Yep, this about sums it up for the Yanks on Halloween

The Reagan, by Edgar Allen Limbaugh

Once upon a midnight dryly, while I pondered Bill O’Reilly,
Raging o’er The New York Times, their leftist crimes, in times, unsure.
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

Like some rapper, loudly yapping, rapping to his latest score.
“’Tis some liberal,' I muttered, “singing songs against the war,
“Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember; as we shambled toward November,
For head of state, a candidate my party had once scorned before.

Was it really John McCain? How had Bush gone down the drain?
Throwing Cheney from the train, in vain, from our convention floor.
“We need a running mate,” I cried, “A champion who shall ensure
“Our victory in the culture war!”

There and then, I flung the shutter, to hear a faint familiar flutter,

In swooped a stately face of saintly days of stately, saintly yore.

Never he a flip-flop-flipper; he, the famous Mondale-ripper!

There, the Gipper, looking chipper! Ronald Reagan, at my door!

Perched like Spiro Agnew on the ridge atop my chamber door!
There he sat, and nothing more.

“Sir!” said I, “God of the Right! What swift boat brings you here tonight?

“What lures you to my doorstep, here in lockstep, in these times unsure?

“Ancient king of make-up brush, who ruled before the dawn of Rush,
“You’ve got the touch, go to it, Dutch! Convey to me, I thee implore:
“Name to me the great right hope, who’ll chase Obama from our door!”
But he just sat, and nothing more.

In my feared declining sanity, I’d pondered names from Rice to Hannity,
‘Till came my way a lovely face, no trace I’d never seen before,
An arctic visage, soundly wailin,’ winkin’ at me, smilin,’ sailin!’
Arms a flailin’, Sarah Palin! She – the hockey mom next door!
The perfect demographic face, our Christian base, she would restore.
And Right to Life… forevermore.

But as her verbiage grew thickly, the leftist press grew somewhat prickly,
I could see us crumbling quickly, sickly, toward November four.
“Sir,” I said, “I fear each morrow. Is this our Geraldine Ferraro?

“Adding to our sorrow? Can she borrow, sir, your famed rapport?
“Please tell us how to win the day, when Palin greets the media corps!”
Quoth the Reagan: “Less is more.”

To fight our flock’s declining number, we next befriended Joe the Plumber,
With Sarah -- what a bummer! – wearing silken suits from Christian Dior.
“Sir, if somehow we win the day, not suffer death by Tina Fey,
“What will we say? What special ray of hope, sir, could we then explore?
The Reagan shook his head and said, “If you doth win November four,
“Pray McCain lives… forevermore!”

And now the Reagan, ever seeing, haunts our daily GOP’ing,
As the markets, in their downfall, bring a free fall to our party core,
Eight long years, a downward push; we can’t escape our burning Bush,
With the bail out, then the fall out, and the credit crisis at our door,
The Reagan, somewhere out there, that once made my party’s spirits soar,
May be lost… forevermore.

Nobody Watched the World Series

It was the "My Mother the Car" of championships.



Let's resist the urge to cackle. If we were in it, we'd have pulled higher numbers, much in the same manner that people with tubes in their crotches watch Barney Miller and Matlock. They view Derek Jeter as comfort food.



So why didn't anybody watch Tamp and Philly's rising stars? Good grief, they missed Evan Longora, Chase Utley and, uhhhmmm, that guy Price... and Shields.... and Yarnell... and all those Phillies, stars every one them... Don't they still have Lenny Dykstra?



Listen: For a long, long time now, MLB has been sitting on a bubble of public support, much like the housing and dot.com fantasies: The people on top figure it would last forever.



These days, it's funded by the taxpayers, who fork up new stadiums, while our schools and roads fall apart.



Let me repeat that.



Taxpayers fork up new stadiums, while our schools and roads fall apart.



We're about to break the bank in pursuit of CC Sabathia, Mark Teixteira, AJ Burnett and/or Manny Ramirez. The claim is that we'll be flush with cash, thanks to Rudy Giuliani, who finagled these stadiums a long time ago in a universe far, far away.



We'll have money, while other teams rattle the cup for their own taxpayers.



So? For starters, we should still chase Teixteira. But as we let our own bloated salaries walk -- so long, Jason, Moose, Bobby, Andy -- we might be seriously wise to let our payroll level fall below the luxury tax level.

When that happens, they'll start squirming.

If we launch a spending binge, we better be prepared to carry Tampa, Kansas City, Pittsburgh, et al, on our shoulders.

The philosophy of having the rich pay higher taxes is likely to spread into baseball. (All this talk about socialism? The owners -- billionaires, all -- sound like Karl Marx when they talk about big market spending.)



This is no time to trade cheap young starters -- Phil Hughes comes to mind -- no matter what happens in Arizona. Yeesh, he's throwing innings and developing pitches, not auditioning.

Folks, a bubble is about to burst. Yank ticket prices will be way too high. By midseason, MLB revenues will be suffering enough to make Bud Selig's hairpiece burst into flames.

At that point, it'll be far wiser to have money in the bank and openings on the roster.




The best deals might be for those who wait.

DAVID BROOKS’ SCHEDULE FOR FRIDAY

He's everywhere, he's everywhere...

5:30 a.m. Wake up alarm music: “Your Body is a Wonderland.”

5:31 a.m. Sitting in skivvies, appear via phone on NPR as witty, disarming conservative pundit.

6 a.m. Arrange comb-over.

7 a.m. Breakfast with Paul Krugman, listening to insufferable crap about Nobel Prize.

8 a.m. Cardio workout, with Krugman photo taped to punching bag.

9 a.m. Sitting in skivvies, appear via phone on CNN as witty, disarming conservative pundit.

10 a.m. Ponder differences between “Starbucks Coffee-Sipper Guy” vs. “Dunkin' Donuts Coffee-Slurper Guy,” rival subcultures that could affect election.

11 a.m. Conference call with Cokie Roberts and George Will to gauge opinions of everyday working Americans.

Noon. Lunch. Flirt with waitress by declaring self “Patio Man" and asking if she likes “Sprinkler City.”

1 p.m. Change trousers, due to coffee poured into lap by creeped-out waitress.

2 p.m. Sitting in skivvies, appear via phone on MSNBC as witty, disarming conservative pundit.

3 p.m. Stare at flag and shout "G.O.P! G.O.P!" until recurring doubts about John McCain disappear.

3:30 p.m. Cab ride to New York Times. En route, regale driver by identifying him as “Burkean conservative... who believes society is an organism; that custom, tradition, and habit are the prime movers of that organism; and that successful government institutions grow gradually from each nation's unique network of moral and social restraints."

3:45 p.m. Realize cabbie speaks no English.

4 p.m. Ponder differences between “Toothless Unclean Incontinent Street Man” vs. “Armani Pants-Suited Harvard Business Woman,” rival subcultures that could affect election.

4:30 p.m. Start writing next day’s Times column.

4:45 p.m. Word-counter hits 900; file column.

5 p.m. Resume argument with William Kristol over what it takes to please “Sprawl Ladies.”

