Wherein I See Phish and the World Series for $5 Total [Rest Of 2009]

We're coming down to the wire and there's no time to lose, so here's the rest of The Best Rest Of 2009.

A few months after the most glorious concert experiences of my life, a friend of mine was offering around extra tickets for the last leg of Springsteen's tour, which included a mini-residency at Giants Stadium. These concerts would be the last for Bruce in the venue that vaulted him into worldwide arena rock superstardom, as the new Giants Stadium (and I'll be calling it that regardless of whatever corporate name gets stickered all over it, so deal with it, Jets fans) is set to open in 2010. Clearly I had to be there and jumped at the chance. I was met with an interesting choice: General Admission floor seats for the second-to-last night, or 100-level seats for E Street's last ever Giants Stadium show? For some, it seems like a no-brainer. Go for the tour and stadium closer, where the band is bound to pull out all the stops and, given the historical significance of the venue, there may even be a special guest or two. However, recall my Bonnaroo epiphany and you'll see why I made the choice that I did. It simply had to be the floor. After being so close to The Boss that I could see the sweat flying off of his pumping Jersey fists, there was just no way I was opting for the seats, even if it meant gambling that the second-to-last E Street show at Giants Stadium would measure up to the finale. Observe below to see why I clearly made the right choice.



My favorite part about this is that more than once in the video you can clearly hear me muttering, "Where's The Boss man? Where is he?" only to have him emerge into view mere feet from our position. My second favorite part is the fact that we somehow managed to not notice the mini stage in the center of the floor just to our right until Bruce was standing on it. We were just in the right spot at the right time, and you're just going to have to believe me that it worked out that way. Oh, and 60-year-old Bruce crowd-surfing a solid 40 yards. I guess that's my third favorite part. It's the story of 2009 in a nutshell, really. All-time highlight memories sporadically cropping up amongst an otherwise murky sea of confusion and doubt.

This now puts us right smack in the thick of October, my favorite month of the year. If ever there was a saving grace for 2009, it was October. Not only did it include the aforementioned Bruce experience, but the YANKEES WON THE WORLD SERIES! If you know me or have read this here blog at all, you'll know how much the 2009 MLB Playoffs lifted up my Worst Year Ever. Some of you reading right now may have been there for this guy's birthday celebration, watching me jump for joy during Game 2 of the ALDS as A-Rod tied it with a HR in the bottom of the 9th and Teixeira walked it off with a wall-scraper in the 11th.

In the next round, I was able to score tickets for the Littlest Bro (who is ironically the biggest of we 3 Schiff Brothers) and I to see the Yanks take care of the Angels and capture their 40th pennant in Game 6 of the ALCS. Of course, our first attempt to see the game was rained out, but, as we saw time and time again in '09, out of the FAILstorm emerges a WIN. Because of the rainout, Littlest Bro was forced to head home, so myself and Middle Bro went to drop him off with our Aunt and Uncle who were heading back to Jersey after seeing John Stamos star in Bye Bye, Birdie on Broadway. That's right, folks, Uncle Jesse himself. Here at Schiff Happens, we have sung Stamos' praises before, but never did we expect to actually meet the proprietor of the Smash Club.* However, the stars aligned that night, leading to one of the greatest pictures ever taken of the Schiff Brothers.


Yes, I'm well aware that only half of my face is visible. I stand by my statement. Note to all of you out there who will now attempt to stake out the Stamos: Try to avoid saying "Uncle Jesse on 3!" just before you snap the picture. Ask Littlest Bro about it.

As October turned into November, the Yankees ended nine long years of frustration with World Series win number 27 and another parade down Broadway. Yes, I'm well aware that complaining of the Yankees "struggles" is ridiculous. I apologize for nothing. I also should probably mention that I was in the house to watch the Bombers take down the Philthadelph in Game 2 of the World Series alongside Middle Bro, which was especially satisfying since we got to chant "Who's your daddy?" at Pedro Martinez all night. Probably should also mention that it was free. Hey, I said the highs were all-timers.

