GAME SEVENTY: Now give me my money back.

After a Wednesday night game at my house in which my main solace was the short trip home afterwards, in which I took bad beats from (how the fuck could you call the flop with a just a Queen? that wasn't a draw at all) and then just wholly misinterpreted (why would you bet that hard with a good hand?) the play of my friend Patrick, it was around midnight, I was wired, not drunk enough and with no desire to finish off the remaining beer (who brought Blueberry Ale?), and thoroughly steamed. There are cures for this mind state; last night, opening up the Sox-Braves recap was one.



Coco Crisp has himself confused with Jimmy Rollins as of late, and I hope he never remembers his own identity if this power surge can continue. Staked to a 5-0 lead before his first pitch, Julian Tavarez pitched his best game of the year, seven innings of shutout ball, giving up just three hits. The Braves put up all the resistance of a plate of nachos, the Yankees continued to validate Colorado and the Sox's recent problems with them, while also bumping up the number to Bo Derek. Soon thereafter, I fell asleep at last.



Today, I'm tired and a few dollars lighter, but at least some millionaires I'll never get to know made me feel briefly better by beating other millionaires. Unfortunately, this is a off-day. Leaving me way too much time to think about those fucking Queens. Now who wants to buy me lunch?

GAME FIFTY FIVE: Results aren't everything.

As any good poker player knows, how you play the game and how the game turns out are not synonymous: it's a game of skill, which is why poker is legal in California. But it ain't chess, as the player above, 1995 World Series of Poker Main Event Champion and best-selling author (and BEST poker author yet) "Action" Dan Harrington would know. As a former backgammon champion, Harrington mentions in his texts that cards ain't chess. If you could play perfect poker, and no one can, you'd still catch a lot of bad beats. And that's what yesterday sort of was. A baaaad beat.



Did Jorge block the plate enough to tag Julio Lugo out? Maybe. I won't say it was a bad call or claim I know better. It's a judgment call.



And all judgment calls are, of course, questionable. It's like asking whether this picture of Jennifer Garner hugging a Sox mascot is merely sweet or cancerous. I side with "cute" and "safe."

Having Okajibon blow the save/game hurt a lot, but the Yankees certainly earned it with amazing patience and yeah, a little luck. I'm thinking Papelbon played some games with himself to give A-Rod a semi-fat fastball. I talked to obligatory Yankee fan Nick Gidwani about this over IM.

nickgidwani (1:00:17 PM): see fastball

nickgidwani (1:00:18 PM): kill fastbal

nickgidwani (1:00:23 PM): that is arod in a nutshell

bluemonkjd (1:00:30 PM): and it wasn't a good fastball.

nickgidwani (1:00:35 PM): exactly

bluemonkjd (1:00:36 PM): think he was playing games with himself.

bluemonkjd (1:00:55 PM): papelbon: I threw two fastballs in a row. So he's thinking I'll throw the split. What if I throw the fastball?

bluemonkjd (1:01:12 PM): papelbon (shoulda): I got pitches to play with. Let's see if I can get him to swing at this shit.

But hey. Que sera sera, as Sly Stone once sung. Ortiz's 9th inning blast flies out most of the time. Bobby Abreu doesn't catch a probable (3rd!) Pedroia double most of the time and save two runs. Pigs don't always fly.

But was that the best Sox-Yankees game of the season? Absolutely.



Does it matter? Maybe in the wild card. Look at the numbers, Yankee fans. Sorry if facts don't tell you what you want them to. Godspeed. But as poker teaches us, anyone can get lucky for a game: