Yet Another OOTP6 Dynasty: The Pale Hose

[cknox0723]

Originally Posted by Jestor

Garland this day was gold,
Godly like Gload.
This never gets old,
Unlike green mold.

Excellent! I schemed for five minutes on something to compete with this, ending, of course with Julio Lugo and a string of expletives. But couldn't get it to work, so I figured it best to let it lie. And in between my inane (and perfectly spot-on) rants in OT, I reckoned it would be wise to do something productive. So here we go. This one's a lot of fun, trust me.

And we've reached the summit. This is it. Four games left. Win two, and we -- well, we win 70. Maybe not such an inspiring battle cry, but surviving a year is ultimately as good an accomplishment as anything else. Or so I'll convince myself.

Rick Ankiel gets a start today, just because, and he looks real good out of the gate, striking out King Clutch on three pitches and then Gary Sheffield on six. An A-Rod single only becomes a threat after he swipes second and then Randy Winn wriggles out a walk, but Godzilla-sui flies out and it's all good in the Cell.

Facing the same lineup as the one that toppled those hated Rangers yesterday, Jose Contreras looks brilliant, escaping the first inning without a sweat. After a 1-2-3 second from Ankiel, Contreras again ties us up, not so much as surrendering a ball out of the infield. Ankiel evades a third-inning threat by fanning Slappy with a wicked 3-2 fastball, but Contreras does it again in the third.

Until he steps on the mound, that is. Hacktastic Julio steps in and ropes the first pitch he sees to the left-center field gap, a two-bagger that gets us a run when Ramon Vazquez bounces into a fielder's choice three batters later.

Ankiel continues to stick to his three true outcomes self. However, without riding the constant lightning of home runs and walks, it's pretty boring, at least for the New York side, as they don't get the ball out of the infield through the fourth and fifth, striking out four times in the process.

Miguel Olivo doubles to lead off the fifth, and Ankiel gets one hell of an ovation as Brian Anderson goes up to pinch-hit. Before I get flogged for taking out a guy in the fifth inning when he's carrying a one-hit shutout, Ankiel had thrown 92 pitches. And it's Rick Ankiel, for heaven's sake. Anderson lays down a perfect sacrifice bunt, and Ramon Vazquez tallies his second RBI with his second ground out to first. More of that, and soon he'll be a "Proven RBI Man", with the trademark to go with it.

The Japanese Love Machine needs two pitches to retire the first two Yankee hitters in the sixth, but then has just a minor blip, walking Slappy and then Randy Lose, who would be about as aptly named as Tony Suck, Dr. Rick Tusofdeth, or pitcher Grant Balfour. But Otsuka retires Japanese counterpart Godzilla on a fly ball to center, and then works a perfect seventh frame to boot, putting us six outs away from taking down the Empire...behind Rick F. Ankiel.

And can't you guess what happens next?

You can, can't you? The curse of a bad team...Kiko Calero comes on for the eighth and before I can scratch myself, Jorge Posada's laced a single to right. But King Clutch strikes out...and then, so does pinch-hitter and .300 hitter Bronson Sardinha. Hold the mushrooms.

Wait, that's two outs. Where's the problem? There is none, really...except then Calero hands a walk to Slappy Rodriguez, putting the tying run on base. Mike Gallo comes on to face left-handed Bobby Higginson. That was my first mistake.

Or was it?

"The one-one pitch to Higginson...fastball, rapped to the left side for Lu -- oh, he bobbles it, tries to pick it up and drops it again! And the throw to second's late! Oh, a costly error by Julio Lugo and now the bases are loaded for Hideki Matsui."

And f*cking Gallo f*cking walks him. Walks in a run. I've got Joe Roa in the bullpen and steam coming out of my ears. I consider walking out to the mound and slapping Gallo around a little bit, for my own benefit rather than his, but instead I send Jamison Bryan, our supposed pitching guru, out there to offer some friendly advice. With any luck, his choice words were something like "An out or a one-way ticket to the O.C., bitch."

Up steps the tapeworm-infested Jason Giambi, toting an .875 OPS -- even with parasites! Pinch-runner Ruddy Yan, a bit player in the DePaula-Marte deal, takes a short lead off second representing the tying run in some sort of cruel twist of fate. I clutch Juan Uribe around the throat, watch balls one and two sail four feet out of the strike zone and start squeezing.