The final positive of 2009 was Phish's fall tour. For the first time ever I decided to try and check out an entire multi-night run, procuring tickets for Wednesday and Friday nights at Madison Square Garden, and Saturday night at my alma mater, The University of Virginia's John Paul Jones Arena. Of course, Thursday - the one night of the four I went into without a ticket - was the night of note. I joined my friends at the bar near MSG for their pregame, and just as I was about to go do a lap around the arena to scour for an extra, the guy next to me at the bar leaned over and said, "You need a ticket? Here you go." He pulled out a mail order ticket, I managed to mutter something along the lines of, "Are you serious?" and he said, "Sure, why not? I was gonna eat it anyway. Buy me a beer and it's yours." So, for the price of the beer I was able to ensure that I saw "Fluffhead" for the first time live. I'd call that a victory. Of course, that was also the night I learned that Jonathan Larsen, creator of RENT, died of an aortic aneurism, and didn't even have a little bit of AIDS. I'd call that a loss. A major loss. I have never felt so bamboozled in my life, and to be honest, I'm still getting over it a little bit. The story will have to wait for another time, because I'm getting emotional just thinking about it, and because quite frankly, it's 8:30 on New Year's Eve and we've all got some drinking to do.

So before you head out to whatever loft party, watering hole, or slump buster you're hitting up tonight, take a minute to view perhaps my favorite video of 2009. I call it, "How Not To Shoot a Concert Bootleg," and when you consider that this hilarious piece of pure, unadulterated FAIL was shot just moments after the incredible joy and good fortune captured in the "Hungry Heart" video above, it's the perfect sendoff for 2009, the Worst Year Ever. May 2010 be the most epic of WIN for all of us.



Happy New Year.


*Wow, definitely didn't remember that the original Stamos post was Yankees-related. Weird. Awesome.

The Bonnaroo Tales, Vol. I: Runnin' On Empty

Yea it's taken me a while to talk some Bonnaroo. It's taken me a while to talk some anything. Well...tough. Sorry, that's all I have to say about it. Oh, that, and you're gonna wait a little longer as I recap the festival day by day. You like it.

It's often said that life isn't a sprint--it's a marathon. For this guy, the past 3 weeks or so have been some sort of delirious mash-up of the entire race. There's been a lot of talk among my circle recently of racing and running and living lots of life in a short while, and I feel like that's what I've been doing since I last posted, lo those many moons ago.

In the last two weeks I saw Phish in New York and New Jersey, drove to freaking Canada and back (a return trip that took 12 hours door-to-door and a Baseball Roadshow that deserves its own post entirely), and ran my Yankee Stadium record to 4-0 on the year so far -- all while looking for a 3 bedroom apartment in Manhattan. All this immediately followed a week that had completely rocked my world. I found myself reuniting with slews of old friends, and even a couple of exes. I have crammed what feels like a lifetime's worth of chaos, stress, action, confusion -- and yes, fun -- into a relatively short amount of time. There are many tales yet to be written, but the big one - or at least the story that best encompasses all of what I've been feeling these last few weeks - is Bonnaroo.

Bonnaroo is a literal and figurative time warp. As you make your way to the festival – at least if you’re truly road trippin' it – the miles and hours pile up and the journey feels interminable. Though we arrived in Manchester around 7:30 Thursday evening and made it inside after only a short wait (leaving us exactly enough daylight to set up camp and avoid a torrential downpour -- 'Roo Success #1!), some unfortunate souls are made to wait upwards of 5 hours to physically enter the festival grounds from the highway. The whole experience can feel like a never-ending odyssey. But once you reach your destination, the opposite effect occurs. Time seems to simply melt from one music-filled moment to the next. By the time the festival hits full stride, you’re not quite sure where one day starts and the next ends, and the places you’ve come from and intend to be going to at festival’s end feel like distant planets from a bygone time. On top of this dreamlike state of consciousness brought on by the long journey, oppressive Tennessee heat, sprawling music schedule stretching from noon until 4am daily, and never-ending stream of wild and crazy people, the state of Tennessee spans two time zones. Apparently there’s a sign that indicates when you’ve crossed over into Central Time, but no one in our car got that memo, which made for a confusing start to the trip when we had to figure out what time to go see Passion Pit on Thursday night. So it goes. If the whole festival experience has a time warp element to it, this confusion was probably the most appropriate way to start. Passion Pit were jumping at This Tent, we danced around, unnecessarily circumnavigated the entire campground in pouring rain on the way back to our spot, dried off and went to bed. It was the best night's sleep I'd had in nearly a month.

