Forgive my delay.  I had some emotional recovering to do after that catastrophe everyone keeps referring to as a ballgame on Thursday. Saturday, didn’t help much.  Yesterday helped ease the blow.  A little.

But, yes, disappointing though it was, Thursday was the official home opener nonetheless.  And exclusive coverage I have promised, so exclusive coverage you shall get.  No matter how delinquent.

For starters, since there’s nothing about the game that I can tell you that you don’t already know, I can at least share with you my thoughts on the stadium.  And, well, as Brian Bruney said, it’s the Yankees, so “it has to be nicer.”  And it was.  I mean, I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy walking through the concourse without feeling like I was going to be trampled to death.  I especially enjoyed the banners of the Yankee greats that lined the walls — old-timers on one side, newer guys on the reverse.

That said, the design aesthetic had something of an industrial feel to it, and frankly, it’s not so much my thing.  Not for a ballpark anyway.  I mean, maybe for a steel plant.  Or a loft in tribeca. Or the set of a post-apocalyptic modern dance performance.  So, yeah, don’t laugh, but I am totally in earnest when I say that I’d actually take the rotunda at Citi over the concourse in the Bronx pretty much any day hands down.

But once we had arrived at our seats, things felt a little more normal.  I mean, once you’re actually in there and you can see the field, you more or less feel like you’re in the same old ballpark — except that even I could probably hit a home run out of the new joint from what I gather.  So, ultimately, my assessment is that it’s not The House That Ruth Built, and it’s never going to be.  But it’s fine.  (I mean, leaving aside the fact that we’ve all been priced out of the stadium, it’s fine.)  If I can avoid direct contact with strangers as I make my way to my seat, and then feel like I’m home once I get there, that works well enough for me.  And, hell, it’s an added bonus that you can see the action from anywhere inside the stadium.  It makes the insufferably long concession lines ever-so-slightly less insufferable.

As for the game itself, what is there to say?   Our middle relief is catastrophic.  When you have a stadium full of people chanting for your manager to bring your first baseman to the mound during the sixth inning of your home opener, well, unless Satchel Paige somehow accidentally got transported here from the land of the dead (presumably through the rotunda portal — he could easily have just taken a car service from Queens) and then wound up as your first baseman, it’s usually not a promising sign.  (And that’s just our middle relief–I don’t even want to know what’s happening with Wang.)

I’d also like to take this opportunity to respond belatedly to last week’s grievances that Girardi didn’t use Mo to get that third out in the 8^th against the Royals.  If Girardi can’t count on someone other than Mo to get one out to bring us to the ninth, then we’ve got serious problems.  This is a team effort.  And Mo isn’t a four out pitcher — that’s not the problem.  The problem is that there aren’t more guys we can rely on to get us to the final three.

Despite the fact that the game was practically unwatchable, I managed to find way to amuse myself — I always do.  For starters, those of you who are familiar with The Principle of You Suck Coco Crisp might remember that this is a principle that actually has its origins in a game against the Indians.  Well, as it turns out, I was to stumble upon another similar principle during this particular game against the Indians and that would be the Principle of You Suck Carl Pavano — the principle that dictates that its always fun to yell this in any context.  Just because it is.  (For the record, this principle actually evolved from the Pavano Principle: At the very least, try.)

So, just an FYI, even if Pavano isn’t pitching, you should definitely feel free to let loose with this one.  If you’re like me, it’s been welling up in you for the past several years, and it’ll feel really cathartic.  (If you’re like me, you might also inadvertently teach a little kid the word “suck” in the process.  But, hey, kids gotta learn sometime.)

People will be glad to know that the traditional seventh inning destruction of both the principles of Separation of Church and Sports and the Separation of Sports and State is alive and well.  America, God bless it.  And if you’re feeling at all rebellious and/or masochistic one day, I dare you to not take your hat off before the stadium commences with the ritual singing.  Just wait and see how many god-fearing patriots threaten your life unless you take your hat off and show a little effin’ respect.

However, while god-fearing patriots are just as scary as ever, the good news is that Ronan Tynan is back, and he’s smarter than ever.  Some of you may have noticed that our favorite Irish tenor was absent from a number of last year’s games.  We got to listen Kate Smith’s prerecorded version, which is borderline deranged and involves way too much vibrato.  Well, if you thought it was budget cuts, you were wrong.  Apparently, Ronan was busy on the fast track to getting his PhD.  Or maybe his MD.  All I know is that when they introduced him this year, he was Dr. Ronan Tynan.  And he was wearing really big glasses.  When the girl behind me asked her boyfriend, “What the hell is he a doctor of?”  Her boyfriend responded astutely, “What are you, kidding?  He’s a doctor of music.”

He paused for a moment like he was really mulling it over before he added, “Like Dr. Dre.”