Heading into the bottom of the sixth, the Yankees looked to be in firm control of tonight’s game with the division-leading Tampa Rays. Curtis Granderson had drilled a deep three-run home run off ace David Price and increased the Yankee lead to four runs, 5-1. A.J. Burnett had allowed only three hits and walk and, while not dominating, was in fine form.

In the bottom of the sixth, the Rays struck quickly like a sunburst. A double and home run by slim Sam Fuld tightened the score. Burnett has been pitching to terrible support this year, with the bullpen, defense and offense all taking turns abandoning him. Sometimes all in the same game. When Derek Jeter couldn’t circle a soft grounder to end the sixth, Burnett must have thought, “Screw it, I’ll do it myself.”

After a series of bad pitches and solid contact, the Rays were within one with B.J. Upton at the plate. Burnett’s mechanics were shot and his head was who-knows-where. He whipped a perfectly normal looking fastball three feet into the opposite batter’s box. Uh-oh. Instead of calling for a conference on the mound or a relief pitcher, the Yankees let A.J. straighten himself out. He did just that, straightening out a curve ball on the next pitch. Upton scrabbled it. B trumped A as the J’s cancelled each other out.

What’s so striking about the wild pitch in replay is that Burnett doesn’t stumble, or jerk his arm or even appear to have a major problem with his slot or release point. He just lined up his body to throw it that far outside. Like a “hit-the-bull” moment, without the purpose. At that point in the game, with a parade of red flags trotting around the bases already that inning, I don’t know how you let him throw the next pitch without someone going out there to help him clear his head.

So Burnett had a stinker of an inning; he was entitled given how badly his team has played for him lately. The Yankees trailed by one run and had three big innings left. They went down nine in a row and saw a total of 31 pitches. Even that paltry number is deceiving because rookie Eduardo Nunez worked a ten-pitch at bat to start the seventh. The next eight batters saw 21 pitches. Derek Jeter, Alex Rodriguez, Robinson Cano and Nick Swisher saw five pitches combined and not one of them even had the courtesy to take a good hack. The game effectively ended on Upton’s home run, 6-5 Rays.

A long losing streak is always a combination of deficiencies and bad timing. Viewed in a close up, it seems the bats quit on the pitcher once he blew their lead. But in the wide angle, I doubt this is the case. They all wanted to hit the home run that tied the game, hence the first pitch swinging and over-aggressiveness when the opposite was needed. The result is the same – inept offense, but at least their hearts were in the right place.

I will stop short of saying they just need a big hit or a strong pitching performance and everything will be OK. That might end the losing streak, but one-night heroics won’t turn a decent team into a great team. Right now they’re looking up at decent.

It ain’t that bad, chum. Cliff’s got the preview.

Never mind the pity party:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

Oh, Ursula. What an exotic-looking beauty. And what a name: Ursual Andress.

Man, John Derek must have been one smooth sombitch, huh?

One Isn’t the Loneliest Number

By John Schulian

Somehow I survived the constant moves and my social backwardness. When I went back to East as a junior and senior, I found a comfort level that I’d never had before. I played baseball and football, got good enough grades, wrote for the school newspaper, emceed the farewell assembly my senior year, and had friends, the best of whom I’m still in touch with all these years later. By some wonderful twist of fate, I’d landed in a public high school that had all the qualities prep schools charge $20,000 and $30,000 a year for today. Great teachers cared about you and pushed you. I had a U.S. history teacher who actually got me to spend one Christmas vacation working on a paper for her class. I got an A on it, too. I’ll bet 90 or 95 percent of the class of 1963 went on to college of some kind. The best and brightest went to schools like Yale and Columbia and Berkeley. I, like most everybody else, just moved down the street to the Univesity of Utah.

