I went to the game last night with a longtime Banter reader. I’d never met him before but he was in town, had tickets, and was kind enough to invite me. We were joined by a childhood friend of his who was also in town.

We sat in the sky down the left field line. It was the kind of muggy that you just have to give yourself over to, which in some ways is what it’s like following this year’s Yankees. (Resistance is futile.) By the second inning, my pants were clinging to my legs and I was already dreaming of the shower I’d take when I got home.

The Yankees loaded the bases against James Shields in the first inning but only scored one run, the only one they’d score all night. They managed just two more hits so it was another one of those nights, an admirable loss for C.C. Sabathia who went the distance, gave up two solo homers and another run late as the Royals won it, 3-1.

My favorite part of the night came as an unspoken moment of recognition between fans. So we’re watching the game and talking and our we’re involved in our conversation when Luis Cruz, playing third base, took a step to his left and dove for a ground ball. He snagged it and our conversation was interrupted by all three of us spontaneously shouting, “Ooooooh!” We exchanged high-fives, our only such celebration of the night, and then went back to talking.

Those shared instincts were enough to make me feel close to two guys I’d just met.

The loss seemed inevitable but a surprising number of fans stayed at the game til the end. It was a weeknight, broiling hot, but I got the sense that people wanted to linger, they didn’t want to leave the ballpark yet.

When it was over we parted ways and I was pleased to have made two new pals. Outside, on the street, people cluttered together and you could here shouts of “Water, one dollar, one dollar, one dollar, water.”

I took a few pictures.

Across the street from the new Stadium is a ball field where the old stadium used to stand. There was a fast pitch softball game going on and fans stopped to watch.

The good news: C.C. The bad news: James Shields and the gluten-free Yankee offense.

1. Gardner CF
2. Suzuki RF
3. Cano 2B
4. Hafner DH
5. Almonte LF
6. Overbay 1B
7. Nunez SS
8. Cruz 3B
9. Stewart C

Never mind the carbs:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

“The Artist’s Studio in the Afternoon Fog” By Winslow Homer (1894)

Over at SB Nation Longform, here’s Jorge Arangure Jr on Brooklyn’s Field of Dreams:

In East Brooklyn, carved out among an urban dystopia of car washes, donut shops and fast-food joints sits an unlikely baseball field, the main field at City Line Park.

Although no one will mistake it for a professional field, the surface is almost immaculate. The infield dirt is well groomed and the foul lines are painted in perfect symmetry. In stark contrast to the dull grays of the surrounding streets and concrete sidewalks, the grass is a lush, rich green.

As much as a baseball diamond cut into a cornfield in Iowa, its presence here seems out of place. Yet if that place is known as the Field of Dreams, then surely this park in Brooklyn, at the corner of Atlantic Ave and Fountain Ave., is the Field of Broken Dreams.

Writing in the New York Times, here’s Oliver Sacks on the Joy of Old Age:

Eighty! I can hardly believe it. I often feel that life is about to begin, only to realize it is almost over. My mother was the 16th of 18 children; I was the youngest of her four sons, and almost the youngest of the vast cousinhood on her side of the family. I was always the youngest boy in my class at high school. I have retained this feeling of being the youngest, even though now I am almost the oldest person I know.

I thought I would die at 41, when I had a bad fall and broke a leg while mountaineering alone. I splinted the leg as best I could and started to lever myself down the mountain, clumsily, with my arms. In the long hours that followed, I was assailed by memories, both good and bad. Most were in a mode of gratitude — gratitude for what I had been given by others, gratitude, too, that I had been able to give something back. “Awakenings” had been published the previous year.

At nearly 80, with a scattering of medical and surgical problems, none disabling, I feel glad to be alive — “I’m glad I’m not dead!” sometimes bursts out of me when the weather is perfect. (This is in contrast to a story I heard from a friend who, walking with Samuel Beckett in Paris on a perfect spring morning, said to him, “Doesn’t a day like this make you glad to be alive?” to which Beckett answered, “I wouldn’t go as far as that.”) I am grateful that I have experienced many things — some wonderful, some horrible — and that I have been able to write a dozen books, to receive innumerable letters from friends, colleagues and readers, and to enjoy what Nathaniel Hawthorne called “an intercourse with the world.”

