THE CURSE OF THE BAMBINO 2

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tuesday’s game started at the more normal hour of eight PM. Of course, if it was like Monday’s it wouldn’t end until Wednesday!

I went to class, studied in the afternoon, then hit the dining hall for supper. I went up to Vinnie’s a little early, about six. Mitch was just leaving and Vinnie welcomed me in. 

I grinned as I held up a pair of peach-colored satin panties to go with the peach bra he had worn last night.

“Ah, geez,” he said. “I wish the Yankees would close this damn series out.” But he took the panties and bra from me and went to put them on. “Close your eyes,” he said.

“Why should I? You’ve seen everything I’ve got, haven’t you?”

“Not everything. The panties are still on, aren’t they?”

“Fine,” I sniffed. I closed my eyes while Vinnie put the undergarments on. OK, so I peaked. A little. I got a look at--you know. Boy, it looked awfully big!

“OK, you can open your eyes now,” he said, none the wiser. He sat down next to me--obviously a bit fidgety. 

I had to giggle. I knew what satin panties did to a guy--hey, Eric had told me. It’s one of the reasons he liked wearing them. Satin panties on the, er, male equipment was rather stimulating, according to Eric. 

And Vinnie was fidgeting up a storm! “Problem?” I asked with a little giggle.

“Nah. Not at all,” he lied. “You still have to get down to your panties, Princess,” he said, quickly changing the subject. 

“Oh, yeah, right,” I said, and quickly shucked my clothes and bra. This really was almost becoming second nature. 

I sat down next to him and, if anything, he got more squirmy! I couldn’t resist. “A little too much stimulation, there?” I said, grinning.

“And how,” he admitted. Then he glared at me. “You knew this was gonna happen!”

“Yep,” I admitted. “Eric, my drag queen best friend, commented on what satin panties did to him.”

“Oh, great,” Vinnie moaned. “And looking at you in all your glory isn’t helping.”

“I think that was a compliment,” I laughed. “Anyhow, I’d help you out and all, but we wouldn’t want to soil the panties.”

He blinked, and then cracked up. “Jeez. Talk about coming out of your shell.”

“What can I say,” I said, grinning at him.

He grinned back, then got serious. “Look. We didn’t get a chance to talk last night. Are you still OK with what happened the other night?”

“Yes,” I said, but I suppose it was a bit tentative.

“You sure? That didn’t quite sound like it.”

“Well, yeah, I’m mostly OK,” I admitted. “I surprised myself, that’s for sure. And I guess I’m a bit confused because of that. But I’m fine. I don’t regret it for a second, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good. And I understand the confusion part.”

“You do?”

“Sure. Hey, this was supposed to be a fun bet. We weren’t even supposed to like each other. And look what happened. I didn’t plan it this way, Princess. It took me by surprise, too.”

“Yeah.”

“The question is, now, what are we going to do about it?” he said.

“Do about it?”

“Yeah, where do we go from here?”

I think I broke out in a cold sweat. Where do we go from here? I didn’t know what to say. I think I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t know what to say. “Uh, go from here?” I managed to stammer stupidly.

“Yeah. Well, look. What happened between us the other day, I know you don’t do that with just anyone. So, well, I figured you must have some feelings for me.”

“Uh, yeah,” I got out.

“Good,” he grinned. “So, what do we do about it?”

“Do about it?” I said. Jeez, I sounded like a parrott. A stupid parrott.

“Hey, Princess, I didn’t mean to fluster you so much.”

I grinned at him a little sheepishly. “Well, this is a hard conversation to have while I’m sitting here almost naked.”

“Then why don’t you put your clothes back on?”

“Uh, well, I don’t think I have to do that. I’m just a bit overwhelmed.”

“Well, whatever makes it easier for you.”

“I don’t think anything would,” I said with a little laugh. “What do you want to do about it?” I asked him.

“I want to start dating. Exclusively. I really like you a lot, Princess.”

If I had been chewing gum right about then, I think I would have swallowed it! He must have seen it in my eyes, because he said, “You’re surprised?”

“Well, yeah.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Look, you know my experience with guys is just about nil.”

“True. Though you’ve taken to this bet so easily sometimes I forget.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what do you say?” he asked anxiously.

“I say yes,” I smiled at him.

“Great!” We kind of grinned at one another, and then he kissed me. We didn’t do anything more than that, but it was very nice.

Then the game was about to start.

“Well, we’re back in Yankee Stadium so this nonsense will stop. I’m looking forward to seeing you completely naked, Princess.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said, though deep down I agreed with him. The Sox had made it interesting, but it couldn’t last.

Schilling took the mound. They’d done something to his ankle. All the talk was of some boot, but he wasn’t wearing a boot, just his usual spikes. But he was pitching, and it started out well.

Lieber, who owned the Sox in game 2, also started out well for the Yankees.

In the third inning, they showed Curt Schilling’s white sock. There was a red splotch on it. Vinnie caught it: “My God, he’s bleeding into his sock! And he’s pitching this well? I got to give him credit--what a warrior.”

I could only agree. But the Sox weren’t doing anything witih Lieber. Until the fourth.

There were two outs. Millar doubled, then went to third on a wild pitch. Varitek singled him home. Cabrera singled, putting men on first and second. Then something strange happened.

