Early last Friday morning, I had a bad dream. Call it a premonition or a nightmare, here's what happened: I'm in my apartment watching the Yankee game. They are playing the Sox at The Stadium; it's a night game. The Yankees are leading 5-1, late. My girlfriend Emily is downtown hanging out with a friend of mine that she's never met in real life (funny how the subconcious works). They are waiting for me to arrive.
As I'm talking with her, the Red Sox start a rally. Meanwhile, I'm feeling stressed because I don't want to ride the subway for an hour and miss the end of the game. An old, fat lady is now batting for Boston. Right-handed hitter. She faces Benitez and lofts a lazy pop fly to Mondesi in right (even though he had already been traded in real life). Mondesi inexplicably bolts toward first base and the ball falls in right field with nobody near it.
Suddenly, it's 5-4 Yankees. Armando Benitez is pitching. There are two outs, and it's the ninth inning. That was when I woke up.
I wasn't sweating but my heart was racing. There isn't much to figure out here, except why a fat old lady was batting for the Sox. But I think my anxieties about Armando Benitez should be familiar to Yankee fans everywhere, whether it keeps you up at night or not.