Strikes and Gutters, Ups and Downs

It's been a long, draining week -- the kind that leaves you shaking your head, speechless, numb. When faced with a similar situation toward the end of The Big Lebowski (perhaps my favorite movie of all time, and one that has been there for me time after time), the flawed, if not passionate, Walter Sobchak is left with just one timeless thought:

"Aww, fuck it Dude. Let's go bowling."

I always thought that meant that when times get shitty, you turn to the things that have always been there to comfort you, even if they seem excessively ordinary and couldn't possibly offer more than a momentary escape. Maybe deep symbolism was never intended. Either way, I'm goin bowlin tonight.

Appropriately enough, as I ready myself for my first ever NYC bowling experience, I find an abundance of Dudeness on the interwebs. First:

"The New York Yankees have announced the addition of strictly kosher food offerings and Shabbat accommodations at their November 2009 and January 2010 Fantasy Camps. Glatt kosher food will be provided by Weberman Foods with OK supervision, and a Friday “Dream Game” will be played so Shomer Shabbat Jews can participate."

Walter would certainly be there, except he has to take Cynthia's Pomeranian bowling while she and Marty Ackerman are in Hawaii.
Walter Sobchak Approves [Fack Youk]

And secondly, Bonnaroo thought they didn't completely make my summer enough when they brought Phish, Bruce and the Beastie Boys (arguably the 3 cornerstones of my proverbial musical pyramid) together under one festival, so they decided to throw in their very own Lebowski Fest at the air-conditioned Bonnaroo Cinema tent. I guess now I need to bring along my purple Jesus Quintana bowling outfit in addition to my big suit. The big 'Roo starts exactly 2 weeks from today. There's your long overdue countdown alert. Meet me there for a much needed White Russian.
Bonnaroo Cinema [Bonnaroo.com]

The Dude abides.
I don't know about you, but I take comfort in that.

Three's Company [With the thing and the thing and the thing]

Some people think that baseball season is too long.

If you meet one of these people, the appropriate response is to hit them over the head with a tack hammer, because these people are attention-deficient idiots.

Part of what makes baseball so great, and the marathon season so appealing, is that over the course of 162 games, you're pretty much guaranteed to see something, at some point, that you've never seen before. I've attended a fair amount of Yankees games in my life -- Here's an interesting little exercise: If you had to put a number to it, how many total times would you say you've joined the faithful in attendance at your favorite squadron's home ballpark? I've got my estimate at 50 in the real Yankee Stadium, with last night marking my second visit to Lonn Trost's House -- and only by virtue of the long season have I been given the chance to see some of the crazy things I've seen at 161 St. and River Ave.

Were the baseball season not seemingly interminable, odds are much slimmer that I'd have been in the house to see six pitchers combine to no-hit the Yankees for the first time in 45 years, a 2-homer game by A-Rod during his torrid 2007 summer, the 'Boston' standings flag flying inexplicably upside down (photo evidence available upon request), or the apocalyptic sight of "Your Opening Day starter, Carl Pavano." In sports with shorter seasons, you're lucky if you make it to a game or two. In baseball, you've got 81 chances to have a foul ball land in your seat while you're in the concourse putting ketchup on your hot dog, only to end up snagging a second foul pop to your section upon returning (And yes, every one of these things happened with this guy in attendance). Sure, every sport has its idiosyncracies and once-in-a-lifetime moments, but baseball's long season affords you the most chances to actually witness one live.

