Though Esquire’s Scott Rabb happily points out “in 17 at bats, Cap’n Clutch accounted for 18 Yankees outs,” he saves some of his most severe criticism for annoying fixture / Irish tenor Ronan Tynan (link swiped from Repoz and Baseball Think Factory).
Why Bud Selig lets the Yankees turn the 7th-inning stretch into a faux-patriotic ritual — not so incidentally forcing the opposing pitcher to wait an extra five or so minutes while the microcephalic Ronan Tynan (above) quavers his meandering way through “God Bless America” — is a mystery. No other team or town pulls this sort of crap. It’s no tribute to America — it’s a tribute to George Steinbrenner’s sense of entitlement and his monomania, and it’s a disgrace to the game. If another team pulled this on the Yankees, Steinbrenner would raise hell, and he’d be absolutely right to do so. And if the Yanks’ pitchers could miss bats the way Tynan misses notes, the Yanks might’ve had a prayer against the Tribe.
And that’s all the gloating I intend to do. There are Clevelanders like Steinbrenner — whose idea of manhood is bullyragging, boasting, and buying respect — but most of us know that sportsmanship means winning and losing with as much dignity, perspective, and grace as one can muster.
In other words, fuck the motherfucking Yankees. In their house. With Paul Byrd. With Joe Borowski. With Rudy Giuliani in his precious little VIP box. With Rocket pouting, his feet up in the trainer’s table’s stirrups, as the team gynecologist pries apart his Hall of Fame labia. With the dickweed Michael Kay babbling about how the Yankees are the better team.