Mark Bellhorn hit a long drive to left field. It hit something then bounced back. They called it a double. But the replays clearly showed that what it had hit was a fan in the front row, a guy wearing a dark sweatshirt. If it hits a fan, it’s a home run.

While I was about to start grumbling, the umpires huddled up. After a couple minutes, the crew chief emerged from the huddle and circled his finger above his head. Home run.

That’s when it hit me. “My God, the Red Sox are going to win this series,” I said with a little gasp.

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Vinnie scoffed.

“I’m serious, Vin. Look, you’re a Yankees fan so you don’t understand. The Red Sox never, ever, ever get those kind of breaks. Never. Every other time, they never would’ve reversed that call.”

“But it was the right call, I’ll even admit that,” Vinnie said. “I know the fans at the Stadium are booing, but I saw the replay--that was clearly a home run.”

“Doesn’t matter. Vinnie, I don’t know if I agree with the Curse of the Bambino thing in particular, but the Red Sox have been a jinxed franchise. They don’t get calls like this, correct or not.”

“Don’t mean a thing,” he scoffed.

“Yeah, it does. And what about Schilling? We’ve never had a guy like Schilling! We have guys that ask out of big games because they get a friggin’ blister. The stars and planets are aligned, I’m telling you.”

“You’re forgetting one thing, Princess. No baseball team has ever come back from 0-3 to win a series.”

“First time for everything.”

Vinnie still scoffed. But I was beginning to believe.

The belief became stronger in the eighth. The Yankees had gotten a run in the seventh--Bernie Williams hit a dinger--to make it 4-1. They brought Bronson Arroyo in to start the eighth. Cairo doubled with one out. Jeter singled bringing Cairo home. 

“Here we go,” Vinnie grinned.

And, at first, it looked like he was right. A-Rod hit a grounder to Arroyo. He went to tag A-Rod--and dropped the friggin’ ball. It went flying, Jeter scored, A-Rod got all the way to second. The Yanks had cut it to 4-3.

But wait a minute. Terry Francona came charging out of the dugout, and Arroyo was pointing at his arm. The umpires huddled up.

Then they showed a replay. Which made it clear why Arroyo had dropped the ball--A-Rod, that asshole, had chopped him in the arm! That’s blatantly illegal. The question was--would the umpires correct this call too? 

They did. They called A-Rod out and ordered Jeter back to second. Instead of 4-3 with one out, it was 4-2 with two outs. The idiot Yankee fans started throwing things on the field, so there was a delay there. They even had to call the police out to circle the field!

“Oh my God,” Vinnie moaned.

“You disagree with the call?” I said.

“No. He clearly whacked it out of his hand.”

“This is why the Yankees dynasty is dead,” I said. He looked at me. “Look, as a Red Sox fan, I always hated the Yankees, of course.”

“Of course,” he grinned.

“But when they were winning those World Series in the late nineties, I respected them. They were a class team. Oh, sure, Paul O’Neill was a bit of a whiner, but they were basically classy. And they were winners.

“But what’s left? Jeter, Rivera, and Bernie Williams. And Bernie’s on the downslide as a player. There’s no O’Neill, no Scott Brosius, Tino Martinez, Chuck Knoblauch, Andy Pettitte. None of those guys.

“What have you got instead? A-Rod. Sheffield. Kevin Brown. Giambi. These guys aren’t winners, Vinnie, and they’re not Yankees. George Steinbrenner went back to collecting high-priced talent instead of building a team. A-Rod’s never won a damn thing. For all his talent and gaudy numbers, the Mariners got better after he left. The Rangers were better this year without him. That tells me something.

“Look what he just tried to do. That was a bush-league move. Look, Derek Jeter has been a thorn in the side of every Red Sox fan for 8 years, but do you think he’d ever pull a move like that? Not for a minute.

“Come on,” he interrupted. “I don’t necessarily disagree with you, but you think it’s all about class and chemistry?”

“Not all, but a lot,” I replied. “This is all throughout Red Sox history. I didn’t live through a lot of it but I know it. Sometimes it’s talent--the 67 Sox got beat in the series by a plainly superior team. But not always. Do you realize how unlikeable that 86 team was? It’s part of the reason they imploded.”

“You think?”

“I do. The 78 team, too--that team was wracked by dissension because Zimmer divided the clubhouse. Look at this Red Sox team, though. No team is perfect, and we all know Pedro is a bit of a prima donna,” I said with a grin.

“He sure is,” Vinnie agreed, laughing.

“But you can get away with one or two, especially with strong leadership. The Sox have three strong leaders--Ortiz, Millar, and especially Varitek. And Pedro’s the only prima donna, really. Manny’s a flake but he’s not a prima donna and wants to win. Damon, Mueller, Bellhorn, guys like that--they just want to do their jobs and win. And Trot Nixon is a solid as a rock.

“The only leader the Yankees really have left is Jeter. And he’s got a clubhouse full of A-Rod’s and Giambis--me me me guys. I’m telling you, even if they beat the Sox, they’re all done.”

Vinnie just thought about that for a minute.

The ninth inning saw Keith Foulke come out and shut down the Yankees yet again. We’d be going to a game seven.

Vinnie kissed me goodnight. I think he was happy about us. But I could see it in his eyes--he was worried about his beloved Yankees.

And I, for once, wasn’t worried about the Red Sox.

I don’t know what was more of a miracle--the Red Sox, or me having a boyfriend!