Razzing Mussina

8/22/07

Hey everybody, I’m up early this morning on the west coast. I can’t stop thinking about the two A-bombs I hit last night. What a great game! That’s 42 on the year for me, which leads the league, and I’m also leading the league in RBIs, I think. Not to get ahead of myself, but if this keeps up I’ll probably make the All-Star game.

Of course, all the media can talk about is Garret Anderson’s 10 RBIs. Sure, it’s a nice round number, but keep in mind that he got them off a pitcher who’s about a hundred years old and some crappy bullpen guys. In the same situation, think how many RBIs I’d get!

Actually, let’s figure it out mathematically. Garret has 50 RBI on the season, and I have 121. So if he got 10 off Mussina, and we do proportions, the numbers tell us I would’ve gotten about 46. In a single game.

Now you can be impressed.

You might be thinking that was a mean thing to say about Mike Mussina, my teammate, but he and I are always joking around. That’s our relationship. Which reminds me of a good story. At one practice I was ragging Mike about his age, calling him “Old Gray” and other funny nicknames, and the whole team could barely pretend not to find it hilarious. I kept it up afterward in the locker room, and finally Mike snapped and said “if I’m so old, get in the fucking box against me!”

That did it. We went back to the field, which looked pretty cool in the dim lights, and everyone came to watch. Most of the guys cheered for Mike. I guess it’s because we had an understanding; I knew I had their silent support, and that freed them to be pretty vocal on Mike’s behalf.

I could’ve used a cheer or two, but I stayed cool because that’s what being a captain is all about (I’m pretty sure I’ll get to be captain soon). Anyway, I dug in and Mike started throwing his fastball, which tops out at about 82, and I was just smacking it all over the park. Finally he tried a curve, but it hung, and I drove it into the left-field bleachers. I decided to razz on Mike some more.

“Why don’t you go buy some lady’s diapers, Mother Theresa?” I yelled. I can’t remember why I used that joke.

“Get back in the box,” he said, doing his typical narrow-eyed scowling face.

Then he hit me in the back with a fastball. It hurt a lot, and it hurt more that some of the guys laughed. But I controlled my tears, stood up, dusted myself off, and trotted to first base, where I sat down and crossed my arms. Everyone else hit the showers, and Mike tried to apologize, but I just sat on first base and didn’t say a word. I stayed there until morning.

The New York Yankees learned something about dignity that night.