"The two-oh pitch from Gallo...fastball, inside half and Giambi dinks it to first. Fullmer scoops it up, jogs over to the bag and that ends the inning, leaving the tying run a mere 90 feet away."

You can breathe now, Juanny Baby. That sets things up beautifully for Joe Roa in the ninth, and he...gives up a shot to the gap on his first pitch to Marcus Giles. Two bags. F*ck. F*ck. Hey, Juan, where're you going? Come back! Come back! We might need you to play second!

"Herrera's in a 1-2 hole after fouling off two consecutive bunts, and now Roa's fourth pitch is a fastball and it's bounced to the left side. Lugo fields it cleanly, looks back Giles and fires it across for the out, and Casey Stengel just rolled over in his grave a time or two as Giles, representing the tying run and at second after a leadoff double, still stands there one out later."

A hell of a reprieve, and a handful of pitches and a couple of at-bats by Noah Hall and King Clutch later, it's clear we've kicked everyone ass, to quote the esteemable Mr. Beane. Well, maybe not, but for one day, it's clear we kicked the Yankees' ass, thanks to Rick Ankiel and the fact that the lost art of buntin' never really has been found.



NYY 1 CHW 2

WP: R. Ankiel - 5 IP, 1 H, 0 R, 3 BB, 8 K, 93 pitches
LP: J. Contreras (8-5) - 7 IP, 3 H, 2 R, 1 BB, 3 K
S: J. Roa (17)

Game Ball Goes To... Were Rick Ankiel a female,, he'd probably look trashy and cheap. Well, he'd probably look pretty damn disturbing, but that's neither here not there. Point is, even the trashiest and cheapest girls can look damn good under the right light. Same with Ankiel. Put him against a whifftastic bunch, and if his control's passable, he'll look OK. The Yankees, with 4 batters over 100 strikeouts, were just that team. To expect Ankiel to do that all the time is just unfair. He is who he is, and it can make for an awfully fun ride sometimes. With his huge, noticeable flaws, he's an Everyman. You can't help but root for him, even the binary-bit version of him. Today was one of those rewarding days.

Playoffs? You're Talkin' 'Bout Playoffs? I Just Hope We Can Win a Game!: So, too, does Boston, but a late-inning collapse, this one not even authored by Grady Little, kept them from even that small goal this time 'round the bend. Detroit -- the 65-win Tigers! -- completed a three-game sweep of the Sawx with a 5-3 victory, the tides of which were turned by a two-run triple off of J.C. Romero with two outs in the top of the eighth. The batsman? Improbably, Ty Wigginton, who's not much different than his real life counterpart, hitting just .240 and coming off the bench for still-tied-in-fourth Detroit. Anaheim, with a day off before their final series, now holds a one-game lead on the W.C., and with their three games against Tampa Bay, the worst club in all the land with a 54-105 mark, something will have seriously have to have gone in the W.C. for their club to not be able to fly that long-coveted "Best Second Place Team" flag.

[Vris]

God I love having this back. With this and the Octopus League, I feel so inadequate with the English language. It can be such a beautiful thing.

Awesome job Craig. I'm having a hard time keeping up with your updates, but they are sure a lot of fun to read.

[The Funk]

Damn Craig, you've dropped to the second page, can't have that. Rick Ankiel throwing a one-hit shutout through five? All we need is for Julio to walk three times in a game and I think it's safe to assume the end of the world is nigh... uh oh.

[cknox0723]

Originally Posted by Vris

God I love having this back. With this and the Octopus League, I feel so inadequate with the English language. It can be such a beautiful thing.

Awesome job Craig. I'm having a hard time keeping up with your updates, but they are sure a lot of fun to read.

Thanks, Vris. That's high praise, man, very high praise. And I like it!

And the updates will definitely be a lot slower once we're into the offseason. Just allows for a finer sample of my, um, bullsh*t capricious wit.

Originally Posted by The Funk

Damn Craig, you've dropped to the second page, can't have that. Rick Ankiel throwing a one-hit shutout through five? All we need is for Julio to walk three times in a game and I think it's safe to assume the end of the world is nigh... uh oh.

We're all gonna die! We're all gonna die! Hide the women and children!

No, this still doesn't mean you (or creed) can have Mark Buehrle. Sorry!

Anyways...

