Big Joe was animated.  I was watching part III of “the Mets meet reality” when the phone had started to ring.  “Are you watching this?”  “I’m watching Big Joe.  Unbelievable.”  “The guy flew through the air,” he continued.  “I’ve never seen a guy fly through the air!”  He was talking about Coco Crisp.  I knew how he felt.  The Sox, when they are nice and comfy at home and on a roll, will pull off some unbelievable stuff on you.  I’ve seen it all.  Nothing surprises me.  “And now this effing guy…” he said as Big HGH cracked a clincher out to center field.  “That’s it.  I’ll talk to you later.”  “Later, Big Joe.”  He was miserable.  There was nothing I was going to say that was going to make him feel better, of course, but he’s suffered through enough of my Yankee ups and downs, so I was with him in spirit.

         The good news, if you’re a Met fan, is that these three games didn’t mean a thing.  The lead in the division is all but insurmountable, and everybody else who might be considered a contender is currently in the process of being dragged around on their face.  So in that sense there is nothing to worry about.  But there is a problem.  Tony Sherry called me a few times today to tell me that they were crushing the Mets all day on the radio, specifically Mike and the Mad Dog on the FAN.  Absolutely skewering them.  Roundly dismissing them as just another pathetic NL team that can’t cut it against the mighty American League.  The issue for the Mets is that this is what is going to stick in people’s minds all year.  Everyone was starting to look at the Mets as a legit powerhouse in the majors.  They were popping up in first place on power-rankings, etc.  Everyone was talking about the Mets, including the BPS, at times.  But now they have failed horribly in what might be considered their only test.  They can still play well against the Yankees this weekend, but even a sweep of the mighty Yankees wouldn’t erase the skepticism that has crept into the commentary on this team.  The Subway Series match-ups have always been high-emotion series’, regardless of how good the Mets were.  It’s never shocking for either of these teams to win two-out-of-three in any given series.  Besides, this isn’t even the real Yankees.  This is the crippled version.  So the Mets are going to be stuck with this for a while.  When the topic of the Mets comes up, some will say that the Mets can’t beat any of the good teams, just like the rest of the National League.  In some camps, they will be dismissed for the rest of the regular season.  But there is a silver lining, and it’s this; they will be in the playoffs.  They realize that they need to fill a few gaps, perhaps, but now they know.  They are measured.  All they need to do is put a team out there that can win 11 games at the right time.  It’s a nice problem to have.  Besides, the Tigers have gotten gob-smacked every time they have played a good team, but look how quickly the media forgot.  After a few days they all went right back to gushing about what an unbeatable team Jim Leyland’s Tigers are.  To close the thought, Mike Francesa relayed a comment that was directed to him on Wednesday night when he and the Mad Dog did their radio show from Fenway.  He said that a fan came up to him as he was walking out in the sixth inning, the game already way out of reach.  “Next time you make the trip up from New York,” the fan said, “Bring the team that can play….”

         The Yanks have had a day to rest, which is always helpful for this “all-infirmary” squad.  The Moose will be taking the hill against our old buddy El Duque, who has been very hot and cold this year.  I have a feeling he will come to play tomorrow.  But the Mets will have to go to their bullpen early, because he throws a ton of pitches.  Their bullpen has been good and stretched by the Sox over the last few days, and they will be needed again.  The other issue with that is that this Mets bullpen that has had so much success this season has been thoroughly knocked around by the Yankees and the Red Sox.  They aren’t going to come in brimming with confidence like they did last time around.  I have to believe nobody on the Mets is exactly brimming with confidence right now.

         I will be in section 24 with the Mrs. tomorrow (Friday) night.  That’s right, the Mrs.  She was there when the big boy and I were cutting up the tickets, and she asked if she could go to a Subway Series game.  So we’ll see how she does.  I’m expecting big things from her, as she is generally acknowledged to be a Yankee good-luck charm.  Seanny, unleash your boy!

         “Roscoe di Boscoe.”  It’s a standard phone greeting from Mikey Juice, who was on the other end of my phone late this afternoon.  I was at work, of course, as were the Yanks.  I wasn’t having much luck following the game on the gamecast, as the thing was spotty again.  But I knew that the score was 3-2 Atlanta in the bottom of the 12th with one out and Giambi at the plate.  He had already fouled off about a thousand pitches.  “Again!” I hear Mikey Juice yell as he’s watching the game while talking to me.  I could hear Mikey Rumble’s unmistakable voice in the background also.  They were both watching, apparently.  Mikey Juice is the guy with the information.  He’s the guy to call when you need to know what’s going down in the street.  Mike Sherry and I like to check in with him once a week or so, just so we’re up to date on everything.  He asks me if I’m watching the game.  Just then I could hear Mikey Rumble scream, “Yes!” in the background.  For a split second I thought that maybe Giambi had done it again, but I quickly realized that Mikey Juice was less enthusiastic.  “Nice,” he said.  “Ball four to Giambi.”  Tying run on first.  So that’s it, I thought.  Here we go.  The star of the show is going to get another chance.  Man, if he blows it again he’s going to get so booed he might curl up in the fetal position and start crying right at home plate….   

         Twelve miles uptown in another borough and another world, an anxious man took a few steps toward the center of the universe.  He tried to tell everyone that it wasn’t bothering him.  He tried to explain that there was nothing to explain.  He insisted that there was nothing to see here.  The problem was that many of the fans had agreed.  He deserved better, certainly.  But he accepted his fate, at least outwardly.  He was being paid a lot of money to leave no doubt.  But doubt hung in the air like the muggy summer humidity.  Even he couldn’t deny that.  He didn’t claim to be at peak performance; in fact he admitted that he had to do better.  The crowd that had gathered was desperate to be proven wrong.  The frustration had long since overcome the human instinct of compassion, and had manifested itself in a collective negative voice.  And it grew louder with each shortcoming.  But this modern-day Casey-at-the-bat had what Casey never got.  A fresh chance to make it right.

         “Is he gonna do it, or is he really gonna have to run for his life out of the Stadium,” asked Mikey Juice in the Rock, as he and Mike Rumble watched things unfold on the YES network.  I was still suffering with the gamecast, which had seemingly gotten stuck with Giambi at a full count.  That thing is useless, I thought.  Things started off well.  He got ahead in the count, which was good news.  A little room for error goes a long way.  He pushed the count to 3-1, and I was thinking that a walk would put the tying run in scoring position for….I couldn’t remember.  “Who’s up next?” I asked Juice.  I heard him relay the question to Mikey Rumble, who replied “Bubba Crosby” with the appropriate lack of enthusiasm.  Not good.  So I tried not to think that far ahead.  Maybe we could pinch hit…  “No f*cking way!” I heard Mikey Rumble scream as if he were standing right next to me.  “This might be it!  He might have done it!” Juice was screaming.  In the background, Mikey Rumble exploded into indistinguishable sound.  Juice was laughing hysterically, but managed to yell, “He did it!” about four times into the phone. 

         As the ball sailed through the air, the crowd was strangely quiet.  There was a lot riding on this thing.  Not since a crisp October night in 2003 had one ball carried with it so much tension and anxiety.  At the center of the universe the anxious man in the pinstriped suit knew right away.  After all, he had done this enough times to know what it felt like.  But maybe never like this.  This ball was carrying his recent troubles far, far away.  At least for a while.  He flipped the bat and looked at his teammates in the dugout with his arms outstretched as if to say – I can’t believe that this is happening.  A walk with light feet, as the poets say.  Or in this case, a trot.  He circled the bases with his face all lit up like a firefly. 

         Today was the last day of school for the kids in New York City.  It was also the last day of school for the teachers.  Since Pedro and the Mets were throwing my prediction right in the bagnerol (which proves yet again that I am very consistent – I rarely know what I’m talking about), I told the Mrs. I would go get us some ice cream to celebrate the end of the school year.  Grossman sent me a text message right as I was walking out the door.  “I can’t watch anymore.”  I felt better about bailing on the game if Grossman was bailing on it.  So I strolled down 95th St. towards Baskin Robbins.  It was muggy but not so hot.  A decently comfortable night.  The kids were out all over the place.  They were as happy as could be.  Last day of school, after all.  They were out on their bikes, out on their roller blades, playing catch, shooting hoops.  It was summertime in Brooklyn.  Car radios were playing, people gathering on street corners.  I walked out of Baskin Robbins with the bag swinging in my hand.  Chocolate chip cookie dough for the Mrs, and pistachio walnut with chocolate sprinkles for me.  I walked down 94th St. on the way back, just for a change of pace.  I walked past an Irish guy talking two porches over to a Russian guy, telling him a story about something that happened in Jersey City.  I crossed Third Ave and walked past another group of young kids playing in their front yard.  They had stopped whatever they were doing for a minute, and were all gathered near the sidewalk.  As I got closer I could see what it was they were looking at.  Nighttime in June in New York City always means fireflies.  They were all over the place.  The kids were all scrambling around after them as they floated through the Brooklyn night, glowing intermittently in a silent game of Marco Polo.  One of the kids was a girl in a pink “Dora the Explorer” t-shirt.  She looked like she was about six.  She announced confidently to the group, “When they light up it means they’re happy.”  That sounds right to me, I thought to myself.  Finally happy…..      

         It ends here.  The Red Sox streak I mean.  I really can’t tell you what the Yankees are going to do from game to game now that Cano is gone.  The Red Sox have won 10 games in a row, and except for tonight, each game has been against an opponent that was progressively worse, with the last seven coming in the friendly confines of Fenway.  As far as ten game streaks go, it’s not very impressive, but hey – they won 10 games in a row.  You have to give them credit for that.  So tonight they got to the Mets soft underbelly, the kid Soler.  The Sox threw out their kid, Jon Lester, who didn’t fare much better, throwing way over a hundred pitches in four-plus innings.  Except for a disastrously played pop fly by Milledge, the two of them basically canceled each other out.  But in the end, the Sox kept their magic alive.  It will end tomorrow with Pedro.  Write it down.

         Back in the Bronx, the lifeless Yankee offense was sputtering on.  They made another also-ran pitcher look like Cy Young, and in the midst of their posting another zero, I made a sour observation in the 7th inning on the phone with Tony Sherry.  Aside from two swings from Jason Giambi, the Yankees hadn’t scored a run in 24 innings.  And even worse, if you take away those two skew home runs from Giambi, they had scored just 2 runs in their last 37 innings.  That’s more than four full 9-inning games.  They eventually tacked on two garbage runs.  Donnie, we have a problem.  It’s not so much the kids.  Phillips and Melky have hit pretty well, but the veterans have been slumping.  Giambi has been sitting out every few games due to “back stiffness,” or “spasms,” or something, Jeter has been in a slump, and A-Rod has been absolutely lost.  He seemed to be coming around on the road trip, but he is clearly trying too hard at the Stadium.  Wrong time to hibernate.  The fans are starting to crush his life. 

