Confessions of a She-Fan by Jane Heller

Author:Jane Heller [Jane Heller]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781594868986
Publisher: Rodale
Published: 2009-12-14T05:00:00+00:00

While we wait to board our flight to LaGuardia on Tuesday morning, I hop on my laptop and read what the beat writers are saying about Yankeeville. They are reporting that Mussina will be meeting with Torre and Guidry to discuss his future—whether he should work out his problems on the mound during Sunday’s game against Tampa Bay or take some time off.

Our flight lands in New York. I didn’t drink putrid plane wine or even miss it.

We check back into the Marmara, our home away from home. It feels wonderfully familiar. Since this is a slow week in New York with everybody fleeing to the Hamptons for the Labor Day holiday, we are given the same extra-large apartment we had last time at a special, lower rate.

Tonight begins yet another episode in the drama that is Yankees–Red Sox, as we open the first of a three-game set tonight. The Stadium is bulging with men, women, and children in Yankees gear, many of them looking a little lost. We, on the other hand, feel like regulars. We take shortcuts. We maneuver through and around people. We get an elbow in the ribs and give an elbow right back. We are no longer intimidated.

We go right up to the Tier level. We have not eaten since breakfast, so we buy food. Michael, who has rated the Yankee Stadium hot dog to be the worst of any he has sampled so far, nevertheless tries again. He looks at it, turns up his nose, and sends it back.

“Whassup?” says the girl behind the counter.

“It’s not cooked,” he says. “I want another one. And I want it hot.”

Our seats are in Tier 32, row B—in the outfield just to the left of the foul pole. There are lots of Red Sox fans in our section. I can’t understand why anyone would scream “Yankees suck” for nine straight innings.

Tiger Woods is in the house. So is Cameron Diaz.

Pettitte is going against Dice-K tonight. Joe announced before the game that Mussina will skip his next start against the Devil Rays and that another kid, Ian Kennedy, will be called up from Scranton to take his place.

Dice-K pitches to Damon in the top of the first. I cannot stand him. Dice-K, I mean. Same with Beckett, Schilling, and Pap Smear. Same with Manny and Big Sloppy. They are so arrogant. I hate them.

We are tied at 2–2 until the fifth, when Jeter’s solo shot puts us ahead.

Varitek’s own solo shot—I really hate Varitek—knots things up again in the seventh.

Damon’s two-run homer in the bottom of the frame warrants a long curtain call. The crowd continues to cheer him not only for breaking the tie but also for sticking it to his old team.

In the top of the eighth, Joba trots in from the bullpen to chants of his name. I pray this is not the game when he finally screws up. It is not.

“Enter Sandman” heralds Mo’s entrance in the top of the ninth. Varitek strikes out. Crisp strikes out.

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