If you build it, they will come. Eventually. Hopefully. Well, once it gets a little bit cooler. Cool enough for the idea of getting lost in a cornfield for who knows how long to seem at least vaguely appealing. Now, I know what you’re going to say. (Don’t I always?) You’re going to say that the idea of getting lost in a cornfield is never appealing. We’ve all seen Children of the Corn. And Signs. Or at least I have because I was a little slow to figure that M. Night Shyamalan was a one-trick pony. In my defense, I did figure it out in time to not see The Village. But the point is that, unless you are a corn farmer, you would likely prefer not to be walking around in a cornfield. You would probably rather spend your spare time doing something more fun, like—oh, I don’t know—having your name legally changed into a Spanish number that isn’t really a number.

But Carlene and Duane Schultz of Eleva, Wisconsin believe that they have found the key to unlocking the door to that special chamber in people’s hearts—the one that accesses their love of corn. How? The Schultzes have gone and created a giant corn maze in the shape of America’s favorite un-unretired sociopathic quarterback who is hell bent on ruining my life. It was meant to be a tribute, on behalf of the people of Wisconsin, to Dr. Farvil and all that he has done for their great state. I am sure you will not be surprised to hear that the Schultzes conceived of the idea before Fav-ruh pulled his recent antics, metaphorically cutting the cheese in the face of all his loyal cheeseheads. But, the Schultzes decided to proceed with the idea nonetheless. Given that the maze is made of corn—rather than paint, or ink, or stone, or some medium that allows for the display of details—the only way that we really know that the football player maze is meant to be a replica of Farvoroni is that the Schultzes told us. Oh, and they also carved his number into it. It’s a good thing, too. Maybe it’s just me, but I think all football player mazes look alike. I hope that doesn’t make me a bigot. The maze could, however, be said to resemble Farviavelli in that it serves as a metaphor for his addled mind. You know, the way you can wander around a maze for hours, getting lost and confused, feeling like nothing makes sense.

Opening day got off to a bit of a slow start, with only about a hundred visitors showing up on Sunday. Carlene isn’t sweating it, though. She is confident that people will flock their way in droves once the weather cools down. What the hell else do people have to do in Wisconsin? Plus, she saw Field of Dreams. And, like they said in the movie, if you build it, they will come. The only difference is that the “it” to which they referred in Field of Dreams was a cornfield that Kevin Costner mowed down to turn into a baseball diamond that somehow magically allowed famous dead ballplayers to come back to life to play baseball together. I am guessing that if you could build a place where people could go see Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Lou Gehrig, Ted Williams, Joe DiMaggio, Jackie Robinson, and Grandpa Hank Greenberg, they would come. If, on the off chance, Carlene, you have the capability to build that, do it. A hundred times over, do it. If, for whatever reason, you just opted for the maze instead of the dead, great baseball player ballpark—if you just happened to think it might be more profitable—tear that mofo down. Revise and resubmit. Otherwise, I guess just keep waiting for the cool weather. Or, you could also just be a normal corn farmer. Who farms corn just for eating. I hear there’s a decent market for that these days.

You want to know what I love about the Yankees? The fact that people are still talking about October like it’s within our realm of possibility. And I’m not saying it’s not. I’m just saying that it’s what I love the Yankees. And yesterday’s game served to keep our feeble hopes alive. We are all familiar with the expression, “It doesn’t matter if you win or lose; it’s how you play the game.” Well, there is another, less familiar (because I invented it) but probably more accurate saying that goes, “It doesn’t matter how you play the game; it’s whether you win or lose.” What I mean by that is not, of course, that it doesn’t matter if you cheat or display unsportsmanlike conduct. That matters. What I mean is that, in the end, whether you win by a margin of one or a margin of ten, whether you win with a walk-off salami or a walk-off hit-by-pitch (a Molina specialty), the only thing that shows up in the column is that you won. In other words, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. And yesterday’s game was a perfect example. It was, for all intents and purposes, sort of a travesty. At the end of the third, we were up 11-2; by the end of the fourth, it was 11-9. Our favorite Arubian Knight just couldn’t make an out in the fourth to save his Arubian hide. Ultimately, we went onto win the game 13-9. And, while it wasn’t exactly graceful, it was a win. I figure I am in no position to be picking and choosing how we get them these days.

Brian Bruney deserves some props for allowing only one hit in 1 and 2/3 innings. Also, I feel it only fair to give A-Rod his due for helping us out with four RBIs. So, consider it given. I am nothing if not fair. Nady, Jeter, and Matsui gave us two RBIs a piece—both Jeter’s and Matsui’s came with two outs. The hit support in yesterday’s game was obviously critical. Given the unreliability of our pitching of late, it could continue to be a crucial piece of the postseason pie. For the record, in my fantasy, the postseason pie is blueberry. Nothing against corn, but it’s just not very good in pie.