6 p.m. Rearrange comb-over.

7 p.m. Sitting in skivvies, (below camera), appear on PBS “News Hour with Jim Leher” as witty, disarming conservative pundit.

8 p.m. Sitting in skivvies, appear via phone on Fox News as witty, disarming liberal pundit.

9 p.m. Goodnight call from Krugman to discuss where he should mount Nobel Prize.

11 p.m. Awake in bed, muttering about where should have told Krugman to put prize.

The Case for Signing Manny

Remember: No negatives in this, just science.

1. Piss off Redsock fans.

2. He has at least two solid years left.

3. He hits in the clutch. (Don't underestimate this. Right now, we have a team that does not.)

4. Home town factor. Hard to rate this. He might thrive. Gamble worth taking?

5. He hates the Redsocks. Give him credit for that.

6. We'd have to jettison Abreu and Giambi (no problem; see No. 3) and trade Nady, Matsui or Damon... Or convert Damon to first... if cannot get Teixeira. These are dicey moves. It's impossible to say whether they pan out. Depends on the trade. But... if we cannot sign Teixiera, let's not forget why we failed last year: No hitting.

7. Imagine the order: Damon. Jeter. Arod. Manny...

8. If he beats up our team offficials, maybe it'll knock some sense into them.

9. A lot of tabloid back pages taken away from Arod. The Yankees love back pages, except when they involve Arod.

10. Fans would be reluctant, angry, at first. But if he won them over with clutch hitting, they could absolutely love him.

11. Enter the Hall with a Yankee cap?

12. Piss off Curt Schilling.

13. Enrage Joe Buck and Tim McCarver. (Oops. Sorry. Already covered that in No. 1.)

Jubilant Fan Strikes Heady Note

Happiness in Philly is taking one for the team.

Tip o' the hat to Shamus.

It's not Jeter's answers that suck, it's the questions

Bloggers are ragging over S.I.'s namby-pamby interview with Derek Jeter, mostly because the Jeet talks 20 minutes of nothing. He's a pro at saying nothing. He speaks with the mentality of Sarah Palin: Just don't say something stupid, and you might be President.


But, hey, who can be Oscar Levant with questions like these:

SI.com: Do you play Xbox at all?

SI.com: Have you watched the postseason at all?

SI.com: Speaking of the last week of the regular season, how was that
last game at Yankee Stadium?

SI.com: What do you think about the new Stadium?

SI.com: Do you ever come back to New York during the offseason?

Yeesh. Why didn't they just ask about carbon emission credits?


Wanna open up the Captain and see what's inside? Ask questions worthy of a captain.


Here's our interview:


IIH, IIF, IIc: Think this. Phone rings. It's Heath Ledger's assistant. She screams, "HEATH IS DEAD! THAT OLSEN TWIN KILLED HIM!" What do you do? Turn it over to the police, or look for the murderer yourself?



IIH, IIF, IIc: You see the stars of "High School Musical 3" telling kids to, "Get out the vote!" We've become Nazi Germany, am I right?



IIH, IIF, IIc: Natalie Portman? What, she's too short?



IIH, IIF, IIc: Your computer locks up, and Microsoft asks in a box if you want to send "an error message?" Do you call it an error? Or as a fielder, who knows that everybody makes errors, do you side with the computer and not call it in?



IIH, IIF, IIc: Tell us something we don't know about Brian Bruney!

Rhyme for Next Tuesday

I ran a small community.
I hunted for our food.
I partnered with the companies,
That combed my land for crude.

I fired all the bureaucrats
Who didn’t give their best.
I went to lunch with businessmen
Who sought to feel at my chest.

I battled with my sister’s ex-
Who, frankly, is a jerk.
It took me twenty phone calls
Just to get him fired from work.

I always fought corruption,
To the crooked pols’ dismay.
I refused to back their earmarks
‘Cept the ones that came my way.

I drove my kids to hockey games,
Always cheering, always calm.
My daughter met the goalie,
Soon, she’ll be a hockey mom.

I found she'd gotten pregnant,
By her high school boyfriend’s seed.
We’ll get that punk to marry her.
Who says I cannot lead!

I pray in church on Sunday,
All the other days, I preach.
I’ll make a perfect President.
It says so in my speech.

The More Things Change........

A few parallel events are converging to form a likely pathway for the soon-to-be "off season:"

OLD SCHOOL HEADLINE : Ted Stevens, the 84 year old Senator from Alaska who was recently convicted on 5 counts of stealing from the taxpayers and violating a number of laws ( sometimes referred to as felonies) in the process, is free on bail and intends to run again for the US Senate, thereby retaining his seat in Washington, DC.

NEW SCHOOL HEADLINE: Ted Stevens, recently convicted on five counts of felony, had all of his assets, and those of his family, frozen by the Government and returned to the taxpayers. The 84 year old maverick was escorted in handcuffs to a maximum security facility in Nome, where he will share a cell for the next 35 years with a snake-tatooed biker named "Lucy."

OLD SCHOOL HEADLINE: The Yankees responded today to their 3rd place finish by signing; CC Sabathia for 14 years and $250 million ( with incentive clauses ), first baseman Texiera for a guaranteed $30 million per year for 10 seasons ( Tex gets another 3 years in options, at his discretion ) and, in a surprise move, re-signed Kevin Brown for a "low ball" of $19 million per year for 3 years. Hank Steinbrenner commented that he visited Kevin out in LA, and found him to be in great shape, swimming laps in his oval shaped pool.

NEW SCHOOL HEADLINE: Today, the Yankees traded Giambi, Abreu, Posada, Pettitte, Mussina and Alex ( Madonna ) Rod in a seven team deal for top-rated AA and AAA prospects, along with what was described as a " boat-load " of number one draft picks for the next several seasons.

REALITY: Ted Stevens was re-elected to the US Senate yesterday and welcomed with open-arms by his fellow Republicans. He was given a citation for successfully ignoring and alluding the laws which apply to certain members of the "American People." Taxpayers will carry the burden of paying the life-time health care and pension benefits to his extended family ( est. 240 individuals and dogs ), which are a "perk" of the Senate ( a reward for the burdens of office ). The cost, while not meaningful as a percentage of GDP, does project to $6.3 million per year, for an actuarially estimated lifespan of family members of 66 more years.

REALITY: The Yankees , today, outbid the Boston Red Sox and NY Mets by $180 million, to secure a 16 year contract with CC Sabathia for a whopping $430 million. The rotund lefty will meet with the media in a teleconference later this week, from his vacation home in Dubai, where Andy Brackman ( recovering from arm surgery ) is his pool man. Texiera chose to stay where he is, as did everyone else the Yankee's wanted.

Nature Provides What Selig Denies: A World Series Game That Will End In Time for a 9-Year-Old to See Who Won

Imagine that: For the first time in memory, East Coast kids can actually watch the ending of a weeknight World Series game.

Thank you, Lord, for raining on Bud Selig.