It’s not so much that we’re watching a non-gluten Yankee offense, that would imply trying to be healthy for the sake of winning. Maybe something like what George had in mind with his misbegotten Bronx Burners project in 1982 (never mind power, we want speed). This Yankee team is more like offensive crudite: Zoilo, Ishikawa, Romine, Luis Cruz, Alberto Gonzalez. There’s just not much there. So you can’t blame them entirely when they’ve got situations set up nicely but don’t follow through. Last night the most dramatic scene came in the 9th with the Yanks down 5-1. They loaded the bases with nobody out and then the next three hitters struck out and the game was over.

That’s just the pill we’ve got to swallow right now.

Final Score: Royals 5, Yanks 1.

[Photo Via: Cookthink]

It’s Phil Hughes, hot weather, and the some sort of theory that says Hughes just can’t continue to pitch well.

Here’s your no-frills lineup:

Brett Gardner CF
Zoilo Almonte LF
Robinson Cano 2B
Travis Hafner DH
Vernon Wells RF
Travis Ishikawa 1B
Luis Cruz SS
Alberto Gonzalez 3B
Austin Romine C

Never mind the humidity:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Image Via The Libertine found at This Isn’t Happiness]

Second batter up cause the first got served.

Here’s Lou Reed on the new Kayne West album:

Kanye West is a child of social networking and hip-hop. And he knows about all kinds of music and popular culture. The guy has a real wide palette to play with. That’s all over Yeezus. There are moments of supreme beauty and greatness on this record, and then some of it is the same old shit. But the guy really, really, really is talented. He’s really trying to raise the bar. No one’s near doing what he’s doing, it’s not even on the same planet.

People say this album is minimal. And yeah, it’s minimal. But the parts are maximal. Take Blood on the Leaves. There’s a lot going on there: horns, piano, bass, drums, electronic effects, all rhythmically matched – towards the end of the track, there’s now twice as much sonic material. But Kanye stays unmoved while this mountain of sound grows around him. Such an enormous amount of work went into making this album. Each track is like making a movie. Actually, the whole album is like a movie, or a novel – each track segues into the next. This is not individual tracks sitting on their own island, all alone. Very often, he’ll have this very monotonous section going and then, suddenly – “BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP!” – he disrupts the whole thing and we’re on to something new that’s absolutely incredible. That’s architecture, that’s structure – this guy is seriously smart. He keeps unbalancing you. He’ll pile on all this sound and then suddenly pull it away, all the way to complete silence. And then there’s a scream or a beautiful melody, right there in your face. That’s what I call a sucker punch.

Guest Post

By Peter Richmond

Not that Mark Sanchez dancing with Alana (a former “bottle service girl” at the San Diego club Voyeur) and Janna (a “socialite,”) wasn’t the best sports-video clip of a really slow day last week, although I was disappointed at the glaring absence of Katie, Jessika, Jenna, Nikki, Emi, Danielle, Krista, Gina, Ashley and the rest of the Jets Flight Crew 2013 swimsuit wall calendar gang. What brought me down was the flashback.

Last time I spoke to EK was when we were passing each other in the hallway at school in June 2008. She was a ninth-grader. I was her brother’s English teacher. She said, “Hi, Mr. Richmond,” and I said, “Hi.” That was the usual exchange between us. Nice kid. Good student. A few days later, she graduated from our private middle school and went on to high school, and I resigned after deciding that my day gig should no longer involve having to call out ninth-grade girls for violating the dress code by wearing Uggs in my classroom.

The next time I saw the girl was on the web in February of 2011. This was a few days after her cell-phone photographs of Mark Sanchez’ bedroom had hit the web after Deadspin broke the tale. I recognized the girl immediately, despite the noticeable increase in layers in makeup, because she didn’t look much older than she had three years earlier in ninth grade. At least to me, she didn’t. Apparently, though, glimpsed through the giddily romantic New Year’s Eve atmospherics of Lavo (“an Ultralounge!” raved New York), she was only seventeen.

At that point, according to the girl’s account, Sanchez was gentlemanly enough to respond that he couldn’t see her until she was 18. Mark clearly had the schoolgirl’s best interests at heart — at least, until she corrected him: in New York, she told him, to be seventeen years of age was to be (Yes! The initial ruling at the table is overturned!) of legal age. This news apparently cleared the way for the girl’s subsequent photographs of Sanchez’ bedroom in his place on a Jersey golf course.

The last time I saw a picture of the girl was in a paparazzi-tabloid shot taken in her Connecticut hometown a week after it all broke, wherein, caught outdoors in her village, in a parka, her expression vibed panic, on the verge of teenaged tears. This was the ninth-grader I used to see at the salad bar.

