BUY MY BOOK: BARD OF THE DEAL: THE POETRY OF DONALD TRUMP
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Posted by el duque at 8:12 AM
Well, suddenly, some bath-salted bloggers are claiming all has changed in the Yankiverse: The terrible events out West have proved we are no longer safe, we can longer stand pat - that the everyday terrors of fate and of one disturbed imagination have grown a thousandfold, and they should now rule the way we live. (Of course, I'm talking about the losses to Oakland, coupled with last night's tweak to Nick Swisher's gonads.)
Listen: We are eight games up. Eight frickin' games up. We have endured slumps, injuries and even Reggie Jackson's idle tongue. We were ripe for something like this. It's a long season, and bad things are always out there. When you're eight up, and something bad happens, you cannot run off and remake your team. You do not need to put a cop in every movie theater. You do not need to stick metal detectors at every turnstile. You must not change your lineup or your way of life.
Last night, I watched an endless train of cable TV jokers excitedly chip and twiddle about the terrors that popped out of our culture in Aurora, Colorado. But nothing has changed. The fates were always out there, waiting in the shadows for us. They are out there now. We will always be at the mercy of the deranged mind, the tweaked gonad, and the possibility of finding ourselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing can change that. But we're eight games up. Never forget it. Eight games up.