Time for Some family Fun......

Whatever fantasies and dreams we had for this season, it is time now to file them away
under, " a productive experience that will benefit us in the long run," and finish packing up the fishing gear.  Time to head back to our personal Ozarks, and catch some dinner to cook over the fire pit on the shore.

We have been ignoring the family during certain 3-4 hour periods for a bit more than 162 days of 2017.  We have expressed joy, surprise, wonder , awe and depression.  As companions, friends and lovers we have reflected those emotions, and made people close to us either miserable or momentarily fulfilled as a direct result of our wavering temperaments.

Perhaps I overestimate the impact upon us, or upon others.

 Our psychic investment in a game played by others, in an environment usually accessed by the distance of TV or radio, is a quirky diversion from reality inherited from our youth.  It is like a defective gene which we cannot remove.  It is too much to say that our addiction to the
Yankees keeps us young.  But it does bring back the smell of a new glove, the crack of a bat, the thrill of a stolen base in a close game, and the pure joy of catching a critical foul pop-up deep behind third base.  It brings back the feeling of admiration and respect from our friends, along with memories of the bonds we formed in winning and losing together.

In any case, there comes a time each year when only the fans of one team leave the season happy and pleased.  We do not fall into that category in 2017.  True, we were able to glance over the edge into the boiling cauldron of success, and take a peak at something long forgotten, but the heat of someone else's success pushed us away.  

Now we are left with the long over-used phrase by Brooklyn Dodgers fans: " wait until next year."  As Yankee fans, we respected that grit.  And relished in the fact that we  ( more often than not) caused it.

Yesterday's loss to Cleveland was more than a loss.  We all know that.

How and what remains of this team and organization, and the portrait of next season, beckons.  But a lot of water must pass under the bridge before the green grass and the baseball diamonds again appear appealing to us. Another big chunk of our life will slide by, until we begin to hope again.  Not until springtime in Tampa.

It has been a painful ride.  We got dumped off the roller coaster.

Good luck with the large-mouth bass competition.