The On Deck Circle

"He was more than a baseball player. He was a worldwide celebrity, an international star, the likes of which baseball has never seen since. To say 'Babe Ruth' is to say baseball"

Ernie Harwell-Broacaster, Detroit Tigers

Baseball is a generational game, handed down from parent to child and passed on in perpetuity. Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, or any combination thereof, fill stadiums and ballparks throughout the country on a daily basis to share their love of not only the game, but one another. Sharing a Saturday afternoon at the ballpark, munching hot dogs, peanuts and popcorn, while discussing what was unfolding before us, this is what I dreamed of, as soon as the doctor told me that I would be having a child. This is what my dad and my grandfathers did with me, this is what I would do with my children.

This history of baseball is something that we, as fans, hold in the highest regard. It is something that we debate, re-hash, and discuss. We hold today's players up to the records and statistics of those that came before them and when you discuss the history of baseball, one name always comes to the forefront. Babe Ruth.

The Babe is considered, by many, to be the greatest ballplayer who has ever lived. Not only was he a Hall of Fame caliber player as an outfielder, but he most likely would have been one as a pitcher as well, had the Yankees not decided that his bat was a bigger weapon than his arm. People everywhere have heard of Babe Ruth, he transcends the game and is synonymous with its name. As soon as a child is old enough to know about the game they learn of this magical presence and what he means to the history of the game. In my opinion, he IS baseball and therefore we consider him to be the father of "Baseball Gods". 

The Bambino

As I wrote in my previous entry, I am not an overtly religious person, but I do believe that a prayer must be said before undertaking an adventure such as this. We would be praying for a safe journey, good weather, great games and fantastic times with family and friends. I spoke to Ryan and he thought it was a great idea, so we did a little research which led us to the Gates of Heaven Cemetery, in the little hamlet of Hawthorne, in New York's Westchester County, which is about 30 minutes from our home. Here we would come face to face with our "God".

"What do we bring a Baseball God?", Ryan asked while munching on a bowl of cereal.
"I'm not sure." I said. "A bat, a ball, maybe something to that effect?"
"Nah and we can't bring him any Yankees' stuff, cause this is not a Yankees Trip"
"Let's think about this, stop talking with your mouth full and quit dripping milk on the table", I told him.

After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the mess that only an eleven year old can make with a bowl of cereal, we sat down and brainstormed.
"Ok, whaddaya got?", I asked.
"Well, Babe Ruth IS baseball, right?"
"I think so, don't you?", I questioned.
"DUH", was his keen reply as he rolled his eyes at me, as only a kid can to a parent.

Then, out of his mouth came the smartest idea that could come when discussing a subject such as this.
"When I go to a ballgame, I smell hot dogs all over and the Babe loved hot dogs. So, I think we have to bring him a hot dog. But, he'll need something to wash that down with."
I couldn't wait to hear what was coming next.
"The Babe also loved beer and you've always said that there is nothing better than a dog and a beer when watching the game. So, I think we should offer him a dog and a beer to start our trip."

"Let me get this straight, Ryan. You want to go to Babe Ruth's grave and leave him a hot dog and a beer as an offering for him to watch over us?" I asked while laughing?
"Yeah, what's wrong with that, can you come up with something better?"
"Not at all", I replied. "That's perfect".
So, into the kitchen we went to create a hot dog fit for a Baseball God.

Now, apparently, the perfect dog is simple. It's boiled in beer, put on a roll and covered in mustard.
"Smells like a stadium already", Ryan said.
"I'm not sure that's the smell your mother was going for, when we got this house. But, I agree." I told him.
"Ok kiddo, let's go get a beer from the fridge in the garage and we'll be off."

However, when opening the fridge, we had a conundrum.
"We only have light beer", Ryan exclaimed. "The Babe didn't drink light beer".
"I'm sure we have a few non light beers in here. But, maybe if he had, he would have been more productive in his later years" was my reply. For that I got another eye roll.
"You drink light beer and it didn't help you"
"No one likes a wise ass, Ryan", I said while suppressing a laugh. "Besides, it was Chuck Knoblauch that stole my rightful place in the pantheon of Yankees' greatness", I replied.
"I thought it was your bad knee, but yeah, let's go with that", I was told as he grabbed the non light beers and got in the car.