Don't worry: I'm not reheating that rancid TV dinner of a controversy about how the miserly Lords of Baseball will piss away the next generation by scheduling World Series games too late at night.

Nope. Truth is, it doesn't matter. The billionaires have been fucking things up for 30 years, but the fans just keep coming, and the lesson's learned: There is nothing -- absolutely nothing -- they can do to screw up the cash cow that is the Major League Baseball. Nothing. All they have to do is what they do best: Pass it on to their sons and daughters.

Thus, last week, you went to bed in the seventh inning, wondering who would win -- Tampa, Boston, Philly, what was the other team again?, oh, whatever -- and read who won in the morning paper.

But tonight... ahhh... tonight!

Due to a confluence of bad umps, no clutch hitting and the weather gods... we get to watch a worknight game and see who wins.

Enjoy it. Did we ever think we'd live long enough to see this day?

GREAT MOVIE CLICHÉ LINES THAT BELONGED IN OLIVER STONE’S MOVIE, “W.”

“YOU, AGAIN? I should have killed you when I had the chance! Very well, this time, Mr. Bush, I think I will just have to enjoy myself. By the way, have you met my little invention? I call it… The Internet.”

“Mrs. Weinberger, are you trying to seduce me?”

“So, these are the terms of our little wager: You’ve selected this unpopular girl, this “Condoleezza.” I must woo her, take her to the White House – and then break her heart. Ahh, Laura, you are so deliciously evil, and that’s why I adore you.”

“Sir, with this executive order, you’ll gain super strength and incredible speed. You’ll be able to see through walls, hear conversations across the continent. You’ll fight evil like never before. But you’re going to have to keep these powers a secret. The world must never know.”

“Yes, of course, I’ve heard of the memos. C'mon, Condi, you don’t really believe in those old terrorist tales, do you?”

“Last night, that education reform bill we worked on together… that meant nothing to you?”

“Cleared? Wait a minute. So if Karl didn’t do it, and Cheney didn’t do it, that would mean the only possible leaker is… CALL THE POLICE! Scooter Libby is out there, and there’s no telling what he might know!”

“NO, NO, NO! DAMMIT! DON’T YOU GO QUITTIN’ ON ME, ALBERTO GONZALEZ! DON’T... YOU... GO... QUITTIN’... ON... ME!”

“John McCain? But… you’re dead. I saw you… everybody saw you… you died.”

Open Letter to Yankiverse: It is time for Hank to "go rogue."

Dear Madam or Sir,

It's quiet.

Too quiet.

Last year, thanks to Arod, we owned the World Series news cycle.

This year, we can't even beat Iceland.

WE'RE PHONING IT IN.

Listenup, you Tampa big Yankee office watercooler flunkies: If you phone-in the off-season, you'll phone in the regular season!

Let's get this tabloid back-page-capturing off-season underway. Thus far, we've been horrible. We watched Boston nearly stage a Brosius-Tino miracle comeback. We watched Joba get liquored up in a girlie club, go Farnsworth on a mouthy Redsock fan, and then go mailbox hunting with his car.

Then, topping it off, you jerks sign an agreement to market meats with our natural partners, the Phallus Cowboys. That really makes our mouths water: Every time we order food in the new stadium, a percentage of it will go into Tony Romo's new kitchen.

Wait. There's more: This weekend, Phil "The Franchise" Hughes gets cuffed around like a four-egg omlet in the Arizona Wannabe League's "Rising Star" game, pitching to the game's future Eric Duncans and Drew Hensons.

Message to Hank: Mrs. Peel, we're needed.

It's time to sign somebody.

It's time Hank Steinbrenner, the seedcorn Yank diva heir, to set down his cigs, get on the honker and say something, sign somebody -- just do something, anything. Throw out the first pitch in the off-season.

Think Mark Teixteira. Now. Before the water even dries in Phily.

We need a positive, Madonna-less back page. Now. Hank? Are you listening?

Why We Should Root for Tampa

It's basically simple:

1. Winning the World Series is tough. Defending it is tougher. Let them win this year, and they'll fall apart next year.

2. With World Series rings on their fingers, the young Rays will fall more quickly to our vast secret, undercover network of Yankee agents, syncopaths, bartenders, drug dealers and hookers.

3. By winning this year, they'll have no unfulfilled mission next year.

4. By losing, Philadephia will stay hungry and be more inclined to whip on the Mets.

5. Don Zimmer. Hey... God bless him.

6. A Rays championship will serve as a hot poker up the butt of Yankee management, which is headquartered in Tampa. That's a fun image: A hot poker up the butt of Yankee management. Yes, it's fun. A hot poker up the butt of Yankee management. Mm-mm. ONE MORE TIME: A HOT POKER UP THE BUTT OF YANKEE MANAGEMENT.

7. Tampa did our dirty work. They beat the Redsocks.

Why is Santa Claus lying about is record?

That's what Americans want to know.

Yankees Excited About Latin Sweet-16 Teen Brigade

Baseball America is blurbing the superhot Latino boys that we spent nearly $4 million to sign on the famous July 2, a/k/a "Major League Baseball Latin Pedophila Day."

That's when MLB teams sign their 16-year-old muchachos from across the border.

We sign them directly out of the eugenics lab concentration camps/training facilities where they've been raised.

Of course, the boys have waited years for that 16 Candles Coming Out party, called the pro contract. They've been working as amateurs since 12.

Oh... did we mention that the scouts often skim money from the bonuses given to the little tykes' families?

Our six-figure signings: SS Gian Carlos Arias, Dominican Republic, 16; OF Ramon Flores, Venezuela, 16; 3B Jackson Valera, Venezuela, 16; OF Yeicok Calderon, Dominican Republic, 16; SS Anderson Felix, Dominican Republic, 16; CF Ericson Leonora, Venezuela, 16.

Remember those names.

No, on second thought, forget the names.

Remember the ages. Sixteen. Sixteen. Sixteen. Sixteen. Sixteen. FUKING SIXTEEN!

In the United States, we don't let pro teams sign 16 year olds.

Does anybody care that baseball does this in Latin America?

DOES NOBODY SEE WRONG IN THIS? WTF? WHY ISN'T THIS AN ISSUE? SIXTEEN YEAR OLD BOYS!

Game-Breaker: Obama Fails to Thank Yanks for Use of Field

Karl Rove will be swarming over this one.

Obama, no doubt, was too busy plotting against the United States that day, and he made the costly mistake that will end his campaign once and for all. Mwhah-hah-hahahaha.

The New York Yankees of Anaheim?

In today's Times, the most painful evidence yet that the Golden Parachute-level gasbag suits of the New York Yankees are inalterably corrupt, incompetent and unworthy of their fans.

Yesterday, team President Randy Levine told his fellow oil cans -- the ones who happen to be in Congress -- that without tax-free financing for the stadium, the Yanks would have left New York.

“It’s been no secret for many years” that the team would move if it could not save tens of millions of dollars on financing with tax-free bonds, Levine told the House subcommittee on domestic policy. He added: “There was no shortage of suitors. We see ourselves as a paradigm in professional sports.”

