Perhaps it wouldn't have made much of a difference tonight, and maybe I'm more than a little tainted by bitterness, but kudos to Joe Torre for playing Doug Mientkiewicz and leaving Jason Giambi on the bench. Hindsight, as they say is 20-20, but going with a guy for his defense and leaving an infinitely better hitter on the bench is so National League. In fact, it smacks of Dusty Baker in his prime, and what a prime it was.

And then when it came time to pinch hit for Mientkiewicz, Torre threw Shelly Duncan out there instead of Giambi. I realize that Duncan is a right handed batter, and maybe Giambi didn't have terrific numbers against Sabathia. But wouldn't you feel better with a guy who has won an MVP award, even one tainted by allegations of steroids, over a guy whose greatest claim to fame is being the son of the Cardinals pitching coach.

The trouble with conventional wisdom is that it's conventional. So what if every body knows something? 95% of people are total nitwits. Derek Jeter came into the game batting .500 lifetime off Sabathia and sporting a very good postseason average in general, but he didn't exactly rip it up in this game. Hell, CC Sabathia walked six guys tonight (one was intentional) and none of them scored.

And if ever there were an omen that a given night would not be a given player's night, it had to come tonight. Mientkiewicz almost ended up a scratch from the lineup before the game even started when he tripped over a cameraman from a New York TV station getting off the team bus. Who in their right mind thought that things would break his way after that? What more did he have to do, walk under a ladder, cross paths with a black cat? For a profession that is notoriously rife with superstitious dudes, there is no way he should have seen the field after that.

Torre played the percentages right into a 0-1 hole in this series. Now things are looking good for Red Sox fans, which is always bad for America. This postseason is starting to remind me of the Beatles song Uncle Albert. I don't hear it very often, since I don't like the Beatles and I don't listen to the radio very much. But when I hear it, it confuses and vexes me.

Every time I hear the start of that song, I start thinking to myself that maybe I'm wrong about the Beatles, that they might not be as bad as I had thought previously. Then the second part of the song with the aggravating uptempo music and the random nonsense about Admiral Halsey kicks in, and I find myself hating the song and the band more than ever.

I've come a long way around to say this, but if the Yankees lose, the only other team I'd like to see win this World Series is the Chicago Cubs. So I find myself stuck rooting for teams that I can't stand simply because they stand in the way of the team I really hate. If neither the Yankees nor the Cubs advance, I am in a lose-LOSE situation. Either the Indians win, and I'm bummed, or the Red Sox win and their fans are happy, which is a nightmare scenario I'd rather not envision right now.

By the way, thanks to the Major League Baseball playoff promos, I have had to reevaluate my opinion of Dane Cook. At first, I never cared about him even though Bill Simmons whined about him, which is generally a sign a guy isn't a total douche. But now, I've seen way too many of those stupid "There's Only One October" ads and I hope he gets some wasting disease.

And kudos to the genius at TBS who went into a meeting and said: "I know what let's do. Let's put Tony Gwynn in a booth with Bob Brenley and Chip Carey and we'll have them broadcast the New York Yankees series." This guy should get a Peabody Award, or at the very least the Nobel Peace Prize. Those three worked together like vodka and anti-freeze.

Tony Gwynn is a nice guy, and he brings a lot to the table. Bob Brenley just might be brain-dead. I'm just glad he left his comments on the stadium wind situation behind on Cubs telecasts. But Chip Carey has to stand second only to Joe Buck in shaming a famous grandfather who is also a broadcasting legend. The shameful indecency with which he celebrated every single development in favor of the Indians this evening was sickening.

I found myself forced to switch over to the end of Twelve Angry Men on Turner Classic Movies before I was pressed into service in the Ryan Garko Hall of Fame movement. Yeah, he hit two home runs tonight, but I've missed a great deal if Ryan Garko is considered a big bat in a lineup. Speaking of Twelve Angry Men, if there aren't twelve angry men in the Yankee clubhouse (and with morons like Damon and Mientkiewicz, there might not be) then there ought to be.

And while I'm on the subject of TBS: how is FrankTV going to change the face of late night TV? Is it going to be the worst show ever? I know he has a good impression for John Madden and for the President. His Nicholson is passable, but his Pacino is terrible. And those are the four featured in the commercials that have run somewhere in the neighborhood of a quadrillion times now. He better be holding a hell of a lot of A material in the vault, or the American people have to be an order of magnitude dumber than I think they are for this show to succeed.

