Yankees 12, Brewers 2

Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, BANG.

The BANG being Swisher's three-run dinger, which sealed it.

Before that, Granderson's triple (during which the Brewer centerfield lost his feet so badly settling under the ball he didn't even touch it, and hence could not be charged with what, in all fairness to Zack Grienke, was an error).

Then: A-Rod's slow ground ball, right to second, where it was gathered up by . . . no one. Where was second-baseman Weeks playing? Rover? Practically--on the shortstop side of second, back by the outfield grass. That's where you put the fat girl in co-ed softball, once you've put the fatter girl at catcher. In 15 years of watching A-Rod play, I've never seen an infield shift that dramatically against him, playing to mindless power as if he were Swish Nickerson. Never.

As much a sparkplug was Swisher (and has anyone gotten more visible joy out of the game? Ernie Banks, I'm told; maybe Mays; maybe Robin Yountl; maybe, for one glorious season, Mark Fidrych), the true motor was Tex: ground-ball RBI, ground-ball RBI, two-run homer. Like a good poker player: keep grinding out those small pots with your pairs and sets, then--just when your opponent has gone on tilt--lay down fours against his full house. Beautiful to watch.

Two games up, in that "all-important loss column."