A paradigm in professional sports?

Nah.

A paradigm in self-righteous, greedy, nepotistic entitlement.

Don't these clowns think they owe anything to the fans who supported the Yanks for 80 years? Apparently not.

It's their team, their stadium, their tradition.

If they want to get naked with the Dallas Cowboys, that's their perogative. Hell, they can boink al Qaeda if they want. Who are the fans to question their dealings? (Especially since the owner -- bless him -- is obviously not delving deeply into contracts, or news stories, these days.)

If they want to double ticket prices in a stadium built by taxpayers, that's their perogative. Hell, they could keep all the tickets if they want, letting in only their friends and family. They're doing us a favor, letting us root for their team.

If they want to move the team, that's their perogative. Home town fans? We could move, too.

The New Yonkers Yankees!

The New York Yankees of Winston-Salem!

The Connecticut Yankees!

You know, there are times when you wonder if the people at the top of our major institutions -- (consider the Yankees in this category metaphorically) -- have a clue about the responsibilties and traditions they are supposed to honor. Or are they simply the best players in a Darwinistic struggle for internal power that, once won, means they no longer have to care?

Somehow, Randy Levine climbed to the top of the shitpile.

Why would he care about us?

The (Your Town's Name Here) Yankees!

Joy: Phil Hughes Declared Hot Prospect in Arizona

This guy is becoming the baseball equivalent of a doctoral student in sociology.

He'll start his career at age 26, and he'll know too much to be effective.

Anyway, Phil tonight is starting in the RISING STARS game in the Arizona Instructional League.

Unfortunately, there is no FALLING STARS game, so Jacoby Ellsbury has the night off.

McCain Supporter Claims Redsock Fan Carved "B" into Her Face

It's definitely Youk's handwriting.





What's amazing is how it corresponds to the Boston emblem, as this inverted close-up reveals.




UPDATE: They claim it's a hoax. The woman, from Pittsburgh, carved it herself as a protest for Jason Bay trade.

Can Bush Beat Truman with Worst Approval Rating of All-time?

25

George Bush stands at twenty five,
Approval points, that is.
Lowest in his last eight years,
But the record is… not his!

He’s still two points above the worst,
That Harry Truman scored,
If Bush can knock three off his line,
He’ll win THE WORST award.

But beating Harry Truman,
Means he has some things to do,
He’s got to somehow shave three points,
Get down to twenty-two.

He needs one last fiasco,
One last meltdown! One last crime,
To be the worst in history!
Worst leader of all-time.

Could he unhinge the markets?
Maybe spend too much, too hard?
Or maybe give a hickey
To a secret service guard!

He maybe could act spiteful,
Kick some orphan out the door,
Or utter and obscenity
While crapping on the floor.

He might expose his privates,
Get drunk publicly and puke,
Or just be seen with Cheney,
In a bar fight in Dubuque.

He could cross dress in public,
Throw feces at his aides,
He’d drop his score quite firmly,
If he gropes one of the maids.

He could ignore the deficit.
No, wait... already did.
He could endorse some market,
Which would bring about its skid.

He could become an atheist
And say that God is dead.
He could run off with Britney Spears,
They both could shave their head.

He could become a killer,
Like that TV Dexter guy,
Tape mirrors to his loafers,
Women’s panties he can spy.

Or call folks during dinner,
Just to sell them magazines,
Kill puppies with his bare hands.
Sell crack to high school teens.

Just two points is all he needs,
To carve his place in time,
To come this close and miss it?
That would be his final crime.

Party in Tampa

The gang at Mons is celebrating last night's win, but really, it's just a warm-up for Spring Training.

Can't wait for their pals — Sweetie Petey, Ty-Ty, Sweene The Swine and the rest — to return to the Bay with their fat expense accounts and stacks o' singles!

The Looming Arod Scandal Tsunami: The Curse of Madonna

Went to the market yesterday. There he was, our 3B, headlined on every magloid, linked to you-know, the 50-year-old, veins-in-the-biceps lady (right).

Got me thinking about the Lost Legions who came before him.

We start with Christopher Columbus, whom she landed at the peak of his career, after returning from the New World... just kidding. She started long before C.C. Sansalvador. But let's get to her modern trophy case.

In 1985 she bagged Sean Penn. He was coming off "The Falcon and the Snowman." They did two years (which must be why Penn has such a boner about closing Gitmo; he knows what it's like.) It took him 10 years to win an Oscar. In the meantime, it was "Shanghai Surprise," "Cruise Control" and "We're No Angels." Those are the equivalents of 20 HR and a .296 average. Yep. That's Bobby Abreu.

Then she netted a trout named Warren Beatty, again, at the top of his game. He made "Bugsy." He served 16 months. It took him until 1998, "Bulworth," to return to the game.

Then came Tony Ward, the obligatory bisexual porn star. These days, he's probably singing in a church choir somewhere, or wrapped in a straight-jacket, ranting how he won't even harm a fly.

Then Vanilla Ice. Yep. THE Vanilla Ice. For those of you who don't remember Vanilla, I refuse to inflict his image upon fellow human beings -- it's like Batman's code to never take a human life. Let's just say, he was to rap what Kei Igawa has been to the Yank rotation. And let's just say, he has yet to make a comeback.

Then basketball center Dennis Rodman. That was mid-1990s, when he was morphing into the Ru Paul of sports. They were fated to be together. He was a great rebounder. He has yet to rebound.

Then out popped her fitness trainer, Carlos Leon, who seeded her with his bursting spermatozoa. He probably weighs 300 pounds these days.

Then Andy Bird, whoever that is. He scored the best deal of anybody. He sold his story to the tabs.

Then Guy Ritchie, who did the longest stretch, now pictured at a supermarket near you.

On deck... ARod.

I know what we all hoped: Check the guns on that wacko lady. Maybe some of her workout gorilla insanity will rub off on our boy. The key word, though, is "insanity." We're talking about a woman who devours men like that evil force in the old Fantastic Four, Galactus, did planets. Or to use a baseball analogy, she's the Billy Martin of females: Short term excitment, but in the long haul - well, somebody's going to get punched out.

She's going to leave this guy on the side of the road like an empty sixpack of Pabst. And God help us if she takes a shine to Jeet.

If anybody thought it was a certainty that Arod will break Barry Bonds homerun record, they didn't take into account the arrival of Ms. Galactus.

And if we think it's a certainty that Arod will rebound in 2009 and have an MVP season -- just put those failures last year behind him and return to 2007 -- think this:

Shanghai Surprise.
Cruise Control
We're No Angels.

Twenty home runs. Two-ninety-five average.

We better have solid backups in our batting order. And ugly-looking ones, at that.

EXCLUSIVE: Photos of GOP clothes shopping spree for Sarah Palin

When the party shopped for our next V.P., we were there to capture the fun.

The key was making sure the gowns would fit right. Fortunately, the GOP had somebody just the right size.
Of course, Sarah Palin's legs are legendary. So the GOP had to make sure audiences would get their fill!

Buying clothes for Sarah proved to be so exciting, people burst into song!

