Confessions of a She-Fan Read Online Free PDF

putdown involving the word pussy would not be entirely out of line.

    Texas comes into town for three games. Pettitte pitches a gem in the first game. Mussina looks like his old self in the second. But the finale on the 10th resultsin an embarrassing 14–2 loss in which Wang allows seven runs in 6⅓ innings. He is supposed to be our ace, but his inconsistency is emblematic of the team as a whole. We cannot get a streak going. We are stuck in mediocrity while the Red Sox are cruising. I grind my teeth so hard that I knock my jaw out of alignment.

    The Yankees fly to Seattle for the start of a nine-game road trip. The change of scenery will be good for the players, the way a change of scenery is good for people who are sick and convalescing. But the Yanks lose two of three to the Mariners. What is alarming about all three games is that we don’t score. First the pitching was impotent. Now the bats are limp. As for me, I am descending into a state of perpetual crabbiness, as if I have a chronic case of PMS. I am short with people. I don’t return phone calls right away. I curse a lot—for no good fucking reason. This is what the Yankees are reducing me to. They are not holding up their end of the bargain. They were supposed to be my escape, and they are not doing their job.
    What do I have to escape from? That is what you are probably asking yourself. I write all these funny novels and live in paradise and am married to the sensitive manly-man from The Bridges of Madison County . What’s the problem?
    Crohn’s disease. That is what Michael has. It is an autoimmune disease that can cause the intestines to become inflamed and, ultimately, obstructed, and it is not pretty. I had never heard of it when Michael and I met in 1991. When he told me he had it, I shrugged and said, “Love conquers all.” Love does not conquer Crohn’s. He has had more than 30 surgeries, been hospitalized more than 50 times, and taken countless drugs, including steroids. He has spent more time doubled over in pain than anyone I know. He is at constant risk from complications. He is always one step away from the emergency room. He is the one who suffers and soldiers on, and I am merely the helpmate. But I would be lying if I said that living with a spouse who has a chronic, incurable illness is not difficult and often depressing. It is hard on a marriage, in other words. When the Yankees are winning, it gives me the illusion that there is no Crohn’s and life isbeautiful. But the Yankees are not winning. They are not delivering my required dose of denial.
AL EAST STANDINGS/MAY 13
    TEAM
W
L
PCT
GB
BOSTON
25
11
.694
—
BALTIMORE
18
20
.474
8.0
NEW YORK
17
19
.472
8.0
TAMPA BAY
15
22
.405
10.5
TORONTO
15
22
.405
10.5

Week 7 May 14, 2007
    When you scuffle and hit adversity, you bond together stronger than ever. It’s easy to play the game when you’re winning every day. It’s tougher when things aren’t going well. You’ve got to find your way to: “I’m not gonna take this anymore.”
    The Yankees fly to Chicago for three against the White Sox. The May 15 game is rained out. We split a doubleheader against them the next day, then lose the finale on the 17th. There is no excuse for dropping two of three to the 2007 White Sox, a team that bears no resemblance to the 2005 World Series champions. They are even more pathetic than we are, and yet we can’t seem to beat the fucking shit out of those cocksuckers.

    And it gets worse. Our first interleague series of the season pits us against the Mets at Shea.
    We lose game one on Friday night despite Pettitte’s solid outing.
    We lose game two on Saturday night despite A-Rod’s homer. Cano’s three errors don’t help. Neither does the fact that Darrell Rasner only pitches to two batters before breaking his index finger.
    It is this particular game that unravels me. In the fourth inning, I explode in frustration—I