The drive to Hawthorne went quickly and we passed the time talking about the games we were going to see, the things we wanted to do in the various cities and the people we were hoping to get together with. In all, it took about 30 minutes and provided us with the opportunity to further cement what it was exactly that we were undertaking. It was a good conversation.

As we pulled off the highway and made a right hand turn, the cemetery came into view. Our conversation came to a quick stop and a quiet hush came over the car. We made a left and pulled into the Gates of Heaven Cemetery, which sprawled out in front of us in a beautiful view of hills, flat-lands and a pond.
"Where's The Babe?", I heard from the backseat, in a hushed tone.
"I have no idea", I replied.
"We came all the way up here, to see The Babe, and you have no idea where he is?" My incredulous son asked.
"I figured we'd go to the office", I replied.
All I got, when I turned around, was a head shake.

After stopping in the office and speaking to a very friendly woman, we got back in the car and drove to the spot the caretaker had indicated. At least I thought it was where she indicated. Apparently, I was wrong.
"Hey, Daddy. Have you found it yet?", I was asked from the backseat.
"No, I think it's over there".
"I think we've driven past this spot twice. Didn't you take a map from the office?", Ryan asked.
"I don't need a map, we'll be fine"
A few minutes later: "I wish I took a map".
"Here", he said handing one up to the front seat. "Good thing you have me along".
We both laughed, turned the car around and found the spot.

As we approached The Babe's grave we noticed that his grave marker was larger than life, just as he was. It stands about seven to eight feet tall, is made of white granite and has an image of Jesus, looking down at a child garbed in a baseball uniform, with his hand behind the child's head on it. On the left "wing" is an etched quote from Cardinal Spellman, that reads:

"MAY THE DIVINE SPIRIT THAT ANIMATED BABE RUTH TO WIN THE CRUCIAL GAME OF LIFE INSPIRE THE YOUTH OF AMERICA!"

On the right wing are the inscriptions for The Babe and his wife, Claire, that read:

GEORGE HERMAN RUTH

1895-1948

CLAIRE RUTH

1900-1976

In front of the grave were all sorts of things left by the various people that had come before us.There were American flags, Yankees flags, a Red Sox patch and baseballs by the dozen. You could tell on simple inspection how much this man means to many people. 

We soaked it in all in front of us in quiet reverence, simply awestruck that we were in the presence of The Babe. Ryan unwrapped the dog, while I opened the beer.

"Shouldn't we say something?" Ryan asked as we approached the grave.

"You're right", I told him.

So we knelt down and placed the dog and the beer before us and I thought of a few words.

" Oh, great Father of the Baseball Gods. Please accept our offering of this hot dog and beer in honor of your memory and devotion to the game. We ask that you take these gifts as a token of our love and respect and ask you to watch over us as we undertake this journey to see the game you loved so much. Please bless us with safe travel, warm weather, good games and fun times with family and friends, both old and new. Thank you, Amen"

"Cool", was Ryan's response as we lay the dog and the beer at the foot of the grave, took some pictures and slowly walked away.

"Now, we're ready to start", Ryan said while looking up at me.

"Not quite yet", I replied. "Over This way. There is someone else we have to visit"

"Who?"

"You'll see. This way".

About seventy yards up, and to the left, of The Babe, lays another Yankee. This one may not have been as famous, in baseball history, as Ruth, but he surely was one of the most beloved in Yankees' history... Billy Martin.

Billy Martin, the feisty player and later manager of the Yankees, has a gravemarker made from marbled granite, which, like The Babe's, is divided into three sections. However, it lies horizontal, with the middle rising higher than the left and right "wings". Each "wing" has a carved #1 and from left to right, the head stone has engravings as well as carvings.

The left "wing" has the carved #1, followed by a carving of Saint Jude which underneath reads, simply:

St. Jude pray for us 

The middle section raises above each wing and is adorned with a cross, underneath which reads:

MARTIN

Alfred Manuel

"Billy"

May 16, 1928

December 25, 1989

The far right "wing: is lowered to the height of its counterpart on the left and reads:

"I may not have been

the greatest Yankee to

put on the uniform

but I was the proudest"

                         B.M.

