I Met Derek Jeter

In light of Derek Jeter's recent announcement of his intention to retire at the close of the 2014 season, we decided to bring you two special edition blog posts. Today's blog post, written by myself, and next week's, written by Lisa. I suggested that to Lisa that her blog post be entitled, "I Knew I Loved Derek Jeter When He Started Losing His Hair," but she didn't go for it. Sorry, guys. I tried. I felt that you would've really enjoyed that discussion.

I thought that I would share with you the story about the day I met Derek Jeter. Or otherwise known as "the heart-warming story about a girl in her pre-flatiron era fro on her quest to meet Bernie Williams."

You may have recalled that fun fact from this blog post last year. I think I was about 12 years old when Mamadukes won an auction that allowed me to be the honorary bat girl for a day for the Yankees. All I wanted was to get my picture taken with Bernie Williams. That is all. Before I continue with this story, I have to emphasize the fact that the Derek Jeter I met was not the Derek Jeter that sh*ts bricks of gold according the the media. He was just a newbie.

I didn't have my very own Yankees jersey until high school, so Mamadukes loaned me her Don Mattingly one. I spent batting practice sitting in the dugout with a Yankees' Suit and a photographer. I specifically stated that I wanted a picture with Bernie Williams. Multiple times. I was introduced to Joe Torre, Mariano Duncan, and Tino Martinez. I was appreciative of all of these moments, but continued asking for Bernie Williams (after the Yankee of the moment had already departed, of course).

Jeter had just taken the field to take a few warm up throws when the Suit asked, "Hey! Do you want to meet Derek Jeter?" I didn't even know who "Derek Jeter" was. Clearly, this man was either hard of hearing or a total d*ck.
"I guess." I looked to the outfield where I could see Bernie Williams shagging fly balls.
The Suit was seemed totally thrilled because he hopped off the bench, bounded up the steps, and trotted over to Jeter. "Derek? Do you mind taking a photo with one of our biggest fans?"
Jeter looked at me and smiled. "Sure."
The Suit eagerly waved me over as the photographer jumped to action. They positioned me next to Jeter and Jeter placed his hand on my back. I tried to smile. To the best of my ability. PS - I also had braces.

The photographer snapped several photos. "It looks like you'll need to get yourself a Jeter jersey now!" he declared cheerfully from behind his camera.
Jeter patted me lightly on the back. "No. She's got a good one on."
"Exactly," I blurted out. Which was super sweet of me.
He chuckled. The Suit and photographer chuckled as well, but I think theirs was more awkward and forced.

When we returned to the dugout, I checked the outfield again. Bernie Williams was gone! In the time we had wasted with the new Yankee, I'd missed the only man I wanted my picture taken with! I felt my stomach turn.

I turned to The Suit and said, "we missed Bernie."
He frowned. "So we did."
My heart sunk. I felt my shoulders sag.
"Why don't we see if we can grab him before he makes it to the clubhouse?" he suggested.
"Really?"
"Sure."
The photographer was now focused on photographing the action around the batting cages, so it was just me, clutching my little cheap camera, and The Suit hurrying through the halls to in an effort to reach the clubhouse in time.

At the double doors, The Suit turned to me and said, "wait here." He opened the door and disappeared. As the door slowly swung closed, I could hear him shout, "Bernie?"

It felt like I waited for hours. I thought that I'd been forgotten. Then the door swung open and The Suit emerged with Bernie. My face hurt from the smile that erupted on it.
"Nice to meet you," he said, shaking my hand. To me. He spoke to me.
I grinned. All I could do was grin.
"I know you don't have a lot of time here, but do you mind taking a photo with her, Bernie?" The Suit asked. "That's all she's been asking for."
"Of course, of course!" he said. He spotted my camera and took it. He put his arm around my shoulders and flipped the camera around to face us. He pressed the button to take a selfie of us before "selfies" even existed. I think my smile was so big that my eyes had squinted shut, but it didn't matter because the camera never went off. He frowned and examined the camera before trying again. Nothing. He fiddled with it some more. Nothing.
He frowned and handed the camera back to me with an apologetic frown. "I'm very sorry. It's not working."
What I would've given for a smart phone back then.

I've been asked by people who I told this story to, "why couldn't you just be a little nicer to Jeter?" I'm pretty simple and I'm pretty relaxed about most things, but I also want what I want and that's that. Once I decide that I want something, nothing is going to deter me from that task. I didn't want Jeter. I wanted Bernie.

Since that season, not a year has gone by when Mamadukes has suggested, "I don't know why you can't just marry Derek Jeter? What's your problem?" Because Derek Jeter has asked me on a date and I blew him off. Or something. Now he's retiring. I've single-handedly blew Mamadukes' chance at field level season tickets. I'm a life ruiner.

But Jeter would always be Mamadukes' favorite potential future son-in-law and to prove her love,
for my 16th birthday, she blew up what must be one of the Top 5 Most Heinous Photographs of me in existence, had Derek Jeter autograph it, and then framed it. Exhibit said photo below:

I mean...she didn't have to blow it up. Really. It was unnecessary. I think it's safe to say that when he saw this photo in its massive size, he didn't feel like he made a poor decision allowing me to walk away without getting my digits.

-Serena

Serena's Random Musings

I spent the entire weekend in yoga teacher training, as I have done every other weekend since September 15th. The experience has been fulfilling, but exhausting. For someone who doesn't sleep well to begin with (I get about 2-4 hours each night), it's tough to physically and mentally dedicate time to blogging with Lisa during the YTT weekends. As you may have noticed, this has resulted in either Lisa taking the reins or us simply skipping the blog altogether during these particular weekends. I offered to take responsibility for this week's post to ease the load from Lisa's plate, but having only gotten roughly 6 total hours of sleep since Friday, the prospect of crafting a well-thought out blog after coming home from the yoga studio tonight was rather unappealing. Lisa assured me that I didn't have to do it. We could just skip a blog post this week and pick things back up again next weekend. Initially, I was okay with that decision. However, after showering, I did feel a little guilty about posting a "I'm sorry that I'm so tired, maybe next week" Facebook post.

