Let’s face it: Our moment of “consideration” of "J-Ham" flashed in Brian Cashman’s head, just as he let go of his sherpa's hand and fell off the top of Connecticut’s Empire State Building, on his rappelling tryst with Bobby V.
The vision danced in his head like a sugar plum. Then it danced out like a sugar doughnut. It never returned. Ever since, Cashman has thought of the $189 million payroll prize: More gold.
He loves only gold.
Actually, no Yankee fan should feel surprised at the news today that Josh Hamilton has signed with the Angels. He was always heading to NY or LA. Hell, if he wanted bipolar cocktail waitresses and fire ants, he would have stayed in Texas. Still, can you imagine the Ari Golds of Hollywood spinning this poor guy’s head? For God sake, he's the Robert Downey Jr. of baseball.
First, they get him to move to Gomorrah. Next, they buy him a house near Kim and Kanye. Soon, he'll be taking pilates classes with Madonna. From there. . . I’m seeing Christina Aguilera on his roof in an edible “Jesus Saves” thong with eight live reindeer, and neither remembers how they got there. This guy should make his reservations now for the Betty Ford Clinic. He's going to be a future character on Sons of Anarchy.
The real fun today is telling Redsock fans this news. Go call one now! You won't regret it. They all secretly thought Hamilton would be their Christmas surprise: That the smell from all that front office manure meant there was a pony waiting outside. They'll sleep tonight knowing Isaiah Cherrington and John Henry Dolan are guiding their sleigh, using Shaunghessy's nose to cut through the fog. Call them. Go tell it to the mountain. Hark, the Harold Angel signed.
Rest in peace, Carmen Berra.
"Yogi said it best," she would say. "‘We have a good time together even when we’re not together.’"