Dark Day in Yankeeland: Wakefield retires

Nothing lasts forever. Glaciers melt. Oceans dry up. Suns explode. Time and space continuums collapse, re-converging universes into pinpricks of energy. It happens all the time.

But nobody thought Tim Wakefield would ever quit. He was our constant, our one certainty. He was to baseball what the speed of light was to Einstein.

Watching Wakefield repeatedly get hammered in pursuit of his 200th win was one of the most enjoyable aspects of 2011, a year that was going to be remembered for two events: The Redsock collapse and the debut of Jesus Montero. Oh well. One of my great winter hopes was that "Wake" would soft-toss with his great-grandchildren and think himself a spry 43-year-old again, and decide to come back and save the team. His battle with a sore elbow and first-stage dimensia would bring a grin to every Yankee fan who can remember the last days of Dave LaPoint.

Well, truth be told, Tim Wakefield kicked our asses. We must never forget 2004. In fact, he needed 10 more years of rank mediocrity before the ledger balanced out for that Yankee collapse, which he helped orchestrate.

But who carries a grudge? Not me. In fact, I would like to see us hire him to run a secret Yankee Youth Academy that teaches the black art of throwing the knuckleball. It should be built inside a mountain. Seeing as how we're selling livestock these days, we ought to use our mone for something.

Wake is gone. Another one bites the dust. But get this: Yesterday, Boston invited Varitek to camp. Our last chance for revenge...