4/15: Yankees 5, Rays 3

               Two out runs win ballgames.  And good pitching, of course.

                In the top of the fifth inning at The Trop last night, with the New York Yankees sporting a 3-2 lead over the hometown Tampa Bay Rays, Johnny Damon worked a two-out walk against the powerful but notoriously wild, Edwin Jackson.  In this situation, with your speedy lead-off man at first and your most clutch singles hitter, Derek Jeter, at the plate, it makes a lot of sense to send the runner early in the count.  If Damon makes it to second base, then you are set up for a two-out RBI.  On the other hand, if he gets gunned out at second, then you have The Captain leading-off the top of the next inning.

                Again, two outcomes that you can live with as a manager, worry-free.

                So when Damon took off like a rabbit toward second early in Jeter’s at-bat, I smiled the smile of a fan who has watched enough baseball to think along with his favorite team, and thought right.  Johnny slid in under the tag and popped up to his feet in one, fluid motion.  Then, as if written on a script that Joe Girardi had folded neatly in his back pocket, Jeter ripped a single into center that prompted the young and supremely talented B.J. Upton to challenge Damon’s hard-charging dash to the plate.  The throw was late, Johnny was safe, and Jeter took second like any in-tune, heads-up ballplayer should remember to do.

                Perfect, textbook execution.

With one two-out run in the books and Jeter standing on second, looking for more, Bobby Abreu delivered.  He ripped his own RBI single, this particular baseball careening over the second baseman’s head and into the right-centerfield gap.  When Jeter slid across the dish in a hazy cloud of dirt and chalk, the scoreboard changed its white, wooden numbers to read, Yankees 5, Rays 2.  Another clutch, two-out run scored, helping solidify a victory for the gritty, high-80’s-only performance of Andy Pettitte, who battled in vintage fashion from the first pitch of the game, batter after batter.

And that’s what Andy Pettitte does best – he battles.  The Family Guy from Texas doesn’t have the mid-90’s fastball, the Mariano cutter, or the Joba slider, but he has been extremely successful over the course of his career for one very important reason – he knows how to pitch.  Last night was a prime example of this trademark quality, as he worked out of a first-and-third, one-out jam in the first, and then a bases-loaded, one-out jam in the second.  After getting touched up for two runs on two hits in the third, Pettitte dug in and threw two consecutive 1-2-3 innings in the fourth and fifth frames.  Similarly, after the Rays final run scored from third base on a routine ground ball in the sixth, Andy finished his outing by recording a perfect seventh.

Vintage Andy.  Bend but don’t break, and give your team a chance to win.  That is why he has been a successful pitcher for so many years.  To me, that’s what makes him a Yankee.

Now, what makes Kyle Farnsworth a Yankee is a completely different story.  So when the vaunted Bombers lineup failed to buy any insurance during a bases-loaded, one-out situation in the top of the seventh inning, and then again during a bases-loaded, two-out situation in the top of the eighth, I started to get a little worried.  Joba Chamberlain, our lock-down, lights-out setup man was not available for both personal and admirable reasons, which left the unpredictable and deeply frustrating Kyle Farnsworth as the next logical choice to pitch the bottom of the eighth.  When the cameras finally panned to the bullpen and showed me that my single greatest fear was indeed true, I nearly switched off the TV.

I can’t do it.  I can’t watch him blow this game, I said to myself.

But I did watch.

And do you know what happened next?  The Farns, as if sent down to the mound from way on high, pitched a 1-2-3 scoreless inning against Johnny Gomes, Mike DeFelice, and Eric Hinske.  Suddenly, after Kyle’s final fastball struck out Hinske swinging, a chorus of angels appeared over centerfield, singing the softest, gentlest, and most sublime version of “Hal-le-lu-ya” I have ever heard.  It was amazing, it was magical, and truly the most surreal experience I’ve ever had watching a baseball game on television.

Okay, so there were no angels hovering, and no sweet, soft music being sung, but Kyle getting the ball into Mo’s right hand without blowing the game to smithereens truly was a vision unto itself.  It was something I fully appreciated, given his history with the team, and something I will never forget.

Fine.  I will stop now.

Mariano Rivera then did what Mariano Rivera does best – close – and the Yankees had themselves a two-game sweep of their divisional foes, the Tampa Bay Rays, heading into tonight and tomorrow night’s throw-down with the Red Sox.  All the boys have to do now is beat Boston soundly at the Stadium, not once but twice, and the chorus of angels will reappear, hovering quietly over the Bronx, ready and waiting to sing.

4/14: Yankees 8, Rays 7

“Robbie!” the Manager cried out,  twisting to face his players.  “Get in there and get us a hit, kid.  You’re up.”

                Adrenaline surged into Robbie’s veins as if fed through intravenous tubes.  He quickly snapped to his feet, grabbed one of his favorite black, wooden bats from the rack, and picked up his helmet on the way up the dugout steps.  Striding slow and deliberate toward the box, he heard the P.A. announcer’s voice call out his name, both loud and low as it echoed through the cavernous rafters of Tropicana Field.

                “Now pinch-hitting for Gonzalez, number twenty-four, Robinson Cano.”

                God that sounds good, he thought to himself, the hair on the back of his neck already at full attention.  Passing Alberto Gonzalez on the rookie’s way back to the dugout, a mutual fist pound was exchanged, and now it was all business for New York’s struggling second baseman.

                He dug his first foot into the soft, manicured dirt of the left-handed hitter’s box, and tried to erase the .170 batting average from his mind, telling himself that he was indeed the player who hit close to .500 this Spring Training, and the player who hit nearly .340 in his second full season in The Bigs.  Even when he stumbled out of the gate last year, he had finished with an average North of .300.  Why is this happening to me again?

                No no, Robbie, get that crap out of your head.