Yanks launch really creepy Halloween scare

Click on it for a big BOOO.

NATIONAL HUG A REDSOCK FAN DAY: Curt Schilling Loses Mind, Writes Teary, Epic Screed about Team, Life, Universe, Himself

HAR. THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN. FROM HIS ATTIC, POUNDING AT HIS KEYBOARD, THE DRUNKEN AND TEARY-EYED CURT SCHILLING IS POURING OUT HIS HEART FOR THE WORLD.

WE'RE GONNA NEED A BIGGER INTERNET.

THIS IS A POST TWO DAYS AGO ON HIS BLOG. DON'T TRY TO READ IT, UNLESS YOU'VE GOT A WEEK. WE HAD TO USE MICRO-FONT. NEXT DAY, THE SCHILL TOOK IT DOWN, BUT SOMEBODY GRABBED A SCREEN SHOT. HAHHHHAA. SCROLL DOWN, AND IMAGINE HIM WRITING AND SOBBING... AND WRITING AND WAILING... HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

5:03 AM (11 hours ago)Just to be clear..from 38 Pitches by Curt SchillingNo one wants to hear less about the ending of the season and the whys than fans that love the Sox. While I am officially no longer a member of this organization I have read and keep reading the “What if” stories as they relate to Manny and the team and the playoffs.Enough has been said by anyone, and everyone, involved that it makes peoples ears bleed but it still appears a huge important piece to the puzzle is being missed.First off anyone sayingJason Bay is a nice player, but he’s not Manny.is just not a very smart baseball person. Putting up the numbers he did in Pittsburgh has been vastly downplayed in my opinion. Yes his last year was less than stellar but in the Major Leagues that happens. Bottom line is this guy is a 30/100 above average on base guy who plays his ass off in the field and runs the bases hard and right. Is he Manny? Hell no, who is? Who has ever been? But he’s far more than a ‘nice player’. Nice players are guys that play 140 games, hit 275 and drive in some runs, and are good guys. This guy is a very good, very good player. Not only that but he proved the October limelight is not something that will make him wilt. Oh and he had a hell of a nice run the last few months in a market that couldn’t be more opposite than Pittsburgh.That’s beside the initial point though. People are going to say, and have been saying, what if Manny had stayed? What if Manny had done what he did in LA, in Boston? If TJ Siemers can crawl out of Manny’s butt long enough he’d objectively look at what happened and know he’s at the front of the ‘I’m going to look like an ass at some point’ line and wake up. I’ve made enough horses ass comments to know to at least be aware now, when I am headed down that path….It was NEVER a question of Manny’s ability, ever. Hell I am not sure anyone had more run ins with him, as a teammate, than I did, but I’ll never say anything other than this guy studied and practiced the art of hitting, and executed, as well as anyone I’ve ever seen.No, that wasn’t the issue, and no one argues that. What was the issue, and this is my opinion only, became very clear to anyone in or around the team at this point. The issue was not whether he would play ‘hard’ every day. He ALWAYS hit, but the game is so much more than swinging the bat it’s laughable. No, the issue was whether he would actually PLAY. I don’t mean play hard, play tough, play lazy, no, PLAY.He had in the past taken days off. Hell most guys do. He certainly had his own way of doing it and it was never ever with thought to anyone but himself but for the most part I always took it with the “Manny knows his body better than anyone”. We all knew there were times it was just ‘He didn’t feel like playing today” and by ‘playing’ that meant anything. Pinch hitting, pinch running, anything. His days off for the most part were totally off. That’s not common, not at all. You played that day, or series of days, with a 24 man roster, that was never a thing you doubted or that came unexpected after awhile. As a pitcher that is and always will be a factor in being a leader in the clubhouse. A starting pitcher has very little idea what these guys do to their bodies every day. But what I do know is I played 23 years of professional baseball and have played with guys that ran the spectrum. The guy who said “I’m good” while trying to catch with a broken collarbone, and the guy who literally HAD to feel 100% to take BP. So for a pitcher to question a position player, well in certain contexts that just didn’t happen, but you also knew your teammates and you got to see ‘behind the curtain’ when that ‘hurt’ guy took 5 days off and spent less than 10 minutes in the training room. A direct opposite to the guy who took one day off, made sure the manager knew he could Pinch Hit if needed, and spent the game running back and forth from the bench to the training room getting interval treatment as he could.No, by saying PLAY I mean exactly that. The issue got to the point where everyone finally took him at his word, there was no choice. A guy refusing to get on a team plane, having to be literally coaxed on, by people with pride and people that love the game, because meeting the obligations of a 20 million dollar contract were not even close to enough to get him going???? If he did not get traded he was going to need “time off” to rest his injured knee, and it got to the point where he made it clear time off could mean the rest of the season. Few guys will admit to it and that’s cool, I get that, but no one, if in the right situation, would ever deny that was anything but true.So it’s not ‘what could have been’, we knew what was to be, and what was to be was that if he did not get a contract extension he was going to take a seat, and in taking that seat he didn’t give a rats ass what anyone thought, including the 24 guys that wore the same uniform. So the ‘what could have been’ in the post season is not the question. The question is would there have been a post season if he had stayed, and that’s a question, and a gamble, that I think everyone felt they knew the answer too and in the end a gamble no one was willing to take, and rightly so.People continue to try and assign logic to the thoughts and decisions made when we all knew so many illogical things were said and done that logic was far from a factor in 99% of the things happening at the end. I don’t think Scott Boras told many to ‘tank it’, Manny’s a grown man and any decisions or actions he made are all on him.It is demeaning and disrespectful to the guys that did respect their teammates, the game and the fans by busting their asses through broken down hips, sore arms, strained abs and whatever, to grind it out for each other and the fans, their love of the game and anything else you can think of, the organization, to hear people question the hows and whys of this whole thing. That was why I said ‘he flipped you all off’ because if you heard ANYTHING he said after he left, he did.Ya, remember this guy was at the forefront of bringing the first world championship to Boston in 2004 (but please also throw a cheer or three Foulkies way, that guy was the man in October of 04), remember this guy, along with David, made the most fearsome middle of the order of our lifetimes, remember when he was at the plate you better not THINK of not being able to watch what he might do. This guy, when he hit, changed games BEFORE he came to the plate.But the thing that killed me in the end was this; he never gave a rats ass about any of us that suited up with him, not one iota. He was, and he said repeatedly, about going to the highest bidder and getting as much money as he possibly could, period. If that meant pissing on us in the interim, so be it.Hey! That’s cool, that’s 100% your prerogative. But please don’t crap all over the guy, or guys that spent years as your ‘teammates’ covering your ass by saying “Aww that’s just Manny being Manny” and the hundreds of thousands of other things we needed to say to stop the stories from being more than they could. Please don’t piss all over the Manager and GM who pretty much swallowed every ounce of pride they possessed because they knew that it was ‘win above all else’ here to the fans and owners. Manny had a cult following because Manny could hit and act goofy, period. Hey that’s cool, that’s what some fans love an that’s fine, but that’s it.Manny left because Manny wanted to get Manny the largest possible contract Manny could. That happens and that’s fine. But the Sox got a player that’s going to help them get back to October next year out of a situation they could have been left with a player not playing, and a patch work of guys filling in for the rest of the year.That doesn’t mean, to me anyway, that the question should be “How much farther would we have gotten” but rather “Would we have gotten there?”Why on earth would ANY situation be as good as it’s ever been? Why would things be so fun and nice and happy and exciting AFTER you lose a first ballot HALL OF FAME PLAYER? Is the rest of the baseball world that much smarter than a guy widely recognized as one of, if not the, best GMs in the game? Is a guy widely recognized as one of the best managers, and on top of that best human beings, in the game that dumb? Couldn’t it be that the opposite is true?Don’t ask how far they could have gone. Let it be what it is. That team went from 7 runs down and 7 outs to the end of a season that had more turmoil and injuries than the Dallas Cowboys, to tying run on base in the 8th inning of game 7. One game from the World Series.Is that good enough? Ask the players, they’ll all tell you hell no because it’s now different here. They now, and rightly so, expect to win the World Series every year. Anything short of that is disappointing and you can scream all you want but it’s realistic, and earned. Ya it’s not the Yankees of the late ’90s, but it’s getting there. This group has earned a place of respect in baseball that’s been earned and the onus is on them to maintain that level of expectation through performance, on and off the field. But for me, personally, the far cooler piece is that the composition of players on the team now, and the organization, is now setup to be held to a far higher standard personally and professionally, and with that comes good things. The fans deserve that, the game deserves that.Joe Maddon benches his star young player twice and his team reaches the World Series. Hell Scioscia has to pretty much kick a star offensive player off his team during the playoffs, it might even have cost them a shot at getting to the World Series in 04. I’m ok with saying it because while you can scream all you want about things I’ve said in the past, I’ve never intentionally disrespected the game, or my teammates, never. I’ve said dumb things and done a few real stupid ones, never was anything said or done with the intent to disrespect either, anyone telling you otherwise is a liar.I promise Tito, Jim Fregosi, maybe even Bob Brenly and Frank Robinson will tell you I was a pain in the butt at times because I talked too much though the GMs might say it a little more adamantly. But there isn’t a coach or GM I ever played for that will tell you I didn’t bust my ass every day I had the ball in my hand or that I was ever unprepared for the job at hand, or that I ever played the game with anything but respect. I am not a Hall of Famer, I’ve known that since suiting up with one. I played with guys that don’t and will never like me, hell that happens. But I cared about every teammate I ever had and I cared what my teammates thought of me when it was my day, and I cared what the guys in the other dugout thought of me when they had to compete against me. Beyond that what people ‘knew’ of me was/is far less than anyone ever will beyond my friends and family.The Sox are poised to be a force in baseball for the next decade. The Left Fielder is a perennial All Star, the staff is littered with aces, the bullpen is anchored by a guy that will end the decade as the games most dominant closer, the first and second baseman should finish 1-2 in the MVP race (not sure what order), the team has a HUGE pool of young, homegrown, talent in the majors, and on the way, the manager, though bald with an enormous nose, is as good a manager as anyone in the game and manages people better than anyone I’ve been around, he cares, deeply, about his players and hsi staff and that matters to them all, the coaching staff has 2 future managers at least, one future GM, the fans got their 4th ALCS in 6 years. It’s a new time, a new team and the future is awesome. Remember the 2008 Red Sox as a team that persevered thorugh a lot more than 90% of the teams in the game and battled their asses off to within 2 runs of a World Series while authoring the greatest comeback ever for a team faced with elimination. Remember them for the 3rd baseman that played through what could only be described as a broken hip, an Ace that gutted out a game that will be horribly under appreciated forever, in a must win. Remember 2008 as the year Jon Lester, a cancer survivor, turned into one of the premier pitchers in the game, not the league, the game. Remember them as the team who’s closer extended a record post season scoreless streak even farther, remember them for their 2nd baseman, a five foot nothing guy who can fricking rake (though he knows he can’t hit me) a gold glove first baseman who cemented his place as a premier all around stud (though bald and a mullion). Those are the things to remember this team by, those are the things that matter.No more ‘what could have beens’, they are good enough now to take responsibility for what is, and what will be, and there isn’t a player on this team that will shun accountability or responsibility for their actions or their teams. That’s a pretty cool thing.

