Forks in the Road and Lightning of Today

As the electrifying buzz of the alarm clock jolted me awake, I stammered across the room to turn it off. The morning air seized every fibre of my being with a thousand frozen prickles...and as I gasped, a rush of fear flooded my barely conscious mind...

Stumbling to the kitchen, while cranking up the heater, I grabbed my Yankee mug and began to make my coffee. The pitch black sky outside, ominously watching me through the kitchen window...the corners of the windows, frosty...leaves swirling with the windy rain, smashing against the frozen glass...my heart began to sink...

I'll never forget that idle Wednesday morning, with it's sadness and anxiety...with it's regrets and fears. That was to be a Wednesday of arrival...a Wednesday of relief...a maiden voyage of victorious relaxation and resolution...

It was supposed to be over...fears, frustration, worry, regret...it was to be a thing of the past by Sunday. Done and done. And yet...here it was...still brewing...still breathing...still defying...ominously mocking...

I opened the front door and was immediately ht by an invisible, frozen wrecking ball of wind. A forceful blast of ice mixed with splinters of rain seized my presence...confronting me...overwhelming me...a force greater than me, insisting I relent...I dropped my head as I entered the world that day...

As I walked to work, maneuvering the umbrella this way and that...amidst the broken branches along the sidewalk...amidst the puddles...I prayed. With sadness and heaviness of heart, I asked God to simply help me...help me with how I was feeling. This was simply a game. Baseball. We are either going to go out there tonight and win, or we will lose. The odds were extremely in our favor...and had been...and I really needed to get a grasp on my emotions...click back into reality...

No team, in the history of baseball had ever come back from a 3-0 deficit and won the remaining 4 games, however, was my next thought. Even in prayer, I couldn't stop my thoughts...the very merry-go-round of thoughts that had been incessant for 4 days...and 4 long nights...

Maybe the Yankees were trying to make the series interesting...maybe it was a tickets/revenue thing...maybe they just weren't taking it all very seriously, having already won the first 3 games...knowing the only goal ahead was to win one more...

But the moment for sobriety was today. My team had sat back and squandered their enormous advantage through three more games...landing themselves in a one-game win or go home scenario...and tonight....tonight...was the verdict.

What if? Is it even possible? Could we lose? Why would we? Exhaling...exhausting my worries in my prayers...I threw out a compromise to God...give me a sign...just a glimmer...the first song I hear on my mp3 player will be that sign...okay?

And God answered.

"Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life."

And I knew. The message was delivered. The answer was unquestionable. We were going to lose tonight. We were going to lose in the biggest way possible. History would be made and we would have allowed it.

When the night sky returned to black that night and I was walking home from work...amidst the broken branches, puddles, and wind...I listened to that song again...I knew I would walk through the front door and the television would be on...I knew it would be about the 7th inning, or later...and I knew there might be a chance my understanding of the postcard message from Heaven might be wrong...

It wasn't.

The Yankees went on to lose the 2004 ALCS game 7...the first team in baseball history to lose 4 games in a row after having won the first 3. The Boston Red Sox would continue on in their quest to reach heights they had only ever dreamt...and would become Champions of Baseball for the first time in 86 years...

There was something about that particular loss that knit itself to my heart and soul. One of the most permeating, marrow wrenching, soul drenching defeats I have ever encountered in my life. I mean, Jesus...it is only baseball. It is only a game...

How is it a sports event can entwine itself into the deepest aspects of the heart and soul? I pondered that idea for a long time...many years...even to this day...and my answer is...I don't know.

Nobody likes to lose.

Loss...loss is pain. Whether it be your English Springer Spaniel who had to be put to sleep when you were at school...or your best friend who had to leave you to attend college back east, on a hot summer day, when you couldn't have imagined pain so deep could exist in your 15 years on the planet...

For me...baseball transcends the field...transcends time and space...the victory and defeat on mere grass with mortal players throughout all time has taken on a fourth dimension in my heart and mind...

