Game 13: Sunday Kind Of Love

So... how about yesterday?!??! That atrocity belongs right alongside the time that Sampson and I witnessed the worst loss in Celtics history. Or when I spent $300 on Giants tickets, drove down from Boston and saw the Giants lose to the Vikings on punt, kickoff and interception returns all for touchdowns. Yesterday, I had a morbid, perverse sort of feeling watching it unfold. At a certain point you knew they were going to lose by a shitload and just wanted to see how much worse it could get. After the second inning, the only cheers you heard were sarcastic ones. 

The most amazing part? They actually had the number 14 for the manual scoreboard in the outfield. Really? How high do you think those numbers go?

Reading this yesterday from PeteAbe's fill-in, Kevin Devaney, Jr., at LoHud hit me:

Second, Claggett deserves a little slack. Yes, eight runs in 1.2 innings is dreadful. But we spoke to the kid before the game and he was clearly wide-eyed. He talked about driving into the city last night and seeing the New York City skyline and how “it hit me” that he was in the majors. I’m not saying you should ease up because he’s a nice guy. But he got thrown to the wolves in the second inning in a total no-win situation.

If you were pissed at Anthony Claggett to begin with, you just might be an asshole. The kid got his first chance at the Bigs and got rocked in historical fashion. He's probably more upset with himself than anyone else could possibly be. If you are still pissed at Anthony Claggett after that, you more certainly are an asshole.

The only upside is that we figured out a way to finagle our way into Field Level sections, just so as long as there are some open seats. I have a few pictures and comments that I'll probably throw up later tonight about the Field Level in relation to the rest of the Stadium, also. 

Anyway, let us never speak of that game again. Life goes on, Fackers.

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Today, we'll see if A.J. Burnett can continue where he left off in Tampa Bay and once again clean up after Chien Ming Wang's mess. Once again, the bullpen needs him in the worst way. 

When Carl Pavano makes his glorious return to the Bronx and is undoubtedly hailed as a hero and showered with praise and adulation, I will be here, trying to dust off my golf game and keep it under 80 (unlikely). I'll just be happy if I don't have to buy a sleeve of balls at the turn. Text me some updates if you are so inclined. 

It's Sunday. Grab a cup of coffee and let Etta James take you away.