                Digging his front foot in now, feeling for that familiar, comfortable distance with his cleat, he tried again not to think about the parade of ground balls and pop-ups coming off his bat in celebratory style, and tried to visualize centering a pitch on the barrel for the first time in fourteen games.  I’m better than this, he repeated in his mind, over and over, as the opposing pitcher went into the windup.

                Fastball, down and away.  Okay, I’ve got his speed now.  This guy’s got nothing.

                Fastball, swing Robbie!  Damn, that was close.  I hate foul balls, c’mon.

                What’s he gonna do now, what’s he gonna do?  Probably something off-speed.  Yeah, sit off-speed, Robbie, keep your weight back.  Keep your hands back, kid, here it comes.

                Gotcha!

                In baseball, there are homeruns that have a chance off the bat, the ones where everyone holds their collective breath and watches the movements of the closest outfielder to determine if the ball is gone.  Then there are homeruns like the one Robinson Cano hit last night for the Yankees, the game knotted at 7-7 in the top of the eighth inning, where everyone watching – players, coaches, fans and commentators alike – know it’s gone as soon as we hear that “CRACK!”  These homeruns are the no-doubters, and they are a beautiful sight to behold, sweet and powerful perfection sailing high above the diamond.

                Robbie knew it too, because he felt that feeling in his hands and in his arms that you only feel when you connect with a baseball as square as you possibly can.  Two-and-a-half weeks of frustration and angst rocketed through the air of Tampa Bay’s indoor stadium, the trajectory of the ball halted only by the stands in right field.  Cano flipped the bat, allowed a slight smile to warm the corners of his face, and began the most satisfying, triumphant trip around the bases his sport can offer – the homerun trot.

                Finally, our All-Star second baseman appeared, right before our very eyes.

                And finally, after two torturous, second-guess type moves in Boston over the previous two nights, Joe Girardi looked like a manager who knew exactly how to motivate his struggling athlete, something only the truly good managers in the game know how to do.  After giving Robbie the night off, presumably to allow his mind to stop obsessing and worrying about each at-bat, or maybe it was done so that he could witness someone else succeeding and having fun at second base – only Joe knows – Girardi called on No. 24 in a situation where both the team and the player needed a big-time boost.  On this night, it was the perfect call in the perfect situation, and it just might turn out to be the hit that puts Cano back on the fast-track to .300.

                The offense as a whole seemed to feed off the fresh breath of warm air in Tampa, reaching season-highs in hits (14) and runs (8) as a unit.  Case in point, Johnny Damon hit his first homerun of the year on just the second pitch of the ballgame.  Alex Rodriguez then tied Teddy Ballgame on the all-time homeruns list (521) on the fourth pitch of his first at-bat (he would finish the night 4 for 5), and Morgan Ensberg continued to rake as a part-time first baseman when he launched a hanging slider deep to left in the top of the second inning for his first homerun as well.

                Even journeyman catcher Chad Moeller, called up yesterday to fill-in for both Jorge Posada (shoulder) and Jose Molina (hamstring), played a pivotal role with his bat in the four-run fourth inning that knocked Tampa Bay starter Andy Sonnanstine out of the game.  With Melky Cabrera at first base and nobody out, Sonnanstine tried to execute a pitchout.  However, Joe Girardi had called a hit-and-run for the Yankees, so Moeller leaned across the dish and slapped a single through the hole at second base created by the covering Akinori Iwamura.  He literally hit the ball right out of the glove of the standing catcher, John Riggins, truly a bizarre but heads-up play that set New York up for a big inning.

                After Damon ripped an RBI double down the first base line, and the Captain Derek Jeter smashed an RBI single to center in his first game back in exactly a week, young rookie pitcher Ian Kennedy held the score firm at 7-2 through six solid innings of work.  However, he was forced to depart the game abruptly in the seventh, taking a screaming, come-back liner off his right front hip.  The usually solid pair of relievers, Billy Traber and Brian Bruney, then lost him the win just as abruptly.  Both pitchers combined to allow three homers and five earned runs in the inning, which evened the once laughable score at seven, just like that.

                 But, before the impending panic that follows blowing a huge lead had time to take root, in walked Robbie, sent in by Girardi, each man earning a small level of redemption with one sweet, swing of the bat.

                And then, as always – we are so, unbelievably spoiled – Mariano Rivera slammed the door shut with a 1-2-3 bottom of the ninth, carving like a knife through Carl Crawford, Carlos Pena, and B.J. Upton, the legitimate and powerful heart of the Tampa Bay order.  The aging, one-pitch wonder is now four-for-four in save opportunities on the early season, with a 0.00 ERA.  How this guy continues to dominate game after game, year after year, with a single cutting fastball is beyond my comprehension.  But he does, and he will continue to do so until he can’t anymore, and that’s what makes him Mo.

                What makes Joba the man amongst boys that he has become today starts and ends with the unconditional love and support of his father.  Before the first pitch of tonight’s two-game-series finale against the Rays, let’s all say a silent prayer for Harlan Chamberlain, who continues his daily battle against fate and health from a hospital bed in Nebraska.  Maybe that’s why Joba is the mature and grounded individual that he is, and quite possibly, the next “warrior” for the New York Yankees - from living his life in the constant presence of true strength and true grace.

                His dad.

4/13: Red Sox 8, Yankees 5

               There should be a rule in Major League Baseball that reads, “When it’s cold outside and your team is struggling to score runs on a nightly basis, and your offense has runners at first and second base with no outs in the top of the eighth inning at Fenway Park, down by two runs, a Yankees manager must instruct Johnny Damon to bunt or else be subject to ejection from the game.”

                Even if he gets thrown out at first, which is not a one hundred percent certainty by any means, the tying run would be at second base with the heart of the order coming to the plate.  Instead, to my extreme shock and subsequent disgust last night, Joe Girardi allowed Damon to swing away in this same exact situation, and the worst of all possible scenarios took place: he hit into a double-play.