Tomorrow is National "Hug a Redsock Fan" Day

Call one you love.

They need to know that we know.

Now that we are partners with the Cowboys ...

... and good old Beelzebubba himself, Jerry Jones (shown celebrating the new deal with Hal Steinbrenner), we'll have to add this song to that Rockin' Yankee Stadium playlist.

Oh, sorry, wait, wrong song. I meant this.

And here is the entertainment for Opening Day!

Only $150,000 for clothes? Palin can't win if she's wearing Melky Cabrera

The leftist, liberal, godless, pro-terror Chicken Little media reports that the Republican National Committee thus far has spent $150,00 to put clothes and lipstick on Sarah Palin and her rapidly procreating family.


This is suicide.

Hell, it's what the Yankees did last year.

The Repubs are paying bargain basement Melky Cabrera rates for what should be Derek Jeter showcase fashions and accessories. As the late Mr. Blackwell would have said, there's a reason money is green and shit is brown: Taste!

This year, we proved you can't win with a Wal-Mart centerfielder, especially one who bats .220 and sends mental text messages while in the field.

The Hank Steinbrenners of the GOP -- (yowzer, there's an image!) -- ought to realize that if they're going to win this horserace, they've gotta part with some honest sheckles to silk up their prized stallions.



We're talking Tori Hunter evening gowns.

We're talking Johnny Damon pants suits.

Hell, we're talking big money, free agent, ARod-on-Madonna leatherwear, maybe with an occasional Dolly Parton wig and -- 0h, I don't know -- I'm thinking Joel Grey now in "Cabaret," -- the kind of boob holsters that lift, not separate.

The GOP is not going to win this election with Sarah Palin wearing Melky.



They should take a chapter from Cindy McCain, who spends more on crab dip than the Yanks did on Melky. If Cindy McCain wanted to wear Mark Teixeira, you better believe she would sign Mark Teixeira.


Are you listening, you GOP Hank Steinbrenners? (Yeesh, I may never get that image out of my head.)

Joba the Hiccup

Well, the bloom has gone from the Joba rose to the Joba nose.

At a strip club, no less. After losing his cool to a Redsock fan's taunting.

Joba must take after A-Rod more than we thought.

Well, this is clear: We either wake up and move forward, or we're entering the deepest Yank recession in history.

This could make the '80s look like the '50s.

Already, the Redsocks are spouting about signing Mark Teixeira. HEY, HANK, HAS ANYBODY IN TAMPA HEARD THIS? THE REDSOCKS ARE TALKING ABOUT SIGNING TEIXEIRA!