Looking back, I’m amazed at what an innocent time it was. Maybe it was the last innocent time. A couple of years later, it seemed like half the kids who’d been underclassmen when I was at East were drinking and screwing and raising all kinds of hell. (No drugs yet, however. You have to remember this is Salt Lake I’m talking about.) My class, on the other hand, was tame in the extreme. There was a small group that boogied until they puked, but the vast majority seemed to get their high from sugar and make-out sessions. Me, I went to Utah basketball games and hung out in poolrooms with some buddies who were as inspired by “The Hustler” as I was. Never had a date, I’m embarrassed to say. I came close with a long-haired girl who reminded me of Audrey Hepburn–I even walked her home a couple of times–but I was still too damn shy. Graduation night, a friend from the football team and I–he was the good fullback, I was the other fullback–went to a Coast League baseball game instead of the dance. But a terrific girl (not Audrey Hepburn) came up and kissed me as I was on my way out the door. She may not remember it, but I do. It was a lovely moment.

The biggest thing about bouncing around the way I did as a kid was that I learned to never be afraid of solitude. I was pretty self-sufficient emotionally before I was self-sufficient in the sense of being able to actually take care of myself. If there was a high-school dance, I’d hang around the house until 8:30 or 9, then walk over to the neighborhood variety store and look through the magazines and paperbacks. (I had a driver’s license but no car; the car wouldn’t come until I was a sophomore in college.) That’s how I discovered “Rabbit Run” by John Updike. I read the first page and thought it was about basketball. Let’s just say I had a rude awakening when I bought it and read the second page, and the third, and so on. I made it all the way through, eventually. But it wasn’t until years later that I read “Rabbit Run” again and finally realized what it was about.

Maybe the ability to entertain yourself comes with being an only child. It just seemed natural to me. Lots of days there wasn’t anybody around to play with me, so I’d dream up something on my own. Or I’d turn on my little table radio and listen to Mutual’s Game of the Day or, when I was living in L.A., the Hollywood Stars’ baseball game. I listened to a lot of music on the radio, too. Not just Elvis, either, though he was the coolest thing going. I found myself, at the age of 10 or 11, attracted to black music. There were two disc jockeys in L.A.–Hunter Hancock on KPOP and Johnny Otis on KFOX–who played nothing but black music, and there I was, this blond, blue-eyed kid utterly mesmerized by Sam Cooke and Jackie Wilson and a guy named Sonny Knight, who had a hit with a song called “Confidential.” It was as though I considered this black music an antidote to the Pat Boone 45 my mother gave me as a birthday present. (Pat Boone singing Little Richard? For the love of God, Mom!) There was that incredible mix of Saturday night and Sunday morning in the music-–saxophones straight out of whorehouses and voices right from the choir. I can tell you for sure that I was the only kid in my neighborhood who made Ivory Joe Hunter’s “Since I Met You Baby” the first 45 he bought. Only later did I hear the influence of country music on the song, so in addition to being proof that I loved my rhythm and blues as a child, I was harboring the inner hillbilly who would emerge later.

Click here for Part One of From Ali to Xena…

GQ has an excerpt from the highly-anticipated new oral history of ESPN.

The book is: “Those Guys Have All the Fun.”

Pasta Primavera, The Bittman Variations, in the Times Magazine.

I made peas and asparagus yesterday, with a serrano pepper, tarragon, chives, chicken stock and butter. No pasta but it was yummy. Love the spring vegies.

[Photo Credit: N.Y. Times]

Sculptures by Yasuhiro Sakurai

Christopher Hitchens on “To End All Wars,” Adam Hochschild’s new book about WWI:

We read these stirring yet wrenching accounts, of soldiers setting off to battle accompanied by cheers, and shudder because we know what they do not. We know what is coming, in other words. And coming not only to them. What is really coming, stepping jackbooted over the poisoned ruins of civilized Europe, is the pornographic figure of the Nazi. Again, Hochschild is an acute register. He has read the relevant passages of “Mein Kampf,” in which a gassed and wounded Austrian corporal began to incubate the idea of a ghastly revenge. He notes the increasing anti-Semitism of decaying wartime imperial Germany, with its vile rumors of Jewish cowardice and machination. And he approaches a truly arresting realization: Nazism can perhaps be avoided, but only on condition that German militarism is not too heavily defeated on the battlefield.

