UNCLE.
That's right. "Uncle." Call off the dogs. You made your point. Please untie our hand from the chopping block and put away the hatchet. Uncle.
You are a better team, a better organization, with better beards and a better stadium. You certainly have a smarter owner than we have. In two years, we might compete, though maybe not. It depends on whether we are willing to take a season to rebuild. This was supposed to be such a season. We didn't.
But listen-up, "Hub Fans:" It's time to stop obsessing over us. Good grief, you're like Jennifer Jason-Leigh in "Single White Female," the way you stare at us, convinced we're going to suddenly rise up and beat you. It's creepy. It's unhealthy. Stop it. Go away. Shoo. Leave us be. I feel like that guy in "Breaking Bad," who was all shot up at the end of last season and just sat next to the river and told Walter, "Go away, and let me die in peace." Yeah, that's how I feel. Go away and let us die in peace.
This was never our year. Yesterday, John Sterling, in the first inning, recounted the scene from "On the Waterfront," where Rod Steiger enters the locker room before Marlon Brando's fight and tells his brother, "It aint your night." John said, it aint our season. It was the first time The Master has ever conceded defeat on a year, before the number bear it out. CJ Nitkowski, playing Suzyn, immediately suggested that Ichiro might have a big day, and we might rise up and still win. John went along with the fantasy. But it's over, folks. We are too old, too weary, and too beaten up. It aint our season.
People of Boston: Maybe it's yours. Frankly, if I were you, I would stop thinking about A-Rod and start worrying about Detroit. But do what you want. Whatever. Uncle.
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Ain't no "sirs" nor "madams" (except in the case of Beantown brothels) in Boston. They are all animals.
So here I am in sunny Palm Springs, CA, for a week's vaca, and I'm standing at the little outdoor bar chatting with another hotel guest who says he's from Syracuse. So I says, hey, I read this guy's blog all the time, Hart Seely, was a reporter for the Syracuse paper and now writes this blog about the Yankees, and he says, hey, I've met him, he's an interesting guy, has lots of great stories about places he's gone when he was a reporter, Middle East and such--my wife even ran into him in a coffee shop (or something). And I says, hey, how about that? What are the odds, right? So me and the little lady are walking away to go to dinner and this other guy sits down with his wife and says to the first guy, did I hear you say you're from Syracuse? I'm from Utica. And I spins around and says, hey, I'm from Schenectady! Holy moley! Three guys from old industrial cities in upstate New York all staying at the same 8-room hotel in Palm Springs, CA! What are the friggin' odds of that, you know? Then today, I'm talking to this nice couple and the woman says, hey, you're from New York City, right? And your wife is from Germany? Well, there's a couple down the street at the Hideway (another small hotel, same owners as here), and he's from New York and she's from Germany! And I says, wow, last night we had three guys at the bar from Syracuse, Utica and Schenectady, which is where I'm originally from. And she says, wow, there's a lot of strange coincidences going on around here this weekend, and I said, yeah, there sure are.
You just can't predict travel, I guess.
John,
There are no coincidences here in the Syracuse/Yankee matrix.
A lot o' people don't realize what's really going on. They view life as a bunch o' unconnected incidents 'n things. They don't realize that there's this, like, lattice o' coincidence that lays on top o' everything. Give you an example, show you what I mean: suppose you're thinkin' about a plate o' shrimp. Suddenly someone'll say, like, "plate," or "shrimp," or "plate o' shrimp" out of the blue, no explanation. No point in lookin' for one, either. It's all part of a cosmic unconsciousness.
Remember Seely well. Sicily landings. Great combat reporter, which is why he made the transition to sports writing so effortlessly. A great American.
Repo Man: fractals. It's all about fractals.
April 2014: Outfield intact (Soriano in left, Gardner in CF, Itchy in RF). Tex@ 1B. Cano? In L.A. SS? A gaping hole. Jeter retires. 3B: No Youk, no A-Rod, some rookie from another organization. C: Stewart is spent from 2013. If Girardi comes back, this will be his focus after Cano's departure and filling the rotation. But Girardi won't be back. Rotation: Nova, Warren, Phelps, & CC. Bullpen: a host of new characters, anchored (tenuously) by David Robertson. Ticket prices hold steady, plenty of seats available.
Guess I screwed it up talking about the JuJu. So it probably doesn't matter if I watch the games or not. I'm still not going to watch.
Acausality is beginning to lose its luster.
How about that 'lovely' Sux tribute to Mo, DOUCHEY move showing clips of the blown World Series save, absolutely NO CLASS, none, none whatsoever!!!!!!
Makes me hate the Red Sox front office that much more. And they had the balls to come down to the field and shake Mariano's hand. Disgraceful.
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