Now here we are.

I am not going to promise an in-depth look at this week in baseball or even an in-depth look at a particular topic that strikes my fancy. I am not going to even promise you a sexy blog post filled with flowery prose and fancy "SAT" words that may or may not require you to Google their meanings. I am too tired and spent for any of that and truth be told, in 45 minutes, I plan on ending my night decompressing while rubbing Arnica gel on my knee and watching the newest episode of The Walking Dead. I am simply going to give you my thoughts on what interested me this week. Basic. To the best of my ability. You'll have to forgive me if this post does not live up to your expectations, however by this point in our blog-reader relationship, you really should only have limited expectations in regards to what we produce here.

Here we go:
1. Ken Griffey Jr.'s Instagram account. If you have Instagram, I recommend you follow him @therealkengriffeyjr. Aside from the fact that you'll be following one of baseball's greatest gifts, his posts are pure gold. He doesn't post often, but there's nothing fake about any of them and his "Throw Back Thursday" pictures alone are worth the follow. Hair and sweaters, people. Hair and sweaters. That's all I have to say.
2. Miguel Cabrera & the AL MVP Award. I suppose that his season's numbers dictate that he deserved to win the award, but having owned Cabrera this year in one of my fantasy leagues, I can attest to the fact that he spent an awful lot of time not playing due to injury. I'm not implying that these injuries weren't legitimate. I'm simply saying that since Mike Trout was physically capable of contributing more time and effort to his team, that he a) increased his likelihood in "failing" due to more opportunity (which would then lead to lower overall numbers) and b) was a more reliable asset to his team. I think reliability is more important that overall numbers. I do not think that numbers always tell the full story. Sure, perhaps if Cabrera is healthy all season, he still blows Trout out of the water, but also maybe if Cabrera is healthy, the Tigers don't lose to the Red Sox in the postseason. Maybe the Tigers go to the World Series. Maybe they don't. We'll never know. I just think that his inconsistent availability should have been taken into consideration when selecting the MVP.
3. The Rookie of the Year Award. I think that winning this award can be misleading. Some players are like shooting stars. They are bright, beautiful, breathtaking, but also impermanent, fleeting. They start with a loud, brilliant bang like a firework, but then fail to repeat that success ever again. They become a disappointment to their local fan base and to fantasy owners, whereas elsewhere, the country shifts its attention to a new rising star. The former is forgotten. Granted, this doesn't happen to every Rookie of the Year, but it happens enough that I feel like this award doesn't hold weight. Or at least shouldn't hold the weight that it currently does. Why did this player have such a successful season? Is it that he's the real deal or because he's new and opposing teams haven't quite figured him out yet? Is it a combination of both of these factors? The fact is that we won't know the answer to these questions until their sophomore or even their junior effort. I think instead of a Rookie of the Year, the MLB should institute a Sophomore of the Year. That opens so many more avenues. Think of how some players mature in their second, third year (or on the flip side, think of how some players' development stall). The maturation process is where the magic happens. Think of how an erratic Randy Johnson became...well, Randy Johnson.
4. Brian Wilson's beard. Enough is enough. Shave the f*cking thing. Trim it back. Wax. Do something. To walk away from a job opportunity like pitching for the Yankees (or any team, to be quite frank) because of some creepy emotional attachment to the bush growing on your face is a sign of some kind of deep seeded issue. Or perhaps an obsession with 1970's porn. I don't know. I do know that if I lived with Brian Wilson, I'd shave half of it while he slept so that he'd have no choice but to deal with it. Though even that might not provoke action because based on the beard's current condition, it's obvious that he doesn't care about looking like a total a-hole.

That is all for this evening. Next week you'll have us together again for a joint blog post.

-Serena

Fenway Park Knows There’s a Yankees Fan Hiding in its Midst

May 24, 2013

If you live in the Northeast region of the United States, you were most likely blessed with gross, frigid weather for Memorial Day Weekend. For the second straight time paying the city of Boston (and Fenway Park for that matter) a visit, I was greeted by rain, wind, and cold. During the summer. In fact, upon my arrival, I received the following text message from Maria: “I feel like you bring rain to Boston every time you see the Red Sox!”

Despite the rain falling in sheets, NESN (New England Sports Network aka: New England’s version of SNY or YES) assured us that first pitch would go on as scheduled. Skeptical, we left Erin’s apartment (armed with towels, umbrellas, and layers) and took the green line to Kenmore with enough time for us to grab food and get to our seats before Jon Lester was set to take the mound for the Sox. 

When we reached Fenway Park, we stopped briefly outside to take what’s becoming a traditional yoga photo outside Gate C on Lansdowne Street. Because yoga and baseball totally go hand in hand. Right? Since I’d already started doing eight angle pose at the games, I felt obligated to do it here…with my poor midget hands sitting in the cold, dirty puddles of the Boston sidewalk. Pleasant. Don’t worry. Erin showered my hands in anti-bacterial cream as soon as I stood up.

Naturally, once we got inside, we found the tarp covering the field and the already tight concourse packed with people trying to stay dry during the rain delay. We knew that the best “meat” in the ballpark was the kind sold from vendors stationed on Yawkey Way, so we headed in that direction pretty soon after entering the building. Unfortunately, when we reached our destination, we discovered Yawkey Way to be totally deserted!

 

Quite unlike the Yawkey Way I remember from my last visit:

We stood in the rain for a few moments, contemplating the gravity of the situation. Now we’d have to eat a hot dog from INSIDE the stadium. Meat that, based on our last memory of the Fenway Frank, was just one step above the Dodger Dog (aka: grilleddead baby finger). This was an unappealing prospect. We talked about not eating. Yes. Me. I actually talked about not getting food. You’ve seen the unlimited powers of my stomach right here on this blog and yet, here I was telling myself, “You’re really not that hungry.” When have I EVER said that? Oh, yes. When I had food poisoning.  

