Does A-Rod's PED-record diminish our 2009 championship? Hell, no. it ENHANCES it, mwahahahahaha!

Nobody knows what it's like 
To be the bad team,
To be the sad team, 
Behind N.Y.s...

Nobody knows what it's like
To be hated,
To be fated,
To hitting only flies.

And our farms,
They are as empty,
As our lineup seems to be.

We have A-Rod, only lonely,
Whose Hall of Fame plaque,
He'll never see... eeeeeeeee.


So much for the Who. We know who we are. We're now finding what we are:

We are the incompetent bad guys in a Jim Carey movie.

We kick the puppy, we scare children, we snort steroids, and we cackle at the moon. That's not easy, by the way, cackling at the moon. Catch a tickle in the throat, and you end up in a coughing jag. And that's us - cackling until we cough up our cancered lungs. Yeesh, we are the Doctor Evils, the Riddlers, the Gorns, the Casanova Frankensteins - hell, we're the Washington Generals of baseball.

After this weekend, after the Tigers are done, we will have achieved our rightful perch in Hell: We will be below .500, with no rising star in our entire system, with a payroll three times the value of the Boston Globe, and yet jobless Americans will still feel inspired to load up their jalopies and drive vast distances just to hoot during our public hangings. We won't even know the dignity of a quiet, graveside burial service. Instead of bagpipes, we'll hear mariachi bands. Instead of prayers, we'll hear the knee-slapping laughter of our critics. We won't even get to play out our wretched ignominy in empty stadiums. No, the torch-wielding villagers will turn out to mock us. They'll pay top dollar and get their money's worth.

Was there ever a sadder, more pathetic Yankee season?

We'll make the 2011 Redsocks look like champions.

But, dammit, we still have 2009. They can't take it from us. They can moan and whine, but Bud Selig will be too busy cashing the checks to put asterisks in his record books. He'll be manning the turnstiles, selling tickets to our six-week funeral train. He'll be on The View, preening with Barbara and Whoopi, unless security refuses to allow his living hairpiece into the studio.

Face it, folks, they beat us. They not only throw A-Rod and the Yankees out to sea, but MLB gets a secondary market boost in prices to a month-long plank-walking ceremony. But it's not Superman who carries the show. It's the incompetent evil villains. We're the ones they're coming to jeer.

Well, if we're going to be comic relief to the wild card races - let's do it up in style, fellow zombies. Let's drink from the tub of villainy. WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS OF 2009, WE STOLE THAT TITLE FROM ALL THE LITTLE MARKET TEAMS WHO WEREN'T SMART ENOUGH TO JUICE, HAHA, WE TOOK THE RIGHTFUL RING FROM THE POOR LITTLE CHILDREN OF PHILADELPHIA, AND BY THIS TIME TOMORROW, BATMAN WILL WE DEAD! MWAHAHAHAHAHAH (COUGH, COUGH, COUGH... my chest, my chest, where are the pills?)