Yanks-Tigers, Game 2

BEEEAT THE TIGERS!!

Still feels funny. Not having the Red Sox in the playoffs is like . . . help me out here.

This what daytime baseball is like: Me, watching the game, juggling class preparations and facing a lecture at 2:30, two-and-half hours away. During the afternoons, the UH campus is a twenty-minute drive from here. Considering the length of Yankee games, I should have to leave at about the fifth or sixth inning.

Damn.

Bottom one. Damon gets on with a bloop. Jeter puts down (or rather, up) an atrocious bunt that Pudge catches with ease. (TFT calls it an "Astro special.") Abreu walks. Sheff whiffs. Giambi walks. Which brings up . . .

Ulp.

A-Rod. Bases loaded, two outs.

Fastball up and in. Whiff. Another fastball, a foul. Then a sweet curve that breaks over the bag at the last possible second. Strike three.

The situation always finds you.

Update: Top two. Moose gets two almost effortless outs, then the Tigers go double-single for a run. Moose escapes further damage.

Okay, I really need to prepare for class.

Update: For this I raced home.

The only bright spot was in the fourth, when the Yankees put two men on basae with none out. It was about now that TFT announced that her new name was Astrogirl, "no matter how embarrassing that team was."

Fair enough. Astrogirl. Astrogirl asked, "Who's up?"

Me: "Cano."

AG: "Cano's a good hitter."

Cano made out.

AG: "Who's up?"

Me: "Damon."

AG: "Damon's a good hitter."

"Look," I said, "They're all good hitters. Are we going to do this all afternoon?", whereupon Damon hit a three-run homer. We celebrated for a minute or two, after which she said, "Told you!"

High point of the day, as it turned out. 4-3 Tigers, and the blame rests on the middle of the order: Sheffield, Giambi, and A-Rod, with their big fat 0-for-11.