This highly unsettling reflection is important above all for American readers. If General Pershing’s fresh and plucky troops had not reached the scene in the closing stages of the bloodbath, universal exhaustion would almost certainly have compelled an earlier armistice, on less savage terms. Without President Wilson’s intervention, the incensed and traumatized French would never have been able to impose terms of humiliation on Germany; the very terms that Hitler was to reverse, by such relentless means, a matter of two decades later. In this light, the great American socialist Eugene V. Debs, who publicly opposed the war and was kept in prison by a vindictive Wilson until long after its ending, looks like a prescient hero. Indeed, so do many of the antiwar militants to whose often-buried record Hochschild has done honor. (Unsentimental to the last, though, he shows that many of them went on to lose or waste their lives on Bolshevism, the other great mutant system to emerge from the abattoir.) This is a book to make one feel deeply and painfully, and also to think hard.

Click here for an excerpt...

I am a great admirer of Hochschild’s book “King Leopold’s Ghost” as well as his wonderful memoir, “Half the Way Home.”

His new one looks riveting.

It’s raining and windy in town today. Got soaked on my way to work, still half-asleep and had to laugh…

Top of the morning to you.

[Picture by Larry Roibal]

Believe it or not, everything started out well for the Yanks on Sunday night, better even than the most optimistic amongst us could’ve expected. Even though I usually look forward to the Yankees and Red Sox playing on ESPN on Sunday nights, I have to admit that I wouldn’t have been disappointed with a rainout. Everything was stacked against the Bombers: the four-game losing streak, the robotic Jon Lester on the mound, and the Jorge Posada Drama* looming over everything. The division standings were tighter than a six o’clock uptown train, and there was a sense that the Yankees had failed to take advantage of slow starts by their main competition, the Rays and the Sox. (Of course, fans of those teams might be saying the same thing, but I don’t really care about fans of those teams.)

But then something strange happened. In the opening innings Lester looked less like the T-1000 and more like the solution to the Yankees’ problems. Derek Jeter opened the first by reaching on a hit by pitch and advanced to second on a Curtis Granderson groundout. Then the Yanks did what they don’t usually do when Mark Teixeira simply grounded a ball through the infield and scored Jeter for 1-0 lead.

The Sox tied it at one in the second when Jed Lowrie’s sacrifice fly cashed in the first of two huge Yankee mistakes on the night. Kevin Youkilis had led off the inning by striking out, but he reached base when Russell Martin allowed the tailing breaking ball to bounce all the way to the backstop. Youkilis would get to third on a David Ortíz single and a walk to J.D. Drew, but it was the passed ball that started the whole thing.

No problem, though. Andruw Jones (in for Posada) snatched the lead right back with a no doubter into the bleachers in left, and four batters later Granderson, the only consistent hitter in the entire lineup this season, launched a laser into the right field bleachers with Martin on base to push the lead to 4-1.

After just two innings, it looked like this game was going exactly as the Yankees would’ve drawn it up. They had gotten the timely hit from Teixeira, the home runs from Jones and the Grandy Man, and Lester had already thrown well over forty pitches. What we didn’t know at the time, though, was that the Yanks would only manage two more hits the rest of the way, Lester would return to his usual dominant self, the Yankee defense would make a critical error, and the bullpen would falter. Aside from that, everything would be fine.

When the Red Sox came to bat in the top of the third, they did so against Freddy García, who had looked shaky in the second but still seemed confident enough to hold on to that three-run lead, at least for a while. He held it for four batters. Jacoby Ellsbury doubled to right, Adrian González followed a Dustin Pedroia strikeout with a walk, and everyone’s favorite meathead, Kevin Youkilis, came up. Youkilis fell into an 0-2 hole but quickly worked the count full before lifting what appeared to be an easy fly ball out to left. The pitch had run into him a bit, sliding down towards the handle of the bat at contact, so I fully expected Brett Gardner to settle under it easily, but instead he kept drifting back and drifting back until he ran out of room and watched the ball settle into the stands for a three-run home run that erased the lead and added a layer of trepidation to the proceedings. Given a new life, Lester worked efficiently the rest of the way, allowing just a hit and a pair of walks but never really letting the Yankees back in the game.