That summer, six months after his quarterback’s alleged tryst, alleged New York Jet coach Rex Ryan, alleged star of one of the great foot-fetish role-playing videos of all time (wherein he allegedly plays the cop drawn to the woman’s bare feet sticking out a car door; his alleged wife allegedly plays the woman), named Mark Sanchez his captain.

Talk of Sanchez’ schoolgirl dalliance quickly and mysteriously muted, and then mutated: In a GQ profile that allegedly appeared in September of 2011, allegedly eight months after the alleged liaison, the alleged affair is referred to thusly in a brief aside near the end of the piece: “A 17-year-old high-school student…told a gossipy sports site…they went on a date.” Indeed they allegedly did; the writer of the story identified an object in Sanchez’ bedroom that the girl had photographed with her phone.

(In a highlight in the annals of profile hilarity, the piece led with an anecdote in which then-linebacker Bart Scott chides Vladimir Ducasse about leaving a party the night before, despite their being so many “hos” at poolside. Ducasse complains that they were too old. Scott asks Sanchez, “Were those ho’s too old?”
(“Define old,” says Mark.)

As a lover of freakazoid behavior in the National Football Lockstep, a league sport that thinks it’s a branch of the Pentagon, I’m all for aberrance, as long as it stops short of a 24-year-old quarterback texting a high-school girl at 2 a.m. asking if she wants to go out that night, and she has to answer from her bedroom in her parents’ suburban Connecticut home, “I have school tomorrow,” and his head coach names him captain. Doesn’t a captain of a football team have to exhibit something approximating leadership qualities?

If teaching larval teenaged girls for three years taught me anything about larval teenaged girls, it’s that lots of them like to dress up and make-up to look more mature than they are, but have less idea of what they actually look like to older men as goldfish who want to look good to other goldfish in the tank in the dentist’s office know what they look like to people awaiting root canals.

I have no doubt that the girl wanted to look alluring at the ultralounge. I also have no doubt that to any rational adult in that club that night, which Mark Sanchez allegedly was, she looked exactly like what she was: someone beneath accepted legal age.

In 2011, the Jets went 8-8. They were 8-5 before losing their last three by a combined scored of 93-50. Mark completed 56 percent of his passes and threw only 18 interceptions.

In March of 2012, the Jets extended Mark’s contract, which guaranteed him $20 million. “It gives the team,” Mark said, “just a reminder that I’m the leader of this team.”

By that fall, Mark had put aside such childish things as the teenager I’d known. By the start of training camp, he was going out with Eva Longoria, the thespian known for, among other things, playing a detective in the wildly underrated Senorita Justice. Eva was 12 ½ years his senior. She’d already had an ugly breakup with Tony Parker. I figured her worldliness and experience would help the Jets’ leader grow up.

But one month into the season, she broke up with him. According to TMZ, in a break-up message, she called him “moody” and “inconsistent.” She did not elaborate on the latter adjective. She did say, “We’ll always have the season opener in Buffalo.” He’d completed 19 of 27, with three TD passes, in a rout, before the Jets lost ten of their next 15 games and finished 6-10. The team, perhaps sensing by now that Jesus was weeping, hired Tim Tebow.

Today, of course, the most viral video of Mark Sanchez remains the game last year when, scrambling, he runs into the butt of one of his lineman, and fumbles. But I am reassured that he is finally dancing on videos with age-appropriate women.

And since he might still possess football talent, I am going to give him the benefit of the doubt: that when he escapes the skeeviness of his current employee (see Favre, masseuses hired as rewards for good games; Ryan Footwear) and gets the start in whatever city the Jaguars are in two years from now, he might win more games than he loses. Being an NFL quarterback is a whole lot more difficult than being a bottle girl.

So how to compute Sanchez’ true Skeeve Quotient? Maybe, emotionally and developmentally, Sanchez is a 17-year-old himself. As Los Angeles’ (“City of Illusion”) former star Trojan, maybe no one ever asked him to grow up. If he’s psychologically stunted, then in his own head he did no wrong, right? When Sanchez allegedly called the girl I knew on an alleged Sunday night after allegedly losing to the Steelers in Pittsburgh in the playoffs, and she allegedly declined to meet him that night, wouldn’t that like, so indicate the melding of two teen minds? The girl saying, “I can’t! I didn’t do any homework all weekend!”

And the guy saying, “So what? Come on! I’m rich!”

Completely understandable adolescent behavior.

