Entry 10:

Allen,

My lord. You are a gamer. Coach Bryant'd tip his houndstooth to ya.

I think, maybe, this whole thing turned into a World Series last night. The Marlins finally got big hits from Gonzalez, and from Miguel Cabrera, who is finally looking like the guy who so wore out the Cubs. In the first, Roger Clemens—whose tap-dancing down the high road on the subject of Pedro Martinez's headhunting was one of the more comical moments of the postseason—buzzed Cabrera, and the rook fought back to 2-2 and took Clemens toward West Palm. That was the first up-from-the-Barcalounger moment for me. And, I suspect, there are more to follow, particularly if the Yankees keep coming around to Jeff Weaver, one of the great lemons of the modern era. I guess the move made sense, given all the right-handed hitters in the New York lineup, but, yeesh, Weaver is 8 pounds of plutonium in a 4-pound bag. From a staticky, cursory listen on WFAN out of New York this afternoon, it seems that Torre's getting a pass on the Rivera question, but Alfonso Soriano is getting barbecued for all the strikeouts.

And I think the best story is still Jack McKeon, who's managing the not-inconsiderable feat of being a really old guy who can get really young guys to play. That move of lifting Carl Pavano in the ninth took some real cojones, as did going with his springtime closer, Braden Looper, to get Boone and John Flaherty in the 11^th. If you're looking for signature moments, I think you got a small one last night, with the promise of bigger ones now that we're sure everything's coming back to the Bronx.

(Not for nothing does Braden Looper look like the German word for "flypaper" or something. "Vas ist der Bradenlooper, ja?" Never mind.)

I can safely say for the eternal record that I have not thought a single thing about Chad Pennington at any point in my life.

Be well,

Pierce