The greatest Red Sox pitcher of modern times took the mound last night, 38 years old, throwing junk and wearing a Philadelphia Phillies uniform in a World Series game against the New York Yankees. And he didn't stink up the joint. Nobody was his "Daddy," despite what thousands of ignorant Yankee fans want us to believe. It was actually a joy to watch Pedro Martinez keep the Yankees off-balance with an assortment of change-ups, vintage breaking pitches, and well-located fastballs. And when he came out of the game in the seventh, the Yankees fans booed him: the kind of venom reserved for a guy who's gotten the best of the Yankees enough to make the New York fans uncomfortable.
They used to call the franchise "The Bronx Zoo," and I can't help but think of that description every time I watch a Yankee playoff game on TV. From the gaudy stadium that looks totally out of place in a year where the Wall Street excess mentality is uncool, to the annoying digitized bells that clang over the PA system after every home run, to the embarassing calls of John Sterling on the radio broadcast ("A Thrilla from Godzilla," "The Sayonara Kid") - that place must be what Hell really feels like. Last night, Pedro walked into Hell and turned back the clock, putting his team in position to win Game 2 with an imperfectly brilliant performance. Eventually he, and the Phillies, wound up taking the loss, but that is solely a product of Philly bats gone silent with one of the game's biggest sluggers, Ryan Howard, wearing the infamous Golden Sombrero with four whiffs in four at-bats.
The morning after, some are comparing Charlie Manuel to Grady Little ("they never shoulda brought Pedro out for the 7th!"), others are analyzing Pedro's remarks before and after the game about his relationship with the trashy New York fans ("...since when is he such a gentleman? He threw an old man on the ground!" - no matter that the old man in question, Don Zimmer, embarassed himself and admitted to it in said altercation six years ago), while the dim-bulb Yankee clowns are saying "aww we beat Pedro down again - who's your daddy?" Man, I thought Red Sox Nation was bad. But as ridiculous as Sully, Fitz and Murph (Yeah, brotha!) might look on a Friday night at the "lyric little bandbox" we call Fenway Park, they could never compare to the classless lot that show up at Yankee Stadium - inebriated parents cursing out a pitcher in the twilight of his brilliant career while their little daughter sits close by; she's destined to become just as trashy as her parents.
This series is no longer about Pedro or the insults to humanity that sit in the stands at Yankee Stadium. The venue has shifted to Philadelphia, where the Phillies will be tasked with defending their home turf and putting some crooked numbers up on the scoreboard. Josh Beckett's redneck cousin A.J. Burnett, as much of a fraud as his career has been to this point, was incredible last night - as good as Cliff Lee in Game 1. The Phils couldn't touch him. Will they be able to touch Andy Pettitte in Game 3 Saturday night?
Meanwhile, I hope this series goes far enough so Pedro gets another crack at beating the Yankees and putting their fans to bed.
They used to call the franchise "The Bronx Zoo," and I can't help but think of that description every time I watch a Yankee playoff game on TV. From the gaudy stadium that looks totally out of place in a year where the Wall Street excess mentality is uncool, to the annoying digitized bells that clang over the PA system after every home run, to the embarassing calls of John Sterling on the radio broadcast ("A Thrilla from Godzilla," "The Sayonara Kid") - that place must be what Hell really feels like. Last night, Pedro walked into Hell and turned back the clock, putting his team in position to win Game 2 with an imperfectly brilliant performance. Eventually he, and the Phillies, wound up taking the loss, but that is solely a product of Philly bats gone silent with one of the game's biggest sluggers, Ryan Howard, wearing the infamous Golden Sombrero with four whiffs in four at-bats.
The morning after, some are comparing Charlie Manuel to Grady Little ("they never shoulda brought Pedro out for the 7th!"), others are analyzing Pedro's remarks before and after the game about his relationship with the trashy New York fans ("...since when is he such a gentleman? He threw an old man on the ground!" - no matter that the old man in question, Don Zimmer, embarassed himself and admitted to it in said altercation six years ago), while the dim-bulb Yankee clowns are saying "aww we beat Pedro down again - who's your daddy?" Man, I thought Red Sox Nation was bad. But as ridiculous as Sully, Fitz and Murph (Yeah, brotha!) might look on a Friday night at the "lyric little bandbox" we call Fenway Park, they could never compare to the classless lot that show up at Yankee Stadium - inebriated parents cursing out a pitcher in the twilight of his brilliant career while their little daughter sits close by; she's destined to become just as trashy as her parents.
This series is no longer about Pedro or the insults to humanity that sit in the stands at Yankee Stadium. The venue has shifted to Philadelphia, where the Phillies will be tasked with defending their home turf and putting some crooked numbers up on the scoreboard. Josh Beckett's redneck cousin A.J. Burnett, as much of a fraud as his career has been to this point, was incredible last night - as good as Cliff Lee in Game 1. The Phils couldn't touch him. Will they be able to touch Andy Pettitte in Game 3 Saturday night?
Meanwhile, I hope this series goes far enough so Pedro gets another crack at beating the Yankees and putting their fans to bed.
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