Like alchies staring at a whiskey bottle, we are telling everybody that we won't touch Halladay

Again, pathetically, ludicrously, we claim no pursuit of Roy Halladay. "Zero" chance, we say.

Again -- pathetically, ludicrously -- a sportswriter trowels it.

This is pathetic. (Ludicrous, too.) It's like quoting a heroin addict between fixes, vowing never again.

Instead of claiming we're done chasing big salaries, Hal Steinbrenner should say:

"My name is Yankee and I am an addict. I pray that God grants me the serenity to ignore those I can't sign, the strength to respect the team I have, and the wisdom to know the difference. I will take each day as it comes. I will seek strength from within. My name is Yankee, and I am an addict."

It's scary when the Yanks -- through hip pocket enablers -- tell us how strong they are about resisting temptation. Nobody believes them. The sportswriters don't. The team doesn't. Certainly, the Toronto Blue Jays don't. It's just a superficial way for Hal Steinbrenner to tell his players to keep battling while the dickering goes on behind closed doors... "Don't worry about the man behind the flashing lights..." -- before our steely resolve collapses, before we tumble into the gutter, covered with our own vomit, where we find the half-empty bottle that is Roy Halladay, hoist it to our open maw and swallow each gulp as if it's piss directly from God.

Should we get Halladay? Depends on the deal. If the Redsocks get him for, say, Jacoby Ellsbury, Hal's tough vows won't look so strong.

They'll just look pathetic. And, of course, ludicrous.