Last night, I got to be a part of another one of those moments. Looking on from Section 312, I watched Nick Swisher, Robinson Cano and Melky Cabrera hit back-to-back-to-back (and belly-to-belly-to-belly?) home runs in the bottom of the second, staking Phil Hughes and the Bombers to what would ultimately end in a lopsided eighth straight win for the Pinstripers. It was the first time the Yankees teed off for 3 straight dingers since 2005, and only the 11th time they've ever done it. I'll even credit myself with halfway calling the third, as I leaned over to my friend Rob and said, "Does Melky make it 3 in a row here, or is that too much wishful thinking?"

Hopefully I'll prove to have a knack for these kinds of moments this year. Fresh off the heels of three consecutive homers, I'll return to The Stadium tonight and try to run my record to a clean 3-0 on the season. And oh yea, Bonnaroo starts exactly three weeks from today.

It's Thursday, and it's absolutely beautiful. Apparently summer decided to just show up. Come and knock on our door.

Friday Moneymaker Shaker

It's Friday, it's 5:00, the sun is shining and the Yankees win.

Glorious.

Only one thing left to do: Shake it.

Whether you're a pompous old geezer who gets way too much enjoyment out of silly puns or this little dude I spotted getting his groove on to some Beatles music in Strawberry Fields, the best way to celebrate feelin' alive is to shake what your mama gave ya.

Opening Day is for everyone [the one with dinosaurs!]

Another Opening Day is in the books, and although the Yankees really let me down, it was still by any measure another fun and festive Opening Day. My favorite part was that it was chock full of baseball related goodness completely unrelated to anything happening on a field today.

First up, a bunch of fackin' hippies are going to kick off Phish's tour at Fenway. Thankfully, I'll be in Canada when this happens, so I won't even have to consider attending. Yes, we've established that I enjoy my Phish music, but if you've ever experienced the sardine-can seating at Fenway or stood next to a hippie you can imagine the olfactory misery that will ensue on May 31. If I have to say anything nice about it, the promo video for the concert on Phish.com is fan-fackin-tastic. In fact, these videos have been somewhat of a Phish 3.0 revelation. You may recall that the last such clip, announcing the band's late summer tour, eventually led us to the Fagot Farm in Georgetown, TX. I'll get you linked up to the rest of those vids at the bottom of this post, but I'm getting away from my intended point, which is that today's concert announcement gave me occasion to revisit what is widely recognized* as the greatest musical moment ever at Fenway Park. It had to be, because I witnessed it firsthand during my only visit to see the Green Monstah.
(*not recognized by anyone)

It happened during an annual summer baseball stadium pilgrimage. In 2007, the destination city was Boston, and our crew unsuspectingly -- and drunkenly -- stumbled into a moment that really was beyond description. I know that's a corny way to set up the clip, but it's true! And that's saying nothing of the fact that my memories of these baseball trips are often wobbly at best.



The second bit of opening day fun that happened today was a shout-out from Deadspin. This comes as no surprise, of course, given that we're famouser than Captain Kangaroo around here, but it made me happy that the internet got to enjoy one of my favorite road trip moments, the T-Rex first pitch. Going into Chicago/Milwaukee 2008, we weren't sure anything could top the previous summer's national anthem moment. Little did we know we were about to witness a Ceremonial First Pitch Fail 65 million years in the making.



I was stunned to see this linked on Deadspin personally, because it is in fact Schiff Happens original footage. My 2 favorite comments were Hurdleguy04 on YouTube mocking Wurm's cackle, and Buccos on Deadspin being spot-on hilarious.

So there, I'm totally capable of doing an Opening Day post that everyone can enjoy. And I didn't even gripe about the fackin Yankees (I let Jay take care of that).

Now let the UNC rout continue for one more half so that I can win some money and the ACC can once again dominate the Big 10. If only my overrating of the ACC overall hadn't let me down in the first 2 rounds, I might be able to do better than second place. And yes, I really picked UNC over Michigan State in the final and still can't win my pool.

In other words, Happy Opening Day, Happy Spring, welcome back Baseball.

Phish 3.0 tour announcement videos:
Late Summer 2009
Summer 2009
Hampton
Bonnaroo (only sort of related, but come on, it's been a while since I mentioned it. Speaking of which, you're still invited--65 days!).

The great tradition of Yankee Staches continues!

