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Normally, two losses in a row to a solid team like the Rockies (!) wouldn’t be anything to get too worked up over, but I think Yankee fans are still suffering from a certain amount of post-traumatic stress dating back to the first two months of this season – like a onetime gunshot victim, ducking every time a nearby truck backfires. Well, or possibly the team just stinks again and is doomed… but humor me here.

Andy Pettitte was great until suddenly he wasn’t, and the Yanks went down 6-1, leaving them six games back in the wild card and 10 in the AL East. This was one of those games where it’s hard to tell if the opposing starter, in this case Jeff Francis, was really that good, or if the Yankee offense was just that bad, but I’m leaning towards the former. Apparently so is Joe Torre: “You don’t want to take anything away from Jeff Francis,” he said after the game – though actually I do; can we start with his slider? – “…but we’re not swinging the bats like we’re capable of.”

Let me recap the Yankee scoring for you: they got a run in the 6th on consecutive doubles from Melky and Jeter, and… that’s it. Hey, that was easy! Hello silver lining.

Pettitte started out very impressively, economical and effective, but he led off the sixth inning by walking the pitcher, which is almost always the baseball equivalent of a climactic horror movie scene. Ball one… No! Andy! Don’t go into that house! Ball two… He’s got a chainsaw! Don’t open the door don’topenthedoordon’t– Ball three… oh my god he’s right behind you look behind you EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! The psycho killer was played by Matt Holliday, who hit an absolutely humongous two-run shot to the last rows of the left-field bleachers. Pettitte escaped the inning without further damage, but the wheels came off in the seventh, and the Rockies scored four more runs, which was plenty.

Francis, meanwhile, went seven innings, giving up five hits and striking out nine; the game was finished by LaTroy Hawkins and Jeremy Affeldt, better known to me as That Dude Kyle Farnsworth Once Tackled, Carried Ten Feet, And Hurled To The Ground (no, not that guy, the other one). I really wish Farns would have tried that again last night, just for the hell of it — sure he’d be suspended, but it would be wildly entertaining.

Of course, another wildly entertaining thing the Yankees might consider is scoring more than one run per game…

Supposedly the Diamondbacks are a pretty good team this year, but I’ve mostly watched them get pummeled by either the Red Sox, Mets, or Yankees, so – while acknowledging the small sample size – I can’t say I’m overly impressed. At least they ditched the purple and teal uniforms. The Yankees beat them 7-1 today behind a very strong eight-inning, four-hit performance from Andy Pettitte. By the way, why doesn’t Pettitte have a better nickname? We’ve got Moose, Rocket, Worm-Killer, the Yankee Clippard, and…. Andy. You guys need to get to work on this.

Anyway, the Yankees’ offense was actually a bit frustrating today – seven runs is nothing to complain about, but they left a bushel of runners stranded in between their 12 hits and 6 walks. Every Yankee besides Cano and Cairo had a hit, with the bulk of the RBIs coming from Alex Rodriguez (surprise) and Hideki Matsui, each 3-4 on the day.

The Diamondbacks also made three errors, but that doesn’t even begin to describe the unfathomable abyss that was their defense; they really should have made at least three or four additional plays. Some of this can probably be blamed on starting pitcher Doug Davis, who, apparently determined to resuscitate Steve “Human Rain Delay” Trachsel’s tarnished reputation, was taking his sweet, sweet time before every single pitch, throw to first, and cup-adjustment, while his infielders lolled around with glazed eyes knitting elaborate holiday sweaters. His sluggishness was so frustrating that Michael Kay and John Flaherty, dying up in the booth, got peeved enough to start attacking his personal appearance — though I don’t think they can have been totally aware of all the connotations of the phrase “landing strip.” Davis threw 105 leisurely pitches in his five innings, of which 57 were strikes, and was lucky to escape with just four runs allowed. It was a bad day all around for the Snakes: they also had to watch the eminently likeable Orlando Hudson limp off the field with an apparent (hopefully minor) leg injury.

So it was only half of a pretty game, but Andy Pettitte is a pleasure to watch this season – Arizona’s only run scored on a groundout – and so is a ninth straight win. Pettitte probably could have finished the game, but, get this, Scott Proctor needed to get some work in. No, really. No – really. Who are these people and what have they done with the Yankees?

The Subway Series this weekend may actually live up to the hype; neither team can afford to lose right now. Actually, the Mets technically could – they’re still in first after all – but after losing five in a row and nine of their last ten, they need to stop the bleeding. They’re a much better team than this, and way past due for a breakout game.

