This Damn Yankee State

Well, I'm porched up in Jersey in a studio high rise staring across the Hudson at the Big Apple. In town for a wedding, the plan was to swing up the Bronx last night and catch my favorite ballers Scotty Ballgame and David Eckstein stick it to the damn Yankees.

But it all hit the fan when Coach decided to throw Joba. And everybody in New York quit their jobs and just had to get a ticket to see this cat throw 62 pitches and allow four runs in less than three frames. Tickets jumped from $25 to $300 overnight and, just as quickly, my chances of seeing a game in the "House that Ruth Built" went up in smoke.

So instead, I sat in Connolly's, an Irish pub in Manhattan, and drank one $10 12-ounce bottle of Budweiser and said "enough's enough." I saw Rolen bring one in, threw my ten spot on the bartop, screamed "Go Cardinals" and got the hell out of there.

More than anything else, I wanted to go to Yankee stadium to see what all the hoopla was about with Yankee fans claiming to be the best in the world. It seemed to me, just from being in the city last night, they kind of just like to wear Mickey Mantle jerseys and cheer for the Yanks because its "cool, man." Because if you're going to spend $10 on a bottle of beer in Manhattan you better be cheering hard for somebody while you're drinking it. You heard me?

This place is weird, I'm not the first to say it. I'm a lot more comfortable walking around Busch Stadium where I know that a guy with a Carpenter jersey isn't going to beat the hell out of a guy with a Pujols get-up. I saw Mantle and Ruth come to near blows on the PATH train back to Jersey last night. I'm sure it was an ego thing. This town simply isn't big enough for the both of them, one of them needs to get punched and recognize he's just here for a short stay in the other's town.

Have you ever seen Musial and Dean in a fist fight below the arch? Doubtful.

Let's all go to Chicago and fight the Cub fans. Who's in?