                Rally over, game over, series over.

                For all of the top billing about Girardi’s acumen for National League style baseball, more commonly referred to as Small Ball in the increasingly educated media circles, there was never a more obvious place to bunt the runners over to second and third, and he did not pull the trigger.  This decision, of course, came on the heels of Saturday’s risky bet that Mike Mussina could pitch carefully to Manny Ramirez with the game on the line.  Two situations requiring a manager’s marching orders, two chances for Girardi’s Northwestern intellect and career of catching experience to impact two important baseball games, and he failed to make the obvious and arguably routine decisions, twice.

                Not sure how I feel about all of this.

Conflicted is a good word, or perhaps disappointed, but I think surprised might be the most accurate.  How do you not bunt in that situation, Joe?  The Yankees were not in need of a big, four-run inning at this particular juncture.  What they needed to do was score the two runners that were on base already, which would have tied the game and kept their chances of winning alive.  At a bare minimum, you have to score the guy from second base, especially because he arrived there with no outs recorded, but neither of these desired outcomes took place last night.  Instead, another foolish bet was placed on the table, and on a second consecutive evening in Boston, the wager did not pay off.

Oh well.  You live and you learn, right?  Let’s just hope our Joe Girardi is a better student than he is a gambler.

Leading up to the fateful eighth inning, Phil Hughes threw thirty-nine pitches in a rocky first, recorded a decent second frame, then failed to induce a single out in the third before he was pulled from the game, much to the delight of the Fenway faithful and their endearing chants of “Yan-kees Suck”.  By the time Ross Ohlendorf did manage to wiggle out of the frame, the Yankees were trailing the Red Sox by a score of 7-1.  All seven runs were charged to the young, impressionable Hughes, whose last two outings have been on par with a pitcher who is twenty-one years of age, but drastically subpar for what the Yankees both need and expect out of their future ace.

Straining to see the positive side of this game, the bullpen did throw a few zeroes at the base of the Green Monster until the deciding eighth, and the Yankees offense – minus Derek Jeter and his barking left quadricep for the sixth consecutive game – clawed back to within 7-5, the fifth run being a Jason Giambi homerun off of Mike Timlin (only his third hit of the season) to start the eighth.

But then, like a greedy card player who never knows when to turn and walk away, the foolish wager was placed on Damon.  Robinson Cano followed up the double-play with a weak ground ball to end the Yankee threat, continuing his bizarre struggles at the plate in the early going.  After he ran through the bag at first, as required, it appeared he wanted to throw his hands up in surrender, looking younger and less professional than he has in a long, long time, probably since he was first called up in May of 2005.

Man.  Where have you gone, Mr. Robinson?

In the latter half of the eighth, my favorite Mr. Farnsworth entered the game and promptly gave up a run to the bottom three in the Red Sox order, as he is oft prone to do, removing the Yankees from the hope of a bloop and a blast in the ninth, and hammering home the proverbial nail.  As the final game of the opening series against Boston wound down to its grinding, exhausting close, there was a lot to be frustrated about – for Yankee players and their fans alike.

But alas, the duel excuses of April and Weather are always there to comfort us in the first two weeks of the season, and thus, there is no need to panic just yet.  Girardi is still learning, Hughes is still learning, and the Red Sox are only separated from us by one game at the bottom of the American League East.  If worrying about the Rays, Jays and (gasp) the Orioles was not on any of our minds up until last night, maybe it should be for the next thirty days.

Or maybe it shouldn’t, but in baseball as well as life, only time will tell.

Maybe, just maybe, we should worry about other David Ortiz jerseys buried deep beneath the hardening concrete of the new Yankees Stadium.

4/12: Red Sox 4, Yankees 3

                Again, I didn’t watch this game.  I had to check my Blackberry for updates between a countless, seemingly endless supply of cold beers, find ESPN on the hotel room TV at 2:00 A.M. for extended highlights, and of course, scan the back pages of the Big Three daily newspapers in New York – the Post, the Daily News and Newsday – to find out early this morning what everybody else already knew.

                This game came down to two key moments, and the Yankees lost out on both.

                Of course, the big question mark of the evening was an easy one to ask: why would Joe Girardi allow Mike Mussina to pitch to Manny Ramirez with the game on the line, bottom of the sixth inning, Red Sox runners standing confidently at second and third base.  There were two outs, Joe, first base was open, and the Moose was hanging tenuously to the slippery ledge of a 2-1 lead in Boston.  Why was there even a conversation on the mound concerning NOT intentionally walking Manny Ramirez?

                As it is beginning to feel like more and more in this storied rivalry, the outcome was written before it was ever decided.

                First pitch, a hanging breaking ball inside the black of the outside corner, and Ramirez did what he does best with mediocre pitching, especially when that pitching comes by way of the New York Yankees: he ripped a screaming, lead-changing double deep into the Fenway triangle in centerfield, a blast from which the Yankees would never recover.

                Now, I know Mike Mussina was pitching well up to this point, and I know he had just struck out the struggling yet still-freakishly-intimidating David Ortiz, but this was Manny.  The same Manny who is hitting north of .350 in April, the same Manny who always hits the Moose well (he had already hit a ridiculous home run over the Monster in his first at bat), and the same Manny whose career numbers against the Yankees are too extensive - and thus depressing – to list.

                Joe Girardi, well known already for his tireless studying of statistics, pitcher-to-hitter match-ups, and his overall aptitude for situational baseball, made his first mistake of the 2008 season.  No big deal, right?  The problem, of course, is that the mistake came against the Boston Red Sox, giving an excited, disgruntled push in the back to the swarm of negative media attention in today’s headlines.  However, whether the Moose asked to pitch to Manny, or player and manager agreed to be careful with the pitch selection, or both men genuinely forgot who was digging into the box at home plate, there is no excuse.

                You pitch to Kevin Youkilus with the game on the line, not Manny Ramirez.