There are some things in life that come down to a question of perspective. For instance, one man's glowing tribute to a deceased icon from another team in another sport in another era can also be another man's shameless attempt to exploit a populace of sheep when the market for a given team's paraphernalia is saturated. Apparently every fan who wants them must already have all the pink shirts and red shirts and blue shirts that they could justify owning. So the Red Sox brass cooked up a blatant, disgusting sham of a tribute to Red Auerbach tonight.

Perhaps I'm too cynical, and I allow my hatred of the Red Sox to cloud my mind. Maybe that's why I think it strange that the Red Sox chose the night of their first home game against the New York Yankees to lament the passing of the greatest basketball mind since Naismith. I'm sure it was just coincidence that it should happen to be a Friday night and a national TV game. There is no way that this fine event could have any ulterior motive.

Giving the devil his due, I must congratulate whichever of Henry's minions was responsible for engineering and marketing this "tribute." Even I, believing it to be artificial and in poor taste as I do, think it was brilliant. Bringing the 16 banners from the rafters across town to adorn the Green Monster before the game started was the mot juste. I only wish that I and my small band of loyal readers were that clever and that shameless, maybe then I'd break the century mark for daily hits.

Fortunately for me, the universe has a way of evening the scales. Somewhere, I think Red might have cracked a smile about something that happened in Boston sports for the first time in years after A Rod took Big Schill deep in the 4th. It was also edifying to see Mientkiewicz advance two runners with a sacrifice bunt to help the Yankees manufacture their first run of the night. Up until Varitek tied the game with what I can only assume to have been Sammy Sosa's infamous batting practice bat and Crisp hit that triple, I was convinced that the bottom three in the Red Sox order would struggle to manufacture a case of athlete's foot.

Interestingly, down by 3 in the seventh, Francona elected to pinch hit Wily Mo Pena for Pedroia with runners on first and second rather than sacrifice to advance the runners. Perhaps Francona was thinking (assuming he can, in fact, think) that Petite was tiring. Unfortunately, that was not the case. He struck out Pena, and Proctor came on to retire Lugo and Youkilis. It is also possible that Francona may not have even known the situation. Or maybe he just had no confidence that the top of his order could drive in runners from second and third with one out should he call for the sacrifice.

I understand that one run one run isn't going to tie the game there, and it is now a moot point because the Yankee bullpen made the lead go away in the 8th. But at least it's more proactive to sacrifice and advance runners to second and third with one out than it is to sit back and hope for a big inning. But I blame myself for the 8th inning rally more than I blame the Yankees or credit the Sox. I jinxed the Yankees, because I had written this joke: "that rally just died in Jason Varitek's arms as though it were the 1980s band Cutting Crew" as he stepped to the plate. I feel like a tool right now, but I leave it in for the sake of intellectual honesty.

And Francona was lucky that burning Pena by pinch hitting him when he couldn't field Pedroia's position did not come back to haunt him tonight. The fact that it would have made infinitely more baseball sense to pinch hit Cora and have him execute the sacrifice or strike out like Pena did than wasting Pena in the first place did should temper the pride Red Sox Nation derives from tonight's comeback victory ever so slightly. I will concede that pinch running for Giambi made perfect sense right up until the point where a spare part from and made up of lesser spare parts unknown made the last out of the game batting fifth.

The Red Sox had no confidence going into that 8th inning. You could see Schilling's man-and-a-half sized ego deflate when A Rod hit his second. Personally, I think that it should have counted as a grand slam, even though only two men were on base at the time. After all, Coco Crisp managed to fall out of the field of play into the home bullpen, very nearly breaking his back in the process. The total, complete and utter humiliation for the player and the team in that one shining moment ought to be worth at least one additional run on the scoreboard.

Even in the ninth, when the Sox sent Hideki Okajima out to pitch to the heart of the Yankee lineup, it could not help but remind Red Sox Nation that Papelbon must be treated with kid gloves as though he were Samuel L. Jackson's character in Unbreakable this season. But Okajima rose to the challenge. He was a little upset with some of the calls that led to the Abreu walk. And maybe he had a point, but Abreu has a reputation for having a good eye, and reputation goes a long way. There was a time when Greg Maddux could bounce the ball like a cricket bowler throwing a googly and still get a strike call. That's the way it goes.

