The Fat Lady Warms Up: Yankees 10, Angels 1

The blown calls, irritating as they were (how in the hell do you miss the fact that both Cano and Posada were off the bag, something that was transparent to me up in the thin air, or the CS 2-6 against Nick Swisher in the second that suddenly wasn't), didn't contribute that much to the loss; no, that was mainly about Kazmir floundering and groping for the strike zone he couldn't find with a flashlight and a GPS. It was about C.C. Sabathia schooling the Angels' offense, with only one real peek at the game in the fifth but none otherwise, and a motheaten Angels pitching staff that finally erupted in a huge, postseason, Technicolor yawn. Pay-Rod finally paid off, missing the cycle by a triple, and the Angels' inability to collect used Indians — i.e. either of Sabathia or Lee — turns around to bite them. So the bloated zombie corpse of Yankee fandom drunkenly yowled at the long tables tonight, the prospect of more victories in the offing. I have little ...