Erin had gotten a really cool souvenir Ted Williams soda cup with his career stats on it. I saw it on display at a few concession stands and decided I wanted one. I rarely drink soda, but for $7.50 (with free refills I might add…very cool), I felt that the little splurge on root beer (although I’m not sure why they were so against filling my cup with actual beer) was worth it. The stand right next to the Gate C entrance (yes, we walked all the way back to where we’d come in) had no line. After receiving my soda, we noticed a sandwich board nearby listing the specialty Fenway Franks they had to offer. There was A LOT! Infinitely more than when Lisa and I came to town.

The lovely man pulling cashier duty told us that normally, he’s supposed to charge $2 extra/hot dog for adding toppings, but if we rung out food up together, he’d only charge $2 total for our toppings. Obviously the man was an angel sent to take care of us (before you question this, yes, I can be bought with something as simple as $2 hot dog toppings…and yes, I’m aware that this is pathetic). As he fixed our hot dogs, I noticed that something truly terrible and tragic had happened. My Ted Williams cup was not Ted Williams at all. It was Carl Yastrzemski. What the shit? Calmly, I put my best smile on (the one I use when I want something from you) and asked if I could switch cups. Pretty please? His supervisor kindly explained that there were none left, only the one on display, which had a hole punched into the bottom to prevent theft. Carl Yastrzemski was the park’s “series 2” cup and Ted Williams was “series 1.” I was stunned. Was Yastrzemski a great player? Yes. Did that mean I wanted his cup? No. I’m a f*cking Yankees fan. What the hell do I want that sh*t in my bedroom for? Ted Williams was the only acceptable option for me. He seemed to sense my distress because he offered the Ted Williams display cup to me for no charge, which I happily accepted. It’s now in my bedroom (with Yastrezemski’s cup tucked into it) next to the ball Adam LaRoche tossed me during a batting practice at Shea Stadium from his days as an Atlanta Brave.

The hot dogs renewed our faith in the Fenway Frank. Let’s call it a comeback, shall we? They were NOT garbage. They were pretty damn yummy and cost us a total of $12 for both. Erin’s hot dog had nacho cheese sauce and chili while mine was topped with jalapeño peppers, spicy mustard, Choulula hot sauce, and sauerkraut (because within me lives a fat kid that loves cake and pizza).

 

You may have noticed from this photo that I’m not wearing a Red Sox hat (and if you didn’t notice, now you have). I’m wearing a Notre Dame Softball hat. The Fighting Irish was not playing that day or anything like that, but I refused to wear a Red Sox hat and I was not going to be “that a-hole” who wears Yankees hats to games in which the Yankees are not playing. This hat prompted a lot of charming old men working at Fenway to ask what position Erin and I played on the softball field (catcher and third). We’d never played for Notre Dame (the hat is a gift from Old Man Ed that was bought during his trip to see the Notre Dame football team take on Stanford several months earlier), but they didn’t need to know that.

We got to our seats just as the Red Sox were gearing up for their first inning. We wiped down our soaked chairs with Erin’s towels and settled in under the umbrella. Our section was empty and we hoped that the rain had driven most of the crowd away so we’d be able to keep the umbrella over our heads for the duration of the game.

 

 

 

Luck would not be in our favor. The umbrella lasted over our heads for maybe 10 minutes. After the people sitting behind us showed up, we lowered the umbrella to cover our legs so at least our thighs wouldn’t get wet. We spent the rest of the game looking and acting somewhat like this:

It was like Fenway Park knew that within its midst, there was a sleeper agent. Someone dressed in a way that was passable for a local Red Sox fan, but harbored love for the enemy. That sleeper agent was me and the enemy was the Yankees. In my only two Red Sox games at Fenway, a heavy downpour slammed us, like the stadium tried to purify itself of the toxin strolling along its concourses, sitting in its seats, and eating its food. I did not belong there.

Besides the shoddy defense (caused by what we assumed was the bad weather) and 3-run 2^nd inning by the Red Sox off of Justin Masterson, the game proved to be somewhat uneventful until the 6^th inning. Through it all, the rain continued to fall and our clothing continued to soak through our layers of clothing. Here we are, fake smiling in our misery:

Here are some cute kids that were small enough to sit and fit beneath this umbrella. Lucky turds:

Oh, look. More f*cking rain:

At this point, we were begging for 1, 2, 3 innings. Please, just end this game. The Sox were winning, we wanted to go home. The players MUST’VE wanted to go home, but it would not be so. The Red Sox decided to stage what seemed like a never-ending rally in the 7^th that included a bevy of pitching changes (in actuality, it was only 4 runs and 2 pitching changes, but it felt like a lot more as we sat there shivering with clenched muscles and chattering teeth). We agreed that once we stood, we were so drenched and cold that there was no way we could possibly sit back down. We’d just leave. At the end of the 7^th, we’d had enough. The Red Sox were ahead 8-1 and I’d swear that the rain began falling harder.  

Before we left, we asked the security guard to snap a photo of us with the field. He took two.

 

Like our sarcastic thumbs up in front of the Green Monster? As he gave back my camera, he noticed my hat.
“You played softball?”
“I did. Yes.”
“What position?”
“Third.”
To Erin. “You?”
“I was a catcher.”
“You were the smartest one of the field.”

Haha. That man was awesome.

-Serena

Erin & The Favorite Take Yankee Stadium!

Special edition blog post today. Holy shit! Can you even handle the excitement?

May 5, 2013
Erin and The Favorite (aka: Matt) came to town this weekend from Boston and like any good hostess, I acquired tickets to both the Yankees and Mets games that were scheduled to take place during their time here in New York. Before getting into their first experience at the new Yankee Stadium, a little background is in order. I met Erin my sophomore year in college playing softball. Matt is Erin's boyfriend. Erin originally hails from the DC area and is an Orioles fan whereas Matt is from the Seattle area and his loyalties belong to the Mariners. Including now retired ballparks, prior to this date, Erin had traveled to 17 ballparks (including the old Yankee Stadium with yours truly back when Barry Zito was still the ace for the A's and Carl Pavano was still effective for the Yankees) whereas Matt had traveled to 9. Of those stadiums, Erin and Matt have joined the Traveling Baseball Babes on tour for 5 of them (Angels, Dodgers, Padres, White Sox, and Cubs). Now that you've got a better handling on our guests, I can proceed with the day at hand.

