The Yankees outlasted the Red Sox 10-8 on Friday night in the kind of slugfest that we’ve come to expect from these two teams. There was a plate at the plate, nice plays in the field, big strikeouts, and key hits. And I missed the entire thing. Well, almost, anyway.
I was at Citifield watching the Mets and Cubs play. Shake Shack double burger, thank you very much.
Mostly, though, I looked at the out-of-town scoreboard. Yanks score five runs in the first–against Beckett–yee haw. Hiroki gives it all back in the bottom of the inning–I can see this is going to be a long fucking night, convict. And so it went, with only half my attention on the game before me, which was one-sided until the end. That’s when the Mets rallied in the 9th inning and made this poor Cubs fan experience the gamut of emotions form A-Z.
We had fun with him and he had a good sense of humor, which is required if you root for the Cubs. His team almost–almost–blew it, but won in the end. At the same time, I was sweating out the Sox with two men on in the bottom of the eighth.
“I do this 162 games a year, man,” said Mr. Cubbie.
I can relate. I checked the score on my phone on the subway ride back into Manhattan but we went underground and I lost reception so I didn’t learn that the Yanks had won until we reached 125th Street.
Any Yankee win, no matter how grueling or exasperating is a good thing. Am I right, or am I right?