Jason Schmidt's thrown 31 consecutive scoreless innings, and today, we've got Jorge DePaula, who's 5-18. I'm not sure why I'm even playing this one out, but, hell, no reason to give up now. We're three games away from that time of year where even we can't lose! And trust me -- you really can't lose in the offseason. Just ask Scott Miller. If you sign lousy players to big contracts, well, they're better than what you had, so you did good, son. But if you sign no one but the properly valued guys, you're actually making the smart move. Like I said, you can't lose. Got to love that.

And encouragingly enough, DSM-IV Jorge is satisfied by those four words, at least temporarily, and he looks good in the top of the first. Two batters into our half of the inning, it's clear that it won't matter which Jorge we get today.

Schmidt's terrifying me, and I'm just pressing buttons here. 98 mile an hour fastballs, devastating, filthy sliders, paralyzing 80 mile an hour changeups. Ramon Vazquez half-heartedly sticks his bat out on the first pitch. 98 mile an hour cheese strikes bat. The ball rolls thirty feet up the third base line. On a bunt. Vazquez is out by a mile.

D.Y. steps in. Cheese. Strike one. Slider that starts in the right-handed batter's box. Strike two. Schmidt goes with the breadth of his arsenal for the third pitch, a nasty changeup. D.Y. only makes contact because the pitch is 80 miles an hour rather than 97, and even then, all he does is dink it towards second base. Two down.

At this point, we've taken one swing and hit the ball an aggregate total of maybe 90 feet. This is embarassing. So at least Maggs steps in with the intention of hacking. Unfortunately, Schmidt's first pitch fastball is in his eyes. And he could've started his swing while still in the on-deck circle, and he still wouldn't've caught up. Strike one. The next pitch is in the dirt. Maggs practically dives to his knees chasing after it. I give a Gatorade cooler hell. Doesn't change the count.

Fortunately, Schmidt's third pitch bounces some fifty feet after it leaves his hand. A ball -- it feels like we've won the Battle of Monmouth. However, Schmidt gets the ball back after that and looks like he finally has a purpose, rather than just looking like a Cheshire playing with yarn. His fourth pitch whizzes up to the pentagon, right on the inside half.

It's called ball two anyway. After that reprieve and a few deep breaths, Maggs steps out of the box, takes a confident cut at the invisible sphere, then digs back in to face Schmidt's invisible sphere. Except his next pitch is a changeup. Maggs stays back and unloads. Deep into the right field corner it goes. Sheffield takes off into oblivion. 10,000 rush to their feet, more at the shock of the ball leaving the infield than anything. I scramble to the top of the dugout steps, and crane my neck in time to --

Hear it crack. F*cking neck. All the damned time. I rub the dull ache for a moment, then close my eyes for a moment and envision the ball. Finally, I open them, search around the right field pole for the ball and spot the lucky fan clutching a souvenir -- can tell he's a fatass, even from here. And he's a fatass in foul territory. Sh*tf*ck.

Remarkably, Maggs whacks the next pitch past The Inert Giambino for a base hit, a real one, even, but Frank Thomas hits a weak bouncer to short and it's pretty apparent that we're never going to score.

So with that safely etched in stone, it's up to Jorge DePaula to keep the Yankees off the board as long as possible.

Read that sentence again. Jorge DePaula. Against the Empire. It's a losing proposition. With two outs and one on in the very next inning, Jorge Posada, a hell of an eighth hitter in a spot normally populated by J. Lugo, destroys what may pass as a fine changeup -- in Birmingham -- and we're down a pair. Impressively enough, that's the only black mark against DePaula in his time on the mound, which runs for six frames. But Schmidt goes that long as well, and our teamwide epidemic of sticking the foot in the bucket and taking weak, half-assed, eyes-closed hacks doesn't do much for the run-scoring.

By the time the relief corps comes on for the Empire, we're so psychologically f*cked up by Schmidt that Joe Torre could go to Mel Stottlemyre himself and it wouldn't matter. Our best shot for a rally comes in the seventh, when The Big Hurt and The Element perch themselves on flour sacks, but Enrique Wilson stings a line drive right at Marcus Giles. Thomas, never the nimblest of foot, does an odd sort-of pirouette somewhere between second and third, and Giles flips it to the always clutch, well-placed D. Jeter before absolutely busting a gut at the sight of The Big Hurt. Double play, inning over.

Oh, and -- Frank Thomas, ballet dancer? Always funny. Starting with Schmidt and ending with the 52-save man, Dave Weathers? Never funny, and you won't convince me otherwise.