At the start, I failed them. We arrived at the stadium around 12:30 for a 1:00 start time. Because of this, I had (unbeknownst to them) eliminated the opportunity for Erin and Matt to check out Monument Park and the museum.

Before heading inside to feed, I snapped a photo of them outside:

At each stadium she visits, Erin buys a hot dog and Matt tries to find the park's "signature dish." In this case, Matt went for the Lobel's steak sandwich (at my eager recommendation). I got my typical sausage sandwich and to her hot dog, Erin added yellow mustard (very specific) and ketchup. Remember, prior to this stadium, Erin had experienced 17 different hot dogs, which sounds more perverted than it should. On a scale of 1-10, the Yankee Stadium hot dog earned an 8.5/9, Erin wishing that the dog itself was a bit thicker or beefier ("that's what she said").

Matt rocked his sandwich properly, adding gravy and horseradish. His assessment? "This sandwich is f*cking stupid" and "it's legit." His only negative feedback on it? Too expensive. Totally understood. This is Matt having a food "O" over his sandwich:

The pitching matchup we got was my Big Texan and Oakland's Dan Straily. Erin couldn't have asked for a better Yankee.

As you can see, our seats had a pretty stellar view of all of the on-field action. The downside was the fact that they were exposed to an approximate hot second of sunlight/warmth. Once the sun began to move across the sky, our section became enveloped in shade. Add the strong breeze and we were unseasonably chilled...more like frozen. And under-dressed. Poor Erin wore flip flops. Her toes were borderline purpled from the cold. The unexpected cold definitely took a toll on the crowd as the game progressed. We noticed that gradually, but consistently, the shaded sections of the stadium emptied and the sunnier areas of the stadium (basically the outfield and the roof deck bar) became more congested.

Unfortunately, luck was not on Pettitte's side that afternoon. In the top of the 3rd, Cano overthrew first on a double play ball, causing the run to score and giving the A's a 1-0 lead. In the top of the 4th, Pettitte served up a solo shot to Luke Montz, who had had the pleasure of being called up from the Triple-A on Wednesday, making the score 2-1. Awesome. Talk about something to call home to the folks about. "Hey, ma! Guess what?! I hit my first major league homer off of ANDY PETTITTE! I'm AMAZE-balls!" However, the 4th inning was not all lost. We did learn something very important in that inning: Lyle Overbay has fantastic taste in music, coming to the plate to Nirvana's Breed (whereas Brett Gardiner's taste in music makes me want to shove a screwdriver through my ear drums). Pettitte was removed in the 5th after giving up a 2-run shot to Yoenis Cespedes, making the score 4-1. :(

The Yankees would not go gently into that good night, however. In the bottom of the 6th, Ichiro Suzuki scored Vernon Wells and advanced Travis Hafner to third on a double hit off of Jerry Blevins. With Ichiro's wheels at second, Overbay's (who this time came to the plate to Led Zeppelin's Moby Dick...the man may slowly be becoming my hero) single easily scored Ichiro and Hafner, FINALLY tying up the game!

It was all very exciting until Boone Logan entered the game and gave up another solo home run to Josh Donaldson like a real a-hole. Here's the play by play of the bottom of the 9th as performed by the New York Yankees:

• Grant Balfour - Pitching.
• Chris Nelson & Brennan Boesch - pathetic display of athletic prowess at the plate - 2 outs.
• Gardiner - single! There's still life in the team yet! Best part? The scoreboard flashed Brett "The Hitman" Gardiner. It basically featured Gardy's head Photoshopped onto the WWF wrestler's body. It was amazing. It was reminiscent of my kick ass Photoshopping skills as demonstrated on Tim Lincecum Appreciation Day.
• Speedy Gardy Gonzalez takes second on a pass ball.
• Robinson Cano intentionally walked because Balfour and Derek Norris are a pair of vaginas.
• Balfour and Norris take 40 billion chit-chat breaks to talk about the weather, Miley Cyrus' hair, and the meaning of life.
• We shout curse words and other assorted atrocities down at them on the field for being pansy bitches.
• Wells strikes out swinging. The equivalent of forgetting to tie off a helium-filled balloon and accidentally releasing it. Well, done. Good, sir.

Before leaving the stadium, a lovely A's fan took our photo with the field behind us:

Since this is the Traveling Baseball Babes and we're SUPPOSED to be "assessing" the different MLB stadiums, I felt compelled to survey my guests. Much to my relief, both Erin and Matt gave the stadium a thumbs up. Erin referred to it as a "Hollywood-ized" or more polished version of the original, which makes me happy because to be quite frank, I hate change and would not have been able to emotionally or mentally handle a vastly different ballpark from what I was accustomed to growing up with (Matt, having never been to the original, could not offer a comparison). Erin enjoyed the respectful, friendly fan atmosphere (in our section in particular, we had the pleasure of witnessing Yankees fan/A's fan bro-mances) the most. Matt's favorite part of the day was the sandwich, which is completely understandable as it is pretty damn awesome. Erin agreed that the stadium's food did make it into her to top 10 percentile, but did mention that it wasn't the BEST she'd ever had.

Erin didn't have a "least favorite" part of the stadium per say, but Matt felt that the crowd seemed low key. He also wasn't sure if the subdued atmosphere was the result of the chill in the air (WE were awfully lethargic ourselves) or if the fans just blew chunks.

It was during this discussion that I mentioned the fact that we hadn't arrived at the game early enough to check out Monument Park or the museum (two somewhat vital pit stops for folks visiting for the first time). I asked the two to rate Yankee Stadium in comparison to the other stadiums they'd visited on a scale of 1-10. Matt explained a 1 as being "a piece of shit aka: Oakland" and a 10 as being "hand jobs for everyone." Discovering that they'd missed major pieces of what Yankee Stadium had to offer effected Erin's overall rating of it. She gave it a 6 or 7, but wasn't confident in the rating knowing that she missed stuff. I promised I'd take her to another game in order to make up for this mishap. Matt rated the Stadium at a 7, citing the lack of "electricity" in the crowd being the reason for not giving it a higher score.

