A Yankee Inspired Rant

Babe...
Bucky...
Boonie...
Bubba...

What's so funny?

It would be funny...if it wasn't so sad.

As the Yankees steamroll towards another season of taking the baseball playoffs hostage with the help of yet another feel good story, this time Bubba Crosby and his walk off home run, the Mets finish up their last off day of the season...no doubt spent making plans for golf outings at Pebble Beach, tanning sessions in the Caribbean, hunting expeditions in Wisconsin, and in some cases scanning the classifieds for career change opportunities.

But not to worry, because Willie Randolph is a 12 month a year manager! He'll be busy making arrangements for that winter caravan. I, for one, can't wait.

In the meantime, I get to hear Jeanne Zelasko wax poetic about the intangibles of Derek Jeter. I get to read Darth Marc toot the horn of A-Rod. I get to watch a whole month of playoff baseball with the unmistakable slant of pinstripes. I get another round of bandwagoners who couldn't pick out Robinson Cano in a police lineup stopping by to ask me if I have any connections for Yankees playoff tickets. Oh yeah, and all this while staying up at three in the morning trying to figure out how to write yet another insulting blog about Mike Stanton as ESPNEWS will loop footage of Jason Giambi kissing babies every half hour as I run spellcheck on the phrase "reverse peristalsis" because that's how I'll be feeling.

I live for this.

Mark Simon points me to a great article written by Barry Federovitch detailing the 32nd anniversary of the "ball off the wall" play which propelled the Mets to the 1973 division crown, and ultimately the pennant. You should absolutely check it out, and I thank Mark for alerting me to it. I myself was only three years old when that happened so you know what kind of memory that brought back for me?

Timo Perez.

And that's what it comes down to...another October of flashing back to Met underachievement while rooting for an end to the Yankee playoff hostage siege. But it's not going to happen...because here comes Bubba Crosby. This is the guy I thought was going to be the hero of game 7 of the ALCS last year for the Yankees. Thankfully, he wasn't. But I know it's a matter of time. Because every time I proclaim that the death of the Yankees is imminent, here comes Aaron Boone or Bubba Crosby or Chad Curtis or some other unlikely hero who's about to write a book like the damn bat boy did.

And even if the Red Sox eliminate the Yankees during that last weekend of the season while making the month of October fun again...in the long run, who cares? Because the Mets will spend that last weekend playing in front of 2,000 people including the Rockies wives and children, buried behind the Yankees, Giants, Jets, Knicks, Metrostars, St. Francis Prep, Ken Moran's fishing column, horse racing odds, Pookie's cooking tips, the week in dogs, makeovers by Leona, and the fun with socks column in your local newspaper. Oh look, there's the Mets boxscore on page 38 next to the ads for the male enhancement. "Does your center fielder need a...bigger stick?"

Bubba Freakin Crosby.