The Ghosts of Yankees Past
Watching Yankee baseball changed dramatically for me in 2009. After losing Jeff, my main partner in root, root, rooting for the Yankees a lot of my friends took it easy on me, believing that I deserved a championship last year.
Not anymore. The Yankee haters are really out, baring their teeth and swearing about payroll. (More on that in a later post). That's okay, too, because I can take it, because no one can steal those intimate conversations that I used to have with Jeff. They are all still in my head.
Bah, CC is rusty, he would have said after Hamilton drilled a homer to make it 3-zip Texas. Want another Heiny Light?
So I had one.
They struggle against lefties, he would have said as the middle innings wore on. It's a shame, but Hughes will come up big. Wanna' shot?
So I had one. Sipped another beer.
Dad just called, Jeff would've said. He said that the Yankees are done.
I answered a few ribbing texts from buddies of mine who wanted to remind me that Cliff Lee would be pitching game 3. I also heard from Pops, Johnny and Gag, good buddies who like the Yanks and help me so much this time of year.
The Yankees scored 5 off of Lee the 2nd time they faced him in the series last year and they beat him up a month ago. They can beat him. Especially at home. Your beer is right there, you're only cheating yourself, Jeff would have mentioned.
Another sip. Cano homers to make it 5 to 1.
He's the MVP, the Jeff voice in my head whispered. Hamilton missed a month of the season.
Gardner slides in, Jeter doubles, Swisher walks, Tex walks...bases loaded, down three with A-Rod up.
"What're you doing up there?" I ask in my head.
Everything is happening at once now. The announcers seem terribly disappointed. The Texas fans aren't waving their towels. Sam is screaming beside me. Kathy is cheering loud.
Those ripping-on-me texts are silent.
You'll see, Jeff responds. Tend to your beer.
Sip. A-Rod Doubles, Cano singles...tie game.
"Are you kidding me?" I ask.
Thames singles. The Yanks take the lead.
Having fun yet? Jeff asks.
There are two phone calls of congratulations that never came last night- Dad and Jeff didn't check in - but who needs a phone when there's a crystal clear connection of heart and soul?
Love kicks death's ass, my friends.
It just does.
For clarification there were only four beers and a sip of Jameson's harmed in the making of this blog, less anyone think I'm really an alcoholic.
I still have a few saved for today's game though. The voice in my head wants me to have a few.
I'm only cheating myself.
Not anymore. The Yankee haters are really out, baring their teeth and swearing about payroll. (More on that in a later post). That's okay, too, because I can take it, because no one can steal those intimate conversations that I used to have with Jeff. They are all still in my head.
Bah, CC is rusty, he would have said after Hamilton drilled a homer to make it 3-zip Texas. Want another Heiny Light?
So I had one.
They struggle against lefties, he would have said as the middle innings wore on. It's a shame, but Hughes will come up big. Wanna' shot?
So I had one. Sipped another beer.
Dad just called, Jeff would've said. He said that the Yankees are done.
I answered a few ribbing texts from buddies of mine who wanted to remind me that Cliff Lee would be pitching game 3. I also heard from Pops, Johnny and Gag, good buddies who like the Yanks and help me so much this time of year.
The Yankees scored 5 off of Lee the 2nd time they faced him in the series last year and they beat him up a month ago. They can beat him. Especially at home. Your beer is right there, you're only cheating yourself, Jeff would have mentioned.
Another sip. Cano homers to make it 5 to 1.
He's the MVP, the Jeff voice in my head whispered. Hamilton missed a month of the season.
Gardner slides in, Jeter doubles, Swisher walks, Tex walks...bases loaded, down three with A-Rod up.
"What're you doing up there?" I ask in my head.
Everything is happening at once now. The announcers seem terribly disappointed. The Texas fans aren't waving their towels. Sam is screaming beside me. Kathy is cheering loud.
Those ripping-on-me texts are silent.
You'll see, Jeff responds. Tend to your beer.
Sip. A-Rod Doubles, Cano singles...tie game.
"Are you kidding me?" I ask.
Thames singles. The Yanks take the lead.
Having fun yet? Jeff asks.
There are two phone calls of congratulations that never came last night- Dad and Jeff didn't check in - but who needs a phone when there's a crystal clear connection of heart and soul?
Love kicks death's ass, my friends.
It just does.
For clarification there were only four beers and a sip of Jameson's harmed in the making of this blog, less anyone think I'm really an alcoholic.
I still have a few saved for today's game though. The voice in my head wants me to have a few.
I'm only cheating myself.
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