After spending the last couple weeks in mental anguish over the recent downward spiral, it dawned on me that this is the Yankees we’re talking about. This isn’t a team gorging itself with chicken and beer in front of 35,000 Southies with their silly accents and their bank robberies and their Matt Damon. This isn’t a club operating under the shiesty control of a guy straight off the page of a political propaganda cartoon circa Germany, 1940. This is the Yankees. Not the Red Sox, not the Mets- the Yankees. They don’t collapse. At least not in the regular season.
Let’s forget about the playoffs for a second. The Yankees are built to stampede through the regular season, treating it like an extended spring training for October. This is what the Yankees do. A collapse here would be like Maryland not doing crab cakes and football. Granted, my blog last night may have approached the writing of a fan-boy staring intermittently at the Derek Jeter Fathead on his bedroom wall in between key strokes, while eating Totino Pizza Rolls, but I meant what I said. The Yankees eased up a bit in yesterday’s game, and it showed in their resilience, as they staged off a couple Rays’ comebacks to hang on to a 6-4 win. For a while there, the team was playing like a group of rape victims, going about their jobs in a timid manner with zero conviction. It’s time to get that swagger back- that swagger that Russel Martin demonstrated by home run trotting like a guy hitting .203 instead of .202. Who does he think he is, Andruw Jones? Somewhere along the way, they lost their confidence. Like when someone tells you one thing about yourself that you never noticed, but it instantly becomes insecurity number 1 and throws off the rest of the machine. Time to get that edge back. Time to stop going into every game wondering when the team is going to mess up, as opposed to if. Time to realize that that’s the Orioles creeping up in the standings… the Orioles. Time to win the fucking division.