Ah, an important Subway Series featuring Roger Clemens! I feel young again.

It’s that time of year again. The season is more than a third over, the parks are crowded with sunbathers, the days are long, Roger Clemens is back in his firmament, and the smell of garbage has begun to drown out the smell of urine over on 7th Ave. Yes, it’s time to begin complaining about the All-Star game.

Every year intelligent fans lament the fact that fame and market size and RBIs often seem to go farther than meaningful stats or real talent when the All-Stars are elected, and that being sent to the game is not a genuine mark of excellence so much as a popularity contest. Well, yes. In fact it’s the very definition of a popularity contest. And how many legitimate electoral processes do you know of where you’re allowed to vote 15 times per email address?

There’s nothing to do but embrace the randomness: the All-Star game is best appreciated as a frivolous entertainment, not a meaningful measure of excellence. And in fact, because some people really will vote 45 times in this thing, and I’m assuming that most of you have more pressing draws on your time, your vote doesn’t count all that much anyway. So I say forget average, OBP, SLG, and HRs, to say nothing of VORP, WARP, and RATE. Logic has no place in this vote; attempts to impose it will only leave you frustrated and distraught. On that note, I present my personal 2007 AL All-Star ballot:

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Stop me if you’ve heard this one: Andy Pettitte pitched an excellent game, but… yes, it happened again, as the Yankees’ Great Sucking Noise of 2007 continues. They lost 3-2. Tonight’s edition was especially painful, as Pettitte went into the 8th inning, and only one of the three runs charged to him was earned. Pettitte has been better than we had any right to expect, but with the Yankee offense showing no signs of rousing itself against Shaun Marcum – who pitched well, but come on now – the Yankees once again have nothing to show for it besides aesthetics.

The Yankees scraped out only five hits over the course of the night, including a Giambi home run in the seventh that briefly tied the game. In the bottom of the seventh, Aaron Hill singled, and moved to third on a groundout and A-Rod’s throwing error (not helped by Jason Phillips’ crash into Phelps at first, as he tried to make the catch). Hill then – and this is something we haven’t seen in a while – stole home. Pettiitte was taking him time, and Hill caught everyone unawares; by the time Posada yelled for the ball, and Pettitte saw the play, it was too late.

Now, you hate to see it happen to your team, especially with the Yankees in their current state. But I’ve gotta say, I love watching anyone steal home. It’s rare, and it’s gutsy, and it’s something that you’d think would never work, and yet here it wasn’t even very close. I don’t know much about Aaron Hill, but he’s got my attention now; that was some sweet-ass base running.

Anyway, the Yankees tied it again in the eighth, when Toronto gifted them with two errors, allowing Posada to single Jeter home. That would be all they got, and Toronto took over the lead in the bottom of the inning on a sac fly off of Scott Proctor. Robinson Cano, who seemed to be coming out of his epic slump for a time, looked awful at the plate, as did Bobby Abreu, again, some more. Damon and Giambi are visibly in pain.
The Yankees are now fourteen and half games out of first, and eight and a half out of the Wild Card. Here’s your obligatory “they could still come back” disclaimer: they could still come back. I think it’s time, though, to make peace with the likely outcome of the season at this point and, without necessarily abandoning all hope, settle in to watch the games for their own sake. Yankee fans may well have to relearn – or in some cases, just learn – how to watch games that have no ultimate October goal behind them. It’s been well over a decade, so this is going to take some adjusting; I have to say, I’ve changed quite a bit since the early 90’s, what with puberty and all.

But baseball is great even if the Yankees aren’t, and if you pay attention, something interesting is happening in every game, even a grotesquerie like tonight’s. For example, in addition to the steal of home, we had Jason Giambi beating out an infield single (thanks to the shift of course), then stealing second base, then moving to third on a throwing error. This is not something we are likely to see again in our lifetimes. “Speed kills,” observed John Flaherty, wryly. The games can still be entertaining, though admittedly this season’s been more Oresteia than Star Wars.

Over at Baseball Musings, David Pinto looks at the Yankees’ distribution of runs scored and allowed this season, concluding that in theory they ought to be above .500, and that many of their losses are due to simple bad luck. As he puts it, “the Yankees are having the team analogue of Mike Lowell’s 2005 season.” (Ugh. Don’t they have antibiotics for that?).