This is followed by another carved #1.

As I reached into the bag, Ryan asked, "Is that why we brought more beer?"

"Yes", I replied simply.

"Why didn't we bring more hot dogs?"

"Billy would rather have a second beer", I told him.

I uncapped the two beers as we knelt once more in front of the grave.

"Oh, manager to the Yankee greats", I started. "Please accept these tokens of our generosity, in the hope that you will watch over us for any Yankee games we may attend, during our journey. Please allow us as many victories as possible in those games and let us never forget that it is the excitement of the adventure that drives us, not the desire for a win. Amen."

"But, please also remember that we HATE to lose and are not going to see a lot of Yankees' games on this tour, so for those couple of games could we please have a win? Especially in Boston. Amen", a small, hushed voice called out to my right.

He looked over and smiled and said, "Was that OK to add?"

"It was perfect, Ryan. It was perfect. C'mon, let's head home."

As we drove quietly home, I wondered what was in store for us as we began our journey. I was nervous, excited and a bit apprehensive. I asked Ryan, "Well, what did you think?"

"I think it was a great day and it was pretty cool to see The Babe and Billy. I think they appreciated that we took the time to see them and left everything. I bet those beers are gone and the dog has been eaten already and that they'll be watching over us over the years." 

He stopped and thought for a moment  and then added, "but we better do this every year, just to make sure"

"Absolutely, little man. Absolutely. Now, we have our first game to think about. You wanted to open up 'at home', right?"

"Definitely", he responded. "We're going on June 30th, against the White Sox, right?"

"Yup, what do you think?"

"LETS GO YANKEES", was the only reply I got...

First stop:

June 30, 2012

Yankee Stadium

Bronx, New York

Chicago White Sox Vs New York Yankees

The Pre-Game Show

"People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come."

Terence Mann, "Field of Dreams" 

Hello to all my friends and family who have been asking when I am going to post again. I have always been someone who loves to write, but only if it's something I can do my way. I know it's been a while since I last posted, not because I had nothing to say, rather because I had nothing I could truly pour myself into. That has changed, in a big way, in the last few months.

In truth, I had thought about undertaking a journey like this for years, but only in passing. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever see myself actually doing it. However, that all changed on April 14, 2012.

I took my son Ryan to Yankee Stadium for opening weekend and we heard the person behind us talking about visiting as many ballparks as he could this summer, in hopes of one day getting to all of them. Ryan turned to me and said,
 "Wouldn't it be cool if we could do that?"
"Yeah", I replied, between bites of a hot dog and sips of a beer.
Now, if you know anything about Ryan, you know that once he gets it in his head to do something, he doesn't let it go...Ever. 

Around the seventh inning of a game I would love to forget being at, (the Yanks were getting pummeled, 7-1, by the Angels) Ryan turned to me and asked when we were going to start.
 "Start what?", I asked.
 "You said we could take a trip to visit every major league ballpark" was his reply.
 "Didn't you mean it?"
"Um...well...uh...Of course I meant it. Why else would I have agreed? You know we have been to about  seven already, right?"
 At that point, he asked for a bucket of popcorn, so I thought I was off the hook. Apparently, I forgot his propensity to mull things over, wait for the perfect moment and, only then, grab the discussion by the throat and use logic that couldn't be refuted to get what he wants. 

We waited in-line for the popcorn and a soda and, while walking back to our seats, he made his move.
"You love baseball, right?", he asked.
"You know I do, why?" I responded. I couldn't figure out where this was going and my mind was racing. "Well, you said you loved it when you went to games with Grandpa and you always said you couldn't wait to take me to a game after I was born."
 Now, he had me curious, "Uh, hunh."
"Well, wouldn't it be great if you and I could visit every major league stadium? It would be the best trip ever and I promise I'd be good and I'd even help pay for it. We could even ask Brendan (his younger brother) and Mommy to come to some games and make it a family vacation, see places we'd never see and even learn something."