A spiritual dimension. A passion I cannot convey. I guess my life experiences just seem to coalesce with what I behold when I watch. Bravery, envy, injustice, tenacity...it's all there. The very aspects of this experience known as life...if you listen very closely...open your eyes and absorb this game...it lives. It breathes. It teaches...and those lessons become specific unto you, the beholder...if you listen with your ears closed and see with your soul open...

From 2004 unto this present day, I have had many thoughts back to that black Wednesday morning...and the following days thereafter...the tears...loss...denial...frustration...knowing without a doubt that losing is absolutely possible at any point in time...grasping the reality that stats really, in the end, don't amount to much...

Smiling and shaking my head at teams like Boston...who were able to toe up to the line of failure and challenge it...who were brave enough to believe...and believed so pure-heatedly that their actions would duplicate that belief...who were not moved by odds...who were unwilling to lose...

The jealousy I developed for that spirit in a team...that moxy...that boldness without reason...realizing the complacency and apathy that resided in my own team...

Through the years I have smiled as I have seen that lightning flash of excellence from all over the league...from watching archived games...and I realize, this, too...transcends time and space...

Today...the New York Yankees hold the best record in baseball...and the season holds roughly 40 games remaining...the Red Sox are struggling to salvage a post-season opportunity...the Texas Rangers are knocking on unfamiliar doors...and bats are swingin...strikes are smokin...plays are being made with the bravest and purest of efforts...

Today, I look across the league...this season that is 2009...and I wonder...after so many years of failing and falling and complacency and apathy...what will become of this 2009 Yankee team...

and...the answer comes to me from long ago. The season will end...someone will win...everyone else will lose...and we will roll around to another season...once again...and again...and...

Winning and losing can, indeed, seem like everything...but...in the end...there is no ultimate win...there are silent, 4th inning with 1 out moments of victory...moments of awesome effort from teams like the Pittsburgh Pirates, the Oakland A's, the Kansas City Royals...perfect games, no hitters, hitting the cycle's...

2009 Has been one of the best seasons for baseball since as far back as I can remember...and...whether it goes up or down for our teams, let's remember as this season comes to an end:

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

If I wrote fortune cookies inspired by Bruce Lee

"Take things as they are. Punch when you have to punch. Kick when you have to kick." -Bruce Lee

Walls can keep us safe...walls can also hem us in. Be water. Water finds a way through walls.

Distractions exist to rob us of endurance, to break us down, and make us ineffective. At best, distractions can inspire, at worst, they can become the very deathblow to faith, confidence, and hope.

Never resist distractions or set-backs...never succumb to discouragement and fear. Acknowledge these as gifts...as plateaus...plateaus from which to further ascend, to confront, to utilize for your advantage, to master.

Let not that which cannot be achieved slip away from your sites. Press on. Sometimes the goal isn't meant to be reached...it is merely something to aim at...

The only thing that separates our ability to be all we could possibly be is our own willingness to accept defeat. Why quench the power of victory? Push the envelope. Reach, strive...fail and fall...and continue to will the win. Failing and falling are stepping stones in every successful event that has ever transpired under the sun...you are not alone.

A man can have intellectual wisdom, but his wisdom is worthless without having been in the arena, himself. Having been bruised, beaten, and exhausted...being forced to discover how to endure despite seeming failure. Embrace failure and frustration...welcome disappointment. They will become the very callousses of your spirit that will protect you on your journey if you don't lose heart and cave in to fear and doubt.

Never let someone else's negative influence have contact with your core. That which is from them is theirs. Never leave their negative influence upon your heart as though any aspect of their destruction belongs to you. Shed emotional connection to such. They require nothing from you.

Embrace only that which is purely deserving of your praise, honor, faith, and respect.

Knit yourself to that which edifys. Free yourself from fear. Shout your flaws to the world and remove your shackles to that which binds you.

Wisdom is not an aspect of intellect...wisdom is a verb.

