Well, the flash-in-the-pan Angels (as I called them after one game this year) are now looking again like the giant killers of last year. My dislike of the Angels is entirely driven by envy. These guys can play–especially David Eckstein. Last night in the seventh, with the tying run on third with one out, you just knew somehow Eckstein would find a way to get him in. When he couldn’t quite do it with the suicide squeeze–pushing it foul–he did it on the next pitch with a sacrifice fly just deep enough to score the runner. Awesome to behold. The difference in team-character between the Angels and the Yanks is still the difference between their lead-off hitters, between Eckstein and Soriano, one a discipled and scrappy contact hitter, the other a prodigiously talented but unruly, all-or-nothing free-swinger.