On Thursday night, we were one small strike away from having viewed a future Yankees Classic. A Magical Mystery Tour of a six-run seventh brought the Yankees all the way back from a dispiriting 7-2 deficit to the loathsome Red Sox, and suddenly we were up 8-7 with Robertson ready to pitch the eighth and Rivera to pitch the ninth, and thus redeem himself from blowing 
the save in July that Molly had brought me to. Well, just as Ichico, Wells, Granderson, Gardner, Jeter and Overbay had done, Robertson got the Sox out in the eighth. When Mo retired the first two outs in the ninth, one of whom was the fierce David Ortiz, we began to yelp and cheer, but then the Sox had a single, a stolen base, an error, and a broken bat single, and suddenly the Great Rivera had blown another save, and the roaring ninth inning stadium–the experience for which I had paid my money–fell into embarrassed silence. Nothing to say, other than it was an exciting game. But who wants to see an exciting game? I wanted to see a win! I wanted to exit Yankee Stadium with a victorious spring in my step, singing `New York, New York.’ Oh well, another day. It was great to hang with my old Spy buddy George Kalogerakis, though. (Pictures: Top, Rivera, backed by Rodriquez and Jeter, delivers; Middle, me and George; Bottom, Rivera pitches to Big Papi.)