I basically agree, and yet you hate to say it: first of all, because we have this ingrained idea in American culture that “you make your own luck” — which is obviously only half true, and yet it’s still hard not to feel lazy or self-defeating when citing luck as an excuse. We always want to believe that something could have been done.

Besides, if we all just acknowledge that luck plays an enormous role… we’ll hardly have anything fun left to argue about. So screw that: I say this entire season is obviously Miguel Cairo’s fault, and if you all can’t see that, you’re goddamn blind.

I was generously offered an unexpected ticket to the game tonight, and was at the Stadium, along with a very quiet sell-out crowd, for the Yankees’ truly disappointing 7-3 loss to Boston. Even the obligatory upper-deck fights seemed half-hearted. Mike Mussina had absolutely nothing in the first inning, and the Yanks were lucky to get out of it with only 3 runs scoring (all on a Manny Ramirez home run). But with the way this team’s played much of the season, three runs seemed like an insurmountable hurdle… and, well, it was. Per the New York Times,

“I can’t keep pitching like this,” said Mussina, who has a 6.52 earned run average. “It’s depressing, frustrating and disappointing, and not what we need right now. I can’t stand it.”

Ouch. Mussina actually settled down and pitched much better, aside from a Mike Lowell solo homer to left, but unraveled again in the seventh, and two more runs scored. A third was charged to Moose when Mike Myers was unable to retire David Ortiz. Jose Vizcaino and Ron Villone then stunned everyone present by allowing no further damage, but although the Yankees put up a fight against the atypically wild Okajima – loading the bases — they just couldn’t get the big or even medium-sized hit. Their only runs came on a wild pitch and two fielder’s choices. (I couldn’t see it from my vantage point at the time, but that last run, in the eighth, only scored because Alex Rodriguez threw an elbow while sliding into second, giving Posada just enough time to beat the double play throw as Jeter scored.)

I cannot begin to understand the hold Julian Tavarez has over the Yankees this year. He gave up only three hits, and few well-hit balls of any kind, though his ERA against all other teams is well over five. Does anybody have a plausible explanation for this? I’ve got nothing. And if the Yankees end up missing out on the playoffs by two games, I’m going to be irate.

Random note: one of Derek Jeter’s at-bat songs is now “I’m a Flirt” by R. Kelly (no idea if this was the original or the remix, sorry). I know Captain Intangibles is hitting like crazy, but I just can’t let this one go without mockery. Sample lyrics:

“I’m a I’m a I’m a I’m a flirt
Soon as I see her walk up in the club I’m a flirt
Winkin eyes at me when I roll up on dem dubs I’m a flirt
Sometimes when I’m wit my chick on the low I’m a flirt
And when she’s wit her man lookin at me damn right I’m a flirt
So homie dont bring your girl to me to meet cause I’m a flirt
And baby dont bring your girlfriend to eat cause I’m a flirt
(It better be real tight you know what I’m talkin bout)
Please believe it unless your game is tight and you trust herrrrr
(You bring your girl around me you better put your best pimp foot foward)
Then don’t bring her round me cause I’m a flirt.”

Um. Yeah, Derek, we know, we read all about it in Page Six. Jeez. So, boys, you’ve been warned, but no worries — I imagine you fellas always put your best pimp foot forward.

Anyway, my fascination with at-bat songs is always inversely correlated to the quality of the game. This was a night to focus on the music. Let’s hope tomorrow I forget all about the fact that Jose Vizcaino enters to “Limelight,” by Rush.

Update
Alex here. In case you missed the back-cover of the News (which features a photograph of Jason Giambi with the headline, “Flunked!”), according to T.J. Quinn, Jason Giambi failed a test for greenies at some point over the past year. Looks like things are about to get rough all over for the Yankee slugger.

Well, phew. That was not a little bit of baseball.

This afternoon’s game was a flat, dispiriting 5-3 loss — the Yankees scraped out a few runs, but Mike Mussina gave them right back. He wasn’t terrible, but missed over the plate too many times, giving up eight hits (including two homers) and five earned runs in just over five innings. Afterwards he said he had “no go-to pitch,” and blamed his poor outing on the extra rest caused by the off-day and rain out; man, when that guy says he likes to stick to a regular routine, he is not joking. I spent the sixth inning imagining him counting out a specific number of grains of rice to eat at every meal. Vizcaino, Myers, and Bruney followed in order and held down the fort, but meanwhile, the Yankee bats continued their painful death rattles — although, to be fair, the White Sox’s John ”Pun-Proof” Danks pitched very well. I’d call him an URP, but in fact, he’s quite heralded. After the game, Joe Torre accurately described him as “conveniently wild.”

