Freddy's in, Bartolo next?

Last winter, after the Cliff Lee/Carl Crawford fiascos, we barely lifted a shot glass to salute the signings of Freddy Garcia and Bartolo Colon. We saw no beauty, no elegance, in those cartoonish, paunchy frames. We had been turned down by the hot cheerleader. Who expected to be so delightfully ravaged in bed by the horny middle school librarian with visible ringworm?

This year, we know exactly what Freddy Garcia's magic fingers can do while "on the mound!" Nevertheless, just pondering Bartolo Colon shirtless is enough to end my fixation with this metaphor.

We need some more of that cheap Colon.

Still, let's celebrate Obesity Friday knowing that Freddy likes us, he really likes us! - in the Sally Fieldian sense of expression. Because the guy could have wrangled a two-year deal out of some poor team - maybe even us.

Same with CC Sabathia. He could have held us for ransom, but he didn't. He likes us, he really likes us.

For all the rude cab drivers and things that stick to your shoe from life in NYC - screw you, Mr. and Mrs. Lee - players who come to the Yankees want to stay, and others want to return. We have a harmonic system that - unlike the Redsocks and Mets, with high negativity - keeps players wanting to come back.

Who do we thank? Cashman? Nope. He has nothing to do with it. Giardi? Getting warmer. Jeter? Hotter. The big money stars? Bingo.

Let's give them credit.

Arod, Jeet, Mariano, Tex, Robbie, CC, AJ - there's hasn't been a Josh Beckett in the bunch. (Say what you will about AJ and Arod, folks, nobody accuses them of slacking off.) And this winter, that should be the defining sense of whether we chase Mr. Darvish or Mr. Wilson - or somebody else who is about to vault into that $14-$20 million tier: What are they like up close?

Freddy likes us. He came back. Paging Mr. Colon... your locker is ready.