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Cash shops for himself, not us

Bobby Vee declares hell war

Parents: Keep your children away from combovers

Letter to the Editor: Yogi was no Spur

San Antonio Express-News
December 7, 2011 Wednesday
Dear Editors,

Yogi Berra, one of baseball's greatest players and most renowned sports celebrities of all time, sometimes worked as a head waiter at a friend's restaurant during the off-season. He occasionally tended bar at a bowling alley as well. He did not make enough money to support his family with just his salary as a New York Yankee star early in his career.

Later, when he was earning more, he went back to that restaurant and coined his famous phrase, "Nobody goes there anymore. It's too crowded."

How times have changed! If the NBA lockout had continued, or the season had been canceled, I wonder if we'd have seen any of the Spurs working odd jobs around San Antonio?

Don Albert

Uh-oh, MLB has an image problem, because it's not a Yankee charged with PEDs

Bud Selig's Department of Homeland Security intends to doublecheck Ryan Braun's day-glow plasma. The theory: Braun must have been bitten by a radioactive dung beetle, because a fine young Milwaukee Brewer such as he would never inject artificial man juice into his pride-swollen gonads. Only Yankees do that. Right? Braun is Bernie Brewer, a cog in the Old Milwaukee feel-good campaign, who takes the field each day in the great shadow of the famous Bud Selig statue.

Yep, MLB has a serious PR problem: It's not a Yankee.

If only it were Arod or Swish, or anybody - Kei Igawa would have earned his pay just for swapping pee - then MLB could do what it always does: Blame the Yankees.

Consider the Angels and Marlins dollar drop last week. The problem was simple: It wasn't the Yankees. It was teams that spent the last 10 years (or in the Marlins' case, their entire existence) blaming the Yankees for putting money in players' pockets and ruining the owners' chances to keep salaries low. Now we've got a pristine National League cover-boy caught with his hand in the testicles jar.

Other teams -- being Yankees. What will Bud do?

I propose a solution:

TRADE RYAN BRAUN TO THE YANKEES.

WE'LL GIVE THEM A PROSPECT AND CASH. (MONEY THAT IS, NOT THE GM). THUS, MLB KEEPS ITS SANCTIMONIOUS IMAGE AS THE ONE OPERATING PRO SPORT IN AMERICA THAT DOESN'T HAVE WORK-STOPPAGES OR RETIREES WHO CAN'T DO CROSSWORD PUZZLES.

TRADE BRAUN TO THE YANKEES, AND WHILE WE'RE AT IT, LET THE YANKEES BUY YU DARVISH, OR SOMEBODY, PRINCE FIELDER MAYBE... JUST TO KEEP ALL THAT SELF-RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION BACK UNDER THE CAPS OF THE OTHER OWNERS.

MAKE BRAUN A YANKEE.
BECAUSE BASEBALL NEEDS VILLAINS.

We look like insecure seventh graders at a sock hop: Did we or did we not ask Hiroki Kuroda to dance?

Yesterday, an animated dollop of hopeful news finally wriggled out of the 2011 Winter Meetings, which are known as the Cheap Yankees Convergence Summit: We'd offered $12 million to Dodgers pitcher Hiroki Kuroda.

Yes, At last! The Steinbrothers planned to spend some of that $500-a-seat money that they pocket 80 times a year, including games that feature the KC Royals.

Well, that good vibe lasted less time than it takes Hank Steinbrenner to eat a small child. Within minutes, the Yankees announced: NO, they never offered Kuroda nuthin, other than their wishes for a healthy family and wonderful life -- that he can grow in his direction, as we grow in ours - and if someday our branches intertwined, it would be beautiful. But our money is too precious to be spent on the likes of him.

So... WTF? I'm inclined to believe the first report. Everybody knows Kuroda fits our needs - one-year deal, vet pitcher, etc. - and they're just using lawyer-talk to deny it. We asked him to dance, he blew us off, so we spun on our heels and said, "OK, I gotta go take a shit anyway."