Bright spots included a single and a home run for the vengeful spirit of Tony Womack, which is currently inhabiting the body of Bobby Abreu, and an excellent leaping over-the-wall catch by Melky Cabrera (who also doubled), saving a two-run Paul Konerko homer. At the moment, by the way, Konerko is hitting .190. In fact, not a single healthy White Sox regular is hitting over .260. It could still be worse, people. Seriously, how many times today did Michael Kay say of a player stepping into the box, “… and he is REALLY struggling”? Between both teams, over the course of the two games, my best estimate is 34.

The night game, once again pushed back because of rain, was far more enjoyable – an 8-1 win that began as something of a pitcher’s duel between Chien-Ming Wang, back in top form, and Jose Contreras. The former Yank gave up four runs, only two of which were earned, but Wang was better. He allowed six singles and one run in his seven innings, throwing just 91 pitches — and twice he got out of two-on, no-out jams without allowing a run or, as far as I could tell, breaking a sweat. The Yankees have been cautious with him the last two years, and obviously his long-term health needs to come first, but I hope he’s cleared to start Sunday on three day’s rest. I don’t want to see what the Mets can do to Chase Wright.

The key Yankee offense came on a two-run Matsui double in the third, an Abreu RBI single in the seventh, and a Jeter triple. Abreu’s single followed three consecutive strikeouts, and I’m not at all sure his bat is coming back just yet, but that hit felt like the turning point of the game, and out of gratitude I will not refer to him as Womackian in this half of the recap.

Kyle Farnsworth got through the 8th allowing without allowing a run, but still cannot be recommended viewing for elderly or infirm Yankee fans with a history of heart trouble (flyout, walk, potential double saved by sweet A-Rod play, walk, line out, exhale).
As an aside, the White Sox used reliever Boone Logan in their half of the eighth, and sweet Jesus does that man work slowly. Excruciatingly leisurely relief pitchers are one of my biggest pet peeves. Boone Logan is now on my enemies list.

Anyway, the Yankee offense seemed to really get its groove back in the ninth. If this actually proves to be a turning point, please address your candy and flowers to reliever John Sisco, c/o Ozzie Guillen. Sisco allowed two walks and four hits, including homers for Melky “MELKY!” Cabrera and still-scorching pinch-hitter Jorge Posada, who at this rate, if he’s lucky, will get an entire game off sometime in August. I really think Melky is back, guys. Which is awesome, because when he plays well he jumps and darts around the Yankee dugout like everyone’s favorite little brother on a sugar high, and it is adorable. To wrap things up, Mariano Rivera, looking much more like himself, took care of business in the bottom of the inning.

Meanwhile, I see on SportsCenter — though I can only find it tentatively confirmed elsewhere at the moment — that Yankee partner and former Steinbrenner heir-apparent Steve Swindal will be bought out for roughly $5 million.

And finally, today I was reminded of one of the most amusing things in all of baseball: namely, that Roger Clemens refers to his split-fingered fastball as “Mr. Splitty.” I know we already knew this, but it’s been a while, so please take a minute out of your busy day to appreciate how absolutely hilarious that is. Thank you.

Tuesday night’s Yankees-White Sox game was postponed twice and ultimately rained out, which means they’re playing two today. I’ve been conditioned by the first six weeks of the 2007 season to say "this will give the bullpen some much-needed rest," but for once that’s not the case here; the pen, such as it is, is relatively fresh, and now the Yankees will need to call up a starter to face the Mets on Sunday. Perhaps Chase Wright will get the chance to break his historic consecutive home run record! On the plus side, I suppose Jason Giambi’s foot and roughly 75% of Johnny Damon’s body parts might benefit from the days off.

Per LoHud, Mike Mussina will go against John Danks at 2 P.M. — there’s a pun in there somewhere, but I can’t quite find it — followed by Chien-Ming Wang against Jose Contreras at 8. You’ve gotta think that second match-up favors the Yankees, but nothing would surprise me: by now we should all be used to the Ghost of Ineffective Yankee Pitchers Past coming back to haunt the team.

*Disclaimer: despite the presence of Steve McQueen, not actually a very good movie.