But for the sake of any other former ninth-graders I might know who might cross his ultrapath in the future, I would ask Mark to heed the wisdom Joe Namath offered him in the GQ piece. When the writer asks if Joe has any dating advice for his successor in the Lavo limelight, Joe answers: “To really do his homework.”

[Photo Credit: AP; Bert Stern; GQ]

Nice piece of Americana in the Times magazine yesterday. Here’s “The Last Mermaid Show,” by Virginia Sole-Smith.

[Photo Credit: Katy Grannan]

What was it that Ms. Clavel used to say in the middle of the night? Something is not right. Well, that’s the feeling I had watching the game today–not that something wasn’t right, exactly, but that things were fragile, a 1-0 lead perishable. It was another hot summer day in the Bronx and the game proceeded uneventfully, except the two starting pitchers who were in good form. Oh, sure Robbie Cano made a wonderful fielding play but he’s so fluid he makes the remarkable look pedestrian.

The only exciting thing came in the middle innings when Manny Machado made one of those kinds of plays that makes you sit up and remember you aren’t sleeping.

A ground ball was hit to his right. He bent down to field it and the ball knocked off the heal of his glove. Still moving to his right, now in foul territory, he was able to pick up the ball on a bounce. He took another few steps before he could get rid of it, a side armed chuck that somehow zipped over to first base to get the runner–a disbelieving Luis Cruz–by a step. Not many men could make that play. Lucky for baseball fans–particularly those in Baltimore–Machado is here to stay.

The only other excitement came in the 9th and it was unfortunate for the Yanks. With 1 man out Nick Markakis almost hit a home run against Mariano Rivera. It went just foul down the right field line. He singled, anyhow, and then Mo left a flat cutter over the middle of the plate to Adam Jones who hit it over the wall in left field.

And that was that–enough to spoil a sweep, and another impressive outing by Hiroki Kuroda on soporific day at the park.

Drag.

Final Score: Orioles 2, Yanks 1.

I can’t quite believe I’m typing this, but this afternoon the Yankees are going for a sweep of the Orioles and their seventh-straight win. Remember when we used to take these winning streaks for granted? Remember when we only checked the standings occasionally, more out of politeness than anything else? Ah, the good old days.

But some of the good old days might be coming back. Derek Jeter played his first rehab game last night and accomplished his goal — the ankle didn’t break. (Michael Pineda also pitched well; it will be nice to see him in New York finally, perhaps some time after the All-Star break.)

For now, though, let’s focus on the game. We play today, we win today. Dat’s it.

Brett Gardner, CF
Ichiro, RF
Robinson Canó, 2B
Travis Hafner, DH
Zoilo Almonte, LF
Lyle Overbay, 1B
Luís Cruz, 3B
Eduardo Núñez, SS
Chris Stewart, C

Hiroki Kuroda (7-6, 2.95, 1.06) vs. Jason Hammel (7-5, 5.19, 1.40)

Will this be the day that Andy Murray finally finds his destiny and brings home the Wimbledon title for the British masses? (It’s probably been at least a decade since I really cared about tennis, but I have to admit that I’m rooting hard for him.) Early on it certainly looked like it would be Murray’s day, as he jumped out to a two-set and lead and broke the Joker in the first game of the third — then looked to be on the verge of breaking him again two games later — but the tide just might be turning. Djokovic won four straight games to take a 4-2 lead in the third set.

Nothing better than a little drama in the Wimbledon championship.

“Mambo, No. 5”–Perez Prado

[Photo Credit: Furrukh Khan]

Amidst all the unpredictability and chaos that has welled up this season, Saturday afternoon’s game was stunningly normal. It was a game we’ve all seen thousands of times, and there was something soothing about it, like a tall glass of lemonade on a hot summer day.

As it started out, it looked more like lemons. Andy Pettitte was on the mound for the Yanks, and he retired the first two batters quickly before giving up a single to left by Adam Jones. As Chris Davis dug in at the plate I wondered if there had ever been a hitter whose reality differs so much from the perception. Davis’s name and appearance are as plain as Peoria, but when his bat lifts off his shoulder he’s suddenly as dangerous as Detroit. After working the count full, Davis produced a high fly ball that concerned no one — not Pettitte, who stood on the mound patiently, not Michael Kay, who calmly described the lazy arc of the ball, not Brett Gardner, who cruised calmly back to the wall in center field, and not even Davis himself, who shook his head in disgust as he trotted out of the box. But then a funny thing happened — the ball just wouldn’t stop carrying, no doubt because of the 100° air, until it landed a few feet over the wall for a two-run homer.