I can't believe I was beaten at my own game by a bunch of dudes who spend their weekends chasing beat-up redneck wino tail and tormenting old ladies. Nevertheless, the most pinstriped player in Yankees history has apparently taken on the proud and storied role of "Yankee Player with a Sweet Stache."

So now when CC Sabathia gets called out of the dugout to tip his cap to the crowd, is that Lip Curtain Call? Long live the Yankee Stache!

Seriously can't believe you Fackers scooped me on a Yankee mustache story. I must be slipping.


CC Sastachia [Drunken defacers of property, or as they prefer to be known, Fack Youk]

Tell us how you really feel, Mick

Can this possibly be real? I have no reason to believe it isn't, but this has got to make Lil' Bob Costas awful sad. It's one thing to be a raging alcoholic and known womanizer, but dropping a "Eff Yogi" is basically like a punch in the balls to the honorary grandpa of all Yankees fans.

According to Darren Rovell of CNBC's "Sports Biz" blog, "Mantle and Yogi got along just fine. But some collectors have said that when Mantle wasn't in his best form, you could get him to write almost anything." I guess this isn't that far-fetched...maybe. People have certainly been convinced to do much more asinine shit while drunk than scribbling an F-Bomb on a baseball. Still though, I find it hard to believe that nobody was sitting next to Mickey during the autograph session watching what he was doing, especially if I'm to assume that he spent his morning pounding scotches at breakfast before the signing event. From what I know about autograph signings and Mickey Mantle, I have to assume that it went down something like this:

Some time circa 1985, a middle-aged dude with a beer gut and an adjustable-back Yankees cap approaches the table at the front of the Airport Hilton conference room after an hour or more in line, eager to meet his boyhood idol. When it's finally his turn to approach the legendary Yankee, he stammers for the right words.
"It's a true honor, Mr. Mantle. I'm a huge fan. What was it like playing in all those World Series with Yogi Berra?"
Mantle, having momentarily fallen into a drunken snooze, awakens with a sharp upward head-snap.
"Yogi Bear!? That sumbitch stole my pic-a-nic basket. I had a whole case 'a Natty Lights in there!"
"No, not Yogi Bear, Yogi Berra, you know, your teammate. He played catcher."
"FACK that guy, man. Gimme this dang ball already."
"Umm, okay Mickey, whatever you say. Do you think you could sign it, '536 HRs?'"
Mickey scribbles something on the ball, slurs something unintelligible, possibly "I'll git that varmint," then passes out face-first on the table. The beer-bellied fan looks down in dismay at the inscription on the ball, not realizing that in roughly 25 years another fanboy with a beer gut will be willing to shell out $2,500 at auction for a baseball with an F-Bomb scrawled on it despite the worst economic recession since World War II.

Like everything else, this will spawn spinoffs. The Shelley Duncan "Red Sox Suck" autograph from '07 is a favorite of mine - making little Sawx kids cry, HILARIOUS! - but it doesn't feature teammate-on-teammate aggression. I'm thinking that the next logical progression in F-Bomb-inscribed baseballs would be a ball signed "Fack Youk, Manny Ramirez." If Mickey Mantle can be duped while drunk, how difficult can it possibly be to fool Manny (who already hates the Youkah as much as I do, and appears to me to be reefed up at pretty much all times)? Drunken defacers of property, I'm looking in your direction. Let's make this happen.

Hat tip to [IT IS HIGH, IT IS FAR, IT IS...Caught]

And God said, "Now batting, the shortstop, Number 2, Derek Jeter...Number 2"

Yankees PA announcer since 1951, Bob Sheppard, aka the Voice of God, was sorely missed last season in the final year at the Old Stadium. Not only was he replaced with a bogus impersonator who, though serviceable, was no match for Bob's eloquence, but his absence seemed clouded in mystery. Everyone you spoke to at games had the same questions: When will Bob be back? Will he be back at all? What, exactly, is even wrong with him? Finally, it seems we've got some answers.

