TRICKY NICK

Only Nick the Lick can hit a rally ending Double (i mean, did he get to 3rd w/nobody out —NO)

He did get back to the dugout after three straight outs, though. Nick the Lick. And guess who

comes up to the plate after two good singles by Martin and Gardner and Jeter moving them

over(two outs) Who comes up? Of Course it's Nick the Lick who swings like he's gonna clear the

center field wall with ease —like the ball is used to doing whenever he puts wood to it Nick the

Lick. Wild man Garcia didn't help the Yankees Cause, but it was Nick the Lick (Tricky Nick) and

it'll be the next good Yankee season when they don't have him to kick around anymore.

Private Clutch

Nick the Lick don't know the word Quit; there ain't no word quit in him —Like — Quit Screwing up
Quit Trying too hard Quit pretending you belong in the majors; just short so he's got a small strike zone which earns the walk now and then when it don't count

3 run losing homer last night and today all they chances to avoid the sweep and all he avoids is
coming through in the clutch

nick swisher —private clutch; and one sentence sums it up —a private don't belong in the majors

private clutch —159 games and counting; a man's gotta know his limitations.

NICK THE LICK

Nick Swisher —Yankee Fans (aka Nick the Lick {as in} can't hit a {lick})

popping up another ball four for an out after starting 3 and 0 and then sitting on the bench,

near the cooler, cause that's what he is —the cooler; an anti-rally round the flag boy.

Good eye, Good eye, Good eye (which one) cause the other eye sucks (oh, he's just pushing too hard

and he's so hard on himself... the new whipping boy —Nick the Lick) Number two in the lineup and

number two in productivity. Nick Swisher Switch Hitter —you gotta get hits to be a switch

hitter —pretty soon his season averages will catch up to his playoff stats —oh he's just trying

too hard —bring up some kid and put him near the cooler and don't let him step in number 2.

A.J. BURNOUT TOO

I'm gonna be consistent from now on

for the rest of my Yankee career

no more enigma(s)

I got it all figured out

How to be consistent

I am gonna give up 8 runs every start from now on

no matter what

hey

lookie there

ole' A'J's consitent

he gives up 8 runs every start

and let me tell you dudes

Every start

when I reach 8 runs allowed on the scoreboard

I'm gonna have them pull me from the game

No matter what

so don't tell me no more

that I can't be consistent

cause I'll make it 10 runs

if you rub me the wrong way

Every little thing effects every pitch

inside my head

it's like

Bohemian Rhapsody

(the really mixed-up part)

I'd like to see anybody else do any better

or be more consistent

with the mixed=up part of Bohemian Rhapsody

playing in their brain

ouch...

Wake Up and Smell the Mierda

Javy Here, Fan and Foe — alike.

What a Night!

I take the mound at Fenway —Boom... Leadoff batter is (of all people) Carl Yaztrzemski... I strike him out on 2 pitches... the
third pitch, he hits for a double off the monster (would've been a single if Thames had been in left field, instead of sitting on the bench but it really doesn't matter where any of my guys are placed whenever I am pitching).
So —one on, no out... Pedroia at the Plate.. The Plate is this cool nightclub not far from our hotel... i love hanging out with Pedroia at The Plate... he knows everyone there... knows just what to order... last time we hung out together at The Plate, he told me to order a one way plane ticket to all National League Cities —just to be prepared... so, Pedroia's at the Plate; one on, no out... First pitch —ball... (hmm) A Ball hit out of the park... BAU... you ask, what the hell is BAU —well... I just made it up: Business as Usual, that's What, Folks...My teams down early 2 to Zip—Ok... Time to buckle down (in first class to that national league town)... Next Batter—David Ortiz... Him —even I can get out, and I do —while he's spitting on his hands... hell, he's the only bum that's a bigger bum than me right now... one out, none on; we're down 2 -0 (we didn't score in the first ‚
but, A-Rod did at The Plate last night)... And Now ... stepping up to the plate —WTF... over the PA, they announce... It's Ted Williams' Head... Only his head... Wow, Dude...
This's pretty far out... Ted Williams' Head... I thought they were just ribbing, but... here it comes... up to the plate... without a bat... just a head... Mister Girardi, our manager... comes out to argue that whatever comes up to the plate must use a bat —but
Nooooo... Francona shows an old rule which states: A Bat must have a Head —but, A Head need not a Bat —So... Here goes...
I pitch to Williams' Head... There seems to be a frost rising from his hovering head... Jeter yells out that it still must be somewhat frozen... Strike one... Next pitch —Strike two... Another —Strike three... Dude... what a relief... how could I ever show my face around tthe league again if I gave up a hit to a head? — But, Damn! Francona comes out with a rulebook which states: A Head without A Bat shall be Awarded 4 Strikes —OK... I pitch — Damn Damn! ... The ball hits the head and the head
takes off like shot out of a cannon, majestically, and I shut my eyes and hear a bell that keeps on ringing and wake up in our hotel right down the street from The Plate with a hangover that even my daddy couldn't shake and damn if all of this wasn't a dream, cause they skipped my next start, so I'll bide my time until Monday, when I'll face that damned Damon again and they'll see... they'll all look and they'll all see...and they'll know —that... I wouldn't even shag a fly (ball)... (four)... (fore)...
Look Out...

He IS Javy, Not My Brother

They told me today —they're skipping my start in the rotation —Friday, in Boston... hmmm...

granted, I stink like some week-old mierda —But... I haven't been given a fair shake like my

dad used to shake me, and His father before him... I'll have you know that I come from a long line of whipping boys... anyhow, what to do with my day off Thursday up in beantown —Hey, I know! I'm going to visit Martha's Vineyard. I want to see the new Windmills they have built into the sea... just off the Kennedy Compound. I read somewhere that the one that died last year fought very hard to stop them from building these Windmills and blocking his view... well, every once in a while, life throws you a curveball... I only wish I hadn't throw that one to Konerko last Saturday... OK... I'm going to go visit the windmills, wow —if the Kennedy's were still alive, I might've been able to, like —take target practice with them and shoot at the Windmills —Hell...

It would be nice to see if even a bullet from a gun would go where I intended it to go... ahhh, I really don't have any clue...What's wrong... What to do? Wait! I have lots of money... What if... hmmm... better keep it quiet... What if (shhhhh) I pay off all the umpires in the league... pay'em big money to call any close pitch that isn't hit out of the park a strike... maybe —then, I could have just a wee bit of confidence that I would be able to get through one inning without putting my team in an early hole... nahhhhhh... Disabled List is the only place to go, and before I'm to make my next start at Yankee Stadium... Well... I get two hard bullpen sessions before my next start in Detroit... Maybe I can hit myself with a pitch in the ankle... I'd have to aim for my groin —yeah... then maybe I could hit my ankle —OK...first bullpen session... hit self in ankle with pitch... ankle swells... miss one month... then go from there...

I can't get anybody out... Not even this strange litle kid who's been in my locker since I got here —Why, I mean... I can't even get this strange kid out of my locker... That's how bad it is...Well... If worse comes to worse, I'll see if Granderson can ttrade me his groin pull for a Hamstring to be named later... Later... Over & Out.