Well folks, grab your double-double and settle in, because the New York Yankees played a baseball game today and it was an absolute rollercoaster of emotions, questionable decisions, and at least one moment where your humble narrator yelled "eh, what was that?!" at the television. If you're a Canadian tuning in to catch the Bronx Bombers, you know the drill: it's either a majestic fireworks show or a comedy of errors dressed up in pinstripes. Today? Today was a bit of both, like a poutine where the gravy is incredible but someone forgot the cheese curds. Let's break it down, shall we?
For the first five innings, the Yankees' bats looked about as threatening as a kitten wearing mittens. Pitches were watched, swings were missed, and the opposing pitcher was probably wondering if he could just finish the game before his parking meter expired. Then, like a group of friends who said they'd arrive at 6 but show up at 8:30 with Tim Hortons in hand, the offence finally decided to participate. A couple of bloops, a walk, and suddenly the bases were loaded with nobody out. The crowd went from polite golf clap to full-on "LET'S GO YANKEES" chaos. Naturally, they only scored two runs, because leaving runners stranded is apparently a core part of the team's brand identity this season. But hey, two runs is two runs, and in a game where the pitching was dealing, it felt like twenty.
Ah, the bullpen. The part of the game where every Yankees fan transforms into a nervous parent watching their kid drive for the first time. The starter left with a lead, which was lovely. Then the middle relievers came in and decided to make things interesting by walking the first batter on four pitches that weren't particularly close to the plate. You could practically hear the collective groan from Toronto to Vancouver. But then, a double play! And another strikeout! It was like watching someone trip on the sidewalk, catch themselves on a lamppost, and then casually continue walking as if nothing happened. The closer came in for the ninth and, bless his heart, he didn't give us a heart attack this time. Three up, three down. I nearly spilled my maple syrup in celebration.
Let's talk defence, because it was a mixed bag of absolute highlight-reel brilliance and "what in the name of Wayne Gretzky was that?" The third baseman made a diving stop that would make a hockey goalie jealous, then threw a rocket to first from his knees. Beautiful. Then, two innings later, the same guy booted a routine grounder that a toddler could have fielded with a plastic spoon. The centre fielder tracked down a fly ball in the gap like he was chasing a runaway toboggan, saving at least two runs. The catcher, meanwhile, threw out a would-be base stealer with a laser to second that was so accurate it probably could have hit a loonie from 200 feet. And then there was the miscommunication in the outfield where two guys almost collided and the ball dropped between them like a sad, forgotten snowball. Classic. You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the New York Yankees.
At the end of the day, a win is a win, even if it shaved a few years off my life expectancy. The Yankees did enough to come out on top, the pitching held strong when it mattered, and the offence showed just enough life to avoid a total embarrassment. Was it pretty? No. Was it entertaining? Absolutely. Would I do it all again tomorrow? You bet your toque I would. Because that's the thing about baseball and that's the thing about being a fan — you show up, you cheer, you complain about the bullpen, and then you do it all again the next day. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a replay to watch and a plate of nachos to destroy. Go Yankees, and sorry for yelling at the TV. Not really, though.