Rangers 7, Yankees 4

 

The same company that sent my wife and me down to the ice to see the Dallas Stars for the first game of the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs gifted us with tickets to see the Texas Rangers take on the New York Yankees. The account exec over there is well aware my wife is a huuuuge Yankee fan and came through on his promise to send us to see Aaron Judge and his teammates the next time they came down to Arlington.

 

As a transplanted New Jerseyite, I’m not a big fan of the Texas Rangers. In fact, I’m not a fan at all, really. We’ve been down here three years and this was our fourth trip to Globe Life Field. I did watch some of the playoffs last year when the Rangers knocked out the despised rival Houston Astros, and I think I watched the last game of the World Series where they defeated the Diamondbacks to win their first World Series title.

 

I’m also not a big fan of Globe Life field. In fact, I kinda hate it. Picture a humongous Abe Lincoln hat, then bury it in the ground. That’s the stadium. It’s a giant cylinder two hundred feet below ground level. It has a retractable roof that’s square in size which makes the ceiling look weirdly disproportionate. Its sort of like the architectural style of “brutalism” applied to a sports stadium. Around the rim, street level, are dozens and dozens of fast food, beer, and memorabilia stands, interspersed with elevators and bathrooms. It’s like a mall and a steampipe factory had a baby.

 

Also, since the roof has always been closed the four times I’ve been there, the stadium is a great big echo chamber. After every pitch the sound system blasts out excessively decibeled distorted music that, after the third inning, reminded me of why I hated the club life I was forced to participate in during my twenties by the simple fact of having friends. But I go to these games because the Mrs. is a dedicated Yankees fan, and she doesn’t get enough Yankees down here just north of Dallas.

 

My head pounded for another reason, late in the game. For this game will forever be known as the Great Yankee Clay Holmes Implosion.

 

The author and his wife during better times, 

i.e, the third inning

The first half of the game went quickly. Lots of three up three downs. A pitchers duel. Yankees pitcher Carlos Rodon was striking out a lot of batters. Yeah, he did give up a solo home run in the bottom of the fourth, but other than that the teams were equally matched in performance. Our seats were good, about twenty rows deep just off the right of home plate. Lots of foul balls came out way, the closest only seven seats down from us.

 

Then the Yanks got some runners on base in the seventh and eighth and scored two runs each inning. The momentum was clearly on their side. The crowd – which comprised, I estimated, of about 30 percent Yankee fans and I spotted at least forty or fifty 99 jerseys – the crowd began chanting “Let’s Go Yan-Kees” and cheered them on. Texas fans surrounding us seemed depressed, that is, those that were not drunk or on the way there.

 

Then, with the Yankee relievers entering the game, and peppered by an error and defensive miscue, the Rangers put two runs on the board in the bottom of the eighth. Going into the final inning, the Yanks held a 4-3 lead, and, little did I know, being used to more dominant Yankees from my time up north, this was thin ice territory for Aaron Boone and his team.

 

And they lived up to it – er, down to it – in spectacular fashion. Relief pitcher Clay Holmes, who makes $6 million this year from what I scanned online, came in as the closer. And immediately loaded the bases, throwing pitches into the dirt, out of the strike zone, and, for the last batter he faced, right down the middle, to be hit out of the park for a walk off grand slam.

 

The crowd was on its feet as one. The volume was ear-shattering. The celebration seemed worthy of a second franchise World Series win. We slunked out of our seats and bolted up the stairs amidst Rangers fans hugging, taking selfies, and breaking out into group pockets of orgiastic cheering. Up on the ground level we scooted out with several hundred Yankees fans, sideswept by departing Rangers revelers, and left the stadium in record time. The Mrs. wouldn’t even allow me a trip to the rest room, that’s how fast she wanted out of there.

 

I sensed this was historic. I haven’t been following the Yanks or any MLB baseball this year (really since the league went woke around 2019 or so), but on the drive home we checked out the fan response on Yankees twitter and on the fan site Pinstripe Alley, and had a lot of belly laughs. I am now somewhat up to speed on the fiasco that is Clay Holmes, the erratic mismanagement of manager Aaron Boone, and see now why the Yankees organization can’t give Aaron Judge a ring to cement him as one of the all-time greats. It seems this is the eleventh blown save of Holmes this year, and the record of 14 is well within his reach as Boone doesn’t seem willing to bench him.

And then I was almost cornered and bit by a Doberman! But that’s a story for later this week …