As we march the endless, existential beach of despair, at last, we find a tiny, glittering gemstone.
No more El Chapo. No more opening pitches to the backstop. No more leadoff walks. No more waterfalls of sweat, the dripping faucet from his visor, cascading down his neck tattoos. No more Mr. Sardonicus grin. No more blown saves. No more Michael Kay yelling, "The stare is back!" No, sir, it is not. It's gone.
He can't hurt us anymore. (Yes, he could face us in the postseason, but if so, I like our chances.) No more out-of-body torture events, no more season-ending walk-offs. No more moments that we've already relived too many times.
That HR Rafael Devers, a rookie, hit to beat us. The 2020 playoffs finale, when Tampa's Mike Brosseau homered to beat us. The Jose Altuve walk-off HR to beat us. That time he gave up four runs against Minnesota without recording an out, to beat us. The blown saves against the Mets. And last year, like the cherry pit on a zombie sundae, his quitting on the team, leaving for Miami in a hissy fit.
He's not coming back. According to the internet, a few teams are interested in Aroldis. The Savannah Bananas? The Washington Generals? The Traveling Wilkes Barres? Is Eddie Feigner still hiring? The Timbuktu Toad Lickers? Could he become the new Mr. Marlin? Good luck with that.
Frankly, I don't care. He's gone, that's all. No more screaming for Boone to take him out, knowing he won't. No more hearing from the YES booth that Chapman looks ready to recapture his fastball, despite it having disappeared three years ago.
Believe it or not, I wish Chapman well. Until he gave up on the team, he had never given up on the team. And you can't hate a guy for getting old. What I hate was the Yankees' decision to re-up on a massive contract, which they then blamed for their unwillingness to spend on other players. For the last three years, I've watched Chapman pitch, cringing from behind the couch. No more.
Life coaches and singer-songwriters tell us, don't sweat the little stuff (and it's all little stuff.) Frankly, our love for the Yankees is just the little stuff. On that note, let's celebrate what microscopic victories come our way. And here's one: El Chapo is gone, and he's not coming back.
There's a garage somewhere that's going to pay for this.
ReplyDeleteRolaids lost us six games last year...at least...
ReplyDeleteI wouldn't bet against this guy coming back. A Cashman "blue light" special
ReplyDeleteYup, don't underestimate Cashman. He might bring him back in the middle of the year through a trade or next season as a free agent. He loves the retreads. The internet says Brian is currently trying to reanimate the corpse of Steve Howe with the aid of that magical doctor that occasionally appears on this blog.
ReplyDeleteWe had to wait for the Yankees to dump Chapman. This is how the Yankees operate and why the Yankees won't sniff a World Series.
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteThe water rooster has been disconnected. For now.
"Traveling Wilkes Barres"!
ReplyDeleteStanding ovation.
Yes, "Traveling Wilkes-Barres" is El Duque's best line of the offseason!
ReplyDeleteJoining the Me Too movement for Traveling Wilkes Barres"!
ReplyDeleteWhile on the subject of wife beaters...when are the Yanks going to sign Bauer?
ReplyDeleteI dunno, I still like the Pete Davidson line.
ReplyDeleteIt will be great to not have to see El Chapo.
El duque,
ReplyDeleteWhile your prose is magical, you left out the most important "small victories" for almost all of us herein;
The little general can still stand at attention!
There once was a lad named El Chapo
ReplyDeleteWho could hurl the old bean like a lasso.
He sweated too much and his aim, it was such,
That he left us all swallowing crappo.
13 Bit is the Bennett Cerf of IIHIIFIIC
ReplyDelete