Later this week, Lisa and I will post Erin and The Favorite's Citi Field experience together as per our usual posting schedule. Try not to get too excited. I'd hate for you to have to change your shorts as a result of your over-eagerness.

-Serena

Yankees Opening Day 2013

April 1, 2013
Strangely enough, this year’s opening day experience felt like one giant “That’s What She Said” joke as opposed to an actual baseball game. I mean, I barely recognized the lineup that the Yankees fielded that day, one of the players sounded more like a brand of tomato sauce (Ben Francisco – FranCISCO, that’s fun to say!) and I had the privilege of staring at an a-hole play firstbase for most of the game. Plus, there were actual “that’s what she said” jokes being made throughout the entire day. The rumors are true. The joke does not get old. I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.

The beginning of our story begins in Staten Island. Our ride needed to make a pit stop in Staten Island before heading to the game, so he dropped Jess and I off at a sh*t-hole diner in a really sexy part of Staten Island (said no one ever) for the better part of 2 hours while he gallivanted about conducting his business. Initially, the men working the diner seemed excited to have two young females with big boobs and all of their teeth walk in to their establishment. We even got free coffee out of the deal. However, after a solid 45 minutes of our personalities, our boobs weren’t nearly big enough to get away with our behavior. I’m not sure anyone’s boobs are big enough to be quite honest. When we were done eating, there was simply not enough to do at the diner to keep us occupied, so we settled for texting our ride incessantly like real f*cking a-holes:

“You said 40 minutes. It’s been more than 40 minutes.”
“A man with a hearing aid told us to be quiet.”
“Where is the closest tourist shop? Jess would like to purchase an ‘I love Staten Island’ t-shirt. Perhaps a snow globe of the Staten Island ferry.”
“Does Staten Island have WiFi?”
“There are a lot of construction workers in here. Is that common for Staten Island?”
“They want to know when our Uncle is coming to pick us up.”
(he actually laughed aloud at the last two)

When we were finally collected at 11:30, the guys at the diner practically threw a parade in our honor. I’ll admit that I’ve been inside quite a few female strip clubs and I assure you that I’ve never seen a happier group of men than these three guys when we exited the premises.

We apparently exerted a lot of energy acting like complete d*ckheads at the diner because Jess took a brief power nap on the way to the Stadium whereas I seemed to have temporarily blacked out because I have almost zero recollection of the drive. It was either incredibly uneventful or I’d been roofied back at the diner. On our approach to the Stadium from the Major Deegan, I managed to snap a few photos of the utter beauty that is the Bronx for you. I figured you’d enjoy it.

Okay, this photo isn’t so bad. It actually creates the illusion that Yankees Stadium is located in a lovely, peaceful location. It’s not.

Walking from the parking lot to the stadium, I had the fortune of needing to follow this fool:

Don’t you think it’s a little early to be jumping on this a$$ clown’s band wagon? Actually, I’m gonna go ahead and say that you shouldn’t EVER jump on this a$$ clown’s band wagon. EVER.

We settled into our awesome seats to wait for the pre-game ceremonies, which was a fairly difficult task for us since we were hungry…again. But we managed...with a touch of goofiness.

We (me) showed my Big Texan some love:

I can’t stress enough the awesome view we had of the CC Sabathia/Jon Lester matchup. It was amazing. Too bad the action sucked, as Brother would say, a bag of dicks. More on that later.

We held a moment of silence for Bob Turley, old time Yankee pitcher who’d died on Saturday.

The moment of silence for Turley, however, wasn’t nearly as heavy or sad as the league-wide moment held for the victims of the Sandy Hook Elementary School tragedy. I can’t speak for what other teams did, but the Yankees’ scoreboard showed a scrolling list of the names of the victims.

 

Former Rock of Ages star, Constantine Moroulis sang the National Anthem. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love Constantine. He’s an adorable, scruffy, dark-haired (yes, yes, yes) rocker boy (honestly, is there a man out there that can out-sex a rocker boy? No. I think not) that used to perform epic 80’s rock tunes on Broadway. I am pretty sure that I just described the ideal male. All this man needs is a cigar and a bottle of Johnny or Jameson. Having said that, I’m pretty confident that he invented his own lyrics to the National Anthem. I don’t know if I should be proud of his artistry or offended that an American citizen potentially doesn’t know the correct words to his nation’s Holy Grail of songs. 

One of Mamadukes’ favorite Yankees, Sweet Lou (Piniella) threw out the ceremonial first pitch. I actually got a snippet of video for you. I’m so proud of myself because it had been so long since I used the video feature on my camera that I actually forgot what I was doing and just pressed every button on the camera in hopes that I caught something…anything really. I was and am not picky.

Here’s the bad news about our seats. I had to look at this a-hole for most of the game:

Annnnnnd with Sabathia’s first pitch, we were off!

Literally. Jess and I were starving. We needed sustenance. We couldn’t possibly concentrate on baseball on a semi-empty stomach. Imagine. Listening to your Food Baby whine and jibber jab while trying to focus on Sabathia’s first performance of the season. Thankfully, a Premio sausage stand was two feet away from our seats. It was like Baby Jesus wanted us to be happy. And by Baby Jesus, I mean Joe Mauer, not the actual baby Jesus. The line at the stand was super short as well! BONUS! We might have to stare at an a-hole playing first all day, but we’d at least be feeding while we suffered. Fatty baseball food and booze can alleviate just about any pain.