NYY 5 CHW 0

WP: J. Schmidt (22-3) - 37 scoreless innings over last five starts
LP: J. DePaula (5-19) - 6 IP, 2 R
S: D. Weathers (52) - 1.2 IP scoreless

Game Ball Goes To... Ah, bite my ass. Just take the damn ball, Jason, and go back to San Francisco. Please.

LET'S RAISE OUR VOICE FIFTY DECIBELS AND PLAY LOUD MUSIC BECAUSE THE PLAYOFFS ARE EXCITING!: It strikes your heart's chord a bit less because Anaheim won their match, but Boston did manage to keep themselves alive with a hell of a comeback against creed's boys. In to close out a gem from Brad Penny, Scot "Lose the 'T', Lose the Control, Lose the Closer's Job" Shields instead gave up four consecutive hits, including the game-winning two-run single to one Johnny Damon. With two to play, the Sox still have a pulse, but only barely -- they'll need help from 54-106 Tampa Bay.

[Jestor]

And he's a fatass in foul territory.

Simply gold

[Vris]

Hey, on the bright side: You still haven't been no-hit this year! Woohoo!

[cknox0723]

Originally Posted by Jestor

Simply gold

Thanks. I must say, I felt my neurons were really firing while writing that last one. You'd know all about that -- it's really a great feeling to get.

Originally Posted by Vris

Hey, on the bright side: You still haven't been no-hit this year! Woohoo!

Hmmm...good point. Very good point. Works for me.

Once more this year, for lack of any other rested options, we'll be subjected to The Art of Suck. I wince along with you. To make matters worse, Javy Vazquez, he of the 23 and 2 and 1.87 ledger, will mow down our mostly unable batsmen. Yes, kids, that is 23 wins. And check out this lineup as the Empire rests some starters before their playoff run:

2B M. Giles (.301 avg, .357 obp, .463 slg)
CF B. Sardinha (.284/.314/.413)
3B A. Rodriguez (.283/.366/.490)
LF H. Matsui (.310/.374/.480)
RF G. Sheffield (.233/.334/.387)
SS D. Jeter (.262/.331/.365)
1B R. Gload (.250/.250/1000, .296/.361/.519 in AAA)
C J. Posada (.242/.335/.368)

The Gload, in pinstripes? Well, #### me and call me Shirley. This one's over before it even started.

And right there, we'll stop for now. But the hook to reel you back in? Not The Gload, but eleven words that go straight to the imagination of any baseball nut.

This turned out to be the best game of the year.

[Y0DA55]

Jeez Craig... NOW what am I going to do? I can't continue my life without knowing what happens... Curse You Caig! Curse You!

[The Funk]

I think Esteban's had a career-ending injury

[cknox0723]

Free of lengthy introductions, persecution, and career-ending injuries (sorry, Funk! Like your thinking, though!), here 'tis. Make sure you're comfortable.

Predictably enough, the Yankees bring home two in the first, undoubtedly spurred on by The Gload's clutch bases loaded fielder's choice. The Gload also eliminates the threat we don't have in the bottom of the second with a nice catch in foul territory.

Loaiza, amazingly enough, stops with his practices of His Art (TM Funk 2005), and actually settles down over the middle frames. He nearly creates a fourth inning threat by walking The Gload, but, hell, it's better than a home run, isn't it?

In the bottom of that frame, we finally get a baserunner as Ramon Vazquez works a walk, but no one can touch The Other Vazquez, and we remain in a 2-0 hole. A pair of innings pass, and we finally get another baserunner in the bottom of the sixth, when Gold Glover D. Jeter flings a toss to first that even The Gload can't catch. Two batters later, Our Vazquez spoils Their Vazquez's no-hitter, but D.Y. pops out for the second out and it's up to the right-handed Maggs to buck the odds and get us on the board.

"The two-two pitch to Ordonez...fastball, laced to the right side and -- OH, WHAT A CATCH BY GLOAD! An acrobatic play by backup first baseman Ross Gload, and his clutch grab gets the Yankees out of trouble!"

Surprise, surprise, huh?

P.J. Bevis comes on for the seventh, and Jorge Posada gets under his first pitch and dinks it in the air to right. That, of course, spells freaking disaster, because Jeremy Reed apparently doesn't play the game with his glove anymore. Makes it three or four dropped fly balls in the last two weeks. Steve Blass might have a counter part -- Jeremy Reed's Disease, characterized by an odd tendency to assume the fetal position. Anyhow, Bevis manages to get out of the inning OK despite Furball's glovework or lack thereof.

