It's after midnight and I'm having a hard time digesting the Yankees 8-0 loss to the Texas Rangers (not pictured).
Cliff Lee (who hopefully will be donning pinstripes next year) threw an absolute masterpiece.
It's a game that you MAY have expected to lose or at least struggle in.
And yet, here I sit at 12:25 disgusted and unable to sleep.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I fully recognize how silly the love of sports can be.
In my mind, I can do all the jumping jacks to talk myself down from being upset.
It's just a game.
One you didn't play in.
They'll get 'em tomorrow night.
You can't win every year.
Doesn't work.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To my credit, I've gotten better.
The year was 1995.
The Yankees had NEVER won a playoff game in my lifetime.
It was Don Mattingly's last season.
Game 5 of the opening round against Seattle.
The Yankees are UP in extra innings and for SOME ungodly reason, Buck brings in Jack McDowell to close it out.
Why?
Many people remember, Edgar Martinez doubled to drive in Ken Griffey Junior and end the Yankees' season in heartbreak.
What you may not have known is that a 14-year old boy in Hollywood, Florida dropped to his knees and wept.
I mean loudly sobbed.
I'm not sure if I cried that hard when my grandparents died (I realize how awful that sounds).
My parents gave me the lecture.
It's just a game.
There will be others.
You can't live your life like this.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
But I have, for the most part.
I've toned it down a bit.
Having a job, a girlfriend, and a life help.
But they're not the end-all, be-all.
The Yankees have carved themselves an immovable piece in my heart.
Watching their games is part of my identity.
More importantly for me, it brings normalcy and routine to the world.
The 162 game grind has them there for me every day, to follow the box scores, losing streaks, and wins.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And then there's the baseball playoffs.
So much tension in every single pitch.
Each moment can literally be the difference between a season's life or death.
With the Yankees everything is magnified because of their payroll, history and expectations.
Plus, they're old.
You never know when or if these guys will be back again.
There are no moral victories in the Bronx.
You're either champs or bums.
There is no middle ground.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And so I sit.
Staring at the beautiful skyline of downtown Miami.
My awesome girlfriend sleeps peacefully in the bed.
And all I can think about is why Girardi is throwing AJ instead of CC on 3 days' rest.
There's a reason fan is short for fanatic.
And such is my life!
ReplyDelete