The Yankees' Battle Plan For the Second Half of the Season

High up in a tower in the Bronx, on a video link with the team's executive offices in Tampa, the top brass of the New York Yankees sat down early this week to map out their strategy for climbing back into the American League East race against the rival Boston Red Sox and the upstart Tampa Bay Rays (look, Mom, no Devil anymore!).

Step 1 in the strategy: let Boston Red Sox outfielder and perennial late-season disappointment J.D. Drew win the MVP award at this year's All-Star Game, which conveniently enough, was being held in Yankee Stadium. Mission accomplished as of Wednesday morning, 2:00 AM.

Step 2 is a little more complicated. It involves jumping out of the gate and winning at least 11 out of their next 12 games, including consecutive 3-game sweeps against Boston (in Fenway Park) and Baltimore (in Yankee Stadium).

After that is a 12-game stretch against teams from the American League West division, out of which they are conservatively planning to get 8 wins.

Once all that's done, they can start looking toward the returns of outfielders Hideki Matsui and Johnny Damon, and promising young pitcher Phil Hughes, whose 0-4 record and 9.00 ERA put quite a strain on the term "promising."

Not that that will matter once the Yankee bats start getting hot, which is slated to happen starting in mid-August. After that they can reasonably expect to win 2 out of every 3 games the rest of the way, which should be enough to put them 6-8 games ahead of Boston for the AL East crown, and give them home-field advantage throughout the playoffs and the World Series.

Now, after forming such an ambitious plan, some of the clearer-thinking executives probably looked up and down the current lineup and gulped in sudden terror, or quaked with total pants-shitting fear. As of last Sunday's 4-1 loss in Toronto, the Yankees' lineup featured four players hitting below .250 for the season, and a fifth player (Jason Giambi) hitting just a shade above (.253)*. Of the 12 batters currently on the Yankees 25-man roster, a whopping SEVEN are currently hitting under .250, with an eighth (Giambi) hitting just a shade above (still .253, duh). And being the fantastically talented and intelligent executives that they are (this is the New York Yankees after all), they probably sat down for a serious discussion about offense as soon as they got their pants cleaned from the fear shit.

And lo and behold, a mere two days after the All-Star game, a paltry 36 hours after J.D. Drew accepted his award and then was interviewed by Ku Klux Klan Grand Wizard Jeanne Zelasko, the Yankee execs solved the problem, and delivered unto their championship-starved fans the final piece in the 2008 Yankee puzzle...

Mr. Richie Sexson.

Bring on championship #27, guys.

I'm going to go stake out my spot in the Canyon of Heroes tomorrow, just as soon as the Fruit Plant closes its doors for the day. I know the ticker-tape parade isn't until late October, but come on. They signed Richie Sexson! World Series victory is as sure a thing as death, or taxes, or Walter Mondale winning the '84 presidential election.

Yankee fans, looks like it's time to get to work on those craft projects and home repairs you've been putting off. Fix that gutter! Build that model Corvette! Become a colorful fashion critic and start your own blog!

You're welcome for the suggestions.

*For those of you who are not fans of baseball, hitting below .250 is considered "not good," because half the job of a professional baseball player is to get hits, and a sub-.250 average means they're not even managing to do that job 25% of the time. Think about how long you would keep your job if you only managed to succeed at it 25% of the time. Then think about the fact that if you manage to succeed 30% of the time for your entire career, you will go to the Hall of Fame. Makes you want to shoot yourself, doesn't it?

You're gonna get yours too, reruns of Who's the Boss?

There are three things about me that everyone who knows me already knows: 1) like everyone else, I breathe air and drink water; 2) unlike everyone else, I do not put my pants on one leg at a time; and 3) I have a deep mistrust of American daytime television programming, especially, but not exclusively, public television.

Seriously, take one look at Mr. Rogers sexy hair stylings and tell me the man didn't have some kind of freakish agenda. He wanted your children*! He would stop at nothing to get them*! All his songs and puppets and sweaters were part of an elaborate plan to reprogram them*!

*(to be better people when they grow up)

Network daytime programming is no better. Live with Regis and Kathie Lee/Kelly is obviously a not-so-subtle play on the term "Life with Regis and Kathie Lee/Kelly," as in "life sentence," as in being forced to watch these people drone on endlessly, day after day, about fruit and manicures and diarrhea or whatever it is they talk about. (I've never actually seen more than six minutes of an episode.)

So I was gratified to find out that Michelle Obama repaid some of the horror inflicted on the American public by daytime television, by going on The View yesterday and holding those five women - and a guest or two - hostage. Just look at her terrorizing those "women" with her frightening fists of feminine fury:


Bully for you, Michelle. No one likes you anyway, so why not just terrorist fist jab them into submission? Bravo.

You're next, Big Bird, you pretentious fuck.

Note: the foregoing commentary on daytime television is presented without inclusion of Oscar the Grouch, who may be the lone trustworthy voice gracing the American airwaves during regular business hours. Also, Big Bird, please bear in mind that threats made against presidential candidates are investigated by the Secret Service pending felony charges. Stick that in your big, yellow beak and light yourself on fire.

My recommendation for a Groundhog Day Resolution #1

Oh hi! I has returned from the AMC Loews theater on Broadway and 19th Street Saturday night, where Karyn and I saw Cloverfield, and where the bottled water may or may not be very high priced - I really wouldn't know. Cloverfield is not the kind of movie you where you want to bring water with you because of the pants-shitting fear the movie induces. Trust me, you will either spill the water all over yourself, or, if you are dumb enough to actually drink the water, you will pee it out into your already poop-laden pants - it is THAT scary. I spent much of my MLK Day performing an elaborate re-enactment of the movie's destruction of Manhattan on my 19-foot scale-model Lego replica of New York City for Sarah who, inexplicably, has no desire to have the crap scared out of her.

