I took my mom to the Yankees home opener at the Stadium on April 2nd. A-Rod made an error the first time he touched the ball, but the Yanks managed to beat the lackluster Devil Rays.

Fast forward to Game 4 of the ALDS, my beloved Yanks down 2-1 against the Indians and needing a win to send the series back to Cleveland for a decisive Game 5. This game I needed to see on TV. I considered buying one, but I booked a post-season vacation instead. I found myself a guest in the home of “friends.” I was to watch the Yankee fate in high definition in a room full of Yankee haters. 

The Indians got off to an early lead—4-0 in the second—but I wasn’t too concerned. The Yankees had the best offense in baseball this year, and there was plenty of time for them to rough up the Cleveland hurler Paul Byrd.

But it just didn’t happen. By the 7th the pressure was getting to me. Down 6-3, time was running out. Yelling at the TV, I felt utterly alone.

Was I going to witness one of those amazing Yankee comebacks? It was too good to be true. With 2 outs and one strike on him, Jorge Posada hit a shot to right field that had it stayed fair would have brought the Yanks to within one, but alas it was a long strike, and strike two at that. The next pitch was strike three and the season was over, just like that. Seven months of drama had come to an end. My “friend” Donovan was sure to remind me that “The Yankees are bitches.”

Truly bummed out, I rode home—to be consoled by ice cream, internet poker, and newly received cameraphone n00dz.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 9th, 2007 at 3:16 pm and is filed under depression, news, sports. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.