(There was one moment in the bottom of the fourth that didn’t have much to do with the outcome of the game but certainly has significance in the larger view of the season. Gardner was on first base with two outs, having reached on a fielder’s choice. With Jeter up, it seemed like a perfect time to steal, and when Jeter pushed the count to 2-1, everyone in the house knew Gardner would be going. He went, but he misread Lester’s move, the pickoff throw came to first, and Gardner was eventually caught in a rundown. I’m pretty sure a play like this is officially labeled a caught stealing, but the ESPN box score is a bit mysterious here. Here’s what is says:

CS: B Gardner (6, 3rd base by J Lester/J Saltalamacchia)
Picked Off: B Gardner (2nd base by J Lester)

The second part of that seems accurate, but the first part never happened. Either way, it underlines a disturbing trend with Gardner. Here are his stolen base numbers (SB/CS) from 2008 through 2010: 13/1, 26/5, and 47/9 for a total of 86/15. That’s a Tim Raines-like success rate, and we probably shouldn’t have expected that to continue, but this year Gardner has five stolen bases and his been caught six times. I suppose you could argue that his offensive struggles over the first month prevented him from getting in any sort of rhythm on the base paths, but that number is still a complete mystery to me. I’d love to hear a plausible explanation.)

So back to our game. With one out in the fifth Ortíz looped a short home run around the foul pole in right, giving the Sox a 5-4 lead and pushing manager Joe Girardi towards and interesting strategy decision. Still facing a one-run deficit in the top of the seventh, Girardi went against the book and brought in David Robertson. Typically managers use their “winning set” of pitchers only when they’ve got a lead, but Girardi trotted out Robertson, Joba Chamberlain, and even Mariano Rivera in succession, all to pitch with a deficit. Anyone would agree that you should try to use your best pitchers in high leverage situations, but there is a school of thought that holds that a one- or two-run deficit is just as high leverage as a one- or two-run lead. The point is to hold down the opposition in a game that is winnable. I tend to agree with this theory, even if it didn’t work this time.

Robertson pitched well enough in the seventh, but he was undone by a stunning error by Alex Rodríguez. Robertson started out by whiffing Ellsbury, but then walked Pedroia who eventually stole second, necessitating an intentional walk to González. Youkilis followed by dribbling a ball directly down the third base line, and it appeared Robertson might’ve wriggled free of yet another jam. A-Rod waited patiently for the grounder just a step away from third base, but he wasn’t patient enough. Hoping to field the ball, step on the bag, and fire across the diamond for the inning-ending double play, he started towards the base a bit early and the ball trickled between his legs, allowing Pedroia to race all the way home. It was a play a Little Leaguer could’ve made, and it turned into a play you’d only expect to see on a Little League diamond. Robertson recovered to strike out Ortíz and Lowrie, but the damage was done.

Girardi stuck with his plan, though, and brought Joba in for the eighth down by two. Joba was dominant, getting two ground outs, a strike out, and a short fly ball to right. The problem, though, was that Jarrod Saltalamacchia’s short fly ball travelled 332 feet. Had it travelled only 331, it likely would’ve settled into Nick Swisher’s mitt for an out; as it was it bounced atop the wall and bounded into the stands for a home run. (For his part, Rivera would retired the Sox without incident in the ninth. I’d love to know the last time he entered a game trailing by two.)

Jonathan Papelbon avoided his usual Yankee Stadium drama by retiring Granderson, Teixeira, and Rodríguez in order in the ninth, and it was over. There will be much hand-wringing over the sweep, the five-game losing streak, and the tightness of the divisional race, but I’ll leave that to others. Instead I’ll just give you the final score: Red Sox 7, Yankees 5. It will get better, I promise.

* I won’t recap that here, because Will did such an excellent job Sunday morning. If you haven’t read it yet, you should. It should be noted, though, that the fans are behind Jorge. He received a prolonged standing ovation when he came to the plate as a pinch hitter in the eighth.

Yanks look to keep things simple by winning a ball game.

The team is vexed, the fans are frustrated but we’ll be rootin’:

Let’s Go Ding-bats!