         Before we get too nuts, a win from Wang tomorrow gives us yet another series win, and that’s all you can ask for.  Consistency.  Let the Red Sox win ten in a row.  Their happy-place (Fenway) is coming to an end on Thursday, and they will start to lose.  We just need to continue to win series’. 

        But I will say that the last few games have exposed some real areas of concern.  Not a surprise, when you have lost every single member of your starting nine to injury or illness for multiple games and it’s only June.  There are going to be weaknesses.  Particularly when they’re currently without their second and third best rbi men of the last two years, and three all-star starters at the same time.  There’s not a lot you can do to protect yourself against that.  The always first-class Gary Cohen, broadcasting the Mets game tonight, made a great comment.  Reyes had slammed his shoulder into Varitek blocking the plate at one point, and he was sprawled out at home plate writhing in pain before heading off to the locker room.  He ended up coming back out to play.  Dioner Sanchez was last seen being walked off the field a few days ago holding his dangling pitching arm with his other hand.  He was back tonight.  Remarked Cohen, “That’s what happens when you’re going good.  You have two incredibly dangerous-looking injuries turn out to be nothing.”  Well said.  Cohen always “gets it.”  The Yankees have gotten no such good fortune.  They have had to fight, claw, and scratch for everything they’ve gotten this year.  Sounds funny when you’re talking about the Yankees, but this year it is what it is.  Every time they try and gather some steam, they face another devastating blow. 

        One thing you can’t do is blame the starting pitching for any of this malaise.  The starters have kept them in this thing, including another solid performance tonight from Jaret Wright.  Every loss for the last two weeks can be hung squarely on the shoulders of the offense and the bullpen.  I have to believe Dotel will be a boost.  You have to figure that between Dotel and Farnsworth, somebody will be able to get people out on a given night.  But the first thing Farnsworth needs to do is throw consistent strikes…

        That’s that.  I don’t know what we’ll get from the Yanks tomorrow.  I’ll take a win, certainly.  Wang seems to rise to the occasion.  We need some offense though.  I think we’ll get it.  We’re too due.  It would be nice, because we’ll pick up a game when Pedro takes down Beckett.  You heard it here first.

        The Mrs. came over with the phone just before she went to bed.  She had just spoken to her mother, so I knew what she was about to say.  “Big Joe,” she said as she handed me the receiver.  “How about Giambi,”” Big Joe said.  “Let’s go Mets,” was my reply to my father-in-law, a Met fan by trade.  “Well, we’ll see if we can give you some help with those Red Sox…”  Sounded good to me.  “Please do Big Joe.  Appreciate it.”  It would be the first time anybody in that rotting cesspool of a league did.

        Petey Goods was the man in section 24 tonight.  Waving the Yankee flag all over the joint, and self-described as “eating everything in sight.”  That’s what I’m talking about.  Welcome to section 24, Petey.   Acc gets the big gas-face, his shamelessness reaching new heights with yet another embarrassing excuse.

        Randall came to play tonight.  So did Giambi.  Glad to keep rolling on.  We’re not on one of the many “It’s Christmas in June – here comes the National League” streaks going on right now, but the Yanks have been more consistent.  They’re winning series after series with injury after injury.   I’m looking at all of these teams on streaks, and I can’t help but take it all with a grain of salt.  Don’t talk to me about the big streak you’re on against the National League.  Don’t embarrass yourself.  Come talk to me when you start beating good teams.  We went over the Tigers last night.  Now let’s take the Red Sox.  They look really strong, right?  I whet your appetite last night, let’s close the thought tonight.  Quick – how many series’ this season have the Red Sox won against teams over .500?  For the entire season – three.  And all three by 2-1.  No sweeps and no 3-1 margins.  Tough to believe?  Not if you’ve been watching how the season’s progressed and kept your eye on the schedule.  Three.  Still really impressed?  The Yanks have won twice that many, including a sweep and a three-out-of-four.  The Red Sox are not that good, folks.  They are destined to fail.  Wait until their day of reckoning comes in the form of a few good teams.  Don’t get me wrong.  I still think they’ll be a wild card….

        Not-as-bad-as-it-could-be news on Cano.  He says he didn’t feel the hammy pop, just “grab.”  At least I’m taking that as a good sign.  They’ll probably DL him, and I think they should, but he might avoid being out a month.  I can’t take this much longer, watching some of these guys.  I’m sorry, I know some of you guys like him, but Bubba Crosby is terrible.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen somebody look as bad as he looked last night against the Marlins.  The guy was swinging at balls that almost hit him.  A lot.

        Yes Raoul, somewhere in Boston and NY, two guys are light a few extra doses of HGH, because apparently today was “double-up” day. 

        JD, keep calling the bombs, bro.  Because I’ll take them all.  H8n, sorry the weather didn’t cooperate.  That’s how they get you.  Six hours of hot dogs and beer at $10.00 a pop.  Guava/Ras/Jason, I saw the article in the Times today about Hughes.  You never know with those guys early, but when they get to about the double-A level and they’re still money, you might have something.  Cashman specifically said nobody was untouchable, but he would command a high price were they to deal him.  They already turned down Reggie Sanders for Hughes, which should benchmark him a little (but not a lot).   Happymeds – believe it.  Series wins.  That’s what we’re all about.  Lucky, Umair posted a comment late the other night questioning how much we could really expect to get out of The Lion and Sheffield this year.  Here’s the way I see it.  Keep it close until mid-August.  Neither one of those guys will have their swing fully back before mid-September.  But all you need to do is make it in.  And then they’ll be ready.  And then; these guys are going to explode with furious thunder.  Kaylee, I don’t know how this series with Boston and the Mets is going to shake out.  The Mets have no idea how good they are or aren’t.  They play against high school teams every day.  They won’t get swept though; not like the rest of these gutless single-A teams the NL puts out there. 

         Grossman, focus on bringing us a few collaborative wins, dude.  You have a couple of free days.  The England match isn’t until Saturday…..

         Just before 8, me & Big Joe downstairs waiting for the Yanks to start.  Cell phone rings.  The big boy.  “Where are you, dude?”  “My mother-in-law’s.  Where are you?”  “Mother-in-law’s.  What did you eat?”  “Pot roast.  How about you?”  “Pork loin.”  “I guess we’re both eating Irish food today.  You going to watch the game?”  “Yeah.  Christopher!,” I hear him yell to his son, “Uncle Hot Dog’s on the phone.  You want to say hello?”  That’s me.  I’m Uncle Hot Dog.  And proud of it….  But apparently Christopher wasn’t interested in talking to his Uncle Hot Dog.  So I continued.  “Dude, apparently some kid is pitching his first game in the major leagues tonight against us.”  Acc groaned.  “Oh no.”  Acc knows, of course, what most people know by now.  The worst thing for the Yankees is to face somebody they’ve never faced before.  But as I explained to Acc, there’s one major condition.  He has to throw strikes.  If the Yanks have never seen somebody and he can’t get the ball over, he’s a dead man.  If he’s throwing strikes, he’s going to remember the night for the rest of his life.  And don’t think that fact was lost on Joe Girardi, a very clever manager.  Not particularly psyched that he’s taking advantage of a distinct Yankee weakness, knowing them as well as he does, but you can’t fault the guy for wanting to win.  So anyway, you know the rest.  The kid threw strike after strike and the Yanks did him all kinds of favors by jumping out of their shoes to swing at pitches early in the count.  And we got shut out for the first time all season. 

         But I’m going to look on the bright side.  If you told me the Yankees were going to score 2 runs in 18 innings of baseball today, I would have grimaced and prepared to take two “L’s” square in the mouth.  But thanks to Mr. Mussina, we were able to pull out one of two.  Like Michael Kay always likes to remind us, 80% of double headers end in a split.  But the Moose, Sean’s boy, was a killer today, taking out Dontrelle Willis on a day that the Yankees simply decided they were not going to hit.  And he notched his 2500th strikeout.  Good stuff from an old warhorse.

         Last year when I watched Ruben Sierra pop his hamstring getting a huge base hit, I prognosticated right here on BPS that night that he was going to be gone for a month.  The official word was day-to-day.  I have awful hammy’s, and when you truly pop it, or strain it, I know it’s brutal.  He was out a month and four days.  Very often players will pull them or tweak them, which is not as severe.  But straining it?  That’s a month.  So simply out of sheer desperation, even though the official word is left hamstring strain, I will not say that about Robbie Cano, only because I don’t know that this team can bear another long-term injury to one of its all-stars.  But I would be surprised if Cano is able to make his first all-star start.  I hope I am making too much of this.  I didn’t see the play.  Turns out Big Joe, who has DIRECTV, wasn’t getting the Yankee game feed on ESPN, he was getting the White Sox.  Apparently DIRECTV didn’t get the memo that the East Coast was supposed to get the Yankee feed.  So I was relying on sporadic updates via text message from Acc.  It never ends.  They really are Baseball’s version of Job…

         I had to laugh watching the White Sox game on ESPN with Big Joe.  Every time they talked about the best teams in baseball, they neglected to mention the Yankees.  At least now everyone is acknowledging that the National League is a full-blown joke this year, but the teams everyone wants to talk about are the Tigers, White Sox, and Red Sox.  I have no issue with those teams, but I’ll leave it at this.  Remember the schedule.  I find it odd that people are so quick to forget that the Tigers have really only faced one test this year.  They’ve played six games against the White Sox, four against the Yankees, and three against the Red Sox.  Their record in those 13 games is 3-10.  And all but three of those games were at home.  The Tigers have proven pretty good at beating bad teams.  They can not beat good teams.  Somebody write this down.  The Tigers will not make the playoffs.  Period.  They will spend the second half of the season playing thirteen more against the White Sox, who are legit, and the Angels, Rangers and A’s, who have all gotten better and will be starting their annual second half push, and more with the Yanks and Sox.  That’s when you will see them start to sink.  The Red Sox will be facing some of the same.  The Red Sox are sitting on top of the AL East by 2 ½ games right now by virtue of their ability to beat bad teams, namely, the National League.  The Red Sox are 5-8 in the month of June against teams with a winning record.  Their dirty little secret is that they also have trouble beating good teams.  Meanwhile, a Yankee team that has been limping around desperately the last two months has won all but two series’ in June.  The debacle against the Nats and the sweep at the hands of the A’s.  The Yankees beat good teams and bad, and they have kept on winning, lurking, through all of the decimation.  If they can hang on until The Lion and Sheffield get back, watch out.  Because right now, they are not the best team out there.  If The Lion, Sheffield, Cano, Dotel, etc. come back healthy early enough, they are the best team out there.  With the possible exception of the White Sox, who impress me more every day.  They are, when healthy, certainly better than the Red Sox.  If they can keep it close they will shoot to the top by September, just like they did last year. 