Turns out, Baby Jesus was mocking us. This was the longest short line in the history of mankind. I’ve taken quicker showers than this line moved (as a reference point, I take such long showers that Brother has asked if I’ve managed to solve world hunger while in there). We each ordered a foot long hot dog, Italian sausage sandwich (hot for me, sweet for Jess) and a beer for $26.25/each. The amusing part of that order is when I ordered what I wanted, the woman asked, “Do you want to pay for this together?” Jess made a face and replied, “That’s HER order! I want the same thing though.” By the time we got back to our seats, it was already the top of the 2^nd inning. How long does it take you to fetch two already made sausages and hot dogs? This is what our food looks like together in all its glory:

And since you’re a bunch of perverts, here are the phallic photos of us eating our food:

We decided to take the sausage photo ourselves because of the creepy dude (who you can see in the background of the sausage photo) who enjoyed taking the hot dog photo WAY too much.
Creeper: “I’ll take another one if you want.” Winky face.
Jess: “Yeah, I’m sure you will.”

As for the Yankees, their Cracker Jack defense and Sabathia’s inconsistency gave up 4 runs. Fantastic. The offense, on the other hand, only accomplished picking their nose and flicking it at the Red Sox on the field.

Speaking of the Red Sox, Dustin Pedroia, his gross facial hair makes him look like “a little fur monger” (according to my notes on the game).

I feel it necessary to comment on our neighbor sitting in front of us because I’m a bitch. He was an international tourist enjoying his first baseball game. For starters, everyone could see his passport hanging out of his back pocket. He was basically begging to be robbed. This is the Bronx, not Uptown Manhattan. Secondly, he chose to drink Budweiser…the King of Beers. Coming from Europe, you’d think his taste in beer was better.  Lastly, he was a big fan of “Love Fool” by The Cardigans. Nevermind the strange situation that would prompt Yankees Stadium to play that song in the first place. This dude straight up jammed out to the song. There was an air guitar involved. Who does air guitar to The Cardigans?

Things continued to go downhill on the field for the Yankees. The jack wagon filling in for Mark Teixeira at first is apparently unable to field a bunt, which by definition makes him an a-hole. This is the man that’s supposed to be replacing Alex Rodriguez at third. AROD is a lot of things: pretty, fragile, dumb as a doorknob. At the VERY LEAST, the man can field his position properly. The Yankees really should’ve considered starting me in Tex’s place. I’m a borderline expert on bunting. In our seats, we had other issues:

It was around this time also that I was informed that my “breasts pay property taxes.” In case the joke is above your heads, it basically means that my boobs are so big, they’re a piece of property that warrants taxes to be paid on them.

In the top of the 7^th, Old Man Ed fetched us each a Lobel’s steak sandwich (FYI: $16) and a Stella (a lot of money for a beer…I don’t know. I didn’t pay). The Red Sox were winning by 5-2 at this point. Good times.

Jess’ neighbor was an enormous fan of 80’s music. Jess had to endure him singing along to every single 80’s song that Yankees Stadium’s PA system played. Not anything current though. Snoop was definitely not on his list of favorite songs. By the end of the game, Jess had had enough. “If he wasn’t so enthusiastic about the YMCA, I might’ve been able to endure Queen.”

With the Red Sox winning 8-2 in the 9^th, it was time for us to leave. In the car, we ate leftover munchkins and argued about who needed to charge their phone more.

Since I was the passenger, I got the task of plugging everyone’s charger into one outlet or another. The USB port for Jess’ iPhone proved most challenging:
“I can’t find the hole.”
“You need to get your head in there.”
“I still can’t find it!”
“Really get your head down there!”
“I can’t see! It’s too dark!”
“Did you get it in?”
“Oh, I found it!”
Yup. You guessed it. “That’s what she said.” It doesn’t get old.

All-Star Ballot? Already?

Lisa is in Punta Cana right now, so I regret to inform you that you’ll be dealing with me alone today. I promise to be somewhat well-behaved. Last week, we asked you what you do with yourself when rain shuts down your baseball quality time. Only 3 people had any inclination to vote, which makes me think that we’re starting to lose you people. I realize that we’re a-holes and that a lot of the crap we write on this blog is complete nonsense, but really, we just want to make you laugh. Don’t you find us funny anymore? Did you ever find us funny? Anyway, all 3 folks claimed that they like to get f*cked up and pass out in the middle of the living room when there’s no baseball. This makes me think that we cater to the unique group of individuals known as “alcoholics.” No one chose, “watch a Real Housewives marathon on BRAVO,” “pick my nose (and this was truly a wise decision as I would’ve spent several paragraphs making fun of anyone who chose this option),” or “I don’t understand the question and I won’t respond.”

It’s hard for me to talk about what’s been going on in New York in terms of baseball because I haven’t been able to watch. Why? Cable’s been acting like a real NTAC (no talent a$$ clown), so while I’ve had access to the Real Housewives marathons on BRAVO (just what I need), I’ve had no access to SNY or YES (for those of you out-of-staters, SNY is the network home of the Mets and YES is the network home of the Yankees). I managed to catch the Brewers/Cardinals game on FOX yesterday afternoon, but needless to say, I’ve been quite frustrated with the fact that my only connection to the Mets and Yankees has been via baseball apps on my portable internet machine (the cell phone). However, a nice man showed up today and waved a weird-a$$ device around the apartment that I’m pretty sure the Ghostbusters used to catch Slimer and now I am enjoying YES for the first time all week.

If you’re registered with MLB.com like Lisa and I are, you probably receive at least 5 stupid emails a day. I received a disturbing one yesterday. MLB is already asking fans to vote for this year’s All Stars. How is this even possible? We’re still in the first month of the season. Personally, I feel that voting shouldn’t even begin until June. How could you possible rate players’ performances based on one month of duty? That’s ridiculous. That’s like my boss giving me my performance evaluation for this year now.