The guy I go to for my Red Sox information actually called me before the game to get in my eye about the green uniforms. His quote at the time: "Think Notre Dame." Of course, I didn't point out that Notre Dame hasn't exactly produced the desired result in their last few green jersey games (last year's game against Army doesn't really count). I was saving that for a big moment, like the second A Rod homer, but alas, he wasn't taking my call.

I do have to give him credit on one point, he said that he saw Schilling letting up at least five runs tonight. And he had that part right. He wasn't concerned when I spoke to him before the game, because Pettite didn't scare him. I guess he was right about that too, since Pettite was good enough when he had to be, but not exactly dominant over his 6 and 1/3 innings of work.

Even with the Red Sox having all the momentum because of their impressive comeback, this shapes up to be an interesting series for the Yankees. It is not going to be easy to win tomorrow or Sunday, with Karstens and Chase Wright making their Fenway debuts. Pettite came up big for them, and it would have been nice not to have wasted his performance. It would be nice to have the Sox lose two games this weekend and a sweep would have been awesome, but that's obviously impossible now.

I must say I wonder whether the artificial confidence a sweep for the hated Red Sox would instill in Red Sox Nation might have been worth all the bragging bravado I would have to endure. After all, sweeping that mighty lineup would not be a miracle (or even a fair sized country wonder to borrow an expression from Edwin O'Connor) with the starting rotation decimated by injuries to Wang, Pavano and Mussina. A comeback against Rivera is nice, and three blown saves for a closer of his stature is not exactly encouraging even if it is only April.

Rooting against the Red Sox is far more important than rooting for any one team. I will enjoy the inevitable collapse of this team with its suspect fourth and fifth starters, still not exactly proven middle relief and pathetic hitters manning the last third of the order. The bullpen held the fort and even chumps like Varitek, Crisp and Cora can't get out all the time. It is possible that I should be more repentant or keep silent, but I'm just not that kind of guy.

After all, I can't help wondering now that all the king's horses and all the king's men managed to put Humpty Dumpty back together again...how humble is Humpty Dumpty? I'm surprised he hasn't posted yet. I wonder, since my technical consultant tells me that a hit on this site has originated from a password protected area of wordpress (which supports his blog) twice in the past two weeks, whether he's waiting on me waiting on him?

Tonight, I find that I don't have one single topic to fill a post. I guess after last night's long rant on the upcoming Oden-Hibbert matchup, I'm tapped out. There are a few things that I've been meaning to say, and none of them inspires me enough to write a standard length post. So tonight is a sort of moveable feast of negativity.

First, I don't really know why I think this, but I am going to go out on a limb and predict an impressive season for Carl Pavano, the Yankees likely opening day starter. I think he's going to win 18 games, and more to the point, I think he's going to win more games than Schilling and Matsuzaka. Yes, Pavano has only won 18 in a season once and he's lost more than he's won in his career, but I believe in him. He has a forgiving lineup to support him (much more balanced than the Red Sox hitters, who only scare me if they're named Ramirez or Ortiz).

The Yankees defense behind him should be much better since they added Mientkiewicz to fill in for Jason "Oh My God, Please Let This Infield Throw Be Right On The Money Or We're Looking At An Advancing Runner Instead Of An Out" Giambi at first (I'm aware that his offense numbers from this spring need to increase dramatically for them to be considered pathetic in the regular season). I just have a sense that Pavano will win 18, and I'm usually wrong, but get ready for the I Told You So from me when it happens.

As I guy who loves fantasy football, so much so that I blog about it and drive my readership down in the football season and bore my friends who don't care about it so much that they want to smash a chair over my hear like as though it were pro wrestling, it might surprise you but I hate fantasy baseball. And it's not a hypocritical stance, on my part. I have no problem with the giant waste of time that all fantasy sports are. It does bother me when people talk to me about it, but it bothers me when most people talk to me about most things.