        It’s funny how clear the picture becomes when you realize the role the schedule plays.  The Red Sox are in first.  Everyone is talking about them in the AL East.  They are ahead of the Yanks in everybody’s power rankings, etc.  Does anybody realize that the Red Sox have yet to play the Angels, A’s, or White Sox this year?  They haven’t played one single game against these teams, some of the toughest in the league.  That’s going to represent 22 games for the Red Sox in the second half.  That’s almost a month’s worth of work.  I’ve said it before; this happens every single year.  The Yanks schedule is front-loaded with what MLB considers to be the better teams (they’ve already played 12 games this year against those teams), and the Red Sox schedule is back-loaded.  Every single year.  Does anybody think it’s a coincidence that while the Yankees have finished first to Boston’s second for 8 straight years, they have had to overtake the Sox around the same time every year?  Every year.  Same story.  MLB knows how to market.  The Yanks finish first every year because they’re better.  MLB knows this.  If the schedule is even, i.e. they’re playing the same teams around the same time, the Yanks will most likely pull ahead sooner, and there is no race.  This way, if the Sox have an easier schedule up front, they can pull ahead for a while and create the illusion of a race.  I’d love to say it was because the Red Sox were big choke artists (that might be part of it), but it’s really not.  I said the same thing in BPS last year, and it happens pretty much every year.  It works.  And every year people are duped.  And we would be headed for the same exact thing this year.  The only thing that might derail it this year is that the Yankees are suffering injury after confounding injury.  But if they keep it close the Yanks will pull ahead by September, just like they always do.

        I will be in section 24 with the big boy tomorrow (tonight - Monday).  He gave away his tickets, but I told him to use my extra.  I know he really doesn’t want to go, just because he’s lazy, but he couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough when I dropped it on him earlier today.  He left himself a little window, saying he had to check with his wife.  This will buy him some time tomorrow to see if he can wiggle out of it.  Again, just because he’s lazy.  Mrs. Acc, I know, will have no issue, and he doesn’t like to blame her, because then it might get back to her and she’ll call him out.  Usually he’s kind of shameless about making up excuses, but the thing that will get him to go tomorrow is he knows I’m fresh back from Europe and haven’t been to a game in a while.  Most of the time he’s good like that. 

        The Sox are due to lose, and we’re better than the Braves.  So I like my chances to bring one back tomorrow night.  And Grossman, I will be a big Met fan on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.  They better not let me down.  Ras, are we going to need to trade for a second baseman now or what?

        “Make sure you wear these badges around your neck at all times,” said our host, Karl, in choppy but effective German-accented English.  That is not a problem, I thought to myself, as I looked at the words “Skybox 2 – Hospitality Programme” printed clearly on the red badge, with the lanyard dangling from it like some sort of ID card.  I was in a swarm of World Cup-frenzied soccer fans outside the stadium, most of them staring longingly at this red badge like it was worth its size and shape in solid gold.  Pretty much was, I guess, as we were told the skybox seats for a Brazil game went for about 4000 Euros. 

          It was Thursday night, and I was being hosted at the Brazil-Japan game in Dortmund, Germany.  The fans were a sight to behold.  The Brazil fans were as flamboyant as any you’ll ever see.  All geared up with yellow and green, wigs, banners, flags, women with yellow and green Brazil bikinis and faces and bodies painted everywhere.  They were forming parades and dancing Brazilian Sambas in growing circles outside the stadium.  These guys had obviously built a long tradition of rooting for their team and their country.  The Japanese fans were outnumbered and overwhelmed outside of the stadium, but I think all of us were surprised once they made it inside.  They were incredibly organized and unified.  They started with the chants and songs early, and obviously they were all on the same page.  I was sitting next to a guy from Spain and a guy from Germany, and although they were impressed with the Japanese fans’ energy, they were getting a laugh at their obvious inexperience.  As soon as the ball crossed the midfield line, the Japanese fans would start going nuts.  It reminded me a bit of when you see fans in a place where baseball is brand new, or newly popular.  Specifically I thought of the 2002 playoffs in Anaheim when their amateur fans would start going crazy for every pop fly to the outfield, not having any idea how to judge the ball.  Another example, I had to admit to my new buddies, was when the admittedly hopeless American soccer fans were packing houses to watch the Women’s World Cup in 1999.  But the European fans here were not fooling around.  I had watched the England/Sweden game a few nights earlier in Antwerp, and the English guys were on one side of the bar while the Swedes were on the other.  The difference was stark.  The Swedes clapped politely when their team scored, while the English guys almost ripped the bar stools out of the floor when they scored.  And on Thursday the Japanese were louder in the minority than the practiced and heavily-favored Brazilians.  They weren’t particularly creative, as most of their chants were set to old American tunes like “The Entertainer” by Scott Joplin, but they were all in unison.  And they almost blew the roof off the place when Japan scored first on the stunned Brazilians.  I called Grossman (the only guy I could think of who would possibly give a cr*p), just to hold the phone up so he could hear the roar of the crowd.  And it held up for almost the entire first half.  And then it was over.  Brazil just completely overpowered them, finishing off a 4-1 thumping.

        Most of my nights last week followed the same pattern.  My eyes would pop open around 3:30am or so, and that was it.  Lots of staring at the ceiling for the next few hours.  Acc was dutifully text-messaging me with Yankee scores at about 4:30am every night, so I had that to look forward to, but for the first part of the week I couldn’t buy a win.  I was thinking that between Puerto Rico and Europe, the Yanks were 0-6 in my absence.  Luckily they strung together a few wins after that.  I got back early enough yesterday to head over to the in-laws’ pool with the Mrs.  Big Joe put on the game right after we finished up some burgers and dogs, and I was able to sit down and enjoy the Yanks win their third straight.             

        I sat and watched the Red Sox game today on Fox HD, barely moving off the couch all day.  Yawn, Big HGH summoned up all of his juiced-up, HGH-filled muscle to hit another walk-off in extra innings.  What else is new. 

        One good bit of broadcasting from Buck and McCarver today, and one bad bit.  In about the third inning, Joe Buck came right out and blurted, “The National League right now is just not good.”  McCarver immediately followed, “No,” in agreement.  Finally someone in the national media said it.  Everybody had been pretending the emperor was wearing a new suit of clothes.  Before I left last weekend, I was watching Baseball Tonight, and somebody said to Tim Kurkjian, “Tim, the American League is 12-2 today against the National League.”  Kurkjian replied, “True, but I wouldn’t read anything into that.”  Really, Tim?  You wouldn’t read anything into that?  What about now, after a week of the AL beating the snot out of the NL yet again?  Are you finally convinced?  What exactly would it take?  Anyone who has their eyes open can see the truth, and Buck and McCarver finally got into it today.  “Outside of the Mets and maybe the Cardinals if they’re healthy, there’s not a team that impresses you in the entire National League,” Buck continued.  Well said, Joe.  Even today as I’m sitting here the AL is 5-0 on the day. 

        The bad bit of broadcasting was the inability of those two guys to get past their obvious idol-worship to broadcast responsibly.  All they wanted to talk about for the first five innings was how dominating Schilling was, and how he was “back,” and how he had whatever number of strikeouts.  What they neglected to mention, not one single time, was that Schilling was not particularly sharp, which manifested itself in his throwing 92 pitches in the first five innings.  Now, I’m not going to sit here and insult anyone’s intelligence by insinuating that I have any credibility talking about Schilling.  I look at the world through Yankee-colored glasses, of course, and my opinions are going to reflect that.  But in this case, I think these two guys were missing a key piece of what was happening in this game.  I turned out to be right, in this instance, when Schilling loaded the bases with nobody out and coughed up the lead in the 7th.  When Francona went to the bullpen, Buck remarked, almost astonished, that Schilling was at 113 pitches after six-plus innings.  Atta boy, Joe.  Way to be on top of that… 

        The Yanks are mired in a rain delay right now, and this one is going to be tough to get in.  If they do get it in they’ll be playing in front of zero fans.  I can’t imagine anyone is sticking around.  The weather isn’t going to get any better for a while, either.  It’s supposed to rain all week here in the New York area.  That might mean a lot of make-up day-night double headers, which is probably a bad thing, because as Michael Kay likes to remind us, those almost end up in a split.  As I’m writing, they just called it.  Make-up is tomorrow.

        Apologies for the lack of BPS over the last few days, boys.  My access was limited.  In any case, good work to everybody who propped things up with the comments.  Ras, Lucky, Happymeds, Raoul (Raoul, it seems like we always see more of you when the Sox move back into first – either way I’ll take the participation), JD, Triple J, Sean, and Nick.  BPS will be back in action all week.

         The best news of the last few days was that The Ferocious Lion and Gary Sheffield have both gotten good doctor’s reports.  That will be humongous, when those two guys get back.  We just need to stay close until then, boys.  Just stay close.

         I guess I know how the guy felt.  Many hours and thousands of miles away Ryan Zimmerman had sent me off with a genuine kick in the nuts while I was in the car headed to the airport.  So this morning when I get into the cab at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, I thought was picking a safe topic of discussion.  When I was in the Air France lounge at JFK, France had what looked like a comfortable lead against South Korea in their World Cup game.  So as I was in a cab this morning headed to downtown Paris I asked the cabbie in my broken French, “Le France…victoire en le futbol avec Correa de Sud?”  The guy turned fully around - while driving in traffic – and screamed, “Non!”  Whoops.  He was still looking at me, p*ssed.  I was looking at the road, nervous.  “Le France, un.  Le Correa, un.”  Then he continued to rant something about Zidane getting thrown out of the game.  Good perspective-setter for me.  As miserable as I was about p*ssing two wins right down the side of a mountain against a terrible NL East team, these guys are all ready to start kicking windows in courtesy of the World Cup.  Although I was pretty miffed.  That was almost enough to make you want to quit watching.  Almost…

         JD, your Azzuri were as advertised.  Pampered, spoiled, babies.  Soccer in general has surprised me with all of the diving and crying.  Everybody rolling around on the grass with hyper-exaggerated theatrics, and then they’re fine.  Aren’t those guys embarrassed at all?  Honestly, it reminds me of professional wrestling at times.  In baseball, which will never be held up as the standard-bearer for tough-guy sports, even the umpires refuse to rub when they get smantanticrated with a 95mph heater.