Of course, I’m bitching about this as if people aren’t going to vote for the same guys they vote for every year. Let me take a wild guess and say that 50% of the American League starting lineup will be made up of Yankees, 30% will be Red Sox players, and the remaining 20% will be a cocktail of the remaining teams. Oh, and duh, TOWSNBN will obviously be the starting thirdbaseman for the National League because god forbid we should vote someone else into that position. The sad thing is that one of the Yankees that should be considered an All Star will most likely won’t be an All Star because he’s not a big name like Curtis Granderson (this is in no way suggesting that Grandy shouldn’t be an All Star because he’s a fantastic athlete that can do just about anything—bunt, hit for average, hit for power, steal, field, maybe even cook a decent meal and do laundry) nor does he have a lovable, popular personality like Nick Swisher (again, I love Swish, but should he be the starting right fielder for the American League? No…unless, of course, you’re only taking into consideration his April performance). The player I’m talking about is Brett Gardner. Gardy does everything right. He works hard, gets the bunt down, he’s a phenomenal base runner in a time when base running as a skill has taken a giant dump (actually, come to think of it, bunting is another skill that has become a lost art), and he’s a fantastic left fielder! He really doesn’t get enough credit. Plus, even Lisa loves him. That should tell you something since the only other Yankee she is in love with is Derek Jeter. Unfortunately, unless you have the privilege of being able to watch the Yankees on a daily basis (or happen to be an avid fantasy follower), you probably don’t know who Gardy is and since you don’t know who he is, you’re never going to vote him onto the All Star team. It really is a shame.

The All Star ballot will be officially launched on Friday. Do the right thing, folks. Do the right thing.

Baseball notes!

Tim Lincecum continues to cultivate my utter adoration for him. He just doesn’t stop. I wish he would at this point. My affection for him can no longer be deemed healthy. He doesn’t even play in New York. I need to be in love with someone who plays for my team. Yesterday, Padres’ pitcher Anthony Bass carried a perfect game into the 6^th inning when lo and behold, Lincecum stepped up to the plate and ran out an infield single to short stop. Look at that skinny boy hustle down the line. Love that shit. As if that didn’t earn his pay check, the boy pitched 8 innings in the Giants’ 2-1 victory, giving up only 1 unearned run, striking out 5, and walking 4. The walks aren’t so sexy, but the good news is that Timmy looks to be returning to form.

Today, Braves’ fans will have the pleasure of seeing Tim Hudson make his 2012 debut after recovering from spinal fusion surgery. Even more good news is that the Braves could potentially get Brian McCann back for Monday night. McCann left Friday’s game early with a strained right intercostal muscle. I sincerely wish I could speak to that injury but I don’t even know what an intercostal muscle is…or what body part it’s attached to. For all I know, it’s something in his ear.

Michael Pineda is officially out for the season, requiring surgery to repair his torn anterior labral. Again, I wish I knew what this was, but based on what I’ve heard, I am pretty confident that this is something in his shoulder. Especially considering I don’t think Pineda has a vagina. This is probably an extremely inappropriate joke, but as I said earlier, Lisa isn’t here so I don’t have anyone keeping me in check.

If you hate Justin Verlander (and I don’t know how that’s possible seeing as how he loves Taco Bell), I dare you to watch this video and not become all squishy inside for him.

Lastly, anyone not rooting for a team in the NL East want to take a stab at who is leading the division? It’s not the Phillies or the Mets. It’s not even the Marlins, who talked a lot (and I mean, a lot) of shit this off-season. The Marlins, with their fancy new stadium, are in last place. The team leading the NL East is the Washington Nationals, followed closely by the Braves. What a shocker. Good for them. Shake things up in the east.  

Before I sign off, I just want to give folks the heads up that the 3^rd Annual Fred K’s Cancer Event has been relocated from Cantiague Park to Eisenhower Park (North Linden Picnic Area, Parking Field 6A) due to a scheduling mix-up on the part of Nassau County. We hope to see as many people as possible, so please join us on Saturday, June 23^rd, where you’ll get a chance to meet and walk with The Freds. You may even meet a few folks that are listed in the TBB Lingo & Cronies page of this blog. Also, if there is any way I can sell something of Lisa to you in order to convince you to come down, I’ll be more than happy to do that. She’s not here to defend herself, so I’m allowed to do this. I mean, I can’t sell her body to you or anything like that, but almost everything else is open for negotiations. Very exciting stuff. You can register to participate online here.  

Next week, Lisa will be back so there’ll be no vagina jokes. Swear.

-Serena

Yankees Opening Day 2012

April 13, 2012 

I have to start this post with a quasi-related, but not-really-related statement. When Lisa and I go to the Yankees game on May 19^th, I need to take her to Billy’s Bar. I’m pretty sure that I’ve discovered a guido dumping ground. Dark spiked haired, olive-skinned fist pumpers galore. It’s like a buffet of all of Lisa’s favorite things. It was a little scary. I am running the risk of losing her forever if I bring her here. She may get sucked into the black hole of tanned skin, Italian-themed tattoos, gold chains, and open-collared shirts and then I’ll be stuck walking over to Yankees Stadium and watching The Boys take on the Reds by myself. Anyone willing to travel into the Bronx with us on the very real chance that I may have an extra ticket? Let me know.

Back to the whole purpose of this post. Baseball. Opening Day. All good stuff. Mamadukes bought our tickets for Opening Day as my birthday gift, but the actual purchase was done by me. As in, “go onto StubHub and find tickets. I’ll give you the money.” I picked two tickets that felt like a happy medium in terms of cost and location, but I didn’t really have any idea as to where they were being that they were in a section I’d never sat in before. We drove into the game and parked at a nearby mall. “Event Parking” cost us $30, but for some reason, it felt less like a raping than paying $35 at the other lot. Getting to Yankees Stadium from this mall, however, proved to be a bit of a challenge for us. Initially, we followed these two guys wearing Jeter and Mantle jerseys toward the entrance we had just driven through, but then we realized that they were going to have to hop a wall in order to get to the sidewalk and that just seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. We decided to find another way. This would be a mistake. I don’t know what we were thinking. We should’ve just stuck to following Jeter and Mantle. They’d always been reliable in the past. Why did we think they were going to let us down this time? We ended up walking a sidewalk that ran somewhat parallel to the Major Deagan Expressway. That is some hot stuff right there. Eventually we did manage to reach the stadium and this random, off-the-beaten-path route actually had us approach the stadium from a direction we’d never taken before, offering me the opportunity to take this photo of the entire stadium in all its sexiness.

