To sleep, perchance to dream ...

I was out by 9:30 last night (I'm usually up by 4 a.m. now). About an after the Yankees fell into a coma the likes of which they are unlikely to recover from. You'd think an 11-run loss would warrant an awful score, but it gets only two A-Rod grimaces. Giving Roy Halladay a 10- or 14-run lead is like giving a Hannibal (the Carthaginian, not “The A-Team” one) M1A1 tanks instead of elephants. The game was over at 3-0, but Marco Scutaro took out his journeyman hammer and drove home those final nails in the coffin.



Michael Kay’s enthusiasm has finally been sucked out of him. He’s clearly frustrated, disgusted and baffled. It’s about time. He even mailed Hideki Matsui’s A-Rodian blast in the eighth.

I wish Harry Doyle was around to do these games. It would make the losing so much more enjoyable.

Remember, fans, Tuesday is Die Hard Night. Free admission for anyone who was actually alive the last time the Indians won the pennant.

For, those of us who were alive the last time the Yankees won the series, remember, it was only eight years ago. Eight years. Not 86. Not 100. Feels that way though, doesn’t it?