Boyle-ing Points by Kevin Boyle
Yankee Go Home? That’s Okay With Me
Just got back from the South – where you can buy live bait and a rent a video in the same store. Where shirtless skinny men with stringy hair drive pick-up trucks. The guys you hope don’t smile at you ‘cause you really don’t want to see their teeth or lack of same. Where you figure people are being friendly so they can scam you.
I almost missed the Yankees and Red Sox game in which Don Zimmer the lovable pinstriped troll bull rushed Pedro Martinez. I drove from sports bar to sports bar below the Mason-Dixon line looking for the game but all the TV sets were tuned to NASCAR and college football. And a big screen in one place was showing bass fishing on a flat piece of water—only occasionally disturbed by a spritz of chewing tobacco off the side of the boat.
Just when you think you might have left the country you find comfort in the fact that when you go into a 7-11 store the clerk is from India or Pakistan. Whew, what a relief.
Behind the counter was a 6-inch black and white. It looked like a security camera but it turned out to have the Yankee game on. Obviously, this being the south, they wanted to low-key the Yankee broadcast. I figured I was lucky because I hear that some 7/11 stores put plastic wrappers around TVs with Yankee games on, the way they do smut magazines.
I ordered a slurpee and watched the game with the clerk who used to live on Coney Island Avenue.
It was a strange experience to say the least. When the clerk in a heavy Indian accent said, "That Pedro should have said ole’ — like a matador and stepped away, " I had to wonder where the hell I was.
I got back to New York for Game 7 and was able to scream "you bum!" at Giambi, Soriano, and Boone with impunity. Giambi had hit two important homeruns but they had come early in the game so I was imploring him to get back on the steroids – the kind that work in the clutch. Nothing doing. He left two men on base. Soriano? Forget it. He was just plain sorry.
And then there’s this bum, Aaron Boone. At the plate, he was so far out in the wilderness, he looked more like Daniel Boone. I didn’t even get the chance to get my expletives warmed up before he became one of my favorite Yankees of all time.
My trip through the south threw me off but I knew all was right with the world once again. The Yankees win. And better, they beat the Red Sox. Too bad they weren’t playing the Mets instead of the Marlins.
The south, the north. Rooting for the Yanks, rooting for the Sox. Guess it’s all a matter of perspective—when you step in dog crap and bring it into the house—you want to kill the dog or the dog owner—-when your kid steps in it and drags it into the house you wanna kill your kid.
Boyle-ing over: Anybody notice the item in the paper that our congressman, Anthony Weiner, has 1.6 million in his campaign war chest — the one he’ll have to open if he makes a mayoral run? (‘Cause he sure won’t have to dip into it to remain in Congress) Nice dough, huh? I had no idea that he was squirreling away such riches when I predicted that he’d run (and Joe Addabbo would eye his congressional seat) months ago. As I said then, Weiner’s too much of a ham to be constricted by the relatively low profile position of a congressman. He’s good on TV and quick-witted. (And Page Six loves him because he’s single). I hope he runs and wins. We want to be able to point to the Wave endorsement, which undoubtedly gave him the edge in the Democratic primary several years back. The Wave as kingmaker. And because he’ll be so indebted to Rockaway he’ll make drinking beer on the beach mandatory.
***There’ll be no Boyle-ing Points on Halloween. Here’s an advance notice. The bell is broken and I’m not home (don’t tell anyone I’m hiding from the trick-or-treaters downstairs in the dark).