Before Roger Clemens arrived at the Stadium on Sunday, blotting out all unrelated baseball thought for roughly 48 hours, I was thinking about brawls. The benches cleared when Scott Proctor threw behind Yuniesky Betancourt (really not a guy you can enjoy picking on, once you’ve heard his story), but it never got farther than a bit of shouting and some profoundly manly milling around.

Unless I’m forgetting something, the Yankees haven’t had a real punches-thrown kind of brawl since 2004 against the Red Sox (the infamous Varitek/A-Rod imbroglio), and even that one was fairly tame… or maybe it’s just that it will always live in the shadow of 2003’s immortal Pedro vs. Zimmer title bout. Has it really been three years? Someone needs to create a reliable database for this kind of vitally important information (paging David Pinto!).

I should say up front that I am a total hypocrite when it comes to baseball brawls. I went to Quaker meeting as a kid and generally consider myself nonviolent; I’ve never hit anyone, except for that one time in fifth grade (and Fat Matt the Rat had it coming). I actually have a hard time enjoying football or boxing because I find them too consistently brutal. But I do enjoy a good baseball brawl, and I’m certainly not alone in that. This instinct probably doesn’t say anything good about humanity’s instinctive preferences in entertainment. I suspect it’s a vague, domesticated version of the quality that made ancient Romans turn to a pal and say, “Hey amicus, what say we go down to CitiColosseum, have a few cold ones, and watch a couple of guys fight to the death! I hear it’s Luggage Tag Day.”

This is where we insert the obvious disclaimer that you never want to see anyone get seriously hurt – that stops being fun in a hurry. But that’s a rarity in even the roughest diamond fights these days, which are at least 85% shoving, grabbing, valiantly holding someone back, indignantly allowing yourself to be held back, wrestling, cursing, or walking aimlessly around trying to look busy. (Unless you’re Kyle Farnsworth. Then you personally constitute* the other 15%. Now that I think about it, Farnsy’s presence on the Yankees may actually be enough of a deterrent, by itself, to explain the lack of brawls in the last few years).

That said, I have to say I don’t buy the argument that teams need to incite brawls, retaliate in bean ball wars, or get violently angry in order to “get fired up” and play well. In the wake of April’s Red Sox catastrophes, I heard all over the place that the Yankee pitchers needed to throw at more Red Sox – “I mean, I’m not saying you have to hurt someone, but if you pitch inside and you hit them, so be it” was how this was usually couched – but it seems to me that the absolute last thing you need, when your pitching is flopping around on the ground like a dying fish, is to put David Ortiz on base for Manny Ramirez, or Manny on for J.D. Drew. There was no particular reason to think that any of the Red Sox had thrown at the Yankees; the situation might be different if the teams actually had any reason to dislike each other personally, but those days are gone. Personally, I think sports writers and announcers and talk radio guys only spout this stuff because they can’t get away with saying “hey, a brawl right now would sure make this game vastly more entertaining, wouldn’t it?” You could hear it on the YES network Sunday; Michael Kay was getting an alarmingly Joaquin-Phoenix-in-Gladiator kind of edge to his voice.

What do you think: does fighting ever actually help a team, or is it just sordid entertainment for the rest of us? Or maybe both? What’s the best or worst brawl you can remember, and how come the Yankees haven’t had one in three years? How much do you want to see Kyle Farnsworth break out his moves against, say, Barry Bonds? Do you do feel bad for wanting to see it that much?

*You really, really need to click on the link under the photo here and watch the “Guillen’s HBP starts scrum” clip. I have linked to it before, and it’s about five minutes long, but absolutely worth it. Those Tigers announcers are classic (“There’s big Farnsworth now, and — WHOOOOA!… Well, you knew when big boy got there, it was gonna get ON!”. “That is one guy you do not want to mess with. Period”).

Also, as a bonus, this clip features Jose Lima.

[Note: I wrote this post Tuesday afternoon. Since then I’ve heard a rumor that the Yankees played the Devil Rays, but I am dismissing it as mere hearsay. I suggest you do the same.]

Spring is a time of hope and renewal. And allergies, but never mind. It’s a gorgeous day, and I refuse to ruin it by dwelling on the state of the Yankees’ pitching over the course of the last few days. Er, weeks. Moving on! I’m not here, as they say, to talk about the past.
Let’s talk about the immediate future instead: an obscure, unheralded minor leaguer flying under everybody’s radar by the name of Phil Hughes. Hey, you know you weren’t going to talk about anything else today anyway.