         I was sitting in a café in between meetings today, checking the Blackberry.  As the boys started to stumble into work back in the states, they started pelting me with e-mails scolding me for not posting yesterday.  As I’m sitting here I’m low on sleep, so it’s probably going to be a bit weak.  Honestly, one of the main reasons I had to get something up was to correct the headline, which is incorrectly stating that we are still on top.  We are, of course, nothing of the sort.

        Tomorrow I’m heading out to Holland, and then Belgium later in the day.  If I can get a connection tomorrow maybe I’ll get back on the horse.  If I can’t, I’ll see you when I see you.  Worse case scenario, I’m back Friday.  Get me some wins, boys….

         “It’s 5-2 in the ninth inning with two outs, and I still don’t think they’re going to win this game!”  I was in the living room yelling to the Mrs, as I was waiting for her to whip me up a cup of tea and a plate of cookies (that’s right… tea and cookies….I don’t apologize for that).   The “they” I was referring to was the Minnesota Twins, because I had no faith that a cooked Joe Nathan was going to be able to prevent Ortiz and Manny from imposing their will.  And as I bit into a frosted oatmeal I looked like I knew what I was talking about.  “Now it’s 5-3 with 2 outs, and I still don’t think they’re going to win.”  The Mrs. offered a disinterested, “No?” as she walked away with the bowl of grapes that had preceded the cookies.  She couldn’t have cared less, of course, and nor should she.  But she feigns interest, partly to humor me and partly to shield herself from making the critical mistake of provoking me into elaborating on whatever ridiculous thing I’m saying.   The only reason I was watching the game in the first place was that she was getting ready for bed.  I have limits to my madness.  She sits through enough Yankee games; I wouldn’t make her sit through games that other teams in the division are playing….at least not in June, anyway…   

          Well Joe Nathan did come back from 2-0 to “k” Manny for the second time and get a two-inning save.  So what do I know?  And the Yanks remained in first despite the fact that they are playing some decidedly mediocre baseball at the moment.  I was on the phone with Big Willie (aka Bronx Johnny) today, and we were talking about the Mets and the Yanks.  We both agreed that there was nobody in the NL East, and perhaps the whole d*mn National League, that could catch the Mets, and we both agreed that the Red Sox are not nearly as good this year.  They got a nice shot in the arm with Papelbon, but the staff has been a bit of a disappointment.  Clement has been getting torched, and now there’s talk of an injury.  Wells is a fat b*stard who also happens to be 40-something.  Not a good combo.  Wakefield, Mr. 50-50, has been very average thus far, but not too far from normal.  Sometimes he’s lights out, sometimes he’s awful, and sometimes he’s in between.  I think the difference for him this year has been that the offense hasn’t been there to bail him out and get him wins.  Schilling has been excellent, much as I hate to admit it.  Still a d*ckhead, but a d*ckhead who’s throwing the ball pretty well.  Beckett has had some nice moments, but has been his same old inconsistent self.  He can be dominating, but he’s not one of those guys you can hand the ball to every five days and know you’re going to be in the game.  He’ll blow up on you.  So what have you got?  You’ve got a team that hasn’t been quite good enough to take advantage of a wounded, limping Yankee team that should probably be 5 games back right now.  To somebody.    And Toronto is all of one game back right now.  That one’s interesting.  If they stay healthy they can absolutely contend.  Halladay, Chacin, Burnett, with Ryan closing.  Interesting.  Worth noting that the Yankees are light years ahead of them in pretty much every pitching category right now.  So we’ll see.  I still think the AL East will come down to this and this alone.  If the Yankees are up or close by the time The Ferocious Lion and Gary Sheffield come back, they will win the division.  When healthy, they have a substantially better team than the Red Sox and Blue Jays.  Speaking of which, I do think both The Lion and Sheffield will be back this year.  I’m not sure why everyone is insisting that The Lion might not be back.  He has a three month injury.  If he were to miss the season it would be a five-month injury.  I just don’t see that as realistic.  It’s not like he mutilated his wrist.  He broke it, they operated, fixed it, and now it’s healing.  Happens all the time.  Give him September to find his swing, and come October he’ll be destroying people’s lives…

         Not a lot to say about the game today.  The gamecast was sticky, so it was tough to follow.  Disappointed in the Moose, but as Sean has pointed out many times, it’s tough to pitch with no margin for error all the time.  No run support, at least not until Moose was gone.

         Nick, you’re scratching me right where I itch.  Every time my brother-in-law comes in from L.A., I always end up at L&B.  The BPS’s own Petey Goods is a believer these days as well.  Guava, Level, Ras, Nick, Sean, Jason, happymeds, we’re all in agreement on Randall.  Good stuff from him, stepping up for his team.  Happymeds, Perez hit two bombs off Randall last year.  I agree with you.  Good timing.  Lucky, Level, A-Rod has one big-time moment that I can think of.  Besides doing everything right in the games they won in the playoffs last year, he hit that come-from behind bomb to beat Schilling in the 9th at Fenway last year after Sheffield put one off the monster.  That was big-time stuff.  One or two more of those and you start to get the makings of a reel.

        Interleague.  The Nationals.  The Yanks can beat these guys.  Soriano will hit 7 bombs in the series, but the Yanks will win.  I’m sure of it.

        “Did you ever notice that A-Rod swings and misses a lot?”  I was sitting in Tony Sherry’s apartment glancing at the menu from Tony’s Pizza on Bay Street in Staten Island.  “It’s true, now that I think about it,” he said.  “Have you ever tried the white clam sauce pie from this place?  It’s fun-taculous.”  “Let’s do it,” I said.  I had gotten in from Toronto about an hour before, and I knew the Mrs. was at dinner with her teacher-friends, Janine and Allison.  Tony’s wife was out of town.  He called me as I was in the cab from LaGuardia.  I went right over.  Now we were deciding what kind of hero to get with the white clam sauce brick-oven pie.  “Dude, we need to get ‘the Sofia’.”  It dawned on me that I hadn’t eaten anything since my Tim Horton’s Canadian Maple donut this morning.  “Okay by me.”  Tony was on board for whatever.  Didn’t hurt that he had already polished off a bowl of soup while he was waiting to order.  “Dude, you should put something in the blog tonight about A-Rod and how people are booing him.  They were talking about it all day on the radio today.”  I always get a kick out of Tony Sherry.  The kid reads the BPS about as often as he reads the Financial Times of London.

        I was sprinkling some red pepper flakes on my half of “the Sofia” (chicken cutlet, roasted peppers, mozzarella, garlic and oil) as Bernie came up with two outs and A-Rod on third.  I think I spit a roasted pepper about ten feet when he put one off the wall.  Bernabe Williams, Jr.  You can’t say enough about that guy.  We would be completely hosed if he wasn’t around in the absence of The Ferocious Lion and Sheffield.  I think it’s even helped him.  I think it gives him a little juice to be in the middle of everything.  I think he was a little lost when he was hitting at the bottom of the order (imagine that – when our team is healthy Bernie would probably hit ninth).  In any case, when Andy Phillips went yard it was time to celebrate with another slice of white-clam sauce pizza. 

        The Posada incident came shortly thereafter.  Let me list for you the problems I have with that exchange.  Zero.  I thought it was just what the team needed, actually.  Jim Kaat immediately questioned Posada’s jawing with the pitcher Jason Johnson, and he and Michael Kay harped on it again when Randall got tossed.  Jim Kaat, who is an excellent broadcaster, is, I think, sometimes too cerebral for his own good.  It’s not often that it’s going to make sense in the context of a game to allow a runner to reach base, often early in an inning, often with one or no outs.  So very often Jim Kaat, and many other broadcasters, forget that this is a team game, and there are 162 games to play.  Sometimes you have to put the team before the game.  Sometimes.

         I’m not a lip reader, so I don’t know what Posada was saying to Jason Johnson.  But immediately Kaat assumed Posada was yelling at him because he thought he hit him on purpose.  Maybe, but who knows?  It’s entirely possible that Posada was yelling something to the effect of – “Don’t try and come inside if you’re not getting your pitches over.  You’re gonna hurt somebody that way”.  In other words, he might not have thought he hit him on purpose, but after watching him knock down Jeter twice and then get hit himself, he was fed up.  Nobody likes to get hit.  Jeter and Giambi just missed a few games because of it.  Jeter wasn’t right for over a week.  If a pitcher is recklessly trying to pitch inside in a genuine effort to get guys out when he knows he’s having trouble locating, then it’s true.  He might hurt somebody.  Does that mean that the pitcher should stop trying to come inside?  No, not necessarily.  He’s still going to try and get guys out.  But you can understand why players would be annoyed by it.  And just like the pitchers have a right to come inside, a guy has a right to call you out if you can’t locate your pitches and yet you start throwing up and in.  So to sum that up, I have no issue with what either guy did.  So they get warnings.  I don’t love that rule either.  I don’t think anyone does.

        I loved what happened next.  Randall put one high and tight to Eduardo Perez, sending him sprawling to the ground.  Phenomenal.  Watching Randall stand up and fire a cannon shot on behalf of his teammate was a thing of beauty.  Camaraderie worth a thousand high fives or pats on the back.  And from a guy who supposedly didn’t get along with Posada.  That was a big moment for this team.  Kaat blamed Posada’s earlier “overreaction” for forcing Randall to retaliate, and continued to harp on the whole incident.  All of this while Yankee fans stood and roared their approval, their appreciation that one teammate was sticking his ugly, super-long neck out for another.  Michael Kay alertly brought up the fact that this team had been criticized for refusing to come inside at all, and rightfully so.  Time and again we have watched Jeter get plunked and plunked and plunked (see:  Boston Red Sox), while the Yankees just keep rolling merrily along.  This was a real shift in modus operandi.  Maybe they learned something from Mo in the Boston series a few weeks ago.  Either way, check the box next to “approve” for me.  And put Vino in that column as well, based on his comment yesterday.

         Worth noting that this was the very first time mlblogs chief Mark Newman has stopped by the BPS with a comment.  Welcome, Mark.  And just as a reminder – we’re the current holders of the “best community blog” award on mlblogs, and we still have the best community. 

