I watched the first three games of the ALCS with positive glee. We were stomping all over them, no team in the history of baseball had ever come back from as far back as we had put Boston. "1 out of the next 4 games? Absolutely. No doubt." It was assured.
As I begin to write this, it is the 9th inning of Game 7, and things look pretty bleak. Cashman looks positively ill, probably trying to figure out exactly which extremity The Boss is going to chew off later this evening if things don't recover fairly quickly.
It's clear where we failed... if the Yankees had one failing this post-season, it was our pitching. To say that it was "substandard" would be to be kind and generous. It stunk worse than the Marist campus in the summer heat, and that's saying something.
I want to be angry at Boston. I want to despise their very souls, but the reality is simply that "Who's Your Daddy?" is better directed at us, with the answer being "Ortiz". If anyone owned anyone this past week, Ortiz owned us.
Put simply, they played baseball way better than we did this week, and that's that.
I'm torn in my wishes for the Series... part of me, the age-old Yankee fan, is now cheering for "whomever the NL sends up to beat their asses, and please let it be Clemens, for the poetic justice of it". Another part of me, though, wants Boston to win, mainly so they'll shut the fuck up about how we're always keeping them down, preventing them from winning, "the curse", blah, blah, blah, blah, BLAH!
It used to feel weird to "not make it to the Series" but after the past few years of disappointment, it's becoming normal, and that's not right!
Yes, I'm a Yankee fan. I believe it is our American League Birthright to be in the Fall Classic each and every year. Deal with it.
But this year, we didn't earn it, and if you forsake your own birthright, that's just a terrible thing.
Game over. I'm going to bed.