I speak not to disprove what all have said, but here I am, to speak what I do know...

Friends, Romans, Yankeefans, lend me your clicks,
I come to bury Joe, not to praise him.
The pineapples that managers endure live after them,
The wins are oft interred with their bones.
So let it be with Girardi...

First, let us discuss collateral damage: The Joe Girardi Show. In my fave episode: Joe and Meredith went to Frank Pepe's Pizza shop. It was incredible. They learned to make pizza. First, you pound the dough. "Fascinating," Joe said. Then you twirl it. "Wow," Joe said. Then you put the sauce on it. "Look at that," Joe said. Then you put the pizza in the oven. "I can't wait," Joe said. Then you wait. "Interesting," Joe said. Then you pull it out of the oven. "Looks great," Joe said. Then you eat it. "Delicious," Joe said. That's how you make pizza. Who knew? 

The next guy had better know pizza.

Then there is the personal toll: Joe's feelings. I don't think they'll stay hurt for long, because Joe will get job offers, quickly. But I'm not sure he'll take them. Regardless of what he does, Joe will always be "former Yankee manager." I'm not sure he wants to work in DC or LA or even Chicago, his base. It will never be the same. Joe Girardi is a Yankee, true and true. He is a kind, decent man - a great man, in my opinion - who for 10 years tamped down clubhouse feuds, put a game face on some terrible lineups, and never broke under the pressure of a predatory 24/7 news monster, always thirsting blood. When that rookie tore up his knee in his first MLB game, Joe wept on the field; it's the only time we ever saw him cry. After incredibly tough losses - the pineapple still wedged up his canyon of heroes - he calmly answered trick questions from the Gammonites, and before the next game arrived, he would cordially welcome dear Suzyn into The Manager's Show, to chew upon the world as we knew it. 

The next guy had better have a steel rectum.

There is the ugly reality of running the New York fucking Yankees: Nobody gets out alive. Sooner or later, the writers, the bloggers, the talkers and the fans all agree on one thing: It's time to go. We saw it with Joe Torre, whose dynastic run might never be repeated in our lives. Yet in the end, he simply had to leave. Too many pineapples. Too many twisted decisions that didn't go his way. 

The next guy had better understand his ultimate fate.

Make no mistake: Joe Girardi needed to go. Everything ends, including Yankee managerial runs. Joe had become brittle and beaten, reduced to relying on "binders" more guaranteed to generate excuses rather than wins. For the last three years, his late summer bullpens were always shattered, reduced to one or two pitchers in his ever shrinking "circle of trust." When reporters would ask in the postgame show about a certain bad decision, Joe would hesitate before answering, and in those moments, you sensed a decent human being being crushed under the weight of a universe that was once a boyhood game of fun, and you wondered how long he could last. Running the Yankees is not making pizza. 

The next guy had better be lucky.

If I'm right that Hal Steinbrenner is a mere abbreviation of his dad - thus, the Yankiverse will relive the era of Old George at an accelerated pace - we are now entering Hal's fire-the-manager phase. If so, the next guy is in trouble. He walks into an incredibly pressurized situation: Throughout the media, the Yankees are not only expected to win in 2018, but then to dominate for three or four more years. That's crazy. I can think of no worse situation for a new manager. 

The next guy had better be lucky.

Joe was lucky. He lasted 10 years. That's 10 lifetimes. I hope he enjoys his rest. I will never forget the night he cried. In that moment, no Yankee manager was ever greater.

O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me.
My heart is in The Managers Show with Suzyn,
And I must pause until it comes back to me.