         Levelboss and happymeds made a good point.  Wang deserves some all-star consideration.  We’ll see how Ozzie feels.  Ras, JD, did you guys get to watch this game?  The ESPN game was blacked out here in NY, but I think it was the Mets.  Speaking of the Mets, Grossman, nobody is catching them.  They are in preparation-for-the-playoffs-mode starting now.  Word of advice – find a way to rest Pedro and Glavine.  They aren’t going to last until October otherwise.  Rocco/Nick – not a bad night for the Unit, no?  I’ll take it even if he starts throwing up a lights-out start every other start.  Funny that he has as many wins as Sean’s boy, the Moose.  Lucky, I’ve done the LA- San Diego drive in 1 hour, and I’ve done it in 3 ½ hours.  That traffic is fascinating.

        Sole possession of first place, after the week we’ve had.  I will take it, take it, take it.  Seanny, un-cage your boy!

        I’m sitting in a hotel room in Toronto at the moment.  I was watching the Blue Jays beating up on the O’s, Halladay dealing all night.  After the game, they cut to bonus coverage of the Yankees game.  Farnsworth was on the mound with a man on second.  Instant heart attack.  Then I saw that there were two out.  Nice.  He got him with a good hard stuff.  Then I was pleasantly surprised when the good people at Rogers Sportsnet went back to the Blue Jays announcers for interviews, etc., and then went back to the Yankee game for the bottom of the eighth!  Without ever cutting to a commercial!  That was truly unbelievable.  Not only do the Yankees (and all US) broadcasts jam a million commercials into the games, but they also throw a million “in-game” commercials in there.  “Great play by Jeter.  Your tri-state Ford dealers remind you that they have great deals…..”  It’s pure torture.  And forget about the post-game shows.  Those are nothing but commercials.  Probably 75% of the post-game show is commercials.   After the 1-2-3 bottom of the eighth I called Acc.  He didn’t even begin with “hello”.  “When is A-Rod going to get going, bro?”  “I don’t know, dude.  But he’s starting to look real frazzled out there.”  It’s true.  It’s got to be getting to him. 

        What can you say?  It was fashionable over the last month or so to say how silly the national media, NY media, and Yankee fans have been for thinking that A-Rod is never clutch.  How can you put up those kinds of numbers without having any clutch hits, they said.  How can those ridiculous pundits believe that this guy hasn’t been just as clutch as anyone else, they said.  I don’t really have a good answer.  They have a point, but so does the other side.  Watch the games.  Believe me; nobody wants to root for him more than Yankee fans.  Yankee fans would love nothing more than to embrace the guy and put him right up on a pedestal with the other Yankee heroes.  I can tell you that there are no Yankee fans out there looking for reasons to be down on somebody, particularly a superstar.  The truth, if you watch the games, is that he just isn’t the guy you want up with the game on the line.  It isn’t as bad as people are making are making it out to be.  But once it gets in peoples heads, its hard t get it out.  We’re big law of averages people here at BPS, as most of the crew knows.  So I think there is an element of bad luck to go along with this.  We’ve seen it.  In the extra-inning Met game, A-Rod smashed a ball against Glavine with the bases juiced.  All Cliff Floyd could do was jump up and stick his glove in the air.  He couldn’t have hit it any harder, and Floyd would probably be the first one to tell you that if it were one foot to the right or left, he never would have made the play.  It would have cleared the bases and probably put the game out of reach.  Instead, third out.  The Yanks eventually lost in extras.  Sooner or later, he’s going to get a break on one of those.  But there are problems.  For one, he seems to swing and miss a lot.  Not foul balls off, not hit weak balls, but swing and miss.  That hurts him.  Strikeouts are killers.

        But tonight, Wang was the guy.  Still a pathetic, lifeless offense, but Wang did just what you need him to do when you only score one run.  You hold them to zero runs.  Not the first time he’s done that either.  Farnsworth and Mo deserve some credit too.  And Cano, of course.  As we said last week, Jeter has this pattern of getting hurt, playing hurt, not playing well while he’s hurt, and then finally snapping out of it.  Guavapaste touched on it with his comment yesterday.  I think the fact that he didn’t play the field for a while tells you how his wrist was really feeling.  Hopefully his two hits tonight are a sign that he’s ready to play again.  I didn’t even realize Giambi was hurt again while I was away.  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.  Melky, Thompson, and Phillips all in the lineup in the same time is one kid too many, as far as I’m concerned.  Maybe it’s me.

        As I’m typing, Boston has taken the lead against Minnesota in the top of the 12th.  Shocking.  I’ll say this about Boston.  I can’t even begin to count the number of times in the last few years that they pulled out a win after the Yankees had already won a game that would have put them in at least a tie for first.  They have a “desperation gear” that they kick into, I guess.  But they still always finish second when all is said and done.

        Umair, JD, nice town you have here.  Happymeds, has ESPN banished Gammons to “sideline duty” at the Sunday Night games?  You don’t see him on Baseball Tonight these days.  Rocco, finally a game worth staying up for.  It must be about 150 degrees in the sandbox by now.  Lucky, the sound you heard tonight was George agreeing to give Howard Rubenstein one more day before he releases the statement that they have probably already prepared.  Vino, the wedding was most likely an excuse to belly-up to the craps table.  Nick, I would like nothing more than to spank the Tribe with one collective BPS backhand.  Ras, what do you think?  Do we make a move?  Pitcher or outfielder?

        Grossman, what’s up with the US soccer team?  I wasn’t prepared for that kind of humiliation…

        Two more against the Tribe before “interleague month”.  I’d love to make them count.  Well look at that…  Just as I’m about to sign off, Jason Kubel hits a grand salami to win it for Minnesota.  Beautiful.  Things are looking up.  Welcome back to first place, boys. 

         The Mrs. and I aren’t early people.  That can’t be disputed.  It’s pathetic how lazy we can be sometimes.  In Puerto Rico we had room service delivering the breakfast around 11:30 or so.  The guy delivering it was always amazed when he came to the door that we had clearly just woken up and hadn’t even opened the shades yet.  On Friday we drifted down to the pool area at about 1:30.  Big Joe (father-in-law) and my brother-in-law (also Joe – Happy Birthday, dude) were already hanging out under the shady canopy.  My mother-in-law was getting her hair done.  That was the night of Joey Puma’s wedding, so she had already started to get ready.  But Big Joe and my brother-in-law had company.  There were about four boys hanging out with them.  They looked to be about 10 years old or so.  As soon as we got closer, Big Joe starts introducing them to us.  Not unusual for Big Joe.  He makes friends wherever he is, with people from 8 to 80.  They were at the place for summer camp.  School was already out down there, and most of the kids in the camp had parents who worked at the resort.  This was their lunch break.  “Take a guess who their favorite player is,” Big Joe says with a big smile on his face.  This was kind of an easy game.  I was in Puerto Rico, and my experience watching the World Baseball Classic told me that there was one guy who always got the loudest ovations from people in Puerto Rico.  He also happens to be my favorite Yankee, which was why Big Joe was smiling.  “Bernie Williams,” was my confident reply.  This time all of the kids smiled at once.  “Bernie,” they said with the magical eyes of kids wearing baseball gloves who were dreaming in broad daylight.  One of the guys was the son of the doctor for the resort.  His name was John Morales.  “The Yankees lost last night though,” he said.  “Happens sometimes,” I told him.  “I was at the game on Tuesday night.”  His smile broadened.  “Melky! You were there?”  “Yup.  And Bernie jacked one out.  Right field.”  At that point another guy walked over.  This guy was about 16 or so, and was one of the camp counselors, or leaders, or whatever you want to call them.  The kids all started hissing at him.  “He’s a Red Sox fan,” they yelled.  He had the sheepish look of a guy getting busted.  “I like Bernie Williams, I like Jorge Posada, but I like the Cubs and the Red Sox.”  Apparently the guy was a glutton for punishment.  I asked the obvious question.  “Why?”  At least he had a reason.  “The Yankees all have short hair.  The Red Sox have long hair and they’re crazy.”  I didn’t say it was a good reason.  Just then the kids were whisked away to start a baseball game, with a tennis racket serving as a bat and a tennis ball as the ball. 

        As I looked at the kids, I thought to myself that lots of Red Sox fans were born that way.  Born in New England and passed down the tradition of rooting for the Sox; generation to generation.  And that’s cool.  That’s what it’s all about.  But whenever you hear about someone who just decided to start rooting for them, they usually have a real misperception of things.  For a while all of the poets and artists had flocked to the Red Sox, reveling in the Sisyphean metaphor.  Then they won and all of those guys bailed.  You also got a lot of people that had this picture of them as the David to the Yankees Goliath.  Right.  The only team with a payroll that has, at times in the past five years, been even higher than the Yanks.  A team that went out and bought just about every single player on their championship team.  Trot Nixon being the only exception.  Even Wakefield started with the Pirates.  No Jeter's, Posada’s, Mariano's, Pettitte's, Bernie’s, or Soriano’s on that team.  The Yankees, in the 2003 World Series, started 6 of 9 players in the field that were home-grown.  But silly people will believe what they want to believe. 

        There was a piece in the Post today by Phil Mushnik about Luis Gonzales of the D-Backs.  Mushnik brought up how odd it was that Luis was able to be a 40 home run guy overnight when he averaged 16 bombs a year his first 6 years in the league.  Also mentioned how odd it was that his helmet size used to make him look like Kazoo from the Flintstones, but now his head seems considerably smaller.  What an interesting observation, on both counts.  Let’s see.  Who does that remind us of?  Hmmm.  If only I could think….

         So we were visited by “Soxfax” yesterday.  Always welcome, dude.  Interesting handle.  Soxfax @massenergy.us.  Couldn’t figure out if that was a work e-mail or what.  If it is, it’s pretty cool that they let him pick “soxfax” as the name.  As in, “I know lots of fax (facts) about the Sox.  Okay.  So let’s talk about the will to win.  Because apparently a guy who roots for the Red Sox is going to lecture us on winning.  But fine.  The will to win.  Soxfax wants us to believe that a team that took a series to 7 games, including two extra-inning games, didn’t have the will to win.  Dude, that’s all they had.  Our juicehead, Giambi, was not even on the roster, in a juice-induced debacle of pituitary tumors and “parasites.”  Yours was fully juiced and carrying this team on his back.  The Yanks had a lead, obviously, and fought to put it away every single game.  Right up until that fool Francona tried to get cute and throw in Pedro in game 7, and the Yanks started slapping him around, as usual.  Down 8 runs and they never quit.  You can’t win them all, dude.  No one can.  Not even the Mighty Yanks.  But they never quit.  If you want to talk about what a team with a strong will to win never does, it would probably make more sense to start with a team that doesn’t win any games in a series.  You know, like the Sox last year.  The same team that had a 6 game lead on the Yanks in the division, only to fold.  Again.  And lose the division to the Yanks.  Again.  And then go out with a whimper in the first round, swept off the table.  That’s what a team with no will to win is more likely to do.  But that’s not the best mark of a team without a strong will to win.  After all, any team can get hot for three or four games in a row.  So what would be the best mark of a team with no will to win?  What would a team with a strong will to win never do?  There’s really only one thing.  No team with a will to win goes 86 years without winning a single championship.