 I figured that he had to come up for air sometime, so I just nodded and said "Go on".
 "We could start this year and take our time. We should do them all before I graduate college. That gives us eleven years and we could visit friends and family and ask them to go with us and maybe we could stay with a few of them and save money on hotels and it would be like a family and friends' reunion."

After listening to all of this, I knew I had seriously misjudged my little lawyer. He wasn't just watching the game up til now, he was plotting a baseball coup d' etat.
"Give me some time to think about this", I said as we made our way back to the seats.
"Ok, I have all sorts of ideas."

By the time the game had ended, I had put our discussion to the back of my mind. He, on the other hand, was just getting warmed up.
"Ok, let's talk", he said. " I think we have to start this year, we have to start at Yankee Stadium and we have to hit all the ballparks we've seen already again, because we just thought of this, so the ones before don't count."
I knew I was in serious trouble, he had obviously thought this through and would not take no for an answer. I said, I'd sleep on it and we'd talk the next day.
Well, the next day started, in his mind, at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m., on a Sunday morning. 

I opened my eyes to see Ryan standing in my bedroom, with the sports section, his Yankees' hat firmly on his head and a look of determination in his eyes. Well, I think it was determination, I could barely open my own. After listening to his oral arguments for another two hours, the best I could do was
"...But, but, but... I DONT FLY. How are you going to take care of that?"
 "Oh", he says, "that's the easy part. I'll order you a beer, hold your hand and you'll tell me about all the great times you had with Grandpa, Great Grandpa and all our family and friends at all the ballgames you went to and then you'll forget about being scared. If that doesn't work, I'll hold your hand and rub your back. You always did that for me when I was scared and it works. So, it'll be my turn to take care of you."

 Apparently, my son is not only an fantastic ball player, he's a world class fisherman as well, cause he just set a hook that I'd never be able to shake out. Seriously, how do you say no to THAT?!?!?!?!?! So, I though for about all of .04 seconds and said emphatically "LET'S DO IT." Little did I know what lay ahead for me in terms of planning this adventure- but what the hell, you only live once. Right?

I contacted everyone I could think of, collected names, addresses, phone numbers, e-mails and all other necessary information and started a contact book with family and friends from across the country. We wanted them to join us, either for a game, a meal, or quick visit while we were in their neck of the woods. I was blown away by the responses I got. Not only did people want to join us, they offered up their homes to us as we come around so we won't have to pay the additional costs of lodging. I secretly wondered if Ryan had called all these folks before hitting me up with this idea. Then we set down what our first summer was going to look like and decided we would hit the close-to-home games: Yankee Stadium, Citi Field (NY Mets), Fenway Park Boston Red Sox), Nationals Park (Washington Nationals), Citizens Bank Park (Philadelphia Philles) and Camden Yards (Baltimore Orioles). This was a way to kick-off things easily, but, most importantly, it gave me the ability to plan for next summer when we go farther from home. 

After all this was decided, we sat down and discussed how we wanted to do these ballpark-adventures. Here is what we, with the help of friends, came up with:

1. Visit all the parks and see everything about each. Visit every nook and cranny, see all there is, but not miss a minute of any game.
2. Try signature ballpark food from each place - hot dogs do not count all the time, unless the ballpark is known for their dogs.
3. Visit some non baseball places in every city to get the true flavor of each different region.
4. Take as many pictures as possible.
5. Visit as many baseball-related things as possible in each city, such as: the spots of long gone ballparks, like Old Yankee Stadium, Ebbets Field, The Polo Grounds, Atlanta's Fulton County Stadium, Shibe Park and Griffith Stadium. Also, we'd like to see things such as the Negro League Museum in KC and Babe Ruth's birthplace in Baltimore, as a start.
6. See as FEW Yankees' games as possible. This way I can sit and enjoy the game, as opposed to be concerned with winning, As I type this, they have a 3-2 lead, so you can see what I am doing every few moments.
7. Last, and certainly not least ( I always hated that phrase, but it is necessary here) HAVE FUN with my family and make memories that they will have forever.

My wife, Nicole, was the one who came up with the idea to write a blog of  where we go, what we do and how things turn out. Ironically, another friend thought if I kept decent notes I could hope to maybe write a book as well. That too has always been a dream and, once again, my son is the inspiration for it all. Without his grand idea this would never have become a possibility. 

