I was sitting there watching the game by myself, musing about how well A.J. was pitching, thinking how wonderful it was that the Yankees were scoring actual runs, delighting in the power of Curtis Granderson, speculating that the team enjoys playing in the warmer confines of Tropicana Field, when suddenly…
Well, you know what happened: A.J. had a complete and utter meltdown. Just like the bad old days.
What you don’t know is that minutes before his dreadful inning, I glanced out my living room window and saw a half-dozen vultures flying overhead. Yes, vultures. Turkey buzzards. Big disgusting birds that prey on the dead.
I’m not kidding. I live way up in the hills where we do have a lot of wildlife; the birds could certainly have spotted a squirrel or rabbit and decided to dine on my lawn. But here’s what I think: they were watching the Yankees too and I was starring in some sort of horror movie.
I tweeted my fears to my Yankee tweeps. They responded that I wasn’t hallucinating and that vultures or no vultures the boys did find a new way to lose.
If only we could have scored after the Grandy homer. If only Girardi had pulled A.J. sooner. If only we had a healthy bullpen. If only A-Rod would stop striking out. If only, if only.
Can you imagine if George were alive? Someone would get fired or, at the very least, threats would be made. Hank piped up, but it was pretty tame stuff.
As I said last night, the ugliness will stop eventually. There’s just no telling how long it will last. I wouldn’t mind if Nunez would stop making throwing errors in the meantime.