We are all thanking Ryan Dempster today. Hey, thanks for throwing at A-Rod and lighting a passionate flame under our butts. And don’t give me that “I was trying to establish the inside part of the plate” business. We all know what you were doing. Oh, and another thank-you-very-much should go to Umpire Brian O’Nora for issuing warnings but not ejecting Dempster from the game. Paybacks are a bitch, Ryan. An A-Bomb from A-Rod in your face. How’s that working for ya?
But, fellow fans, you should also be thanking ME for the two wins over Boston (and also blaming me for the loss on Saturday). Being in Boston, it gets really tense when the Yankees come to town; my cell phone goes silent and my friends stop liking my FB posts. But this time, not only was I a pariah, but I was also a jinx. I’m an educated man, but I’m not afraid to admit it. On Friday, I turned the game on right before the Red Sox scored two runs in the 7th inning. I had checked the score and thought “Oh, goodie! We’re winning 7—1.” Almost immediately Pedroia scores, then a hit, a walk, and another hit. I recall saying to my wife, “Turn that crap off.” And she did. The next morning The Boston Globe headline “Scuffling Sox Battered by Yankees” made me feel better.
On Saturday, there I was listening to the entire game. Kuroda struggles, calls don’t go our way, Lackey gets the better of us, Big Poopy hits a homer, and we end up with a loss. That’s two days in a row that my “active involvement” in the Yankee game obviously cast a pall over the team’s performance.
So I did what any superstitious Yankee fan would do: avoided Sunday’s game on TV, radio, the internet, Twitter, text messages, smoke signals, etc. Anything for a guaranteed NY win. Done deal. You’re welcome.
From here on out, we need all the help we can get. So for the rest of the season, if the Yankees are losing, feel free to email me (firstname.lastname@example.org) or tweet to me (@ScottBokun) and tell me to stop what I am doing. I’ll turn the game on or off, change clothes, take my Yankees cap on or off, chug beers, cross fingers, toss salt over my shoulder, whatever it takes to get luck back on our side. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got to catch up on all the hoopla from last night’s four hour game. Where’s my rally cap?!?
It gets late early out there.