The Orioles scored a third run in the second inning, and this one was also questionable. Nolan Reimold dribbled a ball down the third base line, and Pettitte had no option other than the Jeter Jump Throw™. But Pettitte is not Jeter, and the ball ended up down the right field line, allowing Reimold to make it to second. Alexi Casilla doubled two pitches later, bringing in Reimold and his unearned run.

The old Yankees — and by that I mean the Yankees from a week ago — would have curled up into a ball when faced with a 3-0 deficit against Chris Tillman in the top of the second, but these are the New Yankees! Travis Hafner led off the bottom of the second with a walk, then crisp singles from Zoilo Almonte and Lyle Overbay loaded the bases with none out. Luís Cruz then looped a base hit just in front of Reimold in left field, and the Yankees were on the board, 3-1. Eduardo Núñez stepped to the plate for the first time since May 10th and responded with a sacrifice fly to give the Yanks another run, but Overbay foolishly tried to advance to third on the play. He was thrown out easily for the second out, and the rally was essentially over. Chris Stewart made it official when he struck out looking.

The O’s picked up another run in the fourth when Taylor Teagarden cashed in a J.J. Hardy double to make the score 4-2, but the Yanks came back in the fifth with their new station-to-station offense. Núñez and Stewart opened the inning with singles, then moved over to second and third on Gardner’s sacrifice bunt. Ichiro flipped a looping liner over the mound that was flagged down by Brian Roberts at second; as good as the play was, it saved one run, not two, and the Yanks were within one at 4-3. Canó was up next, and he dumped an excuse-me single in front of Reimold to bring home Stewart to tie the game at four.

Pettitte rolled through the sixth, and the Yanks played some more small ball in their half. Overbay picked up his third hit of the game to lead off the inning, then moved to second on Cruz’s bunt, setting things up for Núñez to be the hero in his first game back. Nuney took the first pitch for a strike, then grounded the next one up the middle for a base hit. When third base coach Robby Thompson sent Overbay chugging around third to challenge Jones’s arm in center field, I was certain it was the wrong decision, but Jones’s throw was a bit up the line and Overbay scored the go-ahead run.

Nothing else really mattered except for the ninth inning and Mariano Rivera. If you look at the play-by-play, you’ll read about two ground balls, a single, and a strikeout, but that hardly tells the story. J.J. Hardy, Nate McClouth, Ryan Flaherty, and Chris Dickerson were all so overmatched that they couldn’t have been faulted had they each asked Rivera for his autograph before leaving the field. Hardy looked at one pitch, then squibbed a ball that barely made its way out to Canó, who flipped to first for out number one. Pinch hitter McClouth then hit another ball out to Canó, this one so soft that the play at first was close. Flaherty managed a base hit, but only because Rivera’s cutter so overwhelmed him that even with a full swing the ball only travelled about ninety feet before fluttering to the grass like a wounded bird in front of second. No matter. Rivera struck out Dickerson on three pitches to end the game. Yankees 5, Orioles 4. Same as it ever was.

It was Rivera’s 29th save of the season (and his 72nd save of a Pettitte victory), putting him on a pace for 54, which would be his career best. Here’s what I wrote about Rivera back on May 9th after he recorded his twelfth save:

Here’s something to watch for. It’s early, but the way this team is constructed, it wouldn’t be a surprise if Rivera actually topped his career high of 53 saves from back in 2004. Then he’d walk off into the sunset with a Cy Young Award, just like Koufax. Wouldn’t that be poetic?

The Cy Young Award seems less likely at this point, but here’s something else that would be poetic. After Saturday’s game we found out that Rivera had been named to the American League All-Star game, but that’s not good enough. Mariano Rivera should be the starting pitcher for the American League. I’m not the first to come up with this idea — I seem to remember Michael Kay suggesting this for the 2008 ASG in Yankee Stadium — but this would be the perfect year to do it.

There’s no need to have an actual starting pitcher start the game, since most pitchers only throw an inning or two anyway, even some of those who start the game. (Max Scherzer would be the starter most likely to start, but Detroit manager Jim Leyland has already indicated that Scherzer probably won’t be available to pitch that day.)

Rivera is having a phenomenal season and could end up with the highest single-season save total of his career. There’s no real guarantee that he would get into the game in the ninth inning, nor is there any guarantee that those final outs would be meaningful. So why not send him out to start? It might seem counterintuitive to have Rivera, the greatest closer of all-time, appear in his final all-star game as a starter (and Rivera might not even want to do it), but what better way is there to honor the greatest pitcher any of us will ever see?