Antonio Alfonseca, who, Bill James will tell you, is not related to Sixto Lezcano, comes on for the seventh, and apparently his sixth finger's not working. Hits by Joe Borchard, Enrique Wilson, and Miguel Olivo load up the bases with one out for Julio F. Lugo. I send up Raul Gonzalez and cross my fingers that he'll pull the ball.

"The 1-2 offering to Gonzalez is...a sinker, and he swings right over top of it, strike three and a big second out!"

Curses. Left-handed Jeremy Reed follows, takes a ball wide, and then hacks at the second pitch and pulls it (####! WHY?)...away from The Gload and in the area of Marcus Giles, who knocks it down, bobbles it, and then throws to first -- late. Ramon Vazquez digs in, hacks away, and dinks a hit down the first base line (WHY???) that The Gload handles deftly to end the frame. Somehow, we're only down a mere run.

And then, we're not. But not in the way that it normally goes.

P.J. Bevis, the best reliever with an ERA over 6 that money can buy, carves up Godzilla-sui, Kitten Killer Sheffield, and Clutch Gold Glove Winning Jetes, and that brings us to the eighth.

Dmitri Young fans and then Frank Thomas, pinch-hitting for my boy Bevis, does the same. "So doesn't that mean the score's still 2-1?", wonders you. "What's your deal?"

Ah...depends on the day, I guess. I think the better question is, "What the #### would you say if I didn't have a deal?"

"One ball, no strikes to Brad Fullmer. Alfonseca to the set. And here's the pitch...sinker, up and out over the plate and Fullmer crushes it to left! Matsui back...at the wall...but that ball is OUTTA HERE! Brad Fullmer with his tenth long ball of the year, and the Sox have tied it up at two!"

Damaso Marte, ex-Sock, comes out barefooted (ha ha ha ho! get it?) and retires Matt Diaz to end the inning. Just call him "Shoeless Damaso".

Aki Otsuka is the man of choice in the eighth, since he may be our best reliever behind a tired Joe Roa, but even he'll have trouble against The Gload, leading off.

Except Joe Torre pinch-hits with Jason Giambi.

If that's not pissing all over all that is holy in baseball, I don't know what is. And the Baseball Gods make Mr. Torre aware of this -- oh, do they ever! Otsuka faces, after a bit of hemming and hawing, a situation of a man at second with two outs. I decide to pass over Marcus Giles for Bronson "I Have No Plate Patience and a Reverse Platoon Split, Even Odds I Suck Next Year" Sardinha. That's "IHNPPAARPSESINY" for short. It's the new Hacktastic Julio! Of course, after the IBB, Otsuka turns red. So, too, do I. And his fatigue shows against IHNPPAARPSESINY. The count runs full.

"And the runners will be going as Otsuka comes to the plate...and here it comes, the 3-2 payoff pitch is a fastball, off the outside half and -- OH, but Sardinha's rung up for strike three! And on a pitch of very questionable moral value, the Sox get out of trouble!"

Mr. Torre, as The Gold Glove SS calls him, gets himself tossed over that pitch of questionable moral value. I just attribute it to Jesus Christ himself smiling down on us. TJC, KUTGW!

Nevertheless, David Weathers, the 52-save man, skates through the ninth, and we move to yet another extra inning game. Mercurial Kiko Calero is the new boy, but he crashes and burns spectacularly after retiring Slappy Rodriguez to begin the frame.

First, Godzilla-sui takes a stroll down to first base. Next, Gary Sheffield does the same. Derek Jeter draws a CLUTCH walk and the bags are a'packed -- and I'm on the verge of homicide. So I go to Joe Roa, who does what he always does -- Javy Herrera, backup catcher, whiffs, and Jayson Drobiak, not The Gload, hits a comebacker. Inning over still tied wheeeeeeeeee!

But Weathers weathers the storm in the bottom of the inning, and worse yet, Roa's spot came up in the order, so that moves the pitching line on to Mike Gallo against the top of the Yankee order in the eleventh. Worse still, we're down to Rick Hummel et al. after him.

But there's no Gload at the bat. Gallo gets through the inning, giving us a chance to win it the bottom half against Jay Powell.

Brad Fullmer leads off. The man who tied the game earlier. A power threat with a .480 career slugging percentage. He gets a favorable 2-1 count, and sits on the fastball.

Instead, Powell offers up a splitter. Fullmer takes a weak hack instead of laying off, and it dinks it to third. One out. Matt Diaz is up next, but instead, I send up Joe Crede.