"Let the spirit out - Discard all thoughts of reward, all hopes of praise and fears of blame, all awareness of one's bodily self. And, finally closing the avenues of sense perception, let the spirit out, as it will.”

"If you always put limit on everything you do, physical or anything else. It will spread into your work and into your life. There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.”

Mark Buehrle Tosses Perfection!

Eric was texting me about a game going on against the evil Tampa Bay faction of wife beaters and convicted felons...

I didn't know it was him...nor was I the slightest bit interested in some random Tampa Stupid Bay game...nor some random Chicago White Sox game...I was knee-deep into an online checkers game against some person from China and I was not about to lose...

Took a breather when the game was done...funny...I don't even recall right this moment if I beat the China dude...

Checked my texts. This is what I read:

1. Chicago is whooping up on Kazmir. Buehrle is no hitting them thru 5inn

2. He's thru 7 now, and Happy Birthday Darlin

3. Oh Shit he is pitching a perfect game

4. Perfect thru 8

5. And he faces the bottom of the order in the 9th

6. Ok here we go. 9th inning

7. Buehrle is perfect. 9th inn starting

Well, NEEDLESS TO SAY...i RAN LIKE HELL to find my remotes...wondering how long ago the last text arrived...wondering why the hell I hadn't somehow KNOWN about this...through the baseball gods or something...

TREMBLING as I clicked on the television, hoping to find WHICH STUPID CHANNEL MLB EXTRA-INNINGS would have this game on...and

BOOYAH! It was being shown LIVE on ESPN. I came in right about here...

watch and enjoy my friends. What an awesome way to officially start my day...and I am soooo grateful for good friends...who never give up on you...who continue to reach out...and bring a little slice of heaven into your world.

Happy Birthday, indeed. ~kathryn

CLICK HERE TO SEE THE REST OF THE STORY

Cisco Kid Was a Friend of Mine: Yankees Option Francisco Cervelli

I guess I knew something was amiss when I saw Jose Molina at the game this afternoon.

I guess I had already become keenly aware of the fact that Molina's 15-day DL stint had been going on several months now; and I had read several articles where he seemed quite unhappy.

I guess it doesn't take a genius to realize that the money the Yankees organization had shelled out to Molina wasn't going to simply be squandered while he sat on his thumb in Scranton for the remainder of the season...

(But then, again...Who knows? I mean, I guess I had reason to think nothing might change, and Molina could learn to be happy...?)

Major League franchises don't just waste money however, so why would I think Molina might never return?

I dunno. Ask Brian Cashman.

Better yet, ask Carl Pavano.

Francisco Cervelli was optioned by the Yankees today. Jose Molina has returned to the roster. I would theorize a few people are relieved...and I theorize a few of those people might actually see the move of Cervelli back to the minors as reasonable and responsible.

Whatever for them....

Sure, I like Molina. He's a fine catcher and I can win the Name-that-Molina game when playing along on SportsCenter because of him.

But...I like Francisco Cervelli heaps better than either Molina or Jorge.

Sacrilege, I know. But, the honest-to-God-truth.

I guess the first time I can honestly recall coming to the realization that there was a person on the planet by the name of Francisco Cervelli, was a year and some change ago...a couple of seasons ago...when I used to peruse the Minor rosters and crunch the stats and play the game of hunt-and-seek-the-next-rookie-Yankee-phenom with myself.

(It was a short-lived game due to the fact that:

a: We have no draft picks to develop-- as we are idiots with regard to trades and really don't give much of a shit for saving our draft picks; and

b: what we really want is a win NOW-- Not in 3 years or 4 years--NOW. We only develop our "prospects," so we can trade them off, usually for some broken- down, ego-centered asshole who will contribute absolutely nothing for our team, aside from a controversial headline or two and perhaps an arrest or sordidly slanderous book, eventually.)

(Makes me wonder if Randy Johnson's shoulder is feeling better this week...)

(And I guess Roger Clemens isn't in prison yet?)

I digress.