[Picture by Adam Fuss]

As expected, Jorge is not in the line-up tonight. He’s at the park and told reporters, “I just talked to Girardi, and I kind of apologized to him. Just had a bad day. Had a bad day yesterday. Reflecting on it and stuff, everything, all the frustration just came out.”

Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Mark Teixeira 1B
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher RF
Andruw Jones DH
Russell Martin C
Brett Gardner LF

Photo Credit: Keep Cool But Care…

Have a laugh…on the house.

It is humid and uncomfortable in the Bronx today. Wet with rain expected into the night. Wonder if the Yanks are hoping for a rainout? That’s not likely and so they’ll be on national TV to face Jon Lester. I expect it will be minus Jorge Posada since he doesn’t have a hit batting righty this year.

Nice job on the whole mess from Steven Goldman.

In the meantime, there’s a Game 7 in the NBA playoffs this afternoon, a welcome distraction.

Eat well, be happy.

Jorge Posada was originally in the Yankees’ lineup for Saturday night’s game against the Red Sox. He was dropped to ninth in the order. Ken Rosenthal said during a 4th inning report on the FOX telecast that Posada was fine with this. “Posada said, ‘I put myself in this spot,'” Rosenthal said.

Apparently, he wasn’t fine. Seventy minutes before first pitch, Posada went into Joe Girardi’s office. There was an impromptu meeting. Words were exchanged between player and manager. Former teammates. The last two men to hold the everyday catching job prior to this season. After their meeting, Posada was removed from the lineup in favor of Andruw Jones.

And so it was that modern methods of information distribution took over.

“At 6 pm, Posada went to Girardi’s office and ‘asked to be removed’ from the DH slot batting ninth tonight. There is no injury.” … So read the initial tweet from YES’s Kim Jones.

Bob Klapisch had an incredible string: “Posada clearly miffed at batting ninth, against Red Sox, on national TV. No doubt angered Girardi singling him out over Tex and A-Rod.”

“Constant, underlying tension between Posada and Girardi finally boiled over …” Wait, what?!? This is getting good.

“Posada initially put blame on himself for lineup change, then took it out on Girardi. No justification for what he did.”

From Ken Davidoff: “For those who ask why Posada got dropped while Jeter, A-Rod, Teixeira spared: Posada is more disposable than those guys.”

And there may be something to that. Jeter won’t be dropped in the lineup. Not now. Not when he’s suddenly figured it out at the plate and has his average up to .267 thanks to 14 hits in his last 10 games. Two weeks ago, he was the guy the Yankees needed to drop in the order. He was the guy who was done.

Now, it’s Posada. Such is life for the 39-year-old, who at .165/.272/.349, is officially the offensive scapegoat on a Yankees team that despite leading the American League in on-base percentage and slugging percentage, entered Saturday’s action with a team batting average of .252, .236 with runners in scoring position, and its best hitter at .285. Posada has looked lost. A player suffering through an identity crisis. Having had to make an abrupt switch from catching 130 games a year to being the team’s full-time designated hitter, Posada has not adjusted well. He’s been open about his struggles to stay mentally focused.

Jason Giambi used to say the same thing when he discussed his troubles hitting as a DH versus his success at the plate when was in the lineup as the first baseman. He’d discuss how it was easier for him to be in the moment; being in the field helped him take his mind off bad at-bats. He wasn’t looking for something to do between at-bats. He didn’t gripe when Joe Torre would drop him in the lineup, usually to 6th or 7th, in an effort to “hide” him. He knew it was a message.

Sherman tweeted that the best comparison he could make to the events that took place Saturday was July 1, 2004, when Nomar Garciaparra refused to suit up for the Red Sox in the epic extra-inning game at Yankee Stadium when Jeter famously tumbled into the stands snagging a Trot Nixon foul pop. He was traded a few weeks later. Word is that the Yankees, if Posada chooses not to play tomorrow, could investigate terminating Posada’s contract.

There was a ton of speculation, ranging from Posada being ready to announce his retirement, to Laura Posada saying the situation was injury-related (“back stiffness”). Jack Curry spoke to Posada’s father, who confirmed that his son was not retiring. Jorge Posada, Sr, said that his son should have played. Cashman, during that FOX interview, said he didn’t know what Posada’s future was, and didn’t want to comment on anything beyond the events of the 6 pm meeting beyond the fact that Posada’s removal from the lineup was not injury related.

