‘Cause Foulkie took that baseball and hit him on the nipple…

”No,” Hinske said. ”I got hit right in the nipple. Not fun. He said on the mound he didn’t mean to hit me. He just pulled a four-seam fastball. He said, ‘My bad.’ He said he was sorry.”

Not a pretty game last night. An ugly bottom of the second, in which the Jays scored five runs off of Clement, whose role as emancipator is quickly becoming an aesthetic thing only, and some clumsy fielding from Millar and (big surprise) Renteria, whose costly errors can no longer be excused by his having switched leagues. It’s the end of the regular season, boys — can we step it up, please?
Sunday’s game was a loss, but it heartened me, as we were playing so well, and the only reason we didn’t win was because Jason “McRoids” Giambi hit a freakish solo shot. Last night, we simply played poorly, which inspires little confidence; meanwhile the Yanks wallopped the D-Rays, 17-3.
As Tito put it, “That kind of punctuates the inning… We’re hanging in there, he’s hanging in there, and the ball’s out of the ballpark.”


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