The Yankiverse remains troubled and convulsive over the Jesus trade

Last night, the pre-eminent Yankee blog, River Ave, held an open thread on Michael Pineda, the man who will never be Jesus Montero.

Within minutes, it belched 100 comments. Or transcribed grunts. Many could have been typed by Lyndon Larouche. Fans ranted politics. They gave Pineda nicknames: Seeyalatta Pineda...  Pinata. They glinked and glonked about how we should sign Prince Fielder. (Note: We're not going to sign Prince Fielder.) One guy mentioned Sergio Mitre. He was tripping on morning glory seeds.

Listen: I judge nobody. We are what we are: Restless, boneless, slaves to Yankee bullshit - for better or worse, till death do us part.
But in my entire life, I cannot remember such massive disappointment and unease over the trading of a prospect. If we had dealt Munson's legacy for a bowl of soup, the Yankiverse would not be so roiled and disillusioned.

And we all know why. We just walked out onto a frozen lake. We want to believe the ice is thick. But Bobby V's words - if he's so good, why did they trade him? - hang around our necks like a rotting sea creature. If Pineda tanks, we will experience the Yankiverse version of that super volcano in Yellowstone, the one that outblows mounts Buhner and Drabek. We will experience nuclear winter.

The truth is this: We might have just traded away Babe Ruth. Or Miguel Cabrera.

Ugh. It hurts to think: Frank Robinson for Milt Pappas. Lou Brock for Ernie Broglio. Mark McGwire for TJ Matthews. Josh Hamilton for Edinson Volquez. Jeff Bagwell for Larry Anderson. Now... ugh...

Don't get me wrong: I really do believe. But I'm pushing 60. I got 10 to 20 good years left. And folks, here is my reality:

If this trade backfires, it will haunt me the rest of my life. Try to put that into an open thread.