We were, and are, left with a series of contradictions. From a baseball perspective, something had to be done, though. Posada was the subject of much talk on WFAN earlier today. During Evan Roberts’ midday show, several callers chimed in saying either, “Take him out of the lineup,” “Move him down in the lineup, because something has to be done eventually,” or “Why not put him behind the plate, have him catch a few games to see if that gets his head right?” Do anything to get him on track to help instill some confidence, which could cause a trickle-down effect in the lineup.

Roberts said, “When is eventually? May 15th? I think you have to give it until July.” We now know “eventually” was May 14th.

The postgame pressers were illuminating: Some highlights from Posada: He saw a chiropractor, said he had back stiffness from taking ground balls at first base and “used that as an excuse to not play.” He went into the manager’s office and said he needed a mental health day. Kim Jones pointedly asked if he was weighing a bigger decision, and he said, “No. I still want to be here. And I love playing for this organization.” KEY: Posada didn’t tell Girardi or Cashman about his back. When a reporter informed Posada that Cashman, during the game, said the situation was “not injury related,” Posada said, “I didn’t know he made a statement during the game. I don’t understand that. That’s the way he works now.”

Girardi’s postgame press conference: Only two questions pertained to the game. Everything else was about Posada. The manager said the conversation was short, and that Posada told him “he needed a day.” He acknowledged Posada’s frustration at batting in the .100s, and how much of a struggle this season has been for him. He said that the situation was one that “we (the organization) would take care of.”

It wasn’t a good night for Girardi, aside from the Posada stuff. He was ejected in the 7th inning after arguing balls and strikes. His team lost its fourth straight game, this one by shutout, and went 0-for-10 with runners in scoring position. Teixeira got just his first hit in 31 at-bats versus the Red Sox. Are we at rock bottom?

Will Posada be in the lineup for the series finale? Posada is 0-for-24 against LHP this season, and the Red Sox are sending Jon Lester to the mound. This could be another mental health day for Posada, who thinks he could play.

The “he said / he said / he said” will likely continue. Especially since Cashman spoke with reporters post-game, which led to the following quotes being tweeted by Davidoff:

“It’s disappointing. Georgie knew what I was going to say (during the game), as did his agents. … It’s a situation created by Georgie and it can be explained only by Georgie.”

Perhaps the most poignant message of the night came from Joel Sherman, via Twitter: “Hardest thing to do in management is handle fading stars as #Yankees finding out with Posada. Ego, history, fan loyalty etc complicates.”

The Yankees don’t need this right now, but unfortunately, that’s where we are. And they don’t need David Ortiz telling reporters that they’re doing Posada wrong. They need their pitchers to pitch better, their hitters, whether or not Posada is in the lineup, to start producing runs in clutch situations, all of which will lead to … duh, winning.

Won’t that solve all this b.s.?

The Yanks showed some fight last night but it was another sloppy game for a team that hasn’t played well in more than a week. Fortunately, C.C. is on the hill tonight. Joe Girardi has rearranged the batting order in the hopes that it’ll kick start the offense. Goes something like this:

Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Mark Teixeira 1B
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Russell Martin C
Brett Gardner LF
Nick Swisher RF
Jorge Posada DH

They’ll have their hands full against Josh Beckett cause the sombitch has been dynamite so far this year.

That won’t stop us from rootin’:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

It’s gray and wet out there today. Don’t let that stop you though. We’ll be back tonight for more of the raw.

[Photo Credit: Unknown]

Saturday Smooch Edition…

The Rivalry lurched into Yankee Stadium for the first time this year. As you know, for the last ten years she has menaced Yankee fans everywhere, turning every single game versus the Red Sox into an unwatchable slog. Even when a game is tight and fast-paced, the Rivalry will turn it into a grueling 15 inning death march.