Let's face it, with the cash he's going to want, we can't outbid Boston. Sure, we can double his salary, but what's the difference? In the Obama tax rate, it'll all be the same anyway. He'll either like what he sees in an organization, or he'll go somewhere else.

Right now, if you were a free agent looking at the Yankees, would you like what you see?

A rotation with two Sidney Ponsons, one from the past and one from the future.

An outfield with four corners, and no center.

An old team that plays like rookies, facing young teams that play like veterans -- and Tampa Bay might easily be the best in baseball for the next two years.

Can we compete in the AL East without Teixiera?

Maybe. But not if the Redsocks get him. If that happens, my friends, we might as well go out drinking with Joba.

Yep. Order some shots. Cut our losses, get stinking drunk and hope to sober up by 2010. Because without that free agent pick up at first base -- which allows us to deal for pitching -- we're a third place team again.

This is bad.

This is really bad. And food catered by the Dallas Cowboys will NOT be easily digested.

Old Baseball Sayings That Suggest We Should Re-sign Bobby Abreu

Wisdom of the ages...

"You never can have enough corner outfielding."

"Baseball is 90 percent corner outfielding."

"Good corner outfielding always beats good hitting."

"Baseball is corner outfielding, corner outfielding, corner outfielding."

"Don't look back. A corner outfielder may be gaining on you."

Swift Bat Yankeefans for Truth: Joe Buck? He's just talk

Change.

We need it.

We need it now.

(Like, oh my God, coffee costs, like, $1.20 at work and we're, like, two dimes short nearly every day.)

Hooking up with the Cowboys? Yeesh. Maybe we ARE the Evil Empire

This is bad.

This is very bad.

We just hopped in bed with Mephistophiles, which is worse than hopping in bed with Madonna in her $1,000 cream-filled plastic slumber suit.

We have entered into a "Legends" entertainment deal with... the Dallas Cowboys.

Oh, God. Why? WHY, GOD, WHY!

The Cowboys are professional sports' most obnoxious team, with the most obnoxious players, in the most obnoxious city in the most obnoxious state.

The Cowboys are evangelical, rubber-titted cheerleaders doing soft core porno doll routines at 50th birthday parties for 300-pound, pedophilic oil tycoons named Junior.

The Cowboys are HGH-injected rapists suckled by a meglamaniac billionaire whose face has known more plastic surgeons than the entire cast of Gilmore Girls.

The Cowboys are phony country-western stars who sing racially coded songs and sloganize wars they don't have the guts to fight, because at the end of the day, they are pampered pussy Hollywood hypocrites -- no, they're worse, because for all the tough talk, they are fundamentally cowards.

The Cowboys are Jessica Simpson leading the all-white Karl Rove Church of Christ choir in "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," while Alberto Gonzalez stands at the front door, selling $1,000 a plate dinner tickets to flag-wrapped Bush Rangers who pay no taxes because they moved their operations off-shore.

The Cowboys are mortal enemies to the Giants, the New York Giants, the 2008 Super Bowl champions, the Yankees' traditonal football counterparts, the Giants, the Giants, THE GIANTS, NOT THE COWBOYS.

What in the name of Pacman Jones are the Yankees thinking?

I can't believe this.

They tear down the House That Ruth Built, triple the costs of game tickets, turn over the future of the team to the guy who's going to hop into bed with Madonna and her $1,000 cream-filled plastic jammies, and now they announce to the world how proud they are to enter into an agreement with the most evil team in pro sports, and certainly the most reviled pro football team that any New York fan can imagine.

Is George Steinbrenner brain dead? I'm sorry, folks, because it's not fashionable to attack somebody whose brain may have the electrical output of a bowl of Fruit Loops, but for this fiasco, somebody needs to get a grand slam into his centerfield monuments.

Do they not care what their fans think? Is that it?

This is horrible. This is rotten.

The Dallas Cowboys and the New York Yankees... partners.

I would puke, but I'm too nauseous.

REPORT FROM THE SHAMUS

THE DAY AFTER

By IIH, IIF, IIc Secret Correspondent Shamus

CAMDEN, MAINE -- As the sun rises on Red Sox Nation this morning, I am reminded of a scene from one of those destruction movies, such as 'ID4', 'Cloverfield' or 'I am Legend.'
Cars are burning and overturned, bodies clad in Red Sox apparel lay motionless everywhere, and the distinct smell of raw pork hangs in the air.

Yes, fellow Yankees fans and readers, Red Sox Nation is in ruins, like the Romans at the end of their run, after Joaquin Phoenix killed his dad, Caesar, and wanted to sleep with his hotty sister.

I am eerily reminded of 2003, after getting punched in the mouth by that upstart, uppity southern Florida team, the Swordfish. Or Sea Bass. Whatever they hell they were called.

I specifically woke up at 5 am to listen to their desperate pleas fill the radio waves, as they call into the Big Jab (95.5 fm/ Portland Maine) and WEEI, aka Al-Soxzeera.

Some are near suicide. Some are in shock. Many are still drunk. On a troubling side note, with the economy in the dumper, last night didn't help one bit, b/c today none of them are going to their jobs at bars, strip clubs, McDonalds, trash collectors and plumbers. It seems all of RSN is taking the day off to lounge around the double-wide trailer and watch infomercials on NESN all day.

Some want Theo fired for his Manny debacle. Some want Tito Francona fired for his misuse of the pitching staff. Many are clamoring for them to sign and trade their way out of this nightmare.

You know its trouble when Sox fans are asking on broadcast radio if St. Louis would accept Coco Crisp, Mike Lowell and cash for Albert Pujols. Or if they can sign Peavy when he hits free agency next week.(I know, as well as you educated Yankees fans, Peavy could only be acquired via trade, but, I digress...)

I've even heard the impossible and imporbable: Sully, still hammered at 5:15 am, called WEEI while getting dressed to go to work as a trashman, and asked "what it would take for Manny to come back."

I know, I know. Things haven't been great for the Bronx Bombers since 2000. In '01 and '03, we had reason to cheer. But on the whole, we haven't had much to be happy about.

Here's what I figured out, listening to these tortured souls this morning:

We created this monster. All the years they watched us, the late 90's, etc. They wanted to win, so they sold their souls to the devil and bought the 2004 championship. After getting swept in 2005 in the first round, they spent even more money (Rice-Cake, Nancy Drew, etc.) and won it in 2007.

They have become a little version of the Evil Empire. A 'Mini-Me' of sorts. For a team that has known nothing but losing for so, so long, to win twice and resort back to losing, you'd think they'd remember how it feels. Sox fans always tell me, a Yankees fan caught behind enemy lines, in the Red Neck Backyard of Red Sox Nation, 'hey, we've won the Series twice in the last four years."

I always correct them by saying: "No, you've won two Series in the last 90 years, and yes, I want plastic, not paper please."

More reports will follow, deep in the lion's den. Deep behind enemy lines.

EDITORS NOTE: BE CAREFUL, OLD CHUM. DON'T LET DOWN YOUR GUARD.

Open Letter to Redsock Nation: Congrats on your fine season utterly wasted

Dear Madams or Sirs,

Congratulations to your fine organization on its fine season.

