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They were unable to strike. They had one valuable position player and one starting pitcher. Their signature style was one of abrupt and intense sadness for those who paid to watch it. During the Yankees’ second-to-last home stand in the game I went to this season, I witnessed a beer vendor calling second baseman Gleyber Torres a “fucking bum” as he was selling his wares off the first-base line. This was done before the infielder had even dipped a toe in the batter’s box, effectively thwarting the team’s latest disastrous attempt at a rally.
The air was poisonous. It wasn’t very good. We Yankee supporters desired a victory. All we ever want is a victor. These anticipations are, as Roger Angell, the game’s poet laureate, once described it as “admirable but a trifle inhuman.