Mark Teixeira has hit two three-run blasts off us in two days. He can pluck my chin hairs. When he stands in the batter's box, he has an expression on his face like he's smelling rotten eggs. I guess I can't argue with results, however. Jerk.
Joe Buck and Tim McCarver are Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. Their attempts at banter were painfully unfunny. I'm as annoyed with them as I was with the ESPN crew. It's a shame that I couldn't just turn off the sound on my tv and listen to the radio, but radio feeds are not synced these days. I found myself pining so strongly for Ernie Harwell. I need to hear his voice.
To cheer you up, I share that the Twins are also 0-2, so things could be worse. To panic you, the White Sox are 2-0. We're two games out of first. Cellar dwellers. Ha.
Tomorrow, we place our fragile baseball hearts in Max Scherzer's hands. I don't know about him, but I've got a big chip on my shoulder right now. Beat the Yanks or bust.