                The second key moment of the night involved none other than Alex Rodriguez, but that is hardly a surprise anymore to fans hailing from New York.  His chance to produce a pivotal, game-changing hit came in the top of the eighth inning, with two-outs and runners in scoring position.  The Yankees trailed by only one now, prompting Boston skipper Terry Francona to go to his young, enigmatic, flame-throwing closer, Jonathan Papelbon.

This was a match-up worth watching, wasn’t it?  This is the reason fans like you and I can never have enough of the Yankees-Red Sox eternal grudge-fest.  This is a pitcher Alex can mash, we all thought, as memories of last season’s game-winning, top of the ninth inning homerun into the Boston bullpen came flashing back to life.

Alright.  Here we go boys.

                The problem, of course, was a two-and-a-half hour rain delay, an exceedingly unfortunate, frustrating circumstance that sucked all of the life and intensity out of this classic power-versus-power confrontation.  When the heavens cleared, the tarp rolled, and the players re-took the field, it didn’t take long for Papelbon to strike-out A-Rod, adding a satisfying notch to his side of the ledger in this growing battle with No. 13.

                Young Jonathan then struck out two in a one-two-three ninth, as effortless and efficient as can be, and the game was in the books for good.  Not for the good of the Yankees, but recorded nonetheless, another chapter to add to this engrossing, dynamic anthology between rivals.

                And what did Joe Girardi learn from re-reading his second chapter of work?

                My guess is that it has something to do with Manny being Manny.

4/11: Yankees 4, Red Sox 1

                It’s not every day that a complete game gets pitched anymore.  In today’s baseball, you have a deep and over-extended bullpen consisting of long men, left-handed specialists, and a designated pitcher or two for the seventh inning, the eighth inning, and the close of the game.  Gone are the days of 300-inning gunslingers who would rather their arms fall off than get pulled.  Gone are the days of expecting complete games on a routine basis from your number one and number two starters.  That’s just the reality of Major League Baseball in the twenty-first century, and the game is not going back.

                Hey, it gives managers something to do in the late innings, right?

                So when Chien-Ming Wang ambles into Fenway Park, takes the hill in classic, stoic form, and two-hits the formidable Red Sox lineup over nine solid, impressive frames of work, that performance is worth talking about.  Throw in a few raindrops and your mind starts to drift to the immortal sports film, The Natural, except that Robert Redford is just a little older, a little blonder, and a tad more eloquent with his words than young Mr. Wang.

                Who cares.  Anyone who can two-hit the Red Sox at Fenway Park, especially when that someone pitches for the New York Yankees in the biggest rivalry in all of American sports, has my respect.  Anyone who can get off a plane at 4:00 a.m., sleep for a few short hours, then go out and dominate the reigning World Champions like its going out of style, has my complete and undivided attention.

                Except for the fact that I was on my way down to Delaware last night, stuck on a fast-moving, just-crowded-enough Acela train, more excited to be reuniting with my college roommate for two nights of intoxicated revelry – his bachelor party – than I was to be watching a Yankees-Red Sox game.

                That’s unheard of, by the way.  It takes a small miracle for me to miss any televised Yankees game, let alone the first match-up of the season between my boys and hated bunch of dread-locked nitwits from Boston.  Some things in life take precedence over sports and entertainment – not much, but some – and this weekend qualifies in this category for me.

                So, like a lot people who enjoyed their Friday night out with friends and family, I caught bits and pieces of the game as it progressed, a strike-out of Ramirez here, a Big Papi double-play there, and a shot of Joe Girardi pacing the dugout in his first taste of The Rivalry at the helm.  And from what I could gather, the story started, developed, and ended with Chien-Ming Wang.

                Nice.  Wang starts 2008 with three straight wins, or half of the Yankees win total to date.

                I’m hung over today and my ex-roommate is all fired-up and ready to depart at 8:58 a.m. – yeah – so this story will continue tomorrow, when I’m hung over again and trying to find a way home to my wife.

                Yankees 4, Red Sox 1, season series 1-0 Bombers.

                That’s story enough.

4/10: Yankees 6, Royals 1

               There is a reason you like Andy Pettitte.

                Long known as a man of his word, who values family, religion, and honesty above all else, there is something simple and real about his good ol’ boy, southern Texas drawl that pulls everyone in, letting you trust this one, professional athlete.  Just this one, right?

                You believe him when he speaks.  You pull for him when he pitches.

                And it doesn’t hurt that when Andy is on the field and hard at work, he is the pitcher who wins when the Yankees need it the most.  This type of pitcher is known as a “stopper”, and No. 46 has filled this role better than any other hurler for New York in recent memory.  When your team is losing, or not hitting, or just flat tired, kind of like the team we’ve been watching play against the Royals on this cold and wet tour of lovely Kansas City, Andy is the man you want on the mound to stop the bleeding.

                The man who can pick his teammates up off the dirt, brush off their shoulders, and get everyone headed in the right direction again.

A stopper.

For all the Billy Beane admirers out there who champion the Oakland GM’s objective, statistical, and analytic approach that has changed the sport of baseball forever, for better or for worse, there is one element of this game that an Ivy League graduate with a laptop computer will never be able to quantify, calculate, or crunch… heart.

                Andy Pettitte has heart, and that is why we love to watch him play.

                Last night at Kauffman Stadium, another rainy and windswept affair on the open plains of America, was vintage No. 46.  In fact, as the YES Network commentators, manager Joe Girardi, and Andy himself would each point out at various points along the way, Pettitte pitched better after the forty-five minute rain delay than beforehand, shrugging off the adversity with the focus and determination of a true fighter.  He found a new rhythm embedded in the restart, and only allowed the one, first-inning, two-out run over six-and-two-thirds innings, saving his team from a dreaded sweep at the hands of the upstart Royals, on the eve of another late-night flight into the friendly confines of Boston.