Why that seemed like a good idea, I don't know. He takes two quick strikes. Bat meets ball on Powell's third offering, but only barely. It's a weak foul tip. That does disrupt Powell's timing, though, and he misses with a couple of pitches, evening up the count.

The sixth pitch of the A.B. is another heater, high and in the left-handed batter's box. Predictably, Crede swings, but somehow he connects. The ball floats out beyond first base in a convoluted, wobbly arc. But no Gload out there, and Jayson Drobiak can't make the over-the-shoulder catch. Only Crede's incompetence afoot prevents him from nabbing two bags.

Still, a baserunner is always better than none, particularly when Enrique Wilson follows. And no, if you just read that and went "WTF does that mean?", you didn't misread. Enrique does not have any particular quality that makes him a threat at the plate, despite the fact that his .246 average is one of the best on the team. Ahem. It's better than Julio Lugo, OK? Powell tosses a two-seamer out over the plate for a first pitch strike to Wilson, but then he tries to get cute and do it again.

Mistake. Remember, Enrique Wilson is a dangerous man with wood, right? And Wilson connects on that fastball -- underneath the center of the ball and sort of off the end of the bat, but he killed it otherwise. Really. The sphere travels all of 150 feet to center field.

But who the hell would play there? I mean, it's besides the point that Wilson should be played there, but no one besides me would think of that. Two dinks, two hits, and now a base hit wins the ballgame.

Instead, Miguel Olivo hits into a double play. Now, admit it, you actually thought we were going to win it there, didn't you? You did! I know you did! I did, too. But what have we learned from 800 posts? Repeat after me, class -- "Hope gets you nowhere."

Still, we have a shred of that revolting stuff when Mike Gallo, who looks like a real, live pitcher today, works a scoreless 12th frame, and suddenly we have a little more when Ramon Vazquez scalds a two-out hit to right to get the winning run on in the bottom half. D.Y. follows, hacks at the first pitch, and strikes it poorly -- but it swings toward the outfield in a perfect arc, just beyond Marcus Giles and just in front of Bronson Sardinha. Suddenly the winning run's at third. A base hit wins it -- again!

But the pitcher's slot is up. Brian Buchanan's the last man left. Jay Powell is decidedly not left-handed, and decidedly not going to switch and throw from the other side like one of those crazy 1860's guys. And, uh, if we take out Gallo, who the hell's going to pitch the 13th?

"Two and nothing to the right-handed Buchanan. Powell with a few deep breaths. He steps off, fiddles with his glove for a bit, and steps back on. A cursory glance at Vazquez at third, a long look in at Herrera. Slow nod. To the set...the 2-0 from Powell...splitter, outside half, hit in the air to left-center! Back is Sardinha...still going back...he slows up near the warning track, reaches up...and he's got it, and the inning's over. We go on to the thirteenth."

Gah. Agh. Hag. Gha. Ahg. Hga.

Travis Foley, whoever he is, is warmed up, so he's the nominal guy for the next frame.

And all he does is pitch a one-two-three inning. Sure, it's against Javy Herrera, Jayson "Not Gload" Drobiak, and someone called Mike Vento, guys he faced in the International League all year, but why let facts get in the way of a good story?

But Cliff Politte treats us rudely in the bottom half, and stuck with the top of the Yankee order and Travis Foley on the mound in the 14th, things fall apart. Foley gets within an out of escaping the inning, but Gary Sheffield steps up, takes one of his classic ridiculously hard cuts, and absolutely clubs a two-run double and that seals our fate. We actually get the tying runs on base in the bottom half thanks to Our Vazquez and D.Y., but that leaves the pitcher's slot up with two outs. With an empty bench, Rick Ankiel's our best hope, but Travis Harper strikes him out and we go down 4-2.

The lesson from all this? Nothing can stop The Evil Empire. Not even f*cking with The Gload.

NYY 4 CHW 2 (14)

WP: C. Politte (4-2)
LP: T. Foley (0-2)
S: T. Harper (1)

Game Ball Goes To... The whole team. Seriously. Hundred and sixty first game of the year, and I don't even care that we lost.

Playoffs -- A Long Word To Type: I'm about shot out here. Both teams won, so Boston will need a win and an Anaheim loss to force a playoff for the right to go to the playoffs. And we're still a win away from 70, with The Buehrle One on the mound. After that, can we do it?