As I write this opening chapter of our odyssey, we have already been to our first game, which I will write about soon. But before I can put that to paper, I have to explain that our "Home Field", Yankee Stadium,  was not the first stop on our grand adventure. I am not a deeply religious person, but it has always been my thought that when you begin something big, you say a prayer. To do this we had to travel to a little area in New York, about 30 minutes from our home for a special visit.

TO BE CONTINUED......

The Day After...

There are families who LIVE for sports. They build their days, weekends, vacations, etc, around their sport and/or team. Some choose football, others basketball or possibly hockey to be passionate about. For my family its baseball. It's imprinted in our DNA, it runs through our veins and makes us who we are.

Now, I say "we", but I am of the utmost certainty that my wife humors me most of the time. She'll watch a game with me from behind a book, with her nose poked out from under the covers or, most likely, as far as she can get from me as I sit in front of the tv and try and convince everyone arouund that I could manage better than the yutzes in the dugout. My youngest son, Brendan, will watch and show interest, but only if I don't allow him to first become engrossed in an animal show or dvd. Ryan, my ten year old, however, is JUST LIKE ME. Those who know him, know exactly of what I speak. He scans the sports' pages in the mornings, borrows the computer to check the box scores, the standings and will try and figure out the magic numbers that will allow us to, hopefully, celebrate at the end of a long hard season. He's me, just smaller, cuter and has a slightly earlier bedtime.

Ryan and I spend the spring, summer and early fall months, each year, religiously watching the Yankees on tv, listening on the radio, going to the games and talking non-stop about them. We want to build weekends around them, taking in games at Yankee Stadium, as well as at Single, Double and Triple A ballparks to see the players, learn who is coming up through the minor leagues and determine who "we" think will be the next great Yankee player.

It all culminates in October, when the leaves change color, the air gets a little cooler and only the best teams are left standing. We throw parties, invite friends over to watch and sit in front of a tv, or a radio if need be, for hours, devouring the games. We watch them all and have an opinion on each and every one. Especially our Yankees.

Before going on, I must tell you that I could have been the next great Yankees' second baseman. But, Chuck Knoblauch STOLE my place in the pantheon of Yankees' greatness. Just ask my wife, she'll tell you that as well, but she'll do it with a roll of the eyes and more than a slight hint of sarcasm in her voice. There are some nights she doesn't even want to be in the same room with Ryan and me as we go through the machinations of watching another playoff game. Personally, I think she's hiding under the bed as things go flying across the living room (one year a kid's sippy cup somehow got lodged in the wall, which eventually had to be patched and repainted) and four letter words flow like water from a faucet...And that's just Game 1 of a series. You can't even imagine an elimination game...LIKE LAST NIGHT...

Last night was NOT a good one in our home. Yelling, screaming, cursing, throwing things and crying. Hell, Ryan even did a few of those as well. . It started out innocently enough, we made our rally chili cheese dogs, three for me and two for him and we had peanuts, popcorn, pretzels, beer and soda as well. After all, why watch a ballgame if you can't have ballgame food to go with it? We were SURE the Yanks were going to pull this out and move on to face Texas, for the second straight year in the ALCS. After all, we were back home at "The Big Ballyard in the South Bronx", Ivan "Super" Nova was on the mound, the bats were coming around after the last game and the great Mariano would be able to pitch two or more innings once we had the lead in the Eighth Inning. See what we get for thinking?

As we settled in for the first inning, the game started out on a good note when Nova struck out Austin Jackson. The second batter is where it began to unravel. Don Kelly, and then Delmon Young (why the hell couldn't he have stayed with Minnesota) took Nova out of the yard on consecutive pitches. "WTF" (if you don't know what that stands for look it up, I'm going to TRY and keep it clean here) was screamed loud enough to make Nicole and Brendan come running from where they had been hiding out in worry that something was wrong. As if anything could be MORE wrong than giving up back to back jacks to the second and third batters of the game. After Nicole  shook her head, muttered something under her breath and walked back to the other room, Ry looked at me and asked what was wrong with my outburst. I told you he was my kid.