                At one point in the fifth inning Andy even saved his own life, snaring a rocketed, line drive off the bat of Jose Guillen that was headed right for the bill of his cap, and tumbling backwards onto the mound with the force of the impact.  As his teammates huddled around to make sure he was okay, a few sly smiles curling the lips of Alex Rodriguez and Morgan Ensberg, there was never a doubt that Pettitte would pick himself up off the dirt, brush off his own shoulders, and get himself headed in the right direction again.

                That’s just who No. 46 is, isn’t it?

                Now, there is also a reason you like Joba Chamberlain.

                A tall, stocky, corn-husking farm-boy who grew up in Nebraska and finished his college career in Lincoln, only a leisurely three-and-a-half hour drive from the Royals’ home ballpark, he appears to be a man amongst boys at the tender age of twenty-two.  So confident are you that he will succeed in his one or two innings of relief work that you forget how young he really is, how much of a rookie he still remains, and you start having the same expectations for him that you do of Mariano Rivera.

                Nobody is gonna hit this kid, you say to yourself.  And even when they do, like in the bottom of the eight inning last night, you have a very strange, very innate feeling that this man amongst boys is only toying with his opponents – working on a pitch perhaps – waiting for the perfect opportunity to blow them away with his freight train of a fastball.

First and third, two outs, clean-up man Jose Guillen worked diligently into a 3-2 count, representing the tying run from cleats to helmet.  Every baseball game has one, defining, game-on-the line type of moment, and this was it last night.  One swing of the bat, even if it was an inept, lucky swing, could even the score in a hurry.  Joba peered in to Molina somewhere between his glove and the flat bill of his cap, gave a subtle, affirmative nod, then unleashed furry in the form of a 99 MPH heater right down the middle of the plate.

Here, he said to Guillen.  See if you can hit this.

The ball crashed into Molina’s mitt with the force of a small hurricane, and Guillen looked like a hitter who couldn’t even remember if he had swung or not, staring blankly into the void between man and boy, caught somewhere between home plate and the mound.  He had swung, in fact, and hit nothing… just the wake of the wind left behind by the pitch.

Strike three, inning over, thank you for playing, Sir.

Can this kid really be this good, this poised, this dominate, in such a short period of time?  Yes is the only word popping into my mind, as lightening has quite possibly struck twice now in the Bronx, in the form of two unreal, iconic relief pitchers, in a span of only twelve, short years.

With that said, there is also a reason you like Mariano Rivera.

Because he throws one pitch and is still the best you’ve ever seen.  Because he is going to teach young Joba everything he needs to know over time.  Because he closed out last night’s game like he always does, short, swift, and confident, bringing the Bombers’ record back up to .500, the same as Boston’s no less, on the eve of a rivalry renewed in Beantown.

The first of eighteen begins tonight.  And Alex Rodriguez, whose solo home run in the top of the ninth inning yesterday tied him with Micky Mantle on the all-time RBI’s list with 1509, now has the chance to both tie and pass Ted Williams on the all-time home runs list with 521 and 522.  In Boston, at Fenway Park, in front of the most deserving baseball fans in the world… can you imagine?

Yes is the only word popping into my mind.

4/9: Royals 4, Yankees 0

                Ian Kennedy, all smiles and jovial in defeat, hesitated when asked the question.  He stared into the tops of the twenty microphones encircling his head like pointed spears, each one oscillating slightly with the holder’s hidden arm movements, and thought hard.  Finally he spoke.

                “Different.”

                Brian Bruney was asked the very same question, moments later.

                “Different.  It was definitely different.”

                Of course, both Yankee pitchers were referring to swapping roles for the evening.  Only minutes before first pitch last night, Joe Girardi made the intriguing decision to use the bullpen to start the game, just in case the forecasted rain rolled through Kansas City and washed out the contest.  Why get your young starter all fired up and ready to go if he might have to be shut down two innings later?  Why not use the bullpen first, guys who are used to pitching one or two innings at a clip, and see what happens?

                Sounds like a good idea.

                So, after Johnny Damon lead off the second straight game with a walk and failed to get to second base for the second straight game – Girardi never ordered a steal, Robinson Cano tapped weakly into a double-play, and Bobby Abreu grounded out – Bruney took the hill.  In his two innings of quiet, continued excellence, he gave up one hit and struck out four, and the rains began to fall.

                You see?  Our new manager is a genius, just like everyone said.

                However, the veteran umpire crew would never call the game, and never once ordered the ready-to-rock Kauffman Stadium Grounds Crew to cover the field, even as the rain began building interlocking puddles on the infield dirt.  Even as the players and their uniforms began to drip.  Even as the nothing-nothing score moved slowly, perfectly, and inevitably into the hands of Kyle Farnsworth.

                As is often the case with The Farns, it’s not so much the number of earned runs that he coughs up on any given day, but how and when he gives them up.  Take last night for example.  For four-and-one-half innings of wet and dirty, no-runs baseball, all you could think about was which team would score first before the fifth inning ended, so that if the game was actually called due to the rain, that team would get an easy “W” in the win column.

                Using that mindset as our backdrop, in jogged Kyle Farnsworth in the bottom of the fourth inning, half-skipping like a kid who loves to play outside in the rain.  He pitched okay in the fourth, allowing one single and striking out one, but he also got help from the Royals when Joey Gaithright – who had just stole second base – got greedy and tried to swipe third on Jose Molina.  The Yankees backup catcher had been personally insulted the night before when the young, aggressive Royals ran all over an ailing Jorge Posada, and he gunned out the speedy Gaithright by two steps with a perfect throw to A-Rod, who never had to move his glove.  This was the second caught-stealing of the night for the proud Jose, arguably the best backup backstop the Yankees have had since Jorge himself filled this role for Girardi, or vice versa.

