What a boring few hours.
The Yankees lost to a team with no offense – a team that scored all its runs on ground-outs.
A.J. had 97 pitches through five innings (or something like that), thanks to numerous walks. He didn’t implode, however, and held the M’s in check even when they threatened.
Our bullpen, on the other hand, coughed up a couple of runs of their own. I’m talking about Boone and Ayala. Why Girardi didn’t call for Robertson with bases loaded and nobody out – Robertson being the guy whose specialty is getting us out of those situations – is beyond me. I guess his binder told him it was only the sixth inning. Jeez. Way to not use your gut, Joe.
Our inability to score with men on base continues to baffle. Almost everybody looked pathetic at the plate, despite the lack of command by the Mariners’ highly touted rookie pitcher Pineda. But the most painful thing to watch for me was when Nunez went in to pinch-run for Jorge, stole second, then got picked off. The kid was asleep at the switch and it made me mad.
Maybe it was all my fault. The Yankees were ahead in the game when I got greedy. It had been a warm, sunny day here in Santa Barbara – our first real taste of summer – and I said to Michael, “Let’s get some hot fudge sundaes.”
He thought it was a great idea, got in the car and drove off to our local place, picked up the sundaes and brought them home. Just as we started to eat them, Boone/Ayala gave up the lead. So I blame myself…and these.