Yanks 8, Rangers 7

I am sitting here, and I am stunned.

How many times did the game seem to be wrapped up, one way or another? When Giambi came up into the second, 2-0 Yanks, Jeter and Damon aboard, and hit the ball deep into the Texas twilight, bringing us all out of our seats, thinking 5-0, a cinch?

I was thinking double, minimum, with both of those scooters running. 4-0, at least. Then Sarge, Jr. camped under the long fly . . .

And suddenly, millions of Yankee fans were on the same page: the Yanks might let this one get away, after all.

Then? Seventh inning. 4-2 Rangers. Damon on first, nobody out, Jeter up, full count. Once again, all of us, same page: Torre will certainly start Damon.

Four possible scenarios: With a base hit, Damon goes to third, none out, with Giambi and A-Rod up. Ground-out, Damon on second, one out. Strikeout, Damon on second, one out. Walk, first and second, none out, Giambi and A-Rod due up.

Answer: None of the above. Strike out, throw out. Two outs, nobody on. One batter later, inning over. Game over, right?

Not so fast. Next inning, same score. A-Rod leads off. Count goes to 2-1. Pitch on the outside corner, called strike . . .

(And now I'm pissed, because, damnit, Blue didn't give Yankee starter Jared Wright that corner all night against right-handers, never mind how often Wright kept going back to that corner, like a poker player coming back to the table again and again to lose to Madator Everest . . . .)

Next pitch is the same heighth, and, if anything, catches more the plate than the previous pitch . . .

. . . only this pitch is called ball three . . .

(And the Ranger announcers nearly lose it, but I get it . . . it's a make-back, right, for the pitch before? Blue had his zone and knew he blew it.)

And the next pitch goes to Greenville Avenue or whatever the hell they call it out there . . .

4-3, Rangers.

As they use to say on the Notre Dame replays, moving ahead to further action . . .

Two batters later, first and second, nobody out, still 4-3, Rangers, your batter . . .

Melky Cabrera.

Sent up to bunt, fouls off two pitches.

(Digression. It was 28 years ago to about the week when, in a tie game with the Royals, bottom ninth, Thurman Munson reached first with no outs. Reggie Jackson, who had not bunted since Alexander Cartwright first paced off thirty paces from home to first, was asked to bunt by Billy Martin. Reggie fouled off his first bunt attempt. George Brett, not the stupidest third baseman ever, came up on the infield grass to cut off the bunt; it was unlikely that Jackson, a dead pull hitter, would slice the ball past Brett to left. Martin took off the bunt sign; Reggie tried to bunt again. Third base coach Dick Howser called time, came down the line and confronted Reggie.

"Billy wants you to hit," Howser said.

"I'm going to bunt."

"Billy wants you to hit."

"I'm going to bunt."

Howser shrugged his shoulders and returned to third. Reggie attempted a third bunt, fouled out . . . and within twenty-four hours Jackson found himself suspended indefinitely and on a plane back to Oakland . . .

. . . and the Yankees found themselves 14 games behind the Red Sox . . .

. . . and in the week that Jackson was gone, the Yankees began their heroic cavalry charge, making up--in Jackson's absence--five-and-a-half games . . .

. . . and then the week ended with Billy Martin's alcoholic and ill-considered words regarding both Jackson and George Steinbrenner, which led to Martin's forced resignation . . .

. . . and Bob Lemon's hiring . . . and the greatest pennant race in American League history, consisting of both the Boston Massacre--the Yankees sweep at Fenway in September, where Bosox fans leaning over the dugout and screaming at Sox manager Don Zimmer were dragged away by security--and the Greatest Game Ever Played, courtesy of Bucky (bleeping) Dent. Okay, just what I was thinking tonight.)

Okay. So Melky Cabrera comes up, 4-3 Rangers, first and second. Melky attempts to bunt, fouls off twice. Third pitch, makes to bunt, pulls it back for ball one . . .

. . . and here comes Larry Bowa up the line, much like Howser so many years before him . . .

. . . And this time the kid listens, take one more pitch, then shoots one in the gap. Both runners score. 5-4 Yanks. Sal Fasano, new catcher (and thank God) bunts Melky over. Then, wild pitch. 6-4 . . .

. . . and so, out for the bottom of the eighth, out comes Scott Pro . . .

No.

. . . Kyle Farnsw . . .

No.

Out comes some kid who apparently won a "Pitch for the Yankees" drawing. By the time Proctor is actually summoned, it is clear that Torre and Gator have determined that the bullpen is in tatters and must be rested at almost, but not all, costs.

Well now. Proctor comes in anyway. And?

And by the time Shawn Chacon is summoned from the bullpen, the score reads: Rangers 7, Yankees 6. Bases loaded, nobody out.

Oh, Gueneviere, this is where I came in.

Because the major difference between the Yankees of last year and the Yankees of this year can be measured not in the loss of Matsui and Sheffield but in the diffrence between '05 Chacon and '06 Chacon. So?

So: Strikeout. Liner back to the mound, flip to first, double play. We go to the ninth. 7-6 it remains . . .

. . . Jeter lines the first pitch to center.

And then.

Giambi.

Rest the bullpen? In a game like this? Rivera was stretching before Giambi's ball landed in the stands.

Four up, three down. 8-7 your final score. Winning pitcher . . . Chacon?

I'm going to bed.