I had seen his name, but never really opted to invest interest in the lad, as he was merely in the AA and hadn't really had much experience prior to that. Or so I thought. I was sorely mistaken, and his experience is vast.

Francisco Cervelli (born March 6, 1986, in Valencia, Venezuela) was an international signee by the Yankees in 2003 and played in the 2009 World Baseball Classic for Team Italy. He is a Venezuelan of Italian descent.

In Venezuela, Cervelli played shortstop, second base, and sometimes pitched. The Yankees signed him as an international free agent on the stipulation that he would try catching.

Cervelli played in the Dominican Summer League in 2003. He arrived as a switch hitter, but was encouraged to bat right-handed. After struggling to adjust in 2004 and 2005, Cervelli batted .309 for the Single-A Staten Island Yankees in 2006. In 2007, he played for the Tampa Yankees, where he batted .279 with an OBP of .387 and two home runs. Baseball America rated him the 23rd-best prospect on the Yankees prior to the 2008 season.

On March 8, 2008, he fractured his wrist on a controversial play during a spring training game against the Tampa Bay Rays, when a Rays infielder collided with him at home plate in the ninth inning. He didn't return until June 2008. Cervelli was called up to the Yankees where he made his major league debut on September 18, 2008, as a defensive replacement.

He began the 2009 season with the Double-A Trenton Thunder, until he was called up by the Yankees on May 5, 2009, when Jorge was placed on the 15-day DL. Cervelli made his first major league start on May 7, after Molina injured his quad. He had 3 major league games of experience prior to this call up, and had never played Triple-A. He recorded his first major league hit, a single, on May 8, against Baltimore, while also catching for C.C. Sabathia during a complete game shutout. Cervelli is hitting .269 since his call-up.

The Yankees are 15-8 in games with Cervelli catching.

The Yankees were a game over .500 and 3 1/2 games out of first place when Cervelli arrived. They are now 15 games over and one game out.

Another Yankee prospect sent back to a field where idiots like Kei Igawa rule. Another season of allowing complacent veterans to reside on a field, in a game, during a season where: it really doesn't matter how it all comes out in the end. The contracts are set, the money is guaranteed.

The infield liners are glanced at, the pitches are always called for fastballs, and the latest sunglasses and hairstyles are of chief import.

Again: Whatever...

I'm not going to go into all the stats over our boy Francisco. Quite frankly, I'm too tired and it will only feed my frustration. Suffice it to say: He was beyond impressive. Google it. Discover what I know. And to what conclusion might you arrive? Just another ball player...just another team...just another year...

It's only a game...

Yeah. It is. But...beyond the typical stupid Wednesday I've spent gassing my car and chasing down dental vendors over missing products...Francisco Cervelli was a spark of enthusiasm that I eagerly looked forward to beholding on a daily basis.

The Kid mesmerized me with his natural ability. His composure and stealth against opponents...his knack for drawing the pitcher into a place of confidence...calling pitches with the greatest of ease...opining to flow against the current effectively.

And his bat wasn't all too bad either.

It was Cervelli who ended the 14 inning hit less streak moments after Girardi's ejection against the Braves...


It was Cervelli who suffered a broken wrist during Spring Training against the evil Tampa Bay faction early last season which lead to an everlasting hatred of all things Tampa Bay in my heart and mind...

It was Cervelli who came in when both Posada and Molina fell...having only 3 major league games under his belt at the time...

...from the first moment he appeared until even this present moment, I am grateful and proud to have supported, prayed, laughed, and enjoyed what this phenomenal young man has brought to this team I love...

Heroism.

The Yankee heads say they can see a "place for him in the majors, someday." Inasmuch as I appreciate their well-wishing as they scoot the lad onto the first outgoing bus, I have to wonder: WHO'S TEAM?

Forgive my cynicism. But, I've endured many years as a Yankee fan. I've seen the flavors of the month come and go. I've seen "losers," like Ohlendorf traded away like chattel and re-discovered their thriving lives in places like Pittsburgh...