        So in the end, where is the magic?  Curt Schilling ate his words once upon a time when he said there was no mystique and aura about the Yankees.  Scott “Lenny Kozlowski” Brosius and Tino saw to that on two nights that were a shining escape in trying times for a weary city.  A million magic moments for the Yanks and their fans.  A million winners who own a million records.  You want to talk about other sports, there are other teams.  But in baseball, there is only one team.  The team that has nearly triple the trophies as the next closest team.  The team with the magic.

        I only had half a sandwich.  Even though Joey Puma was getting married in Puerto Rico, there was still going to be a monster pasta bar.  I had to pace myself.  As I nibbled on my fries we heard a loud pop, followed by a sustained cheer.  As we looked over at the ballgame the kids were playing, we watched one of the kids running the bases after hitting a shot deep to the outfield.  As he raced around, the outfielders scrambled to get the ball in.  It was going to be close.  The older kid, the Red Sox kid, was trying to get back and cover the plate.  He was too late.  The base runner flew past him and crossed the plate, immediately mobbed by the others.  Big Joe yelled from our canopy.  “Hey John Morales!  Nice shot, kid!”  John Morales waved and smiled.  You could recognize the look in his eye in an instant.  Magic.   

       What the h*ll happened?  I leave for four days and the Yankees go 0-4?  I leave these guys alone for 10 minutes and all h*ll breaks loose?  Acc was sending me some text messages with the scores, but then stopped as things got too depressing.  I’m trying to thumb through some of the box scores to re-piece some of the carnage, and it’s not crystal clear, but it appears to be the same old story.  The best result I got was the rainout Wednesday night. 

       This story is going to be tough to shake for the rest of the year.  Lots of your comments spoke to the fact that the team looked listless and flat starting with the Schilling game.  I have a feeling the Sheffield news sapped a lot of the energy from the team, as I know it took some of the zip out of my step.  It’s one thing to have some kids come up temporarily and play with a shot of reckless energy and passion, but it’s entirely another to know with certainty that two of your best RBI guys are on the shelf until September.  That’s a tough pill to swallow.  Which brings me back to my point.  We’ve seen a lot of this for the last few weeks.  Plenty of guys finding their way on base, not enough boppers to hit them in.  Most of the time we’ve gotten away with it.  But as I’ve mentioned in prior posts, we’re directly in the teeth of the schedule.  We just finished a stretch of 46 games in which we played a total of 8 games against teams with losing records.  That’s when the flaws show.  There will be periods of lull this year.  I dare say we’ve found one. 

       So three against Cleveland and then nothing but interleague until the fourth of July?  Whose idea was that?  Good time for the Yanks to put their money where my mouth is.  I’ve been dogging the National League all year, particularly the pathetic NL East.  Now’s the NL’s chance to shut me up.  But realistically I expect to do a lot of winning in that span.

        Another thing that bothers me about the current situation.  The same way the Sheffield news is going to feel like a weight on the Yanks’ back, it’s going to inevitably empower the opposition.  Although nobody’s rooting for injuries, of course, think what an emotional lift it must be to realize your archrival, the same team that has finished ahead of you for 8 straight years, the team you will always be chasing, will be without two of their best clutch run-producers will be sidelined for the next three months.

        I was glad to see that we had some lively chatter on the comments while I was gone.  Navinka, known more commonly on this blog as Vino, his boy jrob, and Happymeds.  Jrob, you ask an excellent question.  Unfortunately, Vino gave you half a story.  I’ll take the blame for that.  If I had made it to Grossman’s birthday party last week, I could have straightened him out.  Happy birthday Grossman, by the way.  Jrob, allow me to give you the official BPS answer to your question, which Happymeds has represented quite well, actually.  The BPS makes absolutely no bones about Giambi and Sheff being on HGH.  The BPS crew has always been out front when it came to acknowledging that fact.  I’ve selected two posts that I think best represent the BPS position.  Take a look when you get a chance.

1) “Enter the Moose” April 20, 2006
2) “Eve of the Clash” May 9, 2006   

        In a nutshell, we absolutely think Giambi and Sheffield are on juice, and we’ve said so many times.  As the two posts above have put forth, we are admittedly tougher on Big HGH than we are on Giambi and Sheffield.  The reason for this is not that they have admitted it.  Sheffield has, in fact, not admitted it, and is using the Bonds excuse of “If I used some cream by accident it’s because I didn’t know what was in it.”  Which is hilariously bogus.  And Giambi has not come out any more publicly than the famous apology for “something.”  So we’re not saying they get a pass because they admitted it, or even that they get a pass.  But they have taken heat for it.  Whenever Giambi and Sheffield do something big, the cloud lingers over their heads.  As well it should.  You see it in the national media, in the opposing ballparks, etc.  Our problem with Big HGH lies in the fact that he has not taken any heat for it.  The uninformed city of Boston has refused to see the nose in front of their face.  They revel in a championship that was carried on the very shoulders that were enhanced by illegal means.  They cheer blindly and endlessly for Ortiz’s accomplishments and he gets to be the beneficiary of all this adulation without any questions.  But if they opened up their eyes they would see what the rest of us see.  My buddy El Majic (pronounced el Ma’ Jheek’), from Boston called me a while back after reading about Ortiz on the BPS.  He’s a huge Red Sox fan, and acknowledges that its’ highly likely that Ortiz is using HGH.  He also said you never hear even a whisper of it in Boston.  He wanted to make it clear, though, that it’s not because Boston fans refuse to acknowledge that one of their own might be on juice.  He cited a number of his buddies a few years back in Nomar’s heyday that all thought that Nomar did juice.  Majic (also known as the Magic Man) says that it’s just never occurred to anybody in Boston.  Fair point.  It hasn’t occurred to a lot of people outside of Boston either.  The national media was blindsided last week with all of the news about HGH.  Completely blindsided.  Nobody in the BPS world was blindsided by it.  We’ve been talking about it here since last year.  Enough on that.  Again, it was a good, fair question, jrob.  Take a look at the posts I linked when you get a chance.

        Saif, welcome back.  Another good question.  The two teams have been so evenly matched over the last few years that it’s scary.  Almost dead even over the last 5, 6, 7 years.  And yet you know what’s funny?  The Yankees win the division every single year.  Last year made 8 in a row.  Anyone want to know why?  I’ll tell you.  Anyone can tell you that the Yanks are always portrayed as the big money machine, and the Red Sox have managed to falsely position themselves as the “little engine that could” (go ask the Royals, Pirates, and Brewers how “little” they thing the “engine” is….)  But the truth is that the Yankees never play the games that way.  Year after year after year, the Yankees have been playing harder, smarter, and with more passion.  It can’t be argued.  The results bear it out.  And it starts with the captain.  There has not been a player on the Red Sox in the last ten years with as much will to win as Derek Jeter.  The most lasting picture for this era will always be Jeter flying into stands to catch a ball in extra innings while Nomar sat and watched from the dugout, out with a hangnail.  No different this year.  There were the Red Sox again, all sitting around waiting to be bailed out by Manny or Ortiz, and this time it was Melky Cabrera, running for all he was worth to steal a homerun.  The will to win.  Sure, the Red Sox were able to win one championship to the Yankees’ four over the last ten years, but they can thank the wild card and “right place, right time” for that.  The true measure of the better team lies in who finishes first after 162.

        Good day for a day off, boys.  We need to right this d*mn ship.

        “Acc, just remind me that Ortiz is going to make an out.”  He shook and head and stared in towards Farnsworth.  The big boy and I had our mojos crossed up a bit.  He was working on “the reversal” all night, but wasn’t having much luck with it.  I had successfully called Bernabe’s bomb while rubbing Robbie Wonderful’s head for luck.  It caused quite a stir in section 24, actually, with plenty of people looking over in amazement as Tony Sherry was pronouncing to the whole section that I had just called Bernie’s home run.  What I wasn’t going to tell the whole section was that I do that (declare that somebody is about to hit a home run) all the time, and probably do it about a full third of Bernie’s at-bats for the season.  But that was history.  At this juncture I was trying to figure out if Ortiz was going to catch up to the 2-2 pitch, because Acc was blocking me by working on his “I refuse to say anything” mojo.  But luckily, in the spirit of a good reliever, Mikey Rumble jumped in.  “He’s going to make out,” he said.  “And I’ll rub the Yankee tattoo for luck to seal it.”  Interesting touch, I thought.  But I was glad to be able to continue my “predicting the positive outcome” mojo.  And apparently Mikey Rumble was under the impression that his rubbing of his Yankee tattoo perfected the positive outcome prediction.  Okay by me.  I was anxious to see how it worked out, because you can’t be too careful with Big HGH at the plate.  That’s when, of course, Farnsworth blows his doors off with a 98 mph heater, sending him cursing back to the bench.  Fantastic.  We exploded in section 24.  All night, starting with Bernie’s crandandalicious big fly into right, Robbie Wonderful and Mike and Tony Sherry, who were in the front row, acted as the supporting pillars for me, the big boy, Mikey Rumble and the Corvetti brothers, who were crashing down on top of them every time we started really going bananas.  But here in the eighth, we weren’t out of the woods yet.  Two down and Manny to go.  “Mike Rumble, right Manny’s going to make the last out here?  Mike Rumble!”  As usual, Mikey Rumble was distracted by something that amused him.  He’s always caught up in his own fun.  Ordinarily, I’m one-hundred percent in favor of it, by the way.  But right now we needed to take care of business.  “Mike Rumble!” I yelled one more time.  We had already missed a pitch.  It was 1-0.  “He’s going to make out, he’s going to make out,” Mike Rumble finally replied, repeating himself.  Not sure if he was doing it out of urgency, sensing that I wasn’t fooling around, or if was just naturally repeating himself, as he will do sometimes.  He’s kind of our version of “Jimmy Two-Times” from Goodfellas.  But as Farnsworth started his windup, Mike Rumble was again distracted, and thus failed to rub the tattoo to perfect the mojo.  Problem.  As Farnsworth was releasing the ball, and with Mike Rumble’s attention being a distant memory, I had to take it upon myself to lean over and grab the tattoo as the bat was connecting with ball.  Luckily for me it’s on his leg and not anywhere more invasive, because I’m not sure where I draw the line to get the Yanks a favorable outcome.  But anyway, I’m fairly certain you know the rest of that sequence.  Needless to say, 10 seconds later we were all piled on top of the Sherry brothers and Robbie Wonderful going absolutely bonkers.  As Mike Sherry and I discussed after the game, that’s the hardest any of us ever remember cheering for an out; at least one that didn’t end a game.