The walkway leading up to the stadium past the little league baseball field is paved with sporadic markers indicating historical moments in franchise history, like this:

This:

This:

And this:

We tried finding a marker celebrating Don Mattingly’s retirement, but apparently, nothing of importance happened for the Yankees between 1987 and 1996, which I found a little strange.

As usual, I needed to be fed immediately upon walking through the doors of Yankees Stadium. I need to eat regularly or else I become a whiny, unaccommodating toddler. We headed up to our section and bought a hot Italian sausage for me (Seriously. This is not a metaphor for a really attractive male of the Italian persuasion. It was called a hot Italian sausage and it cost $8.50.) and a hot dog for Mamadukes. Laden with our glorious, deliciously fragrant meat products, we went in search of this mysterious section 314W. It’s the “W” that kept throwing me off when I searched the stadium’s seating chart online. The chart clearly showed me section 314, but what was the deal with this “W?” Well, ladies and gentlemen, we found out that it apparently stands for “wheelchair.”  Yes. That’s correct. This Yankees fan half of the TBB duo is a giant a-hole who unknowingly purchased tickets to the handicapped section. As if I can’t look any more insensitive than I already do. The seats were padded folding chairs, which were pretty cool, but man, did we feel a touch guilty about occupying these seats. The guilt didn’t last long because my stomach got the better of me. I pretty much inhaled my sausage in three bites (okay, WHY does everything I say about sausages sound incredibly dirty?).

Look who ran into us at the stadium! Ed! Lisa’s favorite of Serena’s colleagues. Ed had seats 3 sections over from us.

There was one really amazing upside about sitting in these seats though. I got to hang out with this little buddy the entire game:

How amazing is he? He’s adorable and fat. I wanted to dognap him. The downside to this bootyful baseball fan was that his owner was a jerk Mets fan that kept rooting against the Yankees. Dude, go be miserable at your own Opening Day. Don’t make my Opening Day experience miserable because you hate my team.

Soon after, the opening ceremonies commenced.

Jorge Posada threw out the first pitch to Papa Posada.

The pitching matchup was Hiroki Kuroda and Ervin Santana. I’ll admit that this did not inspire confidence in me after watching the nightmare of a game that took place in Tampa Bay in the week prior. However, we got out of the first inning fairly unscathed, so I calmed down a bit. In the bottom of the 1^st, Santana led things off by striking out both Jeter and Granderson. Allow me to describe the mental illness that currently resides in this brain of mine. Instead of being overly pissed off at this, I got excited because Roberta’s ridiculous New York-focused fantasy team wouldn’t get any offensive points. Insert evil laugh. See? I’m truly a disturbed individual. With two outs, Alex Rodriguez (the one Yankees player that I managed to pry out of Roberta’s greedy fingers) singled. Hooray for fantasy points for Tigers Love Pepper! THEN he stole second. More fantasy points! It’s just an explosion of fantasy points for me.

When Mark Teixeira stepped into the batter’s box, our neighbors to Mamadukes’ right had some negative comments to say about him. She got very upset and defensive about “her man” (the fantasy baseball illness seems to be hereditary). I had to remind her that Tex was no longer her fantasy first baseman. Roberta owned him now. It was time to let go. With Rodriguez, Cano, and Tex on base, Swisher drilled a double over the center fielder’s head, scoring three runs. All fantasy points for Roberta. It’s just becoming tedious now.

Rodriguez would go onto hit a bomb of a home run to dead center field in the bottom of the 3^rd and another single in the bottom of the 5^th following a Granderson home run. While his sudden surge of offense pleases me both from the Yankees fan perspective and the perspective of being the manager for the future 2012 championship fantasy team, I feel it necessary to point out something that he did in the bottom of the 7^th that really pissed me off. I have always defended Rodriguez. Despite the fact that he’s got a personality that’s equivalent to a brown paper bag and the whole steroids fiasco, I do believe him to be a hard-working and gifted athlete. When he fails, it’s never from a lack of trying. Yes, he’s totally overpaid and yes, he tends to collapse when the Yankees really need him, but I will accept a player who fails to succeed if he puts forth genuine effort. In the 7^th, with Jeter on second, Rodriguez hit a weak dribbler to Ryan Isringhausen on the mound, which typically would’ve been an easy out, but Isringhausen bobbled the ball, giving Rodriguez the chance to safely reach first AND advancing Jeter to third. Instead of actually running hard down the line, Rodriguez did the f*cking Hustle! Naturally, this gave Isringhausen enough time to recover and throw Rodriguez out. I was enraged. If I recall the moment correctly, after a string of curse words, I shouted, “Did you have an asthma attack on the way to first, you a-hole?” Apparently the surrounding fans found this amusing. What the hell? I defend this man all the damn time for his work ethic and he repays me by acting like Carlos Beltran?? Trust me, I’ve played sports. I get that there was a chance that Rodriguez still may have been thrown out even if he ran hard. I totally understand that. The point is that he also might’ve been safe, giving the Yankees another chance to score. Crap like that makes me crazy.This better have been a brain fart on his part because if this is a sign of behavior to come, I’m going to convince Lisa to allow me to write another asstastic letter for this blog. And I’m very convincing. You have no idea how much stupid
sh*t I’ve convinced Lisa to participate in with me.

Just prior to the 9^th inning, we asked the nice men sitting next to us to take our picture. I’m actually surprised that Mamadukes allowed this considering how much she hates taking pictures. I think the fact that this man gave her his Cracker Jack prize softened her a little.

We were pleasantly surprised when Kuroda came out to pitch the 9^th having already thrown 103 pitches. He allowed Bobby Abreu on base with a weak a$$ crap hit and Joe Girardi pulled him out in favor of David Robertson. Kuroda exited to a standing ovation. A vast improvement from his first start. Now if only CC Sabathia would follow suit. Robertson closed out the game, coaxing Albert Pujols into a double play and then striking out Kendry Morales. Final score 5-0 Yankees.

By the way, exiting the mall’s parking garage was a nightmare. Do not park here. Make the extra $5 investment and park in a proper lot.

-Serena