I’ve been in the minority, I think, in that I wasn’t opposed to leaving Hughes in AAA Dunder-Mifflin a while longer; I thought it made sense to go carefully with him, and build up his innings, arm, and confidence — that was the Yanks’ original plan, and I can only assume they had their reasons for it. After all, it’s still only April, the guy can’t even drink legally (which certainly must have made it tough to watch these last few games), and he didn’t look quite ready for the bigs in spring training – though, for what it’s worth, Alex Rodriguez didn’t look quite ready to shatter every existing offensive record for the month of April, either. Regardless, when I heard Hughes was starting Thursday, it took me all of three seconds to decide to buy a ticket.

Normally when I go to the Stadium I sit in the bleachers, or the far reaches of the upper deck (don’t get me started on Yankee Stadium ticket prices). This time, though, I figured if I was going to be there, I might as well spring for a semi-decent seat. I imagine I’ll tell my children one day that I watched Phil Hughes’ very first major league start. I also imagine I’ll be telling them this by way of explaining why we don’t have the money to buy new shoes or turn the heat up, but what the hell.

I am a little worried. Expectations are stratospheric. I believe Hughes is the real deal, but many highly touted prospects never do make it in the majors, for reasons no one completely understands (although obviously one, two, or even twenty sub-par starts won’t mean that’s the case here). Expecting a guy in his first ever trip to the big leagues to not only pitch well, but also go deep, against a tough Toronto lineup, is asking a lot.

That said, I’m not particularly worried about his lack of AAA experience; it doesn’t seem to matter much, as demonstrated most recently by the performance this season of Mets reliever Joe Smith, who was in college less than a year ago and has yet to allow a run in 11 appearances. I also don’t see how making a few starts up here while the rotation scrapes itself off the DL would hurt his long-term health — my understanding is that it’s his season-long workload that’s the (potential) issue. Plus there’s the fact that the longer they wait to bring him up, the more the pressure will build. Maybe it’s best, after all, to get that first major-league start out of the way while it’s still early, before each game feels so freighted with importance, in a non-nationally televised contest with the Blue Jays (who, no matter how good they are in a given year, somehow just never manage to come across as legitimate rivals. Why is that? Give me your best cheap Canadian jokes).

So I’m psyched, but let’s try to stay realistic. It would be nice if Hughes could feed the whole stadium with just 20 kosher hot dogs and heal Carl Pavano with a laying-on of hands . . . but I’ll settle for six full innings.

Bonus Discussion Point: Let’s see if we can call the eventual Daily News/NY Post next-day headlines: Phil it Up? Hughes Your Daddy? The Post on Tuesday went with “Hughes Da Man For Rotation,” which strikes me as a bit of a stretch, while the Daily News disappointingly used merely “Panic!” instead of my dark horse pick, “Panic! At The Disco.”

Since I wrote about Carl Pavano last week, he . . . well, you know. (Whatever. Anybody can win with more than one legitimate major league starter on their roster! Where’s the fun in that?). I wasn’t home that day and didn’t get to join in the discussion in the comments, but there was some good, thoughtful debate going on, and I wanted to follow up. First of all, several people pointed out, and I agree, that in sports too much is made of machismo and “playing through pain”. Not to say that moments like Kirk Gibson’s legendary World Series homer aren’t admirable,* or even inspirational—but there’s no shame in prioritizing your long-term health over a baseball game, either.

But several people raised another interesting point: if you really believed that, for example, Carl Pavano is a gutless liar (and to be clear, I’m not saying he is—just using it as a hypothetical), can you turn around and root for him this year? [Insert obligatory joke about how he probably won’t pitch again til 2008 anyway. Pause for laughter]. It’s hardly a new issue, just part of a broader question: how do we decide who to root for? Is it anybody on our team, no matter who they are or what they’ve done—up to, as someone jokingly put it, Charles Manson—or is there a line? If there is, where does it fall for you?

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And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why you do not leave a baseball game early. You’ll have to bear with me through this recap, though, because I find myself unable to remember much about the first half of the game, and it’s tough to type with your jaw on the floor.

First of all, congratulations again to Alex and Emily, who got married during the early innings of today’s 8-6 Yankee win. I’m sure they didn’t need this win to make the day memorable, but you still have to appreciate Alex Rodriguez’s thoughtful wedding gift.

