After the debacle, Yankee players gathered in Swisher's suite and ate "chicken strips"

All year, the Gray Lady's David Waldstein profiled Russell Martin's diligence in preparing for Yankee games, even when the poor moke wasn't hitting Taylor Swift's weight.  (By that, I mean her measurable physical weight, not her figurative impact on cow music, American Twitter culture and the sensitive male breeding population of Hollywood and Hyannis Port - which is of course, leaden.) It was always a great read. If Waldstein worked in Syracuse, he would win a Syracuse Press Club Award.

Today's installment, presumably the last, details Martin's woe-is-me bummification following after the post-season meltdown in Detroit City. Martin - who is a filthy stinking Canadian, with free health care and unlimited downloads of Celine Dion concerts  - tells of going back to his Montreal roots to re-energize and think of hockey. He says he "loves" being a Yankee, but that doesn't mean he'll come back for a few cases of Blue. (For the record, I hope Martin does return, but if he wants a long pact, let him play for the Expos. At some point, all those great catching prospects in our farm system ought to produce something more than the ghost of Michael Pineda. ) 

But here's the nut graph, which tells of the events following Detroit:

When the bus arrived back at the hotel, Martin went up to Nick Swisher’s suite. Mark Teixeira and Dave Robertson were also there, a group of dejected, dispirited Yankees gathering to debrief the sudden and unexpected loss from which they were all still numb. A few beers and some chicken strips numbed them more but produced no epiphanies. 

Beer and chicken. Beer and chicken. Hmm. Why does that combination sound familiar? Where have I heard those three words before? Beer and chicken. Could it be... BOSTON? 2011? FENWAY CLUBHOUSE? WTF? IS THIS HOW IT WORKS? IN 2011, YOU WATCH THE REDSOCKS BEER-AND-CHICKEN THEMSELVES INTO THE WORST COLLAPSE SINCE THE MOORS WERE DRIVEN OUT OF SPAIN,  AND YOU SAY TO YOURSELF, "HMM, WHAT WERE THOSE REDSOCKS EATING? WHATEVER IT WAS, I GOTTA GET ME SOMEHDAT!" Beer and chicken. The mother's milk of defeat. They ate beer and chicken.

This raises some questions, which I hope the Gammonites will address: 

1. Exactly how often did the Yankees gather in Swisher's "suite" (Swisher had a suite? Welllll, somebody's living happy!) to consume beer and chicken?

2. Did they eat beer and chicken in other locations throughout the season?

3. Who's idea was it to buy the beer and chicken? Were they, say, on the phone with Josh Beckett and John Lackey? Did they, by chance, call in the order?

4. Why does the Yankee brain trust - also known as the Brian trust - allow players to eat beer and chicken, a loaded, losing combination of Redsock alcohol and carbohydrates?

5. Did Mitt Romney and Mrs. Stepford order beer and chicken Tuesday night? Was Karl Rove, on Fox News, wiping his greasy, chicken slippery hands on his pants beneath the podium? How much beer did Diane Sawyer drink? Did someone deny her  chicken, forcing the booze content to take over that 74-pound frame?

6. In 2013, will the Yankees continue to eat this beer and chicken concoction? Are we doomed to more brew-and-cluck seasons? Beer and chicken. Now I understand.