Because there's nothing like a fine season!

In a fine season, players have -- well -- fine years. As did your fine players. Because they are fine players. As you are a fine bunch. Which is fine with us.

And today, congratulations on your spiritual ascent: You are starting to understand what it's like to be a Yankee fan.

Welcome to Hell.

Yep, all those seasons when you thought being a Yankee fan was easy... all those years when you pointed to us with moral contempt and said, "They buy championships, they never feel pain!" all those years, you said, "They have no heart, they're the evil empire!"... all those years you sustained yourselves by closing your eyes and clutching that golden, hardon of hatred...

And now you know how it feels to have had a fine season...

With nothing at the end.

It's like sleeping with someone 165 nights, then getting dumped.

Welcome to our universe.

You are learning the secret of our society:

If you don't win the ring, you suck.

Sorry to say it, friends, but this is truth.

No ring? You suck.

Yep. Now it's your turn to debate whether you should have traded Jacoby Ellsbury for Johann Santana, your turn to re-think the Manny deal, your turn to think about all the money wasted on Curt Schilling, your turn to ponder the outside corner that the ump gave Matt Garzas all night.

And for all the thinking you do, it won't change the outcome.

No ring? You suck.

But hey, you sucked fine. You beat the Yankees this year. Let that give comfort. Hell, you can be the first fanbase in history to remember who came in second! And Dustin P might win the MVP. So he can join other fine MVPs, like that guy from Minnesota, whats his name? The firstbaseman. Or ours. You know who we're talking about, eh? Fine players.

Because you are a fine team. A truly fine bunch.

Congratulations, fellow suckees.

PS: NOTE TO YANKIVERSE: Write this down. As soon as we blogged about rooting for the Redsocks, they lost. Ha! Maybe we've cracked the code.

how bout dat?

remember: root for the Yankees and whoever is playing against the Red Socks

Lil Kim: How Kimberly Jones Needs to Act in Post-Game Interviews

Just like this.

Blasphemy: Why We Should Grit Our Teeth and Root for the Redsocks

1. Humiliation. Let it rain. Let condemnation soak the hubris-laden fools who got us here: Hank, Cash, Joe the Plumber, Arod... all of them. Let them feel the heat. With the Redsocks winning two in a row, they can watch a championship team and think about what it takes to be one.

2. Break up the Rays. Tampa has one long-term chance -- winning the World Series -- to cause a spike in attendance, which would allow them to keep their young stars and not become the Marlins. But to lose -- especially in such a hauntng, pants-soiling manner -- ahhgh, they'll go back to playing in front of 12,000. Which means we sign their free agents. (NOTE: This could backfire. They might be a team like Arizona, which will trade players anywhere but to the Yankees, unless it's a flat-out steal. Tampa does hate the Yankees. This could go either way.)

3. Our cause. If Boston runs the table again, the world will know that only one team can stop them in the future. Us. It will be up to us.

4. The Variteks. If Boston wins, Theo must re-sign their catcher. The fanbase would not allow them to do the smart thing, which would be to let him go. He'll demand a three-year contract, and they'll have to bite. Winning the championship will keep them from retooling. If they lose, who knows, they might sign CC Sabathia. Or Ivan Rodriguez, either way.

5. Hubris. "It wasn't them planes that killed the beast. It was beauty that killed the beast." That's not just the theme of King Kong. It's the theme of the New York Yankees. We got to thinking that we were beautiful, and we could do anything. I'm not sure we've gotten over our self-infatuation yet, but watching our greatest enemies pleasure themselves at our expense ought to do something. And in the meantime, maybe they'll start thinking that everybody who puts on a Redsock uniform will turn into a champion. As soon as that happens, a tipping point will be reached.

But let's be clear about this: This is all LIPSTICK ON THE PIG. This is turning into one of the lowest points in Yankee history. WE ARE IN A DEPRESSION. And it might just be a long, dark, brutal one.

Hell, maybe Paul Krugman should write sports.

PS: Note that I didn't give any bullshit line about American League pride or anything like that. Don't let anybody tell a Yankee fan that we're supposed to be proud that the Redsocks won, because it uplifts the American League. Never. Never. Never. That's REAL blasphemy.

The Trial of Joba Chamberlain

Court is now in session.

Thank you, your honor. I'd like to call to the stand the defendant, Mr. Joba Chamberlain.

Very well. State your name.

Justin Louis Heath Chamberlain.

OK, uhm, Justin, I want you to tell the court: What is your career earned run average thus far?

2.17.

And what is your won-loss record?

Six and three.

In other words, you've won twice as many games as you've lost. Am I correct?

Yessir.

You may step down. You're free to go. Your honor, I move that the charges against my client be dealt with under terms of the 2002 Sidney Ponson Act, which state that with a talented pitcher, nothing else matters. And let me add that, hell, your honor, we have nobody else. We're not going to sign C.C. Sabathia. He's Hollywood and Vine. If we get that Burnett guy from Toronto, everybody knows he's the next Pavano. Therefore, I move that we take the normal procedures and punish this man accordingly.

Agreed. Mr. Chamberlain, hold out your wrist. Baliff, render the slap. Court adjourned. Joba, will you sign the docket sheet for my son?

Uh oh.

Joba popped by cops in Nebraska for DUI.

Say it ain't so, Dude.

Budabadoom: Dija hear about the reports of tainted Cialis in Boston?

No lie.

Friday, 60,000 men reported to hospitals with erections lasting more than four hours.

Lipstick on the Pig Dept: If the Rays lose, they'll replace '04 Yanks as Greatest Chokers in History

DISCLAIMER: For those still suffering from the affliction known as "Yankee '04 PTSD," the following post may cause headaches, infuriation and -- in the case of ARod supporters -- divorce.

FIRST, let's agree that it hurts to remember the -- umm -- you know -- that team -- the '04 Yankees -- the tradition of which still resurfaces occasionally with runners in scoring position and less than two outs.

The players still among us from that despicable assembly of choke-prone DNA are:Jason, Arod, Jeet, Jorge, Mariano, Matsui and Mussina.

If you have the benefit of a blocked memory, here's what happened: The bums led Boston 3-0 before squandering 75 years of Yankee pride in less time than it took America to win the 1990 Gulf War.

(NOTE: On the 40-man roster was Dioneer Navarro, who -- if the Rays now lose -- ought to reconsider his career in life and just go town-to-town as a traveling trivia question.)

(SECONDARY NOTE: Of course, we love Jeet, Jorge, Hideki and Mariano -- how can anybody say a bad word about our Mount Rushmore faces? -- but if there is the 7-year statute of limitations on great post-season moments, it just ran out.)

Anyway, if the Tampa Bay Rays lose the next two, fuckum.

REPEATING FOR THE BLIND: Fuckum, fuckum, fuckum, fuckum, fuckum.

As rancid as '04 was, at least we weren't up by 7 runs with 7 outs on the toteboard.

They're the new worst chokers (since the Spanish Armada, still No. 1.)

Hey, is this progress or what!