Saturday, October 6, 2007

ALDS GAME 2 POST-GAME: Hey, that's just [ You/me/Manny Ramirez] being [You/me/Manny Ramirez]

For the record, and your headline writer, the bugs did not simply help the Cleveland Indians win last night. It was a tight, tight game. Andy Pettite is both good and lucky. Fausto Carmona wasn't enjoying the eighth plague either, but he went Nine and gave up ONE run. As a dear Yankee fan friend of mine (of ten, I'm getting old) said as I was watching that game at his place, probably not trying to be that funny:

"Fausto Carmona is the fucking Lord of the Flies!"

And yeah, Joba Chamberlain is not a golden god so be careful how you mythologize anyone. Personally, one of the most awful moments in my life, even in the moment, was when someone I later found out was younger than me said I was wayyyy cool. I was actually feeling pretty down. I hope you're doing alright, John, wherever you may be.

Manny Ramirez got something off his chest last night, especially
the play where his hat fell off and he flopped around and turned what could have been an out into a double, if we had Coco Crisp playing in every outfield position. We also wouldn't score any runs if we had Coco Crisp playing every outfield position.

Look at this interview with Manny Ramirez and remember it's his first interview with any media this year. He is really emotional. I look forward to his swing now that he can finally say, "Fuck it." See ball, see if ball is a strike, attempt to hit ball. You know, in a couple Seconds. Try it sometime.

(No, seriously, try it right here. It's fun, but I sure suck at it. If not, just visit the San Francisco Exploratorium sometime, no matter what age you are.)

And now for an attempted monologue.

Manny Ramirez, at the plate. It isn't any particular game. This is his internal monologue.


I like my hair. I like my hair. I'm not cutting it. My hat fell off. Whatever. Fuck you, you paid me. Cleveland, oh, I should have stayed in...Cleveland was nice, but..

Ball goes straight down the middle of the strike zone for a strike.

Was that The pitch? Maybe. No. Doesn't mattter. No. Focus. Be nice to hit a pitch, but....

Good slider. Manny doesn't swing as it goes out of the zone.

Not that pitch.

Manny breathes.

Fastball, slider, and...what's next? Fastball's an okay guess. Go with it.

A changeup is thrown. Manny barely hits it floats, but it goes into the seats.

This guy is good. He isn't that good. But he's good. Count's 1-2. Checka 1-2. Ha ha ha. Okay, focus.

Fastball, high, Manny checks his swing. Or does he?


Catcher appeals to first. Umpire takes a second, and then says, no, he did not swing. Manny sighs.

Phew. High fastball, eh? Not a bad idea, Miguel, but...something's going on behind there. I watched some film of this guy. Young. Very young. Cuba? No...D.R., baby. The glasses. What's behind the eyes? He's more frightened of me than I am of him. I could walk. I could hit. Take a short swing? Of course. All of my swings are short. Where's the pitch going to be? Inside? Okay.

Inside fastball. It nearly hits him. Manny takes a second longer than he should to glare at the mound because it wasn't that close to hitting him.

Asshole. Fuck your mother. (Untranslation: Chinga tu madre, cabron) No, wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. He's throwing a fastball now. I think he actually has don't know what he's going to throw. It is still a game, even if it's no longer just a game. Just wait. Just wait. Just wait.

Outside fastball. Not as outside as intended, however. Manny CRUSHES it to right. He just knows. He just stands there. He half-smiles, half sighs.

Hey! Not bad!

P.S: Fuck yeah. One win to go.

Bar's closed until at least Monday, maybe Tuesday if I can somehow get the day off. Drink water. I'm not hungover, yet that's what I'm doing right...after....this.

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