[Photo Credit: Jim McIsaac/Getty Images]

So Alex is on assignment — or perhaps on the run — and he’s left me the keys to the place. You’re all welcome to stop by whenever you like, just don’t act like a bunch of animals. I’ll be in and out myself, but I trust you. Don’t steal anything. If I come back here and anything’s missing, I’m going straight to the police. I mean it.

So now that that’s out of the way, on to the Yankees. Not much going on there, eh? Suddenly a five-game winning streak, capped last night with the Wells Walk-off (though I must admit that I prefer pie to Gatorade), and things are looking a lot different than they were a week ago. Some fans might even be looking with hope towards the top of the standings rather than dread towards the bottom.

Oh, another thing — a guy named Jeter is scheduled to make his first rehab start down in Scranton tonight, and there are whispers that we might see him in the Bronx next week. It won’t be too soon.

And finally, the lineup, featuring the recently recalled Eduardo Núñez (David Phelps was sent down):

Brett Gardner, CF
Ichiro, RF
Robinson Canó, 2B
Travis Hafner, DH
Zoilo Almonte, LF
Lyle Overbay, 1B
Luís Cruz, 3B
Eduardo Núñez, SS
Chris Stewart, C

Andy Pettitte (5-6, 4.40, 1.36) vs. Chris Tillman (10-2, 3.68, 1.30)

Bronx Banter. There is no substitute.

“Hotter Than That”–Louis Armstrong

[Photo Via: The Minimalisto]

Mid-90s sinker and a sharp-breaking curveball, that’s what Ivan Nova featured tonight. He was damn good, striking out 11 and throwing a complete game, the first of his career. He gave up a couple of runs in the 2nd inning when he hit a batter and then Matt Weiters hit an opposite field home run that bounced off the top of the wall.

But it looked as if Nova’s best would not be good enough. The Yankees left a pair of runners on base in the 4th and then had the bases loaded with 1 out in the 5th but Travis Hafner popped out to shallow center (after being ahead 3-0 and 3-1), and Vernon Wells popped out to Chris Davis at first base.

They trailed 2-1 and the bottom of the 9th went like this…

Jim Johnson to David Adams: Fastball, low for a ball. Fastball, high, fouled off, 1-1. Another fastball, middle middle, and Adams punches it to right field for a base hit.

Brett Gardner (double and then three strike outs for the game): Bunt, and a poor one. Got it in the air, toward second. Johnson got there in plenty of time, with time to go to second. But he muffs it and everybody is safe.

Ichiro: Bunts, right in front of the plate. Weiters fields it with his bare hand and throws to first for the out. Runners advance.

Robbie Cano: Intentionally walked.

Travis Hafner: (With a repeat of the 5th inning when Cano was walked to face Pronk.) Sinker, low in the dirt, nice block by Weiters, 1-0. Sinker low and outside, 2-0. Fastball high and outside, 3-0. And we’ve been here before. Fastball high, ball four. And the game is tied.

Vernon Wells (outfield comes in, infield comes in): Fastball inside, 1-0. Fastball tails inside, 2-0. Sinker, for a strike, 2-1. Johnson set, Wells calls time out. Breaking ball, the first one he’s thrown all inning and Wells fouls it off. Fastball, sharp ground ball, Manny Machado dives but it’s through the left side. Gardner scores, doesn’t slow down and sprints to first to congratulate Wells.

Final Score: Yanks 3, Orioles 2.

[Photo Credit: Frank Franklin II/Associated Press]

It’s Nova as the Yanks host the O’s back in the Bronx.

1. Gardner CF
2. Suzuki RF
3. Cano 2B
4. Hafner DH
5. Wells LF
6. Overbay 1B
7. Cruz SS
8. Stewart C
9. Adams 3B

Never mind the heat index:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Credit: Kenscud]

Over at the USA Today, Bob Nightengale talks to Alex Rodriguez:

“I know people think I’m nuts,” he tells USA TODAY Sports, in his first extensive interview since last season. “I know most people wouldn’t want the confrontation. Most people would say, ‘Get me out of here. Trade me. Do anything.’

“But I’m the (expletive) crazy man who goes, ‘I want to compete. I want to stay in New York. I refuse to quit.’

“Maybe it’s stupidity, I don’t know, but I’m wired to compete and give my best. I have a responsibility to be ready to play as soon as I can.”

[Photo Credit: Chris O’Meara/Associated Press]