There was not much that happened on the field on Saturday afternoon that the Yankees or their fans would like to remember. Although things started promisingly for the Bombers when Derek Jeter and Jason Giambi hit back-to-back solo home runs in the first inning, they quickly spun out of control as the Devil Rays pounded ‘em but good, 19-6. Coupled with the Red Sox’s come-from-behind win over the Angels, the Yanks now trail Boston by a game-and-a-half in the AL East. Randy Johnson had nothing, Shawn Chacon had less than nothing. In all, it was a groaner through and through.
I was at the game with a bunch of my oldest friends. We sat in Row T in the Upper Tier, safe from the sun, but not exactly safe from the dopes. In the fourth inning a crew eight kids (in their early-to-mid-twenties) arrived. They were having a bachelor party. All of them were lean, and tightly muscled. They were all dressed in clean, tight-fitting t-shirts or sports shirts. They all had clean haircuts, and some of them wore sunglasses and they had attitude to spare. These dudes are the sort that think “Entourage” is about them, but they were actually much closer to being like “Bring Up Gotti” (In fact, one of the kid’s was a dead ringer for one of the Gotti boys). We guessed where they were from? Long Island, Jersey, Brooklyn, Staten Island? Long Island turned out to be the correct answer.
I had a brief misunderstanding with one of them–who couldn’t have been more rude–when they first got there which set the tone for bad vibes. As fate would have it, we were sitting in an alcohol-free section. The kid who bought the tickets for the bachelor party did not realize this and you should have seen the look of disappointment on his face when he realized what he had done. Ah, sweet justice. The best moment came when the kid who looked like one of the Gotti’s–same super-gelled spikey haircut and all–pulled out a small ziplock bag. His friend next to him had no idea what it was–a bag of cocaine? Hardly. The bag was filled with babywipes. So Gotti pulls out a baby wipe and carefully dabs his forehead right underneath the hairline, presumably to keep the grease from his hair running onto his face. “These bitches come in handy,” he said, now sounding exactly like a scene from “Entourage.”
The Gavones left in the sixth, sick of watching the beating the Yanks were taking, and sick of no beer.
We sat through the whole thing, of course. When we were outside of the stadium, we heard a teenage boy talking loudly to a friend: “That was the…worst game..I have ever seen in…my…life…ever!”
It wasn’t that bad. But it makes today’s game important. Go Mikey Moose.