Hell. Who hasn't once been with us? Mike Lowell, Carlos Pena, the list is endless. I hate it. I hate the way we shell out money for names. I hate the lack of passion and hunger for the game. I hate the smugness based on numbers from a season that never amounted to one damned thing...but a fat worthless paycheck.

Oh...whatever. I'm tired. The Yankees will do what the Yankees will do...and I will stand behind them, even if that means that I don't always agree with what they do...and I will become frustrated when they once again settle for second best...or third...or worse...settle for having the names...having the money...

...but crumbling in the first round...

...if we even get that far.

and...in between it all...I will have the opportunity to see the kids sneak in...when a fat-paid vet gets an ingrown toenail and is on the DL for a month...


then...I will get to see the Ramiro Pena's and the Cody Ransoms and the Francisco Cervelli's of the world...I will get to see them come up and play like unleashed lightning bolts, who will sizzle the world, and dazzle their onlookers...and they will engrave a smile deep into my heart of hearts...then I shall be satisfied...then I shall remember what makes this game so amazing to me...

the hunger...

and the heroes.

"Show me a hero, and I will write you a tragedy." -F. Scott Fitzgerald

Is Josh Beckett Immune from Being Ejected?

"God d-mn it! That was a f---ing ball?!"

This is the story about Todd Tichenor's first four ejections of 2009.

I was outside on my patio yesterday morning...talking on the phone about the game...sipping a Red Bull...watching through the glass door...when I beheld a rukus...

It appeared that Jason Varitek was having an issue with the strike zone NOT being called in his favor, which I found amusing.

Inasmuch as Varitek has been exceedingly brilliant in calling for outside pitches which no batter in their right mind would swing at, Varitek has also mastered the feat of framing said pitches to the exact "sweet spot," of the strike zone (within nano-seconds of catching them) thus causing the umpires to call them for strikes.

Sometimes this framing-effect requires a readjustment of several inches...but Varitek is an ace...a Master of the Grand Illusion...In fact, I'm fairly certain Jason Varitek was a zillionairre pick-pocket in another life...where he was probably also a cross-dresser...but I digress...

"God d-mn it! That was a f---ing ball?!"

One would think if Jason Varitek uttered these words at the officiating umpire, he would be ejected. Well, he was ejected. But Jason Varitek didn't utter these words...

One would think if Terry Francona uttered these words at the officiating umpire, he would be ejected. Well, he was also ejected. But he, also, did not utter these words...

In fact, let's just haul off and toss in a couple of them guys from the Minnesota Twins and eject them, too.

Let's say one of those guys could be Mike Redmond, catcher for the Twins, and let's just say Redmond opted to toss out a few choice words at the officiating umpire...

Words like "I got his arm."

OUT.

And let's wrap it all up neatly into a neat little package of Redmond's manager, Ron Gardenhire, simply inquiring why his catcher was ejected, by asking "Why did you eject him?"

OUT.

It all really started off with Dustin Pedroia. "Mr. Woodland, California," hit a fly ball to right fielder Jason Kubel, who immediately threw it home. Redmond caught the ball and clearly tagged Jeff Bailey, who attempted to slide his arm in at the last second. Tichenor called Bailey safe.

Crew chief Jerry Layne: "I just looked at our replay and it's inconclusive."

Jeff Bailey: "There's no question a tag was made. Did I get my hand in there first? I really can't tell."

Mike Redmond: "I thought I got him at home and that's it. I just said, 'I got his arm.' I didn't swear at him or anything. In 11 years in the big leagues, I've done a lot worse out there and stayed in the game. I didn't expect to get thrown out. I didn't touch him or anything."

Vice president of umpiring Mike Port said he watched some of the game at his office in New York, but he did not feel comfortable commenting on Tichenor's performance until he was able to watch the events, then read Tichenor's report and review the ejections.

Uh huh.

Well then...you may ask...who the hell uttered the words:
"God d-mn it! That was a f---ing ball?!"

