Their future is all ahead of them

My esteemed colleague El Duque has waxed eloquent about the debacle of last evening. Nuff said there.

Like the Duke, I am here not to bury the Yankees, but to praise them.

I honor the post-fire sale Bombers for doing the alleged right thing and unloading whatever marketable pieces they could toss onto the bonfire, bringing up the kids, and ridding themselves of the Scourge of A-Rod once and for all (at least until they exhume Billy Martin's corpse for a return to the manager's seat -- I think that was the plot for the soon-to-be re-released anniversary edition of "Reanimator VII: The Reckoning," on VHS only, so start rummaging around the attic for your old Realistic video player).

But beyond that, I praise them because these moves have put a team (I almost said "product." Ugh. Please, like Livia Soprano once said, "Kill me now! Take the knife from the ham and stick it RIGHT HERE!") on the field that reminds me of my lovable Bronx Bumblers from 1965-1975.

I remember them like it was yesterday: Stick Michael, Hoss Clarke, Lindy McDaniel, Bill Monboquette, Steve Hamilton, Fritz Peterson and Mike Kekich, Bobby Cox, Ruben Amaro, Steve Whitaker. I can't remember what I had for lunch yesterday, but I remember them. The only baseball cards that didn't wind up in the spokes of my Schwinn.

Sure, they were awful. That wasn't the point. They set the stage that made the 70's resurgence to power all the more sweet. I think we all understand that for us to return to the pinnacle, we had to sell off. And I don't worry about losing. It's only a couple more weeks and then the September call-ups will help us make that last Olympic-sized dive across the finish line to the second wild card.

Oh, and of course there's always September 29, a date which will live in Yankee lore for decades to come. Moon Big Papi Day is coming.

So life is good.