As the innings wore on, the Yanks stranded a small village on the basepaths and we were growing more and more annoyed. The first real hint of a problem was when Nova was removed in the second inning with an injury to his pitching forearm. In came Phil Hughes, whom I believed would go for 2-3 innings. WRONG...Girardi pulled him after 1.3 innings and brought in Boone "Effing" Logan. After another WTF, Logan managed to quiet us down by getting out of the inning.

In the 4th, the Yanks loaded the bases and set up Ryan's first problem of the night. "All we need is a sac fly and we get a run", he says right before Martin pops out to first base and Gardner pops out to third. Then Ryan said a word that begins with the letter "F" and rhymes with duck. Somehow, I got blamed for it and smacked. Ryan looked at me quizzically, I took the punishment, gave him a halfhearted "...don't say things like that..." and then typed what just happened on my friend Lauren's Facebook status, where a bunch of us were "watching" the game as well. (What? I told you we were nutty). At that time Rob typed back, "...he should be allowed...two of those...tonight..." and Lauren liked both our comments.

Fast forward a few innings and the Tigers have scored again, the Yanks had put one on the board thanks to a Robbie Cano HR and have, again, loaded the bases with one out. Up comes A-Rod, the Yankees' lightning rod for playoff futility, and he could literally OWN NY with a base hit. Nope, he, unsurprisingly strikes out swinging. Next to the plate is Tex, who also can't seem to remove the object from his throat that causes him to choke every October, but he walks, which forces in a run to make it 3-2. Next to take his hacks is Nick Swisher, the Yankees' version of Jack Nicholson's Joker from the Michael Keaton "Batman" movie. Down goes Swisher, with yet another strike out in a big spot and there goes the Yanks' last big chance.

Ryan then yells something COMPLETELY unprintable (trust me, if I won't type it you KNOW it's bad) which I get beat on again for. Now, I gotta stick up for my kid, so I offer up a lame "...at least he knows the proper context for that phrase...", which gets me a look that could, and may have, killed, in the past. After the latest exchange I tell him to knock it off. Not so much for saying it, but for saying it loud enough to get heard and get me beat on (I do understand and commiserate with him). Rob and Lauren, among many others to have joined the typefest on Facebook (stop judging me) think it's hysterical that I keep getting smacked for his mouthy indiscretions.

Now, we're in the bottom of the 8th, Jeter is up and Gardner is on first with two outs. Gardy, who is literally faster than a cheetah hunting down an antelope on the African Plain, has second stolen, but Jeter has swung at the pitch and lifted a fly to the warning track that will end the inning and any chance of a Yanks' comeback. You know EXACTLY what I screamed, loud enough to wake the neighbors. If Nicole has heard, she is either impervious to it by now, or she's just too tired to smack me anymore. Either way, I'm left alone to stomp, swear and mutter around the living room with Ryan.

The 9th is a microcosm of the game. Granderson flies out, Cano lines out to center and the last man standing is A-Rod. Well, not for long. He goes down swinging and so ends our season. By the way, I have seen better swings on a rusty gate than what I just saw from our $30 million per year third baseman.

Now, the game is over and it's time to tuck the crying kid into bed. There is nothing more pathetic than the sight of a ten year old, consoling his father and wiping away tears as they walk down the hall to the bedroom. So, I take him to his bed, wipe his eyes, he's already done the same for me and discuss the shortcomings of our season. We both agree that this year was a failure and it's not because we didn't win the World Series. We may not have won everything, but we SHOULD have won this series. It was handed to us, multiple times, and we just basically said "No thanks, you take it". Anyway, Ryan fell asleep snuffling and teary eyed, I stayed awake, teary eyed and fuming and tried to figure out how did this happen.

Here's what I came up with:

1) This felt a lot like 1960 (from what I have read/heard as I was not yet born) in that when the Yanks won, they won big and when they lost, they lost small. We outscored the Tigers 28, to 17, but still lost because when we won, we blew them away and when we didn't we didn't score. It was either feast or famine.