                After Damon struck-out-swinging with a runner in scoring position and two outs in the top of the fifth, a familiar feeling since he struck-out-looking in the same situation in the third, Textbook Farnsworth trotted out to pitch the bottom of the frame.  Now remember, this is the bottom of the fifth, for the home team, in a game that is in jeopardy of being called off due to the rain.  If the Royals managed to score a run here, it would essentially be like giving up a walk-off hit, allowing the umpires to hand the contest to the Royals at their whim.

                So, you tell me what happens next, given your vast knowledge of the history of Kyle Farnsworth.

                First batter, second or third pitch, monster home run.  Sound familiar?

                Again, It’s not so much the number of earned runs allowed, it’s the when and the how that digs deep into one’s brain, twists and turns, and waits until you start twisting and turning your head in disgust.

                On the postgame show, YES Network commentators David Cone and Ken Singleton would both use the word “maddening” to describe the emotion most endured when watching Farnsworth pitch on a regular basis.  John Buck, batting eighth in the Royals lineup, hit that homerun a country mile – literally – an estimated 440 feet into the peaceful, colorful fountains in straight-away center.  Kyle never even turned to look, recognizing that all-too-familiar sound of a wooden bat knocking the living daylights out of a pitched ball that he has thrown.  To add insult to injury, he would walk the home team into another scoring opportunity with two outs, then hang a weak slider in an 0-2 count to Jose Guillen, allowing the big bopper to slash an easy RBI single to right field.

                Coney, one of the most accomplished pitchers from the Yankees late ‘90’s dynasty, took particular exception to that 0-2 pitch, wishing that Farnsworth would, for once, use his brain and expand the zone in that situation.  “He just doesn’t seem to think well at certain times, does he?”

                No he doesn’t, Coney, and thank you for your honesty.  Kyle was very honest himself in Spring Training, when he outright blamed Joe Torre for his struggles on the mound during his first two seasons as a Yankee, so maybe it’s time for people to start being honest with Kyle.  Or maybe he just needs to look in the mirror the next time he decides to blame somebody.  Maybe then he would start to use his brain on the mound more often, and pitch like everyone is waiting for him to pitch.

Maybe.

                John Buck’s majestic homerun is all the Royals would need on this evening, another frustrating, head-scratching washout for the slumbering Yankees offense.  Alex Rodriguez, who made two sparkling plays on wet, slow-hit rollers to third, mashed a double and a single to go two-for-four, but that was the lone bright spot.  The Bombers were 0-for-8 with runners in scoring position, and everyone was left to wonder when that elusive “click” is going to come.  Ian Kennedy would finally pitch the last three frames of the game, allowing two runs and two walks while striking out three, but according to Girardi, it is the lack of a productive offense that is his biggest concern in the early going.

                “We’ll hit,” he said, a certain discontent with the outcome and the media spread across his drill sergeant face.  “But you can’t win when you don’t hit, can you?  We need to start hitting.”

                You see?  Genius, if I’ve ever heard one.

4/8: Royals 5, Yankees 2

                The Yankees’ plane touched down on the Heartland sometime between three and four A.M. Tuesday morning, its half-asleep passengers stumbling off its wings and into an idle bus that would take them to their unfamiliar beds.  Once there and tucked away, the sun already putting the hotel’s thick, hard-to-move, window curtains to work, it would only be a few hours before they would have to rise themselves and head to the home ballpark of the Kansas City Royals.

                So excited was reliever Brian Bruney about this choice of scheduling that he had posted a thank you note on the wall of the Yankees’ clubhouse the day before, addressed specifically to ESPN.  The sports network of all sports networks was televising their game Monday night, requiring a primetime slot over the lower expected ratings of daytime TV.  This executive decision, coupled with the Royals scheduled Home Opener at 3:00 P.M. CST yesterday, forced the Yankees to play a day game immediately following the previous night’s clash with Rays.

                Such is the life of a Major League Baseball player, where sleep comes at a premium on the road, and productive games at the ballpark live and die by the schedule.

Just ask Phil Hughes.

                For starters, the young right-hander was matched up against Brian Bannister, another Mets trade-away who has found a new home – not to mention a sub-4.00 ERA – with a team that really wants him.  Off to a good start for the first time in recent memory, the 2008 Royals are much like the vastly improved Rays team that the Yankees just finished playing in the Bronx: young, athletic and hungry to win, with decent starting pitching, a good bullpen, and a nice mixture of young kids and veterans.

In other words, Hughes wasn’t going to get a break from any angle yesterday, no matter how much sleep he had managed the night before.  Nor was he going to get much help from the moody offense, which definitely made it on the plane to Kansas City with the team this time, but may have missed the bus to Kauffman Stadium.

Somebody should’ve checked room 521.  I heard that’s where the lumber slept.

Johnny Damon lead off this groggy, overcast, Home Opener for the Royals with a walk, but never made it past first base.  New manager Joe Girardi, continuing to enforce his non-aggressive, no-steals policy in the early going (the Yankees have zero stolen bases through the first eight games) never sent Damon, and Robinson Cano preceded to strike-out swinging, his eyes quite possibly closed.  Bobby Abreu then tapped into a quiet, inning-ending double-play, and the Yankees shuffled out onto the field.

                On the mound, Hughes’ uniform rippled like a flag caught high in the wind, and his pitches seemed to be fighting the elements all day long.  Lead-off man Joey Gaithright quickly stroked a single to center, then as one of the fastest men is baseball is required to do, he stole second base off of Jorge Posada – on a pitchout no less!  Jorge would later join Captain Derek Jeter on the bench, who came out of Monday’s game due to a strained quadricep muscle, with a non-descript “weakness” in his throwing shoulder.  Any Yankee fan knows how rare it is to see one of these stalwarts miss a game due to injury, so seeing both on the sidelines in the eighth game of the season was a little troubling.  However, the baseball game continued, as it is required to do.

