Sure, we booed you, threw dollar bills at you, reviled you on talk radio, laughed at your transgressions, reveled in your post-season ineptitude. But now, as you seemingly reach the bottom of the perpetually empty barrel, we will take you back. We will cuddle you and make you whole again. We will even move in the left-field wall for you, and lower it. We will schedule bobblehead nights for you. We will even bring you back to Jesus.
All you have to do is agree to play some first base and DH when asked. Sit out against tough right-handers. Keep your pants on. Never drool in public. And, of course, convince Cashman to pay at least $100 million of your salary for the next five seasons. And take Chone Figgins, of course. After all, the Yankees will need a new third baseman who can hit .180. And he's only owed $9 million.
You're never loved as much as you're loved by your first team. Come home, Little A-Rod. Seattle will comfort you.
You can have Michael Pineda. He can go home any time he wants.
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