With the raindrops threatening to mercifully postpone the game last night, my friend and I arrived at Yankee Stadium a few minutes late. The rest of the tardy fans seemed to be buzzing about the return of A-Rod, fresh off the DL to rescue the floundering offense. We were excited that the weather had decided to cooperate. Maybe this was a sign of things turning around. The Subway Series, as dismal as the afternoon skies had been, was behind us. It was time to start fresh with a new series against Baltimore. Things were looking up. They had to be. We felt hopeful as we made our way through the turnstyles and into the gate. . .
This feeling vanished before we even made it to our seats.
John Sterling's voice on the overhead radio inside the stadium announced that Baltimore had just scored on an RBI triple. Great, I thought. We're already giving up runs in the first inning. It's okay, it's just a run. Let's just get to our seats and find the beer guy. But then I glanced up at one of the refreshment counter televisions showing the game. My friend had to confirm what my eyes were reading. 7-0 Baltimore.
The momentum leading us to the upper level escalator escaped from our bodies faster than a Melky Cabrera at-bat (I was going to use Cano for this metaphor, but I've probably picked on him enough in the past). What to do? After a half dozen phone calls about whether or not we should risk the rain and head to the stadium, this is what we're greeted with?
Eventually we did reach our seats. By that time all I could really do was laugh. Someone forgot to tell me we were going to a Ravens/Giants game. It seemed the Ravens had returned the opening kickoff for a quick touchdown.
But the laughter didn't stop here. Watching Johnny Damon trying to catch a routine fly ball that would have ended the top of the second inning, but instead allowed in two more unearned runs, made me feel sorry for Bobby Abreu being upstaged by his teammate. Unbelievable.
By the fourth inning we had squatted comfortably in our Loge seats on the third baseline. We sipped beer and ate cold pretzels (that's a whole new complaint I'll address in the future), and talked about different important crossroads in both of our lives, vaguely aware of the football, er, baseball game taking place in the background.
When A-Rod connected for a long two-run homer (a safety by the Giants) in the sixth to put the Yankees on the scoreboard, we didn't know what to do. We tried to get excited, but it didn't feel right. It was like being the only two white guys at the Apollo during a Public Enemy concert, and the crowd goes wild as Chuck D reads a Malcolm X quote. We kind of gave each other an uneasy look and shrugged. What do we do? It's hard to stand up and cheer during an eight-run Yankee deficit.
Is this rock bottom? I'm afraid to ask.
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