stumbled across this while looking for info on how the flooding's affected the thunder's home. with a cute slideshow! i loves the internet:

So to sum up thus far: [waterfront park] is great, the staff is gracious and it is well worth the trip. Oh, and clips from "Tommy Boy" and "Caddyshack" are shown between innings. May not be a selling point for all of you, but I was appreciative.

Now that I've laid all of that out, I would like to have a word with the team:

Now boys, I love baseball. I've never really trusted anyone who does not love baseball. You know the ones. Their only response to anything baseball related is, "It's so boring," or, "It's too slow." These are the people who are unable to sit still and see the perfect balance of simplicity and complexity. They lack the patience needed to wait for that amazing moment of chaos where your whole world is turned upside down with the crack of a bat.

Part of my love for baseball comes from the fact that it is a game of hope. Like life, you never know when a game will end, and an assumed outcome can be overturned in a moment. The ninth inning does not mean the end; it means another chance to win the game.

And there's justice in it like no other sport: Whether you win or lose, you can never say you weren't given a chance to make it right. The clock didn't run out on you.

Earl Weaver said it better:

"You can't sit on a lead and run a few plays into the line and just kill the clock. You've got to throw the ball over the goddamn plate and give the other man his chance."

That said -- Holy hamburger rolls Batman, 14 innings and almost five hours on a working Tuesday afternoon, without beer, is way too long! No one has that much patience! And you lost! It was a thunderous loss! You were up in the ninth and you lost 10-7! You should have ended it in the ninth and saved me from sunstroke and sunburned knees (and do I have to explain how embarrassing it is to have cherry red circles on your knees?). (See Slideshow)

Now readers, you're probably asking, "Why? Why, Teresa? Why did you stay the entire 14 innings?"

Here's the thing: I was promised a chance to meet the players, and had visions a la Carrie Bradshaw using her press pass to get into the Yankee locker room.

Boys. I'm not going to lie -- I stayed for the boys. What I forgot is just that. They're boys.

I followed my fellow pressmen into the locker room post loss only to find a group of angry, silent boys eating chicken fingers, who forbid the lone female reporter from taking pictures of angry, silent boys eating chicken fingers.

I got sunburned knees from sitting in the stands for almost five hours, only to meet grumpy boys. Alas, it was clear: I am no Carrie Bradshaw, and they are definitely not the New York Yankees. Sheffield would have given me a smile and a pose, at the very least, I'm sure of it.

And now some words of wisdom from Joe DiMaggio to the crabby players who shooed me away with their mouths full of greasy meat:

"A ball player's got to be kept hungry to become a big-leaguer. That's why no boy from any rich family ever made the big leagues."

Joltin' Joe would know. So put the chicken fingers down, boys; stay hungry and humble; smile for the camera ... and maybe then you'll make it to the Show. [teresa masterson]

Labels: yanquis