What really irritates me about fantasy baseball is that it is the fantasy sports equivalent of writing blank verse poetry, not that I write blank verse poetry, and I damn sure don't want to read any more blank verse poetry than I have to. Robert Frost described it as playing tennis without a net. That's what fantasy baseball is. For instance, Mike Piazza can be counted as a catcher in most leagues despite the fact that he won't be playing catcher for the As this season.

By that rationale, any player should be able to be classified at any position. For instance, Ichiro catches balls in right field, so he is on some level a catcher. Or he hits a number of singles, so he spends a fair bit of time at first base. If you need a first baseman, Ichiro should count. Or even better, he beats out a lot of ground balls for infield hits, so he ought to be considered for any of the infield positions.

Maybe this trend could carry over to the other fantasy sports. Terrell Owens lines up in the slot in certain formations and situations, tight ends like Dallas Clark line up in the slot in certain formations and situations. Therefore I ought to be able to classify him as a tight end if I need help there. While that sounds completely ridiculous, I just don't see how it is more ridiculous than letting a DH be considered a catcher because he played the position at some point within the last X number of games.

Tonight, due to a lack of interesting viewing options, I came across one of Mel Gibson's early films. It's called Tim, and according to digital cable it's about a May-December romance. I couldn't tell if it were an Australian movie with an American actress or an American movie with an Australian actor. The one thing I could tell from the few minutes I watched, is that is was dreadful. I bet Mel goes bananas like he did in the South Park Passion parody when he sees that it's on TV. I don't know how to adequately describe how awful it is save to say that it's like they took the basic elements of porn (bad lighting, bad sets, bad wardrobe, horrific script and dreadful acting) to make this film, but left out the eroticism.

One more thing I have to complain about tonight is the commercial for the lost pet lojack service. I don't know if you've caught it. I happened to be watching Most Extreme Ancestors on Animal Planet when I saw it. There is a hideously, horrendously awful cover of the Peaches and Herb song Reunited. I understand that this wouldn't bother most people, but it bothers me.

I like a lot of 1970s soul and R&B. I usually try not to talk about it much, because most single, straight guys don't make a habit of admitting that they've listened to a track by Peaches and Herb lately. But I like the song, and I'm not afraid to admit it. And after all, it's not like I'm listening to WHAM or Frankie Goes to Hollywood.

But as far as I know, Peaches and Herb aren't in a financial position to turn people away when they come calling to use the song in a commercial. After all, while there's only been one Herb, he's on Peaches number 5, I think. So the pet locator service people probably didn't save much money when they went with the cover version that sounds like a sickening blend of Up With People and Muzak. I'm not in marketing, nor am I acquainted with the demographic audience of Animal Planet (I am, however, willing to bet that the average Animal Planet viewer isn't all that cool), but there's no way that you'll ever convince me that the commercial wouldn't have more impact with the real version of the song in it.

And I realize that I admitted to watching Animal Planet and went out on a limb and offered my opinion that the average viewer of said network probably isn't cool. That said, I'm not an average viewer of Animal Planet. Or at least the network better hope I'm not, as I only tune in when there is a dire programming emergency.

Finally, there is the rumored trade which could have sent Lance Briggs and the 31st pick in the first round to the Redskins in exchange for the sixth overall pick. This might not be a bad deal for the Bears, since the Redskins love to butcher the draft and that's probably as much value as the Bears will get from this nightmare. That said, I also don't blame the Bears for putting the kibosh on it after either the Redskins or Rosehnaus released the details before formal negotiations had even begun.

Briggs is building up a hell of a lot of bad karma in this situation. If he sits 10 games as he's threatening now, and comes back for the last six, I don't think the situation will work out the way he wants. His timing will be off, he'll disrupt the team and he just might hurt his value going forward. If the bridges can be repaired and he goes to Washington, he's tempting fate there too. Yes, he'll get paid by Dan Snyder, but Washington is the NFL's place where careers go to die.

No one who signs big deals with the Redskins ever plays up to the potential they showed before they got there. I guess it's possible that you could throw Portis and Santana Moss in my face on this one, and I'd have to give you Moss. But Portis has more 1,500 yard seasons in Denver than Washington. To be fair, I must concede that his career is hardly over. But going to Washington is much better for the wallet than the Hall of Fame resume. I guess it comes down to what Briggs really wants, and if the Bears suddenly undergo a transformation like Scrooge experienced in A Christmas Carol and become forgiving enough to deal him.