I don't have time to do justice to last night's game. The best summary belongs, as usual, to David Pinto.

For a Yankee fan's perspective, see Irena Paley:

Better than money. Better than sex. Better than your favorite song. Better than ice cream. Better than 'Empire Strikes Back.' Better than the swimsuit issue. Better than the FDNY calendar. Better than the prom queen. Better than the '94 Rangers. Better than the '70 Knicks. Better than Brooklyn pizza. Better than the Beatles.
That's how good last night was.

And for the ultimate Red Sox fan's perspective, see (who else?) Bill Simmons:

Twenty minutes after the Yankees eliminated the Sox, I called my father to make sure he was still alive.
And that's not even a joke. I wanted to make sure Dad wasn't dead. That's what it feels like to be a Red Sox fan. You make phone calls thinking to yourself, "Hopefully, my Dad picks up, because there's at least a 5-percent chance that the Red Sox just killed him."
It's safe to say that Jessica Simpson could have managed Game 7 better than Grady.
Well, he picked up. And we talked it through. We always do. Dad's voice was barely audible. He sounded like he just got out of surgery. Like every other Sox fan on the planet, he couldn't understand one simple question: Why didn't Grady take out Pedro? In the eighth inning, Pedro was running on fumes. Everyone knew it. Everyone but Grady Little.
Little did we know, our overmatched manager was saving his worst for last.

It's not a "Running Diary, but read the whole thing anyway.

In 1996, I would be so wound up after each Yankee magical comeback in the postseason that it would take me a couple of hours after each game to wind down enough to sleep.

That happened again last night. I was so worked up after the eight inning-comeback that I had to drain a bottle of Scotch to settle down.

(Granted, there was about an eighth of an ounce left in the bottle to start with, but still...)

Yankees in 6 in the World Series, although the Marlins could be much tougher than anyone gives them credit for.

Semi-regular blogging will resume early next week.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled silence to bring you some unedited thoughts on tonight's Game 7 between the Yankees and Red Sox.

Will whoever kidnapped Jason Giambi and replaced him with a pale imitation of Reggie Jackson (with Jackson's propensity for strikeouts and greater difficulties against lefthanded pitching, but without the clutch homers) please return him to the Stadium for tonight?

Will the Yankees continue to make Boston's bullpen look like a bunch of Mariano Riveras?

Will Boone or Soriano ever meet a slider in the lefthanded batters' box they don't like?

And finally, WILL JETER, SORIANO OR WILLIAMS EVER CATCH A !&*#%&!ING BALL?

Sorry about that.

I am feeling a lot like Billy Beane in Moneyball, who gets so worked up watching the games that he circles the stadium in his car rather than do so. I might have to find some important errands to do. Though I might be a danger to other drivers on the road...

I correctly predicted last year's World Series outcome (I won't mention that it was my first correct prediction ever). My unpublished prediction for the ALDS & ALCS were the Yankees in 3 and 6, respectively. Since they just took one game more in the ALDS, I'll assume the non-pattern will carry over tonight.

Yankees, 5-3. Four runs off Pedro, one off Wakefield. No fights.

The first man out of the Yankees' bullpen before the 7th inning will be Wells. Contreras will be allowed one baserunner with a multi-run lead.

Only don't expect me to actually watch all of it.

(At least I'm not a Cubs fan. That was bad.)