Why, I reply:

Mister Josh You-Can't-Eject-Me-Cause-Clearly-I-Have-Diplomatic-Immunity-From-Ever-Being-Ejected-Even-If-I-Curse-The-Very-God-You-Refer-To-On-Your-Printed-Currency-and-Whom-You-Pray-To-When-The-Chips-Are-Down-In-Fact-I-Can-Take-Head-Shots-To-Bobby-Abreu-Whenever-The-Hell-I-Want-And-Still-Stay-In-The-Game Beckett, himself.

All four ejections occured in the seventh inning of the Boston Red Sox at Minnesota Twins game yesterday, at the discretion of Home Plate Umpire Todd Tichenor.

These are the 48th, 49th, 50th, and 51st ejections within MLB for 2009. There have been roughly 48 games played this year.

a quick muse and thought--

...like fingernails to a chalk board...

...like the slip of your knife while slicing lemons...

...like the explosive burst of a midsummer's moth on your newly waxed windshield...

...chewing foil...a thorn in your sock...sand in your eye...a dead battery...that one driver who cannot figure out what to do when the light turns green...

josh beckett is all of this to me. all of this


and so much more.

yankees / red sox begins again tonight at fenway.

i hold no opinions, whatsoever, for it's outcome. no predictions. no forecasts.

i hold my breath.

if joba hurls one high and inside upon youk, all hell will break loose.

we know this.

if lester hauls off and drills our boy jorge in the shoulder, it will be considered unintentional, however.

thus...i theorize the one who will drill jorge in the shoulder will be javier lopez.

i theorize they'll go after jorge for obvious reasons. THAT, and he's the best producer, relatively speaking. THE MOST DAMAGE.

who would OUR target be? (insert appropriate explanation that bean-ball wars are offensive and immoral and the american league does not conduct itself like those heathen national league anti-heroes.)

our targer will most likely be jason bay.

it might be lowell due to his rbi contributions...

but bay is just open season.

mind you: i abhore HBPS. i hate them. i think they're more inhumane than being forced to watch jonathon papelbon exhale right before he stares down the batter while pursing his lips for 3 minutes.

but

this is the yankees v. boston.

this isn't necessarily emotion and intellect free baseball.

in conclusion...as i actually must show up at work today---

i've seen joba "lights-out," at fenway. i've seen lester melt within 2 innings. i've seen them ALL blow it...i've seen them all seemingly possessed by sandy koufax.

anything can and will happen.

but this ain't september.

if the red sox present with the same demeanor and skill that was displayed in anaheim...we will sweep them.

key to today's win for the yankees: lay low. fly under the radar. work lester's count and get to the bullpen.

ttfn. ~kat

oh good god...

Uhm...yeah.

The post-season.

I mean the really post post-season. The post-season of even football post-season.

19 Days til Opening Day...and...can it get any worse?

yes it can.

(...and why the hell does he have an old tire next to his bed? And NO SHEETS? The guy is a zillionairre and he can't afford sheets?)

In closing, let me state my exhausted efforts at trying to understand this man beyond his contribution to the sport. As stated, my efforts are exhausted. (Thus, I am at liberty to ridicule the bitch.) From all of my perusing of quotes by Alex Rodriguez, I am reduced to using one that might actually make sense to the average reader. Enjoy.

“When you think small and up the middle, good things happen." ~Alex Rodriguez

Yeahoooooookay....I think these words are far more apt:

"Marky got with Sharon, Sharon got Sheriee...She was sharin' Sharon's outlook on the topic of disease. Mikey had a facial scar and Bobby was a racist, they were all in love dyin',

they were doin' it in Texas...

Tommy played piano like a kid out in the rain, then he lost his leg in Dallas he was dancin' with a train. They were all in love with dyin', they were drinkin' from a fountain, that is pouring like an avalanche coming down the mountain. I don't mind the sun sometimes the images it shows...

I can taste you on my lips and smell you in my clothes... Cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies, you never know just how you look through other people's eyes..."

Heaven help the 2009 Yankees...