[canadiancreed]

The lesson from all this? Nothing can stop The Evil Empire. Not even f*cking with The Gload.

I predict an awful fate befalling Torre very soon

[Jestor]

Strange how we both got involved in extra inning marathons less than a day apart

[cknox0723]

I've often wondered if more extra inning games means that, all other things equal, you're likely to be more competitive the next year. I guess studying it wouldn't give you much, though. Oh well.

This is it. Last game of the year. Mark Buehrle on the mound against a pheenom that we've seen quite a bit this year, Tyler Clippard. This is bittersweet, yet fantastic. As Vris said not so long ago, I feel quite incompetent with the English language. But here we go for the last time in 2006...

The first inning's perfect. Buehrle's not, not completely, but he ends the top half of the frame with a strikeout of cleanup hitter Randy Winn. Ramon Vazquez doubles into the right field corner to start off the bottom half, and for the umpteenth time this year, D.Y. follows with a base hit, to the delight of 11,000 plus and one lefty-masher button-masher. Ground balls by Maggs and The Big Hurt go for three outs, but we've got the lead.

Buehrle cruises through the second, capping off the frame with strikeouts of IHNPPAARPSEOISNY Sardinha, who pops a vein and gets tossed, and backup catcher Javy Herrera. An Enrique Wilson double play quashes any chance we may have of scoring in the bottom half, but Buehrle racks up two more inning-ending K's in the third, the oppressed being Slappy Rodriguez and Randy Tie.

Buehrle's streak of inning-ending strikeouts ends in the fourth, when he merely pitches a perfect inning via the virtue of the ground ball. The Yankee Clippard responds by toying with our big bats, emphasis on neither word, since saying that we had bats that were big or bats at all would pretty much be a lie. Nevertheless, The Buehrle One keeps the slim lead in Chicago by inducing a pair of ground ball outs in the fifth to leave Javy Herrera stranded at second after a walk and a bunt started the inning.

Slappy hits a comebacker to begin the sixth ninth, and Winn, Lose, or Draw whiffs for the third time. The Inert Giambino draws a walk, but Marcus Giles bounces to first and we're nine outs away.

We fail to get the ball out of the infield in the bottom of the sixth, and in the seventh, to quote Achebe, "Things Fall Apart". Hideki Matsui starts the inning with a single, and after a pinch-runner swipes second and Javy Herrera sacrifices, the tying run's at third with one out. With the infield in, Bobby Higginson raps one right to Julio Lugo, and it looks as though Buehrle may escape. But Derek Jeter, Sir Clutchness, singles to tie the game, and a dejected Buehrle crumbles like a cookie. A walk to Gary Sheffield moves the lead run into scoring position for Slappy Rodriguez.

"From the stretch, here's Buehrle's first pitch to Rodriguez...fastball, up in the zone and on the inside half and Rodriguez whips his bat around and crushes it down the left field line! That ball is way back and...off the foul pole for a three-run home run! And the Yankees take a 4-1 lead on Rodriguez's 28th long ball of the year."

Buehrle eventually gets out of the inning with a strikeout of The Inert Giambino, but down three with nine outs left, suddenly we're in a huge hole.

But Antonio Alfonseca, caustically nicknamed "Gasoline", provides a bit of light at the end of the tunnel by pitching in the seventh as he generally does, which is to say, poorly. D.Y. leads off with a single, and Maggs walks to bring the tying run to the plate. But as he'll do, The Big Hurt dents not the baseball, but our scoring chances with a 4-6 fielder's choice. Raul Gonzalez follows with a single to cut the deficit to two, but Jay Powell retires the light-hitting left side of our infield, Wilson and Lugo, and that sucking sound might have been our chance to win this game, being swallowed up by the vast Empire.

Jon Garland (yeah, him) works a 1-2-3 eighth with the help of a 4-6-3 rally killer, and we've got the bottom two hitters in the eighth. Hackin' Miggy Olivo stays true to his nickname by cutting at the first pitch and fouling it off...but ends up on first base anyway after a call of catcher's interference. May be the first time that's happened all season. "Shoeless Damaso" Marte trots out of the 'pen and retires a pair of pinch-hitters, Brian Buchanan and Joe Crede, and we're left with four outs, a man at second, and a two-run deficit.

Except D.Y. follows with another base hit, and Miggy scampers home to make this match a one-run game. Buddha, whose late-season slide troubles me on some level, continues it by striking out on three pitches, and on we go to the final inning.