        Good moment for Manny when he came out to play the field after the catch.  All of the fans in our general vicinity were crushing him, and he kind of smiled over at us and mimicked lifting dumbbells, as if to say, “ I know, I know, I need to hit the weight room and put an extra three feet on that ball.”  We all got a chuckle out of it.  My impression of Manny has always been that he is not mean-spirited in what he does.  He’s just a knucklehead, and very careless, so he’ll do things that he should know better than to do.  So he’s going to p*ss people off.  And he does.  But at least he’s good-natured about it.

        Everyone has been gushing about the performance that David Pauley turned in tonight.  Rightfully so.  The kid pitched very well.  Strike after strike after strike.  And ground balls galore.  A nice job.  But it’s funny; all of the kudos being thrown to him for being able to stand in there against this tough team and a tough veteran pitcher like….um….well, Wang.  What about Wang?  Easy to forget the performance Wang turned in against another tough team, who also happened to be a lot healthier than the Yanks.  And he’s just two years older than Pauley.  It’s as if people have come to expect it of Wang, a guy who came out of nowhere and has been in the majors exactly a year.  Take it as a good thing, because that’s what it is.  Wang, Melky, Phillips, and Cano continue to shine.  Too bad the Yankees traded away all of their prospects long ago for high-priced veterans, and left their talent pool bereft of any shred of long-term hope….  Dispelling Yankee myths, one at a time.

        I don’t know what will become of the rest of this series, but we’ve accomplished the first goal.  That is to hang in there while the team gets healthier.  Right now, “hanging in there” means sitting in first place by one and a half games.  Boys, I will take it.  Maybe it’s too early, and I’m certainly not trying to put the whammy on this, but it may not be that this current iteration of the Yanks is only good enough to hang on.  Maybe they have hit on a good mix of youth and veteran leadership, of power and versatility, of speed and defense.  Maybe this team as we see it is good enough to do some real damage.  It certainly has looked that way over the last few weeks.  They’re making this season very interesting.

         Excellent comments over the past few days, boys.  I was glad to see all of the familiar handles.  Welcome back Lt. and Umair.  Rocco, this one was worth staying up for.  Ras, keep floating my friend.  Seanny, we missed you tonight.  And I blew it because it was my job to get dippin dots roundabout the 7th inning, and we were all so caught up in the events leading up to the Giambi walk that I neglected to get them.  My bad.  No excuses.  That’s dippin dots I owe everybody next time.  H810, I guess sometimes Mo is so good he can pitch to you a hundred times and you’re still not going to hit it.  And all with one pitch.  Nick, well said, welcome the official newest Yankee, the Melk Man.  By the way, how great was the enthusiasm by Johnny Delicious when Melk-Man reeled that in?  Lucky, we got one, dude.  And with a bunch of new gear that has so far proven itself undefeated.  Raoul, always appreciate you taking the time to comment.  The answer to your question though, is no.  But they might only raise it half-mast if half the team is injured and we still kick your *ss.  I’ll have to check with the Stadium people on that.

        Unfortunately boys, I will be in Puerto Rico for the next few days for Joey Puma’s wedding.  Not sure about the connectivity, so you may not hear from me again until Sunday.  Keep the comments humming, though.  That’s the most interesting part of the BPS. 

        Good game.  Good week.  Keep it going Yanks. 

         Let me take you back a bit.  The date was May 9, 2006.  The newest marquee Red Sox acquisition, Josh Beckett, was enjoying a crowning moment at the Stadium.  He was polishing off what he and the Red Sox were considering to be an outstanding pitching performance.  But Yankee fans were significantly less impressed.  He had gotten smacked around in the first two innings, until his team gave him a 7 run lead, and then all of the sudden he’s lights out.  But fine, he settled down.  So with two outs in the seventh, the score 11-3 in favor of the Red Sox, Beckett gets a called strike three on Bernie Williams to end the inning.  That’s when he showed his true colors.  To the bewilderment of the Yankee fans in attendance and watching at home, as soon as strike three is called, he charges off the mound thrusting his fist in the air, his face contorted as he poses, screaming….  Not just a woo-hoo, mind you.  He stands there screaming in an “I-just-got-out-of-a-bases-loaded, nobody-out-jam-in-game-7” sort of way.  I remember sitting there thinking what a total d*uchebag this guy was.  I couldn’t understand what that was all about.  Why would you do that?  What a situation-inappropriate moment.  Then it all came into focus.  Why all of his former Marlin teammates had thrown him under the bus when he left.  Why his former coaches were decidedly lukewarm when talking about him.  It wasn’t because he didn’t have talent.  It wasn’t because they felt he couldn’t play the game.  What would be so stark about this guy so as to create all of this bad blood with his teammates, the guys he spends all of his time with?  The guys he’s supposed to be hanging with?  Simple.  He’s just an *sshole. 

         And well, well, well.  If you learn one thing watching the Yanks and Red Sox, it’s not to get too high, and not to get too low.  Everything looked so perfect for Beckett and the Sox that night in early May.  The Sox were savants!  Beckett was a lock for the Cy Young!  Thomas Jefferson himself couldn’t have matched the brilliance of the Red Sox front office in bringing Beckett to Fenway.  Pure genius!  Beckett was on top of the world!  Not so fast, you silly, unlikable, immature man. 

        Tonight was what happens next.  The Yankee equivalent of what Philly Leotardo’s crew did to Vito Spatafore in the Fort Lee hotel room.  If you can draw a picture in your mind of Beckett on the mound getting absolutely pounded deeper and deeper into the pitcher’s mound clay by Yankee bats, that’s pretty much what I’m talking about.  Couldn’t have happened to a better guy.  Now maybe you learned your lesson, punk.  You may have some good nights every so often, but this is still the New York Yankees, and you will never be. 

        Beckett.  What a perfect complement to Schilling, famously of the “he’s a horse on the day he pitches, a horses *ss on the other four days,” description from his own organization.  What a perfect fit on such an unlikable team.    He joins Boomer, who has been decidedly less jolly since he left the only team he ever really wanted to play for.  He joins Manny, who everybody in Boston feels they have to pretend is loveable, while they all know that he’s really just as maddening as anything else, and Varitek, who might be the biggest whiner in the game.  I don’t know much about Loretta, but his demeanor reminds me of “Debbie Downer” from Saturday Night Live.  I have no beef with Youkilis.  Big Papi is certainly loveable, as evidenced by his joking around with Cano after Cano stole a hit from him via the shift.  Nobody says you can’t be loveable just because you do HGH.  Coco Crisp has spent his whole career being surly, and Trot Nixon has less personality than the Green Monster.  Way less.  And of course, there’s Private Papelbon.  “Your *ss looks like a hundred pounds of chewed bubble gum, Papelbon!”  Let’s call them Team Unpleasant. 

        We should really talk about Andy Phillips.  The kid has been a truly solid bat.  He has to be in the running for AL player of the week.  And how about Melky Cabrera and his best buddy Robbie Cano supplying the singles.  The kids have contributed.

        I just got off the phone with Acc.  He’s worried that the Yanks used up all of their runs tonight, and we’re not going to see any tomorrow against the rookie.  We’ll certainly have enough firepower in the stands.  Throughout the stadium tomorrow will be The Sherry brothers, the big boy, me, Pat Corvetti, Robbie Wonderful, and Mikey Rumble.  Section 24 magic.

         I want to hear all of the comments, boys.  Let 'em rip.  Apparently Level and Ras were addressing their comments to somebody named Mike.  Mike? 

         Sean, Moose is 8-1, with a 2.67 ERA.  Beautiful.  Your boy came through.

         Vino hit it with a late comment, and he’s absolutely right.  The best part about tomorrow night will be looking up at the flags and seeing the Yankee flag lead-left in first-place, and the Red Sox flag flying sadly next to it.  Again.

        It’s getting pretty interesting, I have to admit.  The Yankees, baseball’s version of the Biblical “Job”, have pulled off one of the most impressive runs I’ve seen in the last few years, given the circumstances.  Five wins on a seven game road trip.  A trip that saw Jeter, Sheffield, A-Rod, Giambi, and the Ferocious Lion miss significant time, at least two full games each.  That’s the number 2, 3, 4, 5, & 6 hitters in the lineup, by the way.  And even when they did drag their sorry *sses out there, most of the time they were playing hurt.  Add to that Mariano Rivera and Chacon, and the resulting replacement team becomes a pale imitation of the New York Yankee juggernaut.  Forget that Posada and Damon are both playing with pretty significant injuries that would, under normal circumstances, most likely have them on the DL.  I really don’t know what to think.  I have a hard time believing they can keep this up.  The lineup at the end of the game today looked like a spring training game.  An early spring training game.  The Red Sox are coming in for four games and we’re sending the 4077th out to play.  The Sox are almost perfectly healthy.  Yawn.  Fine, Willy Mo Pena is hurt.  Who cares.  He doesn’t even start.  And Boomer.  But let’s not kid ourselves... 

       Even in the two games the Yankees lost on this road trip, you saw the manifestation of the injuries.  If Mo is there to close on Thursday night, perhaps we get a better result.  If Chacon was healthy enough to pitch today, we don’t have to suffer through the “come down to Earth” phase of Aaron Small’s Yankee career.  Even when the Yanks have won they’ve shown the chiinks in their armor.  Three blown saves in their last four games.  Hits upon hits with not nearly enough runs to show for it.  Vino pointed it out with a very astute comment last week.  No blowouts.  They’ve had at least 10 hits in each of their last 11 games.  They haven’t done that since 1937, apparently.  But no blowouts.  And some games have only seen a few runs.  Makes sense.  All of the RBI guys are sick, hurt, or DL’d.  No boppers to knock in those 10-plus hits.   The team has been winning with resolve and determination.  Getting by on contributions from everyone in the lineup, up and down.  Rookies, kids, guys off the heap. 

        So what to expect from this week’s series?  Tough to say.  It’s tempting to say that a split makes sense, because these two teams always play so tight.  The truth is that when you see the teams that will be on the field, the Yanks are going to be at a distinct disadvantage.  Sheffield and the Lion are out, obviously.  A-Rod and Giambi, even if they play, will still be bothered by this flu they’ve had.  A-Rod was useless out there today.  Jeter may not play because of the ding he took on the hand today, and when he does come back from this type of thing he usually rushes back, rendering him ineffective for a few games.  Posada and Damon are still playing hurt.  That’s seven guys out of nine that will be compromised.  Unless we get a few more lights-out performances from Moose & co., we’re going to have to find a real creative way to pull out a few wins.  Now would be a good time for a rain-out, come to think of it. 