Seriously. How insecure do the Yankees need to be? Why deny the offer? Did he cackle in our face? "Me? Dance with you? You're ugly! Hahahahaha." Or did we lose our nerve? "Yes, Cashman-San, you have question for me? Uh, no, Huroki, I, um, say - have you seen my rappeling cleats?"

Yeesh. I hope we offered the guy money plus access to Hideki Matsui's porn collection, and if he turned it down, it's less likely the Redsocks will get him. (They're chasing Jimmy Rollins: BEWARE!) So what really happened? Must we wait for Brian Cashman's autobiography, in 2082, to know?

More importantly, what will the Steinboys do with all that $500-a-seat money? Clam dip? If the Yankees charge that kind of price, they better not poormouth. The two axioms of baseball, Donald Fehr once said, were that you never have enough pitching, and the owners never make any money.

We better start spending ours.

Pujols' Yankee ETA: 2016

Swimmin' pools, movie stars.

After five years in a Rally Monkey jersey, Albert will be so Californicated that his bat will fall off, and he'll beg to return to St. Louis. They won't take him back. They'll still be fuming, just as Jennifer Aniston remains angry about the way Brad Pitt treated her. Who can blame Jennifer/St. Louis? You'd be pissed too. He shows you the moon, hands you a ring, then trots off to Hollywood. So let's give him five years in Mellowellay.

By then, they'll be sick of his act. No matter what he does, it won't be enough. (See: Rodriguez, Alex) First year he hits .240, the LA Times will rip him, and Ford Frick McCarver will start ragging about his money, and how in the old days, the very next pitch would be in his ear.

So we know how it plays out: The Yankees are the MLB star retirement plan. It's like a drop of water making its way to the sea. Overpriced, long-term contracts end up in the Bronx.

So here's the Yankee lineup for 2016.

Write this down and put in safe place.

1b Albert Pujols

2b Derek Jeter

ss Troy Tulowitzki

3b Robinson Cano 

lf Carl Crawford

cf B.J. Upton

rf Ryan Braun

c Austin Romine

dh Jesus Montero

If lovin' Yu is wrong, I don't wanna be right... a playlist for Yu Darvish Day

I Only Wanna Be With Yu... Hootie and the Blowfish

I Will Always Love Yu... Whitney Houston

Every Breath Yu Take... The Police

Workin' My Way Back to Yu... the Spinners

I Wanna Kiss Yu All Over... Exile

Yu Sexy Thing... Hot Chocolate

He Don't Love Yu Like I Love Yu... Tony Orlando and Dawn

Yu've Got a Friend...  James Taylor

Baby I'm A-Want Yu... Bread

Hey Jyud... Beatles

Baby Yu Can Darve My Car... Beatles

Cheapskate Yankee owners better be ready to dig deep and spend some cash today, because Yu Know Who is coming

This time of year, nobody wants to be called Scrooge. And everybody wants to be the Yankees.

Miami wants to be the Yankees. They shelled out $200 million for a pitcher and a shortstop. California wants to be the Yankees. They shelled out $330 million for a pitcher and a DH. Texas wants to be the Yankees: They're getting ready to unload all the Rupert Murdoch phone-hacking money that's flowing their way through the contract they recently signed with Fox Sports.

But they're not the Yankees. We're the Yankees. I think, anyway.

Today, we learn whether our Yankee owners are, in fact, Hank and Hal Scroogebrenner, of the Kansas City Titans -- because it's time to George-up and burrow into that mountain of free money they were born into, and extract some crisp million dollar bills - I'd say 55 will do the trick - to buy the slave auction bidding rights for 25-year-old Japanese pitcher Yu Darvish.

This week, as batting practice, we secured the rights to negotiate with some poor sap Japanese infielder, who we're now saying will likely rot in his packing crate before he signs with us to ride the pines. Well, so be it. We don't need a Japanese infielder, unless his job is to provide infield chatter to a certain man on the mound.

Today, we need to send Texas, California and Miami a message:

They're not the Yankees. We're the Yankees.