2) The much maligned pitching staff didn't give us a hole that I would have considered too big to climb out of...IF WE HAD HIT IN ANY OF THE THREE LOSSES. It's going to be hard to win any series, let a lone a short one, when four of your nine are hitting .111 (A-Rod), .167 (Tex), .211 (Swish) and .167 (Martin). They absolutely KILLED this team and for these three, it's their playoff M.O. Which leads me to my next point.

3) The pitching: Why the Hell was Hughes removed after 1.3 innings? WHY???? God forbid that game goes into extras we have used up a guy that could have given us length in Hughes and Robertson who came out for 1 inning. We would have been stuck with the Ayalas and Wades of the world. It really is hard to argue the move, in hindsight, though, because after Nova left, the guys from the pen only gave up one run through seven innings, and that was after they decided to walk Cabrera to get to V-Mart, who had better numbers against C.C. than Cabrera did.

4) The lineup: After 4 games that the entire world saw A-Rod, Tex and Swish KILL us, while Posada hit OVER .400 , why in God's name did Girardi stick with those three as his 4-6? Tex, Swish and Posada are ALL switch hitters, so why not move the MOST PRODUCTIVE GUY , SO FAR, into the middle of the lineup? I questioned that as soon as the lineup was posted. If it makes sense to me, why not to Girardi?

In the end, we didn't deserve to win this series. We SHOULD have, the Tigers gave us MULTIPLE opportunities to, we just didn't.

IMO, it all comes back to the three clowns in the middle of the lineup, who came up small AGAIN for this team in the postseason. I don't want to hear injury excuses, I don't want to hear anything. In certain instances all that was needed was a FLY BALL OUT and they couldn't even generate that. In fact, I saw a stat that showed A-Rod being the ONLY man in baseball history to strikeout and end his team's playoffs two years in a row. In fact, since he came to the Yankees his playoff averages (excluding 09) are .133 (2005), .076 (2006), .267 (2007), .219 (2010), .111 (2011).

Tex, in his three playoff years here is .180 (2009), .148 (2010) and .167 (2011)

Swish, in his three playoff years here is: .128 (2009), .176 (2010) and .211 (2011)

Does this sound like it should be the HEART of the order to ANYONE?????? Yet, inexplicably, Girardi kept all three, back to back, to back and it bit us in the ass.

What to do? I'm not sure and I have all winter to come up with opinions and mark my word, I'll have them. One thing I do know, is that the plan for next season, from what I have been told, is for Montero to be the everyday DH and the backup catcher. This will allow him to get his reps behind the plate slowly and on the days he does catch A-Rod, Tex, Jeter, or whomever it may be, will be the DH. Get used to this idea, because in a few years the Yankees want Romine to be the everyday catcher (he's better defensively) while still allowing Montero to be in the lineup.

In the end:

We didn't deserve to move on. End of story...But I will tell you all: There IS crying in baseball, whether you are ten or forty two...

Taking One For The Team

Anyone that knows me, knows that I love the Yankees. I don't mean I "follow" them, or I watch them or that I enjoy them. I LIVE AND BREATHE YANKEES' BASEBALL. The boys and I watch every game, we listen on the radio when we can't be in front of the TV  and we go to games.Hell, we build weekends around Yankees' games, as well as their minor league affiliates. In short, WE LOVE THE YANKEES.

Now, having said that, you must also understand that loving the Yankees comes with a deep, dark, unending HATRED of the Boston Red Sox and anything associated with them. When I got married, in 1998, I found it quite amusing that my wife's mother's side of the family were all from Massachusetts. I considered it a "gift", from the Baseball Gods, that I was placed in the position of being welcomed into a family of Red Sox fans in the heart of the latest Yankees' dynasty. After all, what were 1998, 1999 and 2000 for, if not spending World Series winning years in Massachusetts for holidays and such?  Even 2003, in which we lost the World Series to the Marlins, was wonderful fun as I made sure to replay the Aaron Boone HR over and over and over for them.

