The next looming moon (or mooning loon): Cashman, Hal or something else?

Barely two months ago - (wow, doesn't it seem like ancient history?) - our own Local Bargain Jerk conceived and launched one of the most elaborate - and brilliant - baseball put-ons since Bill Veeck signed all 43-inches of Eddie Gaedel:

We sought to moon Big Papi.

It's an understatement to say LBJ went in full hog. His site included the insane 24-day Moonvent Calendar. He designed crazy ass t-shirts and built a wondrous mass mooning scene that should be remembered forever - even if it never happened - because, hey, isn't that what the digital age is all about? (Note to Scopes: Start debunking it now, because in 10 years, everybody will believe the moonings took place.)

The pregame reaction was incredible. We made the Seth Meyers Show. We made ESPN and Boston  Magazine, which patronizingly referred to him as "Mr. Jerk." We made the Yankees squirm. We made Papi want it. But truth be told, nothing happened that night. Nobody mooned David Ortiz.

And let's face it. Nothing was ever going to happen. The toothless, swag-collecting 1-percenter crowd was never going to turn and bend - and risk ejection by the reactionary ballpark moon police. It was too much to ask of the paying, mooing public. Instead, the campaign simply needs to be remembered for what it was: Our greatest hour.

I dare say that when the history of this blog is written - sometime long after we are dust, and some new generation of psychotic, cynical and criminal fans of the Evil Emp has taken over to scream laughable truths at the Steinbrenners' silent death star fortress - it might just be our greatest legacy.

So, what about an encore?

Now, we cannot expect Mr. Jerk to do it again. He invested incredible time and soul into mooning Big Papi - and, frankly, he took risks. He lives behind enemy lines and faced a few asshole trolls who really deserved the title of Mr. Jerk. (Seriously. We've never told the full story of one particular troll, who had anger issues.) So this is not a call to LBJ. But in 2017, we won't have Papi to moon anymore. So whom should be the recipient of our attention... and in what form should it be?

I'm mulling possibilities. Winter is the time for possibility-mulling. And here are a few.

1. Let's just say that if the raft of prospects we obtained from Andrew Miller and El Chapo turn into a pile of Eddie Gaedels - or Luis Polonias and Eric Plunks - then we should launch our early voting campaign to accelerate Brian Cashman's ascension to Cooperstown.

2. If the Yankees go another four years without a playoff victory, we need to publish Hal Steinbrenner's adoption papers from Kenya.

3. And then - OMG - there is the emerging Whale of Liberty... U.S. Senatorial candidate from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, by way of Breitbart and the Rhode Island Department of Economic Development... Mr. Curt Schilling! Have we ever been handed a bigger symbol of Redsockian hubris? (Wait: How about when Randy Levine and Rudy Giuliani jump on board!)

We must mull our next attack. It's time to ponder ideas for 2017. Right now, I'm just calling upon the Russians to hack some emails. Wikileaks will soon need a new dog to kick - and so will we.

Mr. Assange... if you're reading this... how about shining your light of exposes upon John Henry, or Lonn Trost, or somebody within the real power structure? Mr. Putin, it's time for you to influence a pennant race. What should we do next year? Our next campaign will probably never top mooning Papi. But we need a plan. Anybody got a plan?