Saturday, April 18, 2009

Game 12: #7

Greetings from Sec 112.

Game 12: #6

Oh we went to guest services. And I shit you not, we got fucking
doused with a mysterious substance from the rafters. Look at the
puddle. Barring the greatest comeback in baseball history, that will
be all from this abortion.

Game 12: #5

14 runs. One inning. We are heading to guest services to see if we can
recoup some of our losses.

Game 12: #4

Live from Sec 416, we just heard the first "Bring in, Swish-er" chant.

Sent from my iPhone

Game 12: #3

Chien Ming Wang: The greatest BP pitcher the world has ever seen.
(Middle finger courtesy BWS)

So much for that 3rd inning pipe dream from this morning.

Game 12: #2

Quick grab those "Between The Bases" seats before it's too late. They
are selling like hotcakes!

Game 12: Late Start

As much as we would like to stay in the bowling alley and listen to
Tim McCarver mispronounce "Teixeira", we are heading in to the Stadium.

Aaaand HR Teix!

Margaritis, People Who No Longer Exist & The Boat Basin

Today, Large William Steeze, the Frank-a-nation and myself will be making the journey to the New Stadium to see if Chien Ming Wang can make it through the third inning. If it was last year, this would be only one of 13 Saturdays and just one step along the path to rid the Earth of the horrible affliction known as "Margaritis".

(For those unfamiliar, Margaritis is a chorinic infirmity that occurs only in warm weather and is characterized by extreme sobriety. The only cure is Margaritas.)

The reality of getting shut out of the Saturday package is just starting to set in. We only had it for two years, so we have no right to be all up in arms about not being able to renew it. Our friend Nick sat in the same seats everyday for seven years and got cast aside also.

I love the New Stadium and I understand the implications of he price increases. There are fewer seats to begin with, even before you get into the effects of the "relocation". The people who were in the most expensive seats got bumped back, thereby displacing those further back in the field level, which echoed through the mezzanine, into the upper deck, and eventually trickled down to half season packages, 40 & 20 game plans, and at the bottom of the food chain to the poor schlubs like us with weekend deals.

It would be a lot easier to swallow if we didn't have to look at pictures like this, and this, and this, and this, and this, reminding us of the fact that we got fucked for the sake of people who no longer exist. I don't care what Randy Levine says, behind closed doors there is some serious handwringing going on. Over a month ago, we pointed out the fact that the Yankees were getting desperate and saw the writing on the wall.

It's too late now. The Structure That Mariano Rivera Erected has been completed and the prices have been set. Some people (er, corporations) have already bought packages at full prices and I highly doubt that the Yankees are going to piss off their best customers by selling the seats directly next to them at a discount. The bottom line is that, for pretty much every game that doesn't feature the Mets or Red Sox, there are going to be a ton of people like us Fackfaces watching on YES while many of the best seats in the house sit unoccupied.

Hey, there's always next year, right?


In other, happier news, it's fucking beautiful outside.

Every year, when the weather starts getting nice, people who live above the Tropic of Cancer (or below the Tropic of Capricorn) start asking themselves the same question: "Why do I live in a place where there is Winter, again?" We forget, but once the mercury passes the 60 degree mark, life becomes a whole lot sweeter.

Exhibit A, captured last night:

Oh, the Boat Basin. What would summer on the West Side be without you?


That's all for now folks. Although I just figured out how to post from my iPhone, so there may or may be some drunken dispatches from Section 416 once game time rolls around.

In the meantime, get out and get some fresh air:


Bruce the bear