Skulking in the shadows behind the backstop, the beast blasted corrosive steam from its nostrils. She stayed out of sight until the fourth, content to let the pitchers dominate the first third of the game. Just when the action seemed to be settling into a liberating, breakneck pace, the Rivalry pounced. Adrian Gonzalez led off the second with an upper deck homer. A powerful display, but too quick for the beast. She sank her teeth into the inning’s nape and shook. Two walks, two strikeouts, two groundouts and a passed ball plated an excruciating run.

The beast stalked the foul line until the bottom of the fifth, when Posada lined a single and Russell Martin lobbed a homer to deep center that arced just past Ellsbury’s leap. It was a lightning quick attack and it came out of nowhere as Buchholz had hickory-smoked the Yanks through the first four innings. The Rivalry has been even handed in her cruelty lately. From then on, the game had that heavy, deliberate, pressure-packed rhythm she preferred.

In the seventh, Joba Chamberlain entered the game for Bartolo Colon, whose biggest sin outside the fourth was allowing a bevy of grounders in Robinson Cano’s general direction. All of them were really tough plays; he made none of them. And when Joba came in, he coaxed two routine grounders. Cano declined to chance a double play on the first for some reason and vacated his position to cover on a steal on the second. Then came a sac fly by Gonzalez and two run bomb by Youkilis.

It’s easy to focus on the crushing homer. But Pedroia’s hit-n-run dribbler is what riled the Rivalry. Why was the second baseman running to cover second base when a 95 MPH fast ball was called for the outside corner?  Boston called for the hit-n-run on the 1-0 pitch, the Yanks had to be ready for it on the 1-1 pitch. If the catcher calls a fastball, a Joba Chamberlain fastball mind you, on the outside corner to a righty, the shortstop should cover second base and the second baseman should stay home expecting late contact. Six people made contact in that inning off Joba’s fastballs, five went to the opposite field, one up the middle.

As you know, Chamberlain hit the outside corner with 95 MPH heat as requested. Pedroia tapped it to where the second baseman usually stands, and the inning was set up for Boston’s big bats. They didn’t disappoint.

The Yankees seemed helpless as Buchholz returned to bar-be-queing them after the fifth. Would the Rivalry allow the game to be decided so early? The beast detests tight games, but she also can’t abide stupid baseball. The Yankees played stupid baseball in the seventh, that much was clear. But with Buchholz dealing, the game was in danger of ending in less than four hours.

The Red Sox fed the beast by removing Buchholz and replacing him with Daniel Bard. He let up a lead off triple and wild pitched him home when the Yankees refused to do it themselves. He walked Arod and hit Cano (with a pitch that Robbie came within millimeters of swinging at) to put the tying run on base. The Yankees brought the go ahead run to the plate and the Rivalry was up on its haunches behind the mound, breathing that steam on Bard’s neck.

Then a daring double steal put the tying run in scoring position! The beast likes moxie. Would she reward them with the dam-breaking hit? With two outs, Bard went 3-0 to Posada. He silver-plated two fastballs for Posada to slam, but Posada was afraid to swing. For the Rivalry, that’s unforgivable. Ask Manny Ramirez. I’m surprised Posada managed to ground out. I was sure she would bite him off at the hips.

The beast, swollen now to her full size, pranced around the infield as the Yankees made pitching changes and loaded the bases in an endless top of the ninth. All that was left was for the Rivalry to declare a victor and eat the loser. Papelbon came in to pour the gravy on the Yankees.

The beast must have got distracted for a moment, because the Yankees were about to go down quickly without even bringing the tying run to the plate. With two outs and two strikes, Derek Jeter singled. One more slow churn of the guts. He took second and then scored on Granderson’s single. The winning run was at the plate. The clock ticked towards eleven. And that was enough for tonight. Teixeira chased a high heater and got beat badly. All he could do was pop it straight up and the Red Sox beat the Yankees 5-4.

The Rivalry curled up in the winner’s dugout and went quickly to sleep. She has to work again tomorrow night. Hopefully, she gets bored of this kind of game and migrates to California. Or just dies altogether. In the meantime, it’s a slog.

Tough guys and hard feelings are back in business tonight in the Bronx.

Cliff has the preview.

Never mind the bollocks:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Picture by Hannes Kilian Drei Mädchen]