2004 was when they began to exact a bit of payback. It was disastrous, embarrassing, disgraceful, and more, to watch my beloved Yankees throw away a 3-0 lead in the ALCS and then have Boston sweep away the Cardinals. But, I prepared a pre-emptive strike. I congratulated them and admitted how badly the Yankees choked  before they had a chance to rub it in. They thought I was just being polite, but how much fun is gloating when the other person first admits their team blew it? There IS a method to my madness.

2007 was another year in which the Red Sox somehow managed to play a  National League patsy and win a Championship. I, again, made the pre-emptive strike and offered congratulations to Red Sox Nation, before they could get to me. In 2009, however, the Earth returned to it's axis, the Baseball World  returned to normal and our home celebrated its first Yankees' World Championship since both my sons were born. As Frank once sang: "...I'm top of the list...King of the hill...A #1..." AHHHHHH, it was nice to be back where we belonged. Even 2010 was ok, the Yankees fell two games short of the World Series, but the Sox failed to even make the playoffs. It was then, apparently, The Baseball Gods decided to have a little fun at our expense.

This spring Ryan (my ten year old) and I were assigned to his Minor League team, named... you guessed it...THE RED SOX...Ugh...I could think of nothing worse than us having to go out and wear Red Sox gear and actually root FOR Red Sox wins. How could this happen? What had we done to deserve this? I thought the U.S. Constitution forbade cruel and unusual punishment. Ryan asked if we could have a jersey and hat burning party after the season was over. AFTER? I didn't even want to begin a season this way. My family and friends, however, thought it fantastically ironic and my voice and e-mail boxes were flooded with jokes, laughter and hysterical comments. There was no denying, this was going to be a long season.

We blew through the regular season, compiling a 9-1 record and winning the "President's Trophy" for best record. However, Ryan was seriously injured during a game for our town travel team when a pitched ball hit him squarely in the instep of the right foot. He hobbled down to first, then limped into second before being pulled from the game. He went home and riced (rested/iced/compressed/elevated) and tried to play for the Red Sox the next day. He played two innings, had one AB and barely made it to first on a single, when he asked me to take him out of the game and take him to the hospital. Long story short: he had a stress fracture and was on crutches for three weeks and in a cast for two. After having the cast removed, the poor kid had developed Planters Faciitis and his season was officially over. He did go to every remaining game, on crutches, in his cast and in full uniform, cheering his team on, running the scorebook and, when he got out of the cast, warmed up the outfielders and helped run the dugout. He made the best of a bad situation and I will always be EXTREMELY proud of him.

That being said, our Red Sox made the playoffs as the #1 seed, in a double elimination tournament. We beat the Twins, the Royals and the Giants to arrive in the Championship Game with no losses. That meant that we had to be beaten twice, which hadn't happened all season, to lose the championship. Well, we met the Giants for the championship and they played a great game, coming back with 4 runs in the last inning to beat us 5-3, setting up a "winner take all, loser go home" final game. Needless to say, it was NOT a fun weekend around the two of us.

The day of  the deciding game, our team came ready to play and had a focus I have never seen from ten year olds. I had one player tell me we were going to score 6 in the first two innings and then bury the Giants in the second half of the game. Well, they scored three in the first, two in the second, one in the third and six in the fourth en route to a 12-0 victory. THE RED SOX WON THE CHAMPIONSHIP AND RYAN AND I WERE RIDICULOUSLY EXCITED...Wait, did I just say that? How the hell did THAT happen? Now we had to "suffer" the ultimate indignity: tried and true, through and through, Yankees' fans winning a Championship in Red Sox gear...

You know what? The Baseball Gods obviously have a warped sense of humor, but I would NEVER trade this for anything. I have been waiting since the day Ryan was born to have him play on a championship baseball team and for me to be coaching  that same team. It's something every baseball loving dad wants for his son and him. So, I am very happy to tell everyone that Ryan and I are:

2011 RAMSEY MINOR LEAGUE CHAMPION RED SOX....

It's a feeling I never want to end and that I want over and over for us and I'm pretty sure he'll agree. I don't think we'll be having that jersey/hat burning party after all and we now want to make sure that his little brother, Brendan, gets his day in the sun...Soon.

I just have one thing to ask of The Baseball Gods:

PLEASE DON'T PUT HIM ON THE METS...I DO NOT WANT TO GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN....