shouting out our neighborhoods. Things looked about as dicey as they could get when Posada bailed us out and it rained beer in the 9th. Moral of this sappy interlude is that we know how to do this. We just need to remember that we know how to do this. It will be that much sweeter when it comes time to knock down some lofty perches with our bats. Mini-moral is that girls can show up boys in knowledge. HipHip actually informed a "die hard" Yankee fan that Teixeira's number was Giambi's old 25 after he didn't understand who the hell was on deck.
So, here's to the new blog and a summer of baseball redemption. We'll be here to live-blog some games, tell personal stories from the stadium and the bar crowds, report unconventional stats, duel with rivals (bring it), craft songs (just wait till you hear 'like a yank' though we might have to tone it down for the internet world), pick you up off the floor when you're broken after a heartbreaking loss or pour beer on you during a clutch win. We might even have guest commentators and we'll certainly have to up the anty for our next June date with you-know-who. Perhaps we'll write a play as we envision it from the dug out or team hotel. Anything's possible. Just like a winning streak. Stolen base. Ground Rule Double. Grand Slam.
P.S-Personal shout out to Got Melk who has consistently proven he's worthy of CF. Cabrera the Comeback Kid, we're lifting our coronas to the start of an excellent season for you. Keep it up.
P.P.S-Tonight's the night. A-Rod sheds A-Roid and plays au natural back from hip injury. We are relieved the frosted tips are gone. Not expecting a miracle, but a couple of clutch RBI's might be just the ticket.
P.P.S- Nicky Swish, call us.
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