Ah, yes, summer in the big city. The subway stations are oppressively hot (dear god, Herald Square in summer), the Mister Softee trucks have been pushed out by bootlegs (like New York Soft Serve), and the Canada wildfire smoke has (mostly) subsided! We hope.

It’s that time, because they don’t yearly put it on or around September 11th, where the trains hum and the Empire State Building flashes either blue and white or blue and orange, and the rest of the country couldn’t give a rat’s ass the same way this part of the country couldn’t care less about the College Football Playoff. Rutgers ain’t doing shit and we don’t really care, and fuck Syracuse. (All my homies hate Syracuse.)

Well now they give a rat’s ass because it means they can laugh, because at press time anyone’s dreams of a Subway Series are dead since the trade deadline has come and gone, the Mets were sellers, and the Yankees were cautious buyers and decided to bolster their anemic at best offense with *checks notes* two relievers. Uh, they do know relievers don’t hit, right? Jimmy Cordero being the exception. (Yeah, we have no idea what the fuck they were doing.)

Anyway, the Weaselo siblings (so Hermana Weaselo and I) went to the game last week, as you can remember in last week’s Wumbo Wednesday post. It was her Christmas present—I was planning on getting her tickets to the Citi Field leg since that week was her birthday, but those tickets were more expensive and for worse seats, so I ended up not doing that. (Which also ended up working out because I eventually booked a gig that night.) I took the 4 train up since I had business earlier in the afternoon downtown, while Hermana Weaselo drove. Yes, it is possible to drive and get there at a semi-reasonable time! You do have to leave early enough, as Hermana Weaselo mentioned she got the last spot in the lot she parked at, and she met me around 6ish while I was getting dollar pizza. (Dollar pizza now costs $1.25.) So, an hour or so before gametime, which also meant the lines were reasonable to get into the stadium. Once we got in, it’s the usual maze o’ stuff as you meander towards your section (which for this game was Section 334, bottom of the left field upper deck).

We did get free stuff. Ford was doing a promo thing where you could take pictures and get a free drawstring bag and all you give them is the least important email address you have (like the Yahoo email, I only use that for fantasy) and they’ll send you things about cars. Like not the Focus and not the Fiesta, because they don’t make them anymore. Have you driven a Ford lately? No I have not, because you don’t make a midsize sedan anymore! That was the extent of the free stuff.

What’s not free stuff? The golf pencil you get with the program to do the scorecard. Because they were out. Unfortunately this means I had to buy a pen. Which, I mean, it’s good to have pens, but seriously? That’s where we’re at now? Did this prevent me from doing the book? Fuck no, I did bite the bullet and buy a pen.

Easy game to score, in part because anything is an easy game to score after the 15-inning marathon that was the 2008 All-Star Game (from the bleachers, with no view of the scoreboard to double-check your work). At some point, when I find my program, I may post that scorecard, which was going great until I literally ran out of paper after the 13th, even using the stats boxes as the extra innings. The All-Star swing-off won’t let you do that anymore, Manfred.

Other important notes: They don’t have the Empire theme or the Throne Room theme for lineups anymore. This is an outrage.

For all none of you who care about JV Lesser Footy, they’ve finally added something for NYCFC’s MLS Cup victory. As opposed to the year they actually won, where the only advertisements I saw were for the Pinstripe Bowl.

As for the game itself, a 3-1 win? Stadium was dead. Like, even if neither team’s good you’d expect the Subway Series to be jumping, but no, the fans know these teams aren’t doing shit (even if Brian Cashman doesn’t) and the ballpark was giving off that vibe. I was talking with a guy a row below me about how Jorge Soler torpedoed my chance at my first Immaculate Grid Maddux (score <100). My personal best is currently 119 as I’m trying to do this without fishing for answers by trawling Baseball Reference. (My personal rule is I’m allowed to confirm my memory, which I didn’t do today and ended up mixing Danny Tartabull and Tony Tarasco, and the former never played for Baltimore.)

In conclusion, yeah, we had fun, and I caught a shiny Zigzagoon while Senorita Weaselo drove me back to my car in Queens, so great success! I did not get the ultra-mega-gluttonytastic chicken bucket where you thread the straw from your drink in the bucket for maximum ergonomics, just a dog and a drink. I keep saying I will do it at some point but I never do!

Maybe if I get in earlier next time, or if it’s just me. (Goal of the summer has been if a $5 game opens up and I’m free, just say fuck it and go. It has not happened yet this summer.) At the least you get to see Aaron Judge again, because without him the offense was downright yeesh. It was a minor miracle that the Yankees scored runs, plural, in the 2nd, with bases loaded nobody out.

Okay, enough of that. Any news?

Listen, I just got back from my errands and re-registering my car, and we’re already a half-hour behind schedule. Is there news? Yes. Is there sports? Also yes. Said Yankees are currently down 2-0 to the Rays (edit, Volpe goes yard just as I hit the post button, 2-2), and Domingo Germán (of perfect game fame) has checked himself into alcohol rehab.

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