                After a Mark Grudzelenik ground out and an RBI double by Mark Teahan made the score 1-0, Hughes showed some of the veteran grit and poise that has made Brian Cashman such a fan.  With Teahan in scoring position at second, Hughes fell behind slugger Jose Guillen 3-0.  Digging his heels in now, Hughes pumped two fastballs over the outside corner, working all the way back to 3-2, and eventually getting Guillen to pop-up.  The much lauded rookie Billy Butler was next, but Hughes made quick work off him with his nasty curveball, inducing him to strike out swinging.

                Inning over, only one run scored, hope springs eternal.

                The Yankees came right back in the top of the second inning, starting a rally from scratch with two outs.  Following a strike-out-looking by A-Rod and a ground out by Hideki Matsui, Posada singled, Jason Giambi worked a trademark walk, and Wilson Betemit finally made contact with a baseball, delivering a clutch RBI single.  Melky Cabrera and Damon would both get free passes next, Bannister showing signs of his relative youth (to that of Hughes!), and the score changed direction to 2-1 Bombers.  However, Robinson Cano would strike out swinging – again – chasing another elusive curveball in the dirt.

And that, Yankee fans, was goodnight for the offense, at 3:31 PM, CST.

By the middle of the fourth inning, Hughes had worked himself in and out of two, two-out, bases-loaded jams of his own making, rocketing his pitch-count north of ninety and requiring him to leave the game.  He had allowed three earned runs on the day.  Not terrible for a twenty-one-year-old kid in the Big Leaues, but nowhere near as good as his first outing last week against the Blue Jays.

                Such is the life of a young Yankees pitcher, where expectations run as high as pitch-counts, and adjustments need to be made on the fly in order to stay afloat.  It is a long, grinding season chock-full of peaks and valleys, especially for the young players, and yesterday will best be remembered as a learning experience for Hughes.

                Philly the Kid will be fine… once he gets some rest!

                Fellow right-handed rookie Ross Ohlendorf relieved his teammate at this point, and after stranding his two inherited runners in the fourth, two earned runs jumped up to bite him in the bottom of the fifth, and the score found its final resting place for the day, 5-2 Royals.  Over the course of the next four innings the Yankees got a head start catching up on their sleep, evidenced by a combined eleven strike-outs on the afternoon (four by Mr. Rodriguez), and nary another scoring threat to describe.

                Such is the life of a one hundred and sixty-two game marathon, where one day you’re hot, and the next… your tired.

4/7: Yankees 6, Rays 1

                If you didn’t know any better, you would think they were booing the guy.

                Instead, each time Mike Mussina notched two strikes on a batter last night at the Stadium, the trademark “Moose Calls” began their patented reverberation amongst the crowd, loud, long, and low, filling the cold air with life.  For a pitcher who was supposedly done last season after a horrific three game stretch in August, there was a lot of love circling down to the mound where he stood, feet together, glove to his heart, right arm weighted straight down by his heavy, clenched fist.  If Wang’s mound presence reminds one of an ancient, religious statue, than Mussina is the picture of a politician fielding questions at the podium, the slight forward lean his way of engaging the audience better.

                A Stanford graduate of noted intelligence, you can almost hear Mussina thinking along with his catcher as he peers in, eyes squinted thin, analyzing each option he is given against a mental history of the batter at the plate.  Once a particular selection passes the risk profile for the precise situation in the game, a slight nod is given, and the Republican from Pennsylvania is ready to deliver his speech.

                Last night against the Tampa Bay Rays, his pitches were talking.

                Whether it was the graceful, soft arc of the knuckle curve, or the in-and-out movement of his deceptive fastball on the corners, the Moose was persuasive enough that the umpires were listening, and the hitters were missing.  When he needed a third pitch to drive a point home, Mike floated a changeup toward the plate that stared the likes of Carlos Pena, B.J. Upton and Eric Hinske dead in the eye, induced an excited, wild swing, then disappeared from sight like a surprised fish in water.  At times during this final game of the Opening Week home-stand, Mussina looked near unhittable, twisting his words and their meanings any way he wanted, always with the same result - resounding applause.

                In truth, he looked like a confident pitcher who has accepted his fate, and learned to adjust, much like an aging candidate would in the primaries against a younger, stronger opponent.  To put it another way, he looks like a thirty-nine-year-old Mike Mussina should, which is better than many, if not most, of the twenty-nine-year-old starters in the League.

In the end, he pitched six innings of one-run, two-hit ball, throwing only eighty-two pitches in the process and striking out three, the last of which tied him for 21^st place on the all-time strikeout list with David Cone.  The eventual win, his 251^st, tied him with Bob Gibson on the all-time wins list.  Not bad for a guy who was labeled “done” after three bad starts in August last year.  Not bad for the 2008 Yankees rotation, which is an entirely different story with an efficient and effective Moose on the mound, exactly the way he was last night at the Stadium.

What was also an entirely different story last night was the Yankee offense.  After scoring only two runs on nine hits in the previous game Sunday, you could feel a storm brewing in the Bronx, lurking in the hitting tunnels beneath the old cement foundation, waiting for Tampa’s innocent yet hapless, number five starter, Jason Hammel, to appear on the mound.  And when he did, in the bottom of the first inning, Bobby Abreu continued his torrid first week by unleashing a bolt of lightening over the wall to right, giving the Yankees a thunderous two-run lead, just like that.  The cheery Venezuelan would finish the game three-for-three, a double away from the cycle, and batting .400 after the first seven games.

In the top of the third, Johnny Gomes temporarily weathered the storm for his Rays by taking Mussina’s one mistake pitch deep and gone to left for a solo home run, and the resulting 2-1 score held firm until the bottom of the sixth.  As if realizing that Mussina’s gem was in need of further protection before he officially departed the game, the Yankees whipped-up the winds once more.  This time they pushed two all-important insurance runs across the dish on an Abreu triple off the top of the wall in right-center, a broken-bat RBI single by A-Rod, and a scorching RBI double down the line by Hideki Matsui, the ball racing just under the adept glove of Rays first baseman, Carlos Pena, who had been holding the runner.  In strategic fashion, manager Joe Girardi had A-Rod running on the crucial 3-2 pitch to Hideki, allowing him to score easily from first.