Courtesy of River Ave Blues commenter Artist formerly known as 'The' Steve (no relation), it's my pleasure to give to you Mr. Bob Sheppard! Ed Randall had the man, the myth, the legend on WFAN yesterday, and the Voice of God spoke to the people about his health, his hopes to return this year, his time with the Yankees, and his stamina. "I love that word, 'stamina.'"

And we love you, Bob. Get back to 161st and River Ave soon. So good to hear that voice again.

Originally found on River Ave Blues - A New York Yankees Blog

The 7th Inning Stretch at the New Yankee Stadium

(As sung from my seat in section 230. Someone awesome is leading the song from the area behind home plate, but I couldn't tell you who without craning my neck and throwing my back out)

Take me out to the ballgame
Take me out with the crowd
Buy me a seat where I cannot see
Paid for with millions of my tax money
'Cause it's root root root for the Yankees
Except for the A-Face we BOOOO
For it's HIGH!
It's FAR!
I can't tell if it's GONE
From my seat with the obstructed view!

From the New Stadium Insider, if this is true I'm going to shit in Randy Levine's cereal.

Seriously Yankees, explain yourselves right now.

You spent $1.3 BILLION on this place, including shadily obtained public money. I feel like that's enough to cover minor details like, oh I don't know, seeing the field. I know you guys wanted to give us modern-luxury-meets-old-school-Original-Stadium-charm, but OBSTRUCTED EFFING VIEWS!?!? And those seats cost what, 80 bucks for a single game? Ok Schiff, calm down. We'll just have to set up shop in the bleachers and save a little money. Not the best view of the action but at least we can see the entire field...


Apologies to my black and white buddies, but WHAT IN THE FACK IS THAT?!?!

I know everyone is pretty well worn out on A-Face and almost done caring about that story (even Boston writers are standing up for him - where am I?), but why does it always have to be some kind of nonsensical drama with this club? All I should be excited for today is pitchers and catchers reporting, but somehow the story of baseball players actually playing baseball is buried under a big pile o' bullshit, which is what I will now go personally deliver to the Yankees front offices.

Effinay Yankees... you've got some 'splaining to do.

UPDATE: The Yankees got wind of all the fuss on the innertubes and have vowed to remove the obstructed seats. Apparently they were installed to see if the view from them would in fact be obstructed. Because it would have been too difficult to simply stand in that spot and say, "Gee, sure is tough to see through this giant steel beam." Then again, what's a few thousand more of my dollars to rip out these seats, right?

I hope No. 18 is Randy Velarde [Spring Training Countdown]

Rescued from the jaws of icy death at sea, the guys over at the Yankees and sports blog Fack Youk seem to have burst onto the scene out of nowhere, and by this I mean I have recently added their blog to my reader. Their deft combination of toned-down black and white photography and dirty words speaks to me. What can I say? I'm a simple man who enjoys foul bathroom humor and the black and white - it's easy on the eyes.

Three days ago they started a series counting down the days until pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training, matching each day’s number with a Yankee uni number. They started, appropriately enough, with 25 days to go and Big Teixy, then moved on to 24 (The Great Bam-Tino) and 23 (Donnie Baseballs, natch). Today, with 22 days until pitchers and catchers report, they’ve enlisted the help of Wailin’ Suzyn and her incomprehensible reaction to steroid abuser Raw-Jah Clemons' WWE-inspired comeback announcement. I was actually at that game and thus unable to enjoy her legendary call, and didn't even hear about it until the next day. I did however get to watch Cletusmons the Roid Rage Yokel introduce "Cotton Eye Joe" on the jumbotron. /douses face with scalding Beam 'n Keurig, lights beard on fire. This has been an enjoyable series so far and should only get better as the days dwindle towards the start of Spring Training because A). Yankee names only get bigger and badder as the numbers get smaller, and B). It’s sunshiney, hopeful, sweet Spring Training, the only thing that can pull us out of the long, dark, post-NFL winter (Yes, I am every bit aware that the Super Bowl has yet to be played and NCAA hoops conference seasons are kicking into gear. See my favorite teams to understand why Spring Training - and Mark Teixeira - is my only hope).

Whither Jetesy?