Jon Garland allows hits to Higginson and Sheffield around a strikeout of Sir Clutchness, and after Sheffield's knock, Joe Roa trots in. Slappy Rodriguez bounces into a force, Jorge Posada flies out, and we head to the last half-inning, hoping against hope to notch one run against 52-save man Dave Weathers.

But Jeremy Reed, Raul Gonzalez, and Enrique Wilson can't hit the ball farther than 120 feet or so, and once again, the Empire triumphs over all.

But it was a hell of a run. And to think that this was so when finishing last. Imagine how great it'll be to read along as we win the f***ing World Series next year.

NYY 4 CHW 3

WP: T. Clippard (11-6) - 6 IP, 2 H, 1 R, 1 BB, 4 K
LP: M. Buehrle (15-13) - 7 IP, 7 H, 4 R, 3 BB, 8 K
S: D. Weathers (53)

Game Ball Goes To... Well, it's been nine months. This is game ball #162. Surely you can wait for one more post, yes?

[gordyhulten]

Congrats on finishing the season!

I'm looking forward to your offseason, curious to see how you'll make improvements.

[cknox0723]

Courtesy of the ultra-successful "Foul Balls for Guns" campaign, the streets of Chicago are ultimately...well, let's not worry about the fictional streets of a bunch of binary digits, hmmm? In any case, I think I've got enough baseballs together for this very last Game Ball. So, #162 goes to...

And1pg2, BadluckinOOTP, bostonbaseball86, canadiancreed, Carlton, CBLCardinals, CobraTaz13, copper888, Dagrims, DAL 9000, Dargone, darkcloud4579, dougaiton, Dougiestyle, Dreamscape, El Cid, endgame, Fool Inc., Ford Prefect, Gastric ReFlux, gocubsgo, Goodsox, gordyhulten, Jestor, Luis_Rivera, MarkyMark1908, MattStewNYY, Mike D, Mike Ivie, NYJuggalo45, NYM Fan 31, pat, pschwalb, seth70liz76, soc624, Tavarin, The Funk, UngratefulDead, Vris, and Y0DA55

Thanks to each and every one of you. I wouldn't have made it this far without your support and feedback, and I'm indebted for it, for I'm awfully glad this is still going. I really do enjoy writing it.

Enough sappiness and manlove. Now that we've gotten this far, it's time to close the door on this puppy and move on to bigger and better things -- namely, 2007!

[gordyhulten]

Originally Posted by cknox0723

Enough sappiness and manlove.

Not that there's anything wrong with manlove, though, right?

[UngratefulDead]

Man.. it sure will be weird to watch the Hose start winning.

[Y0DA55]

Fittingly, the last game ends in a loss...

Congrats on finishing the season, Craig!

[The Funk]

Originally Posted by cknox0723

In any case, I think I've got enough baseballs together for this very last Game Ball. So, #162 goes to...

And1pg2, BadluckinOOTP, bostonbaseball86, canadiancreed, Carlton, CBLCardinals, CobraTaz13, copper888, Dagrims, DAL 9000, Dargone, darkcloud4579, dougaiton, Dougiestyle, Dreamscape, El Cid, endgame, Fool Inc., Ford Prefect, Gastric ReFlux, gocubsgo, Goodsox, gordyhulten, Jestor, Luis_Rivera, MarkyMark1908, MattStewNYY, Mike D, Mike Ivie, NYJuggalo45, NYM Fan 31, pat, pschwalb, seth70liz76, soc624, Tavarin, The Funk, UngratefulDead, Vris, and Y0DA55

Thanks to each and every one of you. I wouldn't have made it this far without your support and feedback, and I'm indebted for it, for I'm awfully glad this is still going. I really do enjoy writing it.

Damn man, you're even more sentimental than me, and I'm obsessed with old Jimmy Stewart movies. Massive congratulations on finishing, 162 game reports is unfathomable to me and I think it's a true testimony to your management, writing style and sheer bloody-minded refusal to quit (even with your infield, outfield, starting rotation, relief pitching, bench players, prospects etc.) that you've managed to keep this thing going with no let-up in quality.

As I seem to sound like I'm making a toast, let me finish thus. Gentlemen, to 2004's #1 dynasty. To Craig and the Pale Hose!

[gordyhulten]

Originally Posted by The Funk

As I seem to sound like I'm making a toast, let me finish thus. Gentlemen, to 2004's #1 dynasty. To Craig and the Pale Hose!

I'll drink to that!