I don't do movie reviews, as I've said before. I also don't make New Year's resolutions. I recommend making Groundhog Day resolutions, actually, because at that point, you've had some time to see how the new year is working out for you, and also because the crowds at the New York Sports Club have thinned out by then. Personally, I won't be making any Groundhog Day resolutions either, since I made a New Year's resolution not to.

But I do make life decisions based on broad, fictional portrayals of massive destruction at the hands of a terrifying CGI monster, because terrifying CGI monsters, if nothing else, certainly make you think about what's important. And what I discovered was important after watching Cloverfield was this: I NEED TO BUY A VIDEO CAMERA! Not only because something crazy like a monster attack could happen, and much like in the words of tries-so-hard-to-be-funny-but-mostly-you're-rooting-for-him-to-bite-it character "Hud" from the movie, "people are gonna wanna know... how it went down," but also because it took me like eight years to build Lego New York, which has now been laid waste. I guess I just went a little overboard with the Goldschlager, like I do almost every year on Martin Luther King Day. I really should have thought it through first. Or at least, I should have taped it. Idiot!

Anyway, make a Groundhog Day resolution to SEE THIS MOVIE! Unless you live in New York, are afraid of monsters, or have a mild coronary condition, in which case, make a Groundhog Day resolution to NOT SEE THIS MOVIE! Whichever way you go, though, make sure you make a Groundhog Day resolution to WEAR A DIAPER! And also, please BUY ME A VIDEO CAMERA BEFORE MLK DAY 2009! The video highlights will ROCK YOUR WORLD!

I have to go BACK TO WORK NOW! Cans are FALLING OFF THE CONVEYOR BELTS! All because I AM NOT PAYING ATTENTION! It's just too bad I DON'T HAVE A VIDEO CAMERA SO I COULD SHOW YOU! Hey - there's ANOTHER REASON TO BUY ME ONE!

Another reason not to mess with the Lord

Okay, so first, I read this in the New York Times:

Just about any sports movie, airport paperback or motivational tape delivers a few boilerplate rules for success. Believe in yourself. Don’t take no for an answer. Never quit. Don’t accept second best.

Above all, be true to yourself.

It’s hard to argue with those maxims. They seem self-evident — if not written into the Constitution, then at least part of the cultural water supply that irrigates everything from halftime speeches to corporate lectures to SAT coaching classes.

Yet several recent studies stand as a warning against taking the platitudes of achievement too seriously. The new research focuses on a familiar type, perfectionists, who panic or blow a fuse when things don’t turn out just so. The findings not only confirm that such purists are often at risk for mental distress — as Freud, Alfred Adler and countless exasperated parents have long predicted — but also suggest that perfectionism is a valuable lens through which to understand a variety of seemingly unrelated mental difficulties, from depression to compulsive behavior to addiction.

I immediately fired off a quick email to Jesus, the alpha and omega of perfectionist jerkwads.

From: Matt [commander-in-chief@piealamodeproductions.com]
To: Jesus H. Christ [superstar@whatwouldido.org]

Dear Jesus,

Way to go, Jackass. This is what happens when You come along and be all perfect and set the bar way too high for everyone. You spoil everything for the rest of us and give us mental problems. Forget about the fact that Your never-say-die-(except-for-that-one-time) attitude was indirectly responsible for competitive athletics and the hit song "We Are the Champions," You know who You remind me of? You remind me of Sensei John Kreese from The Karate Kid, that's who! I bet You probably rooted for those Cobra Kai assholes the whole time.

And by the way, what the fuck is with the chocolate bunnies at Easter? How does that pertain in any way to the supreme, set-the-bar-too-high, give-all-of-mankind-mental-problems sacrifice that You made?

I don't know what to say to You anymore. Suddenly all that dying for our sins bullshit seems as hollow as one of the aforementioned chocolate bunnies, doesn't it? I hope You're satifsied with Yourself.

Oh, and if I don't talk to You, have a great birthday!

-Matt

But then, right after I hit SEND, I found this little chestnut in the archives of The Straight Dope:

What's up with the "lost books of the Bible"?

04-Sep-1992

Dear Cecil:

I am currently reading a book entitled The Lost Books of the Bible. Being interested in Bible history, I thought it might be an interesting diversion, but I was not prepared for what I found. It claims that when Jesus was young, he killed a couple of boys and a schoolmaster because they displeased him. Jesus comes off as an arrogant bad seed in these supposedly ancient texts.

My question is: were these books truly a part of the original Bible, and if they were suppressed for obvious reasons, does the Catholic Church, or any church for that matter, acknowledge their existence? How do they explain Jesus's bad temper? Is this why there is very little about Jesus's youth in the current Bible? --Dan Olmos, West Hollywood, California

Cecil replies:

No question, the kid portrayed in the "lost books" isn't exactly the Prince of Peace. After recounting three murders in two pages, one passage concludes, "Then said Joseph to St. Mary, henceforth we will not allow him to go out of the house; for everyone who displeases him is killed."

Jesus H. Christ!

I think it's enough with the letters to Jesus at this point. It seems safer just to write to Santa Claus, even though that fat bastard knows if I've been bad or good. With Jesus, you can hide it. But at least with Santa, all you get for being bad is coal, not the business end of some hipster's axe planted in your skull.

But because I'm afraid of having my emails intercepted, I had to get help.

From: Smokey [clowntears@piealamodeproductions.com]
To: S. Claus [Santa84883@gmail.com]

Dear Santa,

For Christmas this year, please protect my friend Matt from Angry Jesus. In exchange, I will let you play a game of Michael Jackson and the Eight-Year-Old Boy with me. I'll even be the eight-year-old boy this time.

Love and kisses,
Smokey Robinson