The Yankees looked a bit listless throughout much of the game, unable to get much going against the awesomely named Fausto Carmona, who pitched much better than anyone coming in with an ERA over 12 has any right to. They eked out a run in the 3rd, when Abreu singled Damon home, and another in the 6th, on a Giambi homer, but that was it for the offense.

Meanwhile, Darrell Rasner was impressive through three innings, but ran into trouble soon after, when Dave Dellucci homered, and a quick single, a four-pitch walk, and a hit batsman loaded the bases with one out. Joe Torre, normally so impassive in the dugout, looked like gerbils were gnawing at his intestines. Rasner came up with a pop up (Blake) and a strikeout (Peralta) to wriggle free, but was apparently on a short leash thereafter; Torre lifted him when he allowed a single in the fifth, though it was still 1-1.

After leaving the bases loaded yet again in the sixth, thanks to stellar work from Brian Bruney, the Indians finally got their big blow in the seventh, off of the usually reliable Luis Vizcaino. A walk, a double, an RBI groundout, an intentional walk to Pronk, and a big three-run homer by catcher Victor Martinez made the score 5-2. Vizcaino recovered, but the Yanks went quietly in their next two innings, and a tough error on A-Rod allowed a runner to score on Sean Henn in ninth, leaving the Yanks staring at a four-run deficit.

Cleveland closer Joe Borowski came in to begin the ninth, and Robinson Cano promptly popped out, followed by a weak Melky Cabrera grounder. Now, I don’t think I’m unduly pessimistic when it comes to baseball, but I absolutely thought this game was over. Josh Phelps homered, and I still thought it was over. With two strikes, Jorge Posada singled—nearly decapitating Borowski in the process—and I figured, hey, good to see them going down fighting. But then Posada took second on defensive indifference, Johnny Damon—again with two strikes—worked a ballsy walk, and Derek Jeter came up as the tying run. At this point, though I am not proud to admit it, I sat down on the floor and began talking to my dog.

This is the kind of situational hitting Jeter has always excelled at, and he knocked a 1-0 pitch into left field, plating Posada. The score was 6-4, and the game’s momentum had completely shifted. Bobby Abreu, again with two strikes, did much the same thing, and Damon came home to make it 6-5. That brought up, of course and to no one’s surprise, Alex Rodriguez. “They have to walk him,” I said to my dog, and, in fact, Borowski’s first pitch made a desperate attempt to escape; it got by Martinez, allowing the runners to move up. That turned out not to matter, though, because the next pitch was up over the plate. What happened next was exactly what every single fan watching the game had been simultaneously, vividly imagining.

Rodriguez knew it was gone the second he hit it—straight to center—and he couldn’t seem to believe it himself, grinning and very nearly skipping all the way around the bases. Paul O’Neill, in the booth, just started laughing. The Yankee dugout gleefully rushed out to meet him. That’s A-Rod’s 10th home run of the year, in 14 games, but I personally ran out of superlatives for his hitting last night, so you’re on your own there.

With this sweep of the Indians—who are playing below their potential for the third straight year—the Yanks head into Boston one game out of first here in the early going. Ninth inning, Fenway Park, Papelbon versus A-Rod? Should be fun.

You could see the seeds of this story being planted back in the first weeks of spring training, and now, nearly two months later, Carl Pavano’s comeback is proceeding apace. In a nice bit of timing, his start on Monday — which was genuinely good, but looked brilliant thanks to the Yankee rotation’s abysmal opening week — fell immediately after Easter Sunday; I think you could probably find a workable metaphor in either the Resurrection or, if you prefer, the giant mythical bunny rabbit with candy.

The truth regarding Pavano’s last few seasons is elusive, and what’s more, it keeps changing. The better Pavano pitches now, the more he was a victim of bad luck; the higher his ERA this season, the more he was shamefully sitting around collecting a fat paycheck, unwilling to fight to return to the mound.

There’s nothing new about this: in sports, talent and achievement tend to morph into character. That’s why Ted Williams is known as a beloved icon instead of a total dick, and Joe DiMaggio is regarded as a symbol of class and lost elegance instead of an emotionally troubled loner. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with this – we enjoy watching great players perform, and what they’re like off the field isn’t necessarily important. We’re not looking to Carl Pavano for life lessons, we’re looking to him for quality starts. But in any case, it’s probably not a good idea to make moral judgments based on WHIP.