       If the Red Sox were smart, they would throw everything they had at trying to achieve some separation right here, right now.  They have not done a great job capitalizing.  As of today they have played 28 games against teams with an above .500 record, and they have gone 14-14.  The Yankees have played 26 games against teams with an above .500 record and have gone 15-11.  Add to that the fact that the Red Sox haven’t played the Angels or A’s yet, while the Yanks have already played 9 games against them.  Those two teams have struggled so far, but they’re going to play a lot better as the season progresses.  The Yanks have been into the teeth of their schedule and they have been annihilated by injuries.  After all of that, the Red Sox are exactly a half game up.  That doesn’t bode well for them.  They need to take three of four here while they have an opening.  I’m here to say I hope they don’t.

        I was talking to Tony Sherry on the phone today while flipping back and forth from the Yankees to the Mets game.  We were both commenting that the Mets seem to be playing with a magic cloud of dust over their heads.  That was before they pulled off two stunning comebacks to almost steal the game today.  They remind me a lot of the ’03-’04 Red Sox.  Every time you looked up that team was pulling off another beyond-belief come-back, walk-off win.  I remember Chris Woy telling me he stopped watching Sportscenter, because every night was another clip of the Red Sox jumping up and down at home plate.  The Mets have that same mojo this year.  Every time you look up, there are the Mets, jumping up and down at home plate.  Don’t know how it will end for the Mets, but that two-year run of the Red Sox ended with the ultimate come-back, and then down, down, down to just another team…  I guess the Mets fans would take that, but this town doesn’t get impressed by anything short of a dynasty.

        I watched some of the Cleveland/Angels game with Big Joe (father-in-law) tonight.  Before Sopranos, of course.  Interesting sequence of events with Travis Hafner.  He got on base via a catcher’s interference early on.  After the inning, one of the Angels coaches came out to argue that Hafner was standing out of the batters box.  Miller and Morgan picked up on it in the booth, and focused on where he was standing (way out of the batters box) and what the umps were doing about it (very little).  Good piece from ESPN.  Its one thing for the umps to look the other way when a guy is out of the batters box, but it shouldn’t get to the point where a batter is taking first because he’s so far back that it’s causing his bat to hit the catcher’s mitt.  And ESPN’s cameras clearly showed that he’s way too far back.  Quick note on the nickname “Pronk.”  Derived from “Project Donkey,” apparently.  And it has become a pretty commonly known nickname.  Which is good, because last year the Cleveland baseball-dorks would get way over-excited just saying it.  Which was annoying.  Also can’t help but notice that the guy looks pretty enormous in his uniform.  And his head looks awfully tight in that helmet.  Just saying…

        So here we go again.  Moose vs. Beckett on Monday.  Did anybody else realize that Beckett has a 4.46 ERA?  Whoa.  Let’s hope Moose keeps his train rolling.  I have to laugh.  Big HGH can’t wait to bring his .261 batting average into the Stadium.  Just the tonic he needs.  Anyone want to bet he hits .400 for the series?  Me & the boys will be there on Tuesday night.  Looks like it will be Wang vs. somebody named David Pauley.  Anyway, first things first.  Seanny!  Turn your boy loose!   

        Four short dings of the bell.  Having been on enough planes in my life, I knew that meant that we were at ten-thousand feet.  Starting the final descent.  I looked out the window.  Nothing.  Low cloud cover.  I wasn’t surprised.  I was lucky to be here at all.  Every flight into LaGuardia, including my 6:15 Delta, was canceled.  This Continental flight, originally scheduled for 8pm or so, got off the ground around 10:30, and was due to touch down in Newark at around quarter-to-one.  Not unlike the night before, when I sat on the runway for four-and-a-half hours before finally taking off.  This weather had been wreaking havoc on my schedule.  But at least I was almost home.  I looked around the plane.  Most everybody was asleep.  My reading lamp lit the dull glow of the cabin.  I glanced back down at the paper.  Farnsworth.  Ugh. 

        As I glided on the moving walkway at Newark, I turned on my phone to see if my car was here.  Three messages.  Two were the Mrs, and the last was the car.  Nice.  As I glanced down at the phone to end the call, I saw that I also had a text message.  Acc.  Here it is, I thought, before I tapped the “show” button.  “W 6-5.”  How about that.  After eighteen hours in two days of sitting around waiting in airports and airplanes, things were looking up, courtesy of the Big Boy.

        I didn’t see either of these last two games, obviously, but I somehow wasn’t surprised to learn that two more indispensable stars were sidelined.  And somehow I don’t mind.  This law of averages thing never stops.  Most likely you’re not going to see the same pace of injuries all year long.  This is bound to level off, and I’d rather get it out of the way now.  If the Yanks can stay competitive through this mess, which they have so far, I’d rather it now than October.  Besides, it may serve to get these guys some rest so they’re not totally zapped come October.  Tough to say.  But for now, winning four out of five on this road trip is a good sign.  The competition hasn’t been that good (I know that sounds funny when one of the teams has the best record in baseball, but let’s be honest), but you still need to win. 

        Last I checked, we had 31 comments on the last BPS post.  That is what I am talking about.  That’s rip-the-shirt-off-and-double flex stuff.  Great stuff.  I couldn’t be more psyched. 

       Don’t know how many of you have been following Mollie’s posts regarding the Bonds/juice-in-general issue, but I’ll do a little bit on it, since I’ve got time on this rare weekend post (I told you I would owe you one).  I figure it’s the least I can do, since it took me about three hours to read the two or three volumes she put together.  Ras, stop reading here, because I know this stuff isn’t your area of interest.  Mollie raised some arguments that I think are a good representation of her hesitation to entirely dismiss the juiceheads.  Mollie, I apologize if I’m oversimplifying or missing the points you are bringing up, but many of us here at the BPS are the type of guys who weren’t particularly diligent about doing our homework, so I’m assuming many of these guys aren’t going to go back and read all of your stuff. 

       The documents that Red Sox Chick linked on her comment were the official docs that showed that MLB did indeed ban all “illegal controlled substances.”  What she didn’t post, and I don’t know where someone could find it, was the statement that Fay Vincent made accompanying the docs, outlining the fact that steroids were definitely included in the rule, and effectively outlawed in baseball.  But to look at the documents themselves, they are what they are.  The rules.  To take an “aw-shucks, they don’t sound like they really mean it, wink-wink, and besides, everybody’s doing it” approach isn’t going to cut it.  You start down that road, where does it end?  They are, and were, illegal.  Like BPS contributor Mike Sherry likes to say, the rules don’t explicitly say that you can’t shoot a guy in the face when he’s trying to steal third, but you can’t do it just the same.  You can’t really compare it to a catcher showing up with protective equipment or a swimmer shaving his body hair, because the guy next to him can look at him and say, “Why didn’t I think of that,” and walk right back into the locker room and shave his body hair.  There's certainly nothing illegal about it, and if there’s no rule against it, it’s fair game.  The same can be said for a guy wearing padding or even a guy taking a legal muscle builder.  Not illegal, no rule against it, it’s fair game. 

       For me, to fully understand how juice affects the game, you need to understand the three important things that need to happen for somebody to succeed with juice.  Without all of these things, the entire topic would be moot. 

       First, someone has to make a decision to use an illegal performance-enhancing substance.  Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the no-kidding lounge.  My name is Obvious Ollie, and I’ll be your host.  But it’s important because somebody needs to decide to break the rules.  It is also important because the Latin players, the Tejada’s, Pudge Rodriguez’s, David Ortiz’s etc., can get their hands on them legally in Latin America, but here in the USA it’s illegal contraband.  That means it gets into the country in some pretty seedy ways, right along with narcotics, in many cases.  When you realize the underworld that swirls around the stuff, they start to look a lot less benign.

       The second thing you need to do is lie about it.  Crucial.  You have to deny you are taking them, either tacitly or outright.  Are you taking steroids, Mr. Bonds?  “No, sir, Mr. Authority Figure.  And by the way go Eff yourself.”  Sure, you can try the “I won’t dignify that with a response” route, but you’re still lying.  The implication is that the question is so ridiculous, and the answer is so obviously “no,” that it doesn’t even require an answer.  They are illegal, first of all.  So if you admit it you are admitting to breaking the law.  Doesn’t happen.  There is exactly nobody out there saying, “Yeah, I’m doing it, but you’re never going to get me for HGH because you can’t test my blood, so I’m going to continue to make a mockery of your league."   So the result is that everybody that does juice is not only a cheater but a liar.  Everybody.

       The last point is probably the most crucial.  For the juice to be a factor, it is predicated on the necessity that other players are not doing it.  It needs to give you an unfair advantage.  Otherwise, the playing field would be level and the juice wouldn’t matter.  Take the case of Mollie’s football-playing friend, who had the heart and determination to work harder than anyone else, but physical limitations that kept him from competing at the highest levels.  It would be tempting to say that if he were willing to risk his own health to improve (with juice), he would have earned that right by virtue of the fact that he worked harder than the other guys in the first place.  The truth is that for Mollie’s friend to gain the edge, it would hinge on the fact that the other guys would have to be playing by the same rule that he had chosen to break, because that would be the only way he would be able to gain on them.  Otherwise, they would all grow in proportion to one another, and he would still come up just a bit short.  The only logical conclusion to this cycle would be everybody juicing, because all involved felt that the competitive landscape demanded it.   Lots of folks, including some of the BPS crew, have commented about an all-juice league.  Do as much juice as you want, boys.  Sure, you would have to stretch the fields out a little, but the playing field would be level.  Sort of.  You might get extremes, like guys stacking 10 different substances on top of HGH.  And you may get a few guys keeling over dead on their way from first to third.  Think of the ratings.

       The interesting thing about the juice is not just that it’s another form of cheating; it’s that it’s been about the most effective form of cheating.  It works.  Look at the results.  The home runs, the records.  Spitballs, extra gear, corked bats; these things are probably more psychological.  There is a lot to the psychological effects of juicing as well, but it is clear from the results that it makes you a better competitor.  And it’s illegal.  That’s why we’re talking about it.  That’s why it’s never a bad or tired subject to talk about.  It’s relevant.  There probably hasn’t been any development in sports in the last century that has had as great an impact as the juice.   

       Mollie, feel free to comment.  Appreciate you taking the time to comment and link.  And by the way, you can post as long a comment as you want at BPS.  We’ll take them any way you want to give them.