Caught one of my favorite Seinfeld episodes before Was watching Seinfeld before--the one where George stops having sex and teaches Bernie Williams and Derek Jeter the simple physics of hitting-- and with the beginning of the "What will the Yankees do with Jeter?" discussion starting to rumble in earnest, it was great to get a look at a youthful Cap'n Jetes doing schtick with Bernie and Costanza. Before he was The Captain he was an exuberant youngster, already a champion, playing every night with only winning on his mind--destined for greatness. And that's how I'll remember him.

But gratuitous bro-love aside, I too wonder how the end of his Yankees career is going to play out. He'll retire a Yankee because he has to and because the Yanks take care of their iconic players that way. He's a lifer. How much he'll get paid after the 2010 season and how (and certainly where) he plays from then until the end are the big unknowns. Money and contract issues are not really of interest to me right now, but I am curious to see where he fits in as his career declines. We thought first base, but enter Bronx Bombers First Basemen Episode 4: A New Hope. Based on what I said above about Jeter's status, I don't think Tex's arrival signals his end in the Bronx, but Jeter's numbers are on the decline; his power has shrunk to the point where he's now a singles hitter who grounds into way too many double plays, traits that aren't becoming for a shortstop and number 2 hitter. Ditto for DH. A-Rod is here for another 9 years at third, so whither Jetesy? At the moment I'm trying really to convince myself that I see The Captain settling under a fly ball somewhere in the new Stadium's outfield, but I'm glad I caught him in his Jeterian innocence on Seinfeld, as I will remember him. It's too tough just yet to imagine Bob Sheppard announcing, "Batting seventh, the left fielder, number 2, De-rek Je-ter...number 2." Yieeesh. That was weird.

Okay time for college hoops (football season is essentially over, sigh)-- c'mon Hoos make it enjoyable! Yea, my expectations against UNC aren't the highest, but we have a sweet freshman who is about to have the ACC Rookie of the Week Award renamed after him, and we're playing at home. Every puncher has his chance. Game just started, $$ is in the house, awesome.

Why the Yankees should forget CC. What? They signed him? Awesome?

I was all set to wake up this morning and write my "Why I'm over CC Sabathia" post detailing the many reasons why the Yankees should stop waiting around for him to decide if he really wants to play in New York, cut bait with their massive contract offer and instead worry about bringing back Andy Pettitte and signing Derek Lowe to solidify the pitching rotation, and signing Manny Ramirez to protect A-Rod (we're really still pondering whether this would be a good idea?) before CC half-heartedly decides to give New York a shot and ultimately flames out under the glare of the media, his record-setting contract and the endless availability of restaurants offering 24-hour delivery.
Instead, I woke up to learn that not only did the Yankees and CC take the first steps in this direction, but the club sweetened the pot with another year and $20 million. Am I excited that the Yankees now have a legitimate ace? Hell yes, of course. I love CC as a competitor and, by all accounts I've seen, one of the all-around good guys in baseball. It just worries me that a guy who was so on the fence and trepedatious about playing in the Bronx for this long is all of a sudden going to carry the 2009 Yankees back to the World Series. For that kind of money and for his stature, Sabathia can't be stepping to the podium and putting on the pinstripes thiking, "Maybe this will work out ok." This decision needs to come with a world-beating, "Let's make this happen," attitude. CC is known to put immense pressure on himself, which will only compound any potential doubt in the face of the massive external pressures he is about to face. That all being said, I still don't think that he will be a flop (and I don't buy into the concerns of many about his physique after so many years of ardently supporting David Wells, the elderstatesman of big fat lefties). Far from it. He's one of the best pitchers in the league and will be good for the Yankees both on the field and in the clubhouse, where he's known as a great teammate who brings people together (something I believe the Yankees have sorely lacked in the A-Rod era). It's a move the Yankees had to make, and maybe in the end it really did simply come down to money for Sabathia. Fine. The problem lies in the way the process played out and the doubts raised along the way. As a Yankees fan, I'm pretty sure I should be overcome with delerious excitement this morning. Instead, I'm just cautiously optimistic. My only hope is that CC doesn't feel the same way.