At least, I think we are.

Headlines loosely, and that's an understatement, related to the Yankees

Iran claims to have American-made drone

Mars rover finds evidence of ancient moisture

EPA identifies possible downside to fracking

Experts wonder if Newt Gingrich will implode

Acclaimed public face of Yankee fandom pitched from airplane

Alec Baldwin, future U.S. Senator from the great state of Bipolarity, got tossed from an American Airlines death trap this week for treating a flight attendant like Kevin Youkilis.

Baldwin, seated no doubt up front, while in a fevered texting thing, refused to turn off his cell phone, prompting a jackbooted in-flight version of Rosa Klebbs - who should be tending to her beer nuts and ginger ale - to call in the pepper spraying thicknecks from DHS.

The company said Alec refused to comply, adding that he was "extremely rude" to the flight crew, calling people "inappropriate names" and using offensive language.

Well, Baldwin was just being a Yankeefan. That's what he's paid to do on those ESPN commercials with that sensitive pro-Redsock yuppie from "The Office." (I can never remember his name - Bronco Nagursky? Killer Kowalksi? Pleezedont Buttinski?) Let's look on the bright side: He just gave every Yankeefan in America a free open seat on the bus. Wear the NY cap proud, fellow travelers. No one will come near you.

The animals in the forest have sharp teeth... but they're more scared of us than we are of them. Yoooooouk.

Yesterday, December 7, 2011, a day that will live in infield utility

Yesterday, we won the world's weirdest silent auction, obtaining the rights to sign 29-year-old Japanese mystery shortstop Hiroyuki Nakajima.

Jeet's replacement? Of course, why didn't we think of it? It was always going to be Nakajima!

What were we thinking? Ten possible scenarios...

1. Need a kick-around homeboy for Yu Darvish.

2. Plan to peddle Eduardo Nunez for Jar Jar Jerrgens, or whatever his name is.

3. Hiro is secret jewel of Orient.

4. We had identified dangerous void among utility infielder ranks.

5. Money? When asteroid hits, who cares about money?

6. Who bidded on this dork? Randy Levine?

7. Can't imagine Scranton without a Kei Igawa.

8. Whatever. It’s not like we traded Jesus.

9. Bobby Valentine wanted him.

10. Guy makes great California roll.

Frickin Tim McCarver wins frickin Frick Award

Like every doddering old Fox Sports toadfart who thinks kids today are overpaid, uppity hippies, Tim McCarver has always hated the Yankees.

I think he hated us because we signed free agents to huge contracts, ruining the game for its all-wise and totally cheap-ass owners, for whom McCarver gave voice.

I don’t ever recall him whining about the money made by an owner. But a player? My god! They’re never worth it. And in the old days, if a gold-necklaced hotdog touched his junk at the plate, why, the next pitch — in the ear, Theotis! And nobody wore batting gloves! Nope. In the old days, batters used callouses. And the Yankees? Evil incarnate. Because they cheat! They spend all that money. It’s not fair. If the Yankees acted like other teams and didn’t want to win, what a perfect league it would be!

That’s what baseball honored today.

But something else happened. Deadspin - of all the sites in the world - did a wonderful thing. It sabotaged the McCarver news conference by printing media access codes, so any wanton terrorist – like you and me — could ask the great and powerful McCarver a question. The first one came from the hell pool: "What, exactly, is your vendetta against the New York Yankees?"

What a question. And where do you start? 

Let's remember that McCarver made his bones as Bob Gibson’s personal catcher in the 1964 World Series against the Yankees. He came to hate the Yankees like snakes hate mongooses, if not consciously, at least on a lizardlike level within his brainstem.

Aww, why bother to complain? This was inevitable. At least he hated Manny Ramirez. And maybe this is the gold watch that signals the end. Back in the old days... you win the award, and you're gone! Show up next day, and bam... right in the kisser. We should hope.