Two more tack-on runs were scored in the bottom of the seventh, Matsui and Cano making Mother Nature proud during this particular front.  With two outs and runners in scoring position, each Yankee pelted the sunny Rays with an RBI single, ratcheting up the score to 6-1 and putting the game out of reach.

For Cano, it was his first RBI of the season, a good sign when such a talented hitter is struggling.  For Matsui, who came into the game with a career .331 average against Tampa Bay, he finished the four game series seven-for-fifteen with five RBI, a good sign for any hitter in any country, whether he plays in Japan, the Caribbean, or the Unites States.  The Yankees offense would wind up finishing the night with eleven hits as a unit, a great sign for a team headed out on an eight-game road trip to Kansas City, Boston, and back down to Tampa Bay.

Let’s hope that turbulent weather, for the visiting team at least, remains in the local stadium forecasts.

Even after last night’s storm cleared, however, and the bullpen combination of Brian Bruney, Kyle Farnsworth, and Latroy Hawkins held on to the five-run lead, this game was all about Mike Mussina, as it should be.  The Republican from Pennsylvania had his pitches talking, and Yankee faithful everywhere were listening.

Yet another sign of good things to come.

4/6: Yankees 2, Rays 0

                Wang to Joba.  Joba to Rivera.  Yankees win.

The simplicity of the formula is what makes it so potent, not to mention beautiful.  It has been a long, long time in the Bronx since an owner, a coach, maybe even the players have felt comfortable with the pitching staff in a tight ballgame.  With that said, it has been a relative eternity for the fans.  The three Yankee wins during the first week of this season, however, have come by way of scores 3-2, 3-2, and now 2-0, each time the starting pitcher getting the lead into the hands of rookie phenom Joba Chamberlain, who politely powers the ball into the hands of the surgical Mariano Rivera.

Game over.

So simple, so powerful, and thus, so unbelievably hard to find.  If you’re looking to place a value on such a commodity, just remember this.  The vaunted Yankee offense definitely missed the team plane out of Tampa last week – it has been confirmed – but the Yankees are still winning games.  You don’t need ten runs a night when you can win with two, and you’re not going to get ten runs a night amidst the current, cold weather patterns in the Northeast.  Similarly, and more importantly, you’re not scoring ten runs a night in a five-game playoff series where you’re facing your opponent’s three best pitchers.

Based on the Yankees’ three, consecutive, first round ousters from 2005 through 2007, the value of this formula just went to Pluto… and back.

Again, it has been a long, long time.

                And again, how in the world did Joba Chamberlain fall to the forty-seventh pick of the 2006 draft, into the waiting, outstretched arms of Brian Cashman?

A turning point indeed.

                Back in the Bronx, Part One of the formula went to work yesterday beneath a thick, gray blanket of clouds, which only changed position, it seemed, due to the slow, methodic rotation of the earth.  In much the same manner as those expressionless, slow-moving clouds above, the six-foot-four pitcher from Taiwan towered like a statute on the mound, the only signs of life taking shape when he broke free from the mold to raise his arms high overhead.  Then followed an eerily quiet pause, the Stadium holding its breath in anticipation, and a change in foot placement.  What happened next was the effortless release of pure momentum, as our statute bent at the waist, bent at the knees, and drove his heavy frame toward the plate.

                Each ball traveled fifty of the sixty required feet belt-buckle high, then dove like a targeted missile in the desert, exploding through the lower-half of the zone.  Those hitters unlucky enough to make contact felt the vibrations first in their fingers, then in their hands, and finally up their forearms to the shoulder region, almost like electricity following a conductive chain of metals.

Chien-Ming Wang has become famous because of this Power Sinker, inducing ground ball outs at an uncanny rate since his Major League debut three years ago.  Yesterday, however, he mixed in a biting slider with his heavy sinker, and was orchestrating a no-hitter through four, solid innings of work.  More telling though was his four strike-outs through those same four innings.  If Wang can learn to consistently command a quality strike-out pitch, such as the slider he was throwing at the Rays with ease yesterday, there is no way of knowing what his ceiling may be.  Without such a pitch, he has won more games in the past two years than any pitcher in baseball (38), so you do the math.

As for the struggling offense, A-Rod kicked the tires in the bottom of the fourth inning by sending a booming double to the wall off of the Rays starting pitcher, James Shields, who of course was having the best game of his career versus the Yankees.  One batter later, however, Hideki Matsui decided to replace the tires altogether when he slammed his second home run of the season into the lower deck in right, staking his ace and teammates to an early two-run lead.  Godzilla would finish the day three-for-four, putting to rest for the afternoon any fears that age and injuries have sapped the monster of his ability to terrorize opposing pitchers.

Wang’s lone bit of trouble came in the seventh inning, when he allowed two consecutive singles to Cliff Floyd and Eric Hinske.  Joe Girardi, back in the dugout for the first time in three days due to illness, trotted out to the mound and called for his big gun with decisive fervor.  No way was this two-zip lead going to anyone but Joba, and no way was Joe going to wait any longer, two moral certainties only six games into the young season.

As a reward for his manager’s confidence and faith in his abilities, the kid delivered once again, striking out the first batter that dug in against him, a petrified Wily Aybar, and retiring all five batters he faced on the day.  First and second, no outs, eighth inning of a 2-0 game, Coach?  No problem.  Let me get this thing to Mo, and let’s go home.

And that’s exactly what happened, isn’t it, yesterday in the Bronx?

Joba goes two, Mo strikes out two, Yankees win.

Again, it has been a long, long time.