We may never know exactly what happened with Pavano. Clearly he’s been legitimately injured, but equally clearly, his own teammates thought that he could be doing more to return; I don’t know if they were right, but I can’t recall ever seeing the Yankees disparage a teammate the way they publicly and on the record called out Pavano over the last year, taping the tabloids’ “Crash Test Dummy” headlines to his locker and dismissively joking about his wrecked Porsche. The result was brutal press coverage like this Bergen Record column, which called Pavano a gutless, lying weasel, more or less in those words. At this point you almost have to hope he was avoiding the mound last season – because if he tried his hardest and was simply too hurt to pitch, he’s been treated awfully unfairly.

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Hey gang, I’ll be subbing in as your recapper today. Andy Pettitte followed Carl Pavano’s lead (!) last night and gave the Yankees their second quality start of the season, while the offense, true to Cliff’s game preview, hurt Twins starter Boof "Boof" Bonser with the long ball: Yankees 10, Twins 1.

The game was actually decided in the first inning, when Derek Jeter singled to right and, after Bobby Abreu flied out, Alex Rodriguez stepped in. I’ll let Alex Belth, via stoked in-game email, take it from here:

"Boof started A-Rod with a slider (as he did in his second at bat too) and didn’t challenge him with the fastball until the count was full. I was at home saying, "Dude, you’re not going to try and get that sh** past A Rod, are you?" Sure enough, he came right into A Rod’s kitchen. Yo, A Rod just murdalized that ball. Goddamn, that was awesome."

Yes it was. There’s actually some difference of opinion as to what kind of pitch it was that A-Rod destroyed; Tyler Kepner agrees it was a fastball, but John Flaherty called it a slider, and Mike Mussina (per Kim Jones) claimed it was a changeup — after overhearing A-Rod tell reporters that he himself didn’t know. What I can tell you with certainty is that it ended up deep in the left field stands. Rodriguez now has six home runs on the season and a 1.107 slugging percentage; this homer, his 470th, tied him with Manny Ramirez, who is three years older. What’s changed since last year? His stance? His strategy? His mental health? I say it’s the socks.

Those runs were all Pettitte needed, though he eventually got a lot more. He looked sharp throughout, cruising through six shutout innings, changing speeds and using both sides of the plate. He allowed singles to Punto and Mauer to lead off the fourth, but swiftly worked out of it with a double play on Cuddyer and a groundout from Mourneau… and that was about as tense as things got. If there’s anything to quibble about, it’s that he could have been more economical, since by the end of the sixth he’d already thrown 96 pitches (60 for strikes); but credit the Twins hitters with some patience there, as well as a knack for irritating two-strike fouls.

The Yankee offense, meanwhile, continued on its path to world domination. Melky Cabrera got his groove back, starting with a single up the middle that plated Cano in the second, and finishing the night 3-for-4 with a nifty running, jumping, twisting catch on a Cuddyer line drive in the eighth. In the fifth, Mientkiewicz and Melky were aboard for a booming Johnny Damon home run, his first of the year. Bonser only made a few significant mistakes, but he paid for all of them, and was removed for a string of Twins relievers of varying efficacy.

Later in the fifth, by the way, Rodriguez was intentionally walked for the first time this season; get used to that.

My favorite Twins reliever by far is "Sideshow Pat" Neshek (nickname via awesome Twins blogger Bat Girl), who has a truly odd, jerky, flailing sidearm delivery; at one point his elbows nearly hit each other behind his back, though I can’t explain how they get there. Think of a stork being violently tickled, but with much better control. Baseball Think Factory has the visuals and the breakdown.

In the Yankee seventh Torre turned to Scott Proctor, who, with the variety of reliable (knocking on wood) arms in the pen this year, needs a new nickname – Semiweekly Scott? You guys can come up with something, I’m sure. Proctor didn’t have it, though, walking Morneau and Hunter to lead off the inning, despite being staked to a then-six-run lead. He did manage two fly-ball outs, but after a broken-bat Jason Kubel single gave the Twins their first and only run, Torre called for Vizcaino.

Finally, Mariano Rivera came in to mop up in the ninth. You know, I realize the guy needed to get some work in, but it seems a little unfair to crush a team 10-1 and then trot out Rivera to top it off, doesn’t it? Mo dispatched Morneau and Tyner with a combined three pitches, then used unfortunate pinch-hitter Luis Rodriguez as a guinea pig for his new changeup — which missed badly, high — before popping him up. So the change isn’t quite ready for prime time yet. Alex Rodriguez, though, definitely was.