Oakland wants Jesus, Allah, Gaia and L. Ron Hubbard for Gio Gonzalez

Unsourced Gammonite psychobabble from the Winter Meetings says that "Moneyballs" Beane is willing to trade the great and almighty Gio Gonzalez to the Yankees for everything in our farm system, plus Brian Cashman's first-born child and his precious bottle cap collection.

Whoopie. It's the usual shakedown crapola that happens before some headline-hunting GM peddles the guy to Boston for a plate of fried chicken. (Remember the Schilling trade from our dear friends in Arizona? They wanted Alphonso Soriano and Nick Johnson from us. Then they handed Mr. Ketchup to Fenway for a handful of magic beans. Ha-ha, they said to the Yankees, we've screwed you again.)

Listen: Beane is the star of this year's Winter Meetings. He's Brad Phukking Pitt... Sir Hollywood... Mr. Jolie... Tyler Durden... People Magazine Sexyman... the befouler of Jennifer Aniston! He's the only GM who in 2012 can win a World Series and an Oscar! Good grief, he can probably get a Yankee prospect just for letting Cashman ride in his posse. Why wouldn't he expect to receive the sun and moon for such a gremlin of pitching as Gio Gonzalez?

Let's hope Cash stands his ground. He can rappel down a building. He can sleep on the sidewalk (warmed by the halogen of the media lights.) He ought to be able to say no to Brad Pitt. But hell, can anybody say no to Brad Pitt? (A Yankee fan, by the way.)

Yankeetorial: DAMMIT, BERNIE BELONGS

The Big Red Machine from 1970 to 1976 won only four pennants and two rings. Sheesh. You wouldn't know it in Cooperstown. The Reds have five in Hall: Sparky Anderson, Joe Morgan, Johnny Bench, Davy Concepcion and Tony Perez. Pete Rose would join them but - ahh, the vagaries of life!

The Toronto Blue Jays from 1989 to 1993 took two pennants and two rings. Shit. You wouldn't know it in Cooperstown. They  have five: Roberto Alomar, Dave Winfield, Ricky Henderson, Joe Carter and Paul Molitor. They'll probably add Jack Morris and David Cone - (although the latter will never get my vote, because he retired a Redsock.)

Despite having to survive an extra tier of playoffs, Torre's Yankees (1996-2001) took five pennants and four rings. More rings than Toronto and Cinncy. FOUR RINGS IN FIVE YEARS. The gravity of that achievement won't be fully appreciated for decades. The words they'll apply: Dynasty. Unbelievable. Greatness.

But we sure don't have friends among the Gammonites, eh? OK, Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera will make the Hall. Torre - yeah, but as a Cardinal and Brave. Wade Boggs? OK, nitpicking; he was there one year. Roger Clemens? Ah, the vagaries...

The point, dammit? Where are the Davy Concepcions and Tony Perezes of that great Yankee team?

Andy Pettitte? Probably not. Same with Jorge or Pauly O'Neill. You can read the sportswriting on the wall.

But Bernie should get in. He played centerfield. He anchored the team. He launched rallies. Bernie belongs. Why aren't Yankee writers and bloggers pushing this?

Critics will throw numbers at Bernie: He didn't hit enough HRs. He didn't win the MVP. Numbers will put Tim Wakefield and Charlie Hough in the hall. Numbers don't win rings.

Listen: We won't live long enough to see another team win four rings in five years. Torre's Yankees will go down as one of the greatest teams of all time.

Bernie belongs in the Hall. He fought for us. We need to fight for him.

Those world championships just didn't happen on their own.

Super-hot foursome strutting stuff for Sexiest Yankee Alive

You voted them to the finals... 

But one can own the title of

Sexiest Yankee Alive...

"Gator"

"Lawrence"

"Tino"

"Johnny"

Congratulations to Ron Santo, a great man, but he never beat Babe Ruth AND Mickey Mantle in the same season, because the only man in history to do such a thing remains on the outside, looking in, at Cooperstown

Listen: This isn't about Ron Santo. It's about cultural justice.

As far as I'm concerned, there is no MLB Hall of Fame. There is no Cooperstown. There is a just a settlement of rich suburbanites on the shore of Otsego Lake, between Fly Creek and Middlefield, surrounded by hills full of white people with guns. It's a town known for the Farmer's Museum, which houses the Cardiff Giant - and, no, that's not a nickname for Willie McCovey.

Once again, the blustering, gin-bloated golfers who somehow ended up in possession of baseball's historical legacy - (Let's not forget that Newt Gingrich is an "historian") - have somehow managed to overlook Roger Maris, the Sandy Koufax of hitters, for baseball's Hall of Whatever. That's like a 14-year-old not noticing Sailor Moon's legs.

Yeah, OK... Roger's career ended early. It was cut short by a collective national culture that was clinging to an airbrushed legend, Babe Ruth, in a time of growing social and political turmoil. It was cut short by pressures that no athlete has before or since endured, and that includes the drug-fueled mutants who long ago ran laps around whatever home run records were once cherished. It was cut short by the small market Gammonites who still hold it against Maris that he played for the Yankees. Had he hit 61 home runs in Milwaukee, he would have coasted into Cooperstown with the ease of Lady Gaga entering a 2 a.m. dance club.

And now, they just pretend he never played.

Ron Santo never won an MVP award. Roger has two. Ron Santo never won a World Series ring. Roger has three. Ron Santo totally belongs in the Hall of Fame. So does Roger Maris.

Oh, and next time you're at the Farmer's Museum, don't forget the two-headed fox. It's the only thing worth checking out in that miserable wasted-space of a town.

The ESPN/Redsock revolving door continues

Once again, the anti-Yankee terror camp in Bristol, Connecticut, (the city that inspired  Sarah Palin to have a child) is providing not only comfort but jobless bennies to an out-of-work Redsock -- in exchange for releasing new Boston manager Bobby Valentine.

Yep. ESPN is hiring Terry Francona. Why are we not surprised?

Expect Tito to "bend backwards" in the Redsock/ESPN blubber booth, taking pains not to act like a doddering, Schillingesque, TV-faced Gammonite -- which moves and speaks like an electrified pile of Nomar. But when the game is on the line, and little Dustin Pedroia mini-strides to the plate, the giggling testimonials will sound like Miley Cyrus after a quart of Keystone.

Listen: I don't mind a team having a homer. Every team needs one. (And one element of John Sterling's critics is their wrongful notion that the Yankees should not have one.) But the Redsocks stash their homers in Bristol, like secret terror cells waiting for the call. And what an incentive to play in Boston! If you can speak a sentence without swearing or sounding like Rick Perry, you've got a job for life.

I just hope Theo Epstein recognizes the compensation package he owes Boston, based on the ESPN model, for having jumped to the Cubs. The Redsocks should receive Grady Little or a nephew of Haywood Sullivan. Straight up deal - ruined GM for ruined GM. That's how ESPN and Boston do it. Oh, and one more thing: If Palin has another kid, let's hope she names it Bridgeport.

Another reason to be thankful that baseball doesn't have a halftime show

Madonna will perform at Super Bowl XVXCXVXCVIII

in beautiful Lucas Oil Stadium.

Proposed set list:

Papa Don't Punt

Like a Dolphin

Material Guard

Justify My Lunge

Don't Cry for Me, Arizona

REDSOCK CHILD ABUSE SCANDAL EXPLODES

Fenway had a real green monster.

Boston's former clubhouse manager, Donald Fitzpatrick, is now accused of molesting 10 boys. Since the 1990s, the Redsocks have been trying to spackle over his crimes - and their guilty conscience - with money.  The guy died in 2005, and kids are still coming forward.

10 things to do in Dallas if you're Brian Cashman

1. Avoid bumping into Roger Clemens.

2. Go to that grassy knoll and use your Yankee ingenuity to search for evidence of the second gunman.

3. Audition Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders who might want to join the famous Yankee Cowgirl cheerleading squad.

4. Rail to passersby about how Obama has ruined all of George W. Bush's peace and prosperity for America.

5. When seeