Feel that U.S.-backed, gold-standard, pure evil that again is flowing through our veins? Hah. Today, we are the once again the New York Fukkin Yankees. We just reduced the length of an MLB game by 30 minutes.
Let Theo bring in Hideki (4.50) Okajima and Yankee Secret Agent Papelbon -- we have So and Mo.
Two weeks ago, when he announced the Yankees absolutely would never surrender their first-round draft pick for a free-agent, Cashman was lying like a linoelum floor. That's all. He lied for us, you know, like the CIA. He didn't enjoy lying to us. He knows we're his friends. But he knew some of us would go to a watering hole, drink too much, and blurt out the truth to our enemies.
Cash has lied to us before. Maybe you've forgotten when he announced that Bubba Crosby would be our next starting CF -- then promptly signed Johnny Damon. I bet Bubba Crosby hasn't forgotten. I bet Bubba Crosby won't believe Cashman if he says 2 and 2 is 4. But hey -- that's sports.
When Michael Vick fakes left and runs right -- for 60 yards against the Gints with three minutes left to play -- he's a bold-faced lying bastard. He lies with his eyes, like that Queen of the Vampires lady on TrueBlood. (She would make a good QB.) Eli Manning and Tom Coughlin refuse to lie, because they have God-fearing American values. Today, they are playing golf.
But the Shakespearean beauty of lies is as simple as a knife-stroke from Lady McBeth:
Once you start, you cannot stop.
What's that you said, Brian? Yankees done for the winter? Sure. We get it. Not chasing anybody else? Why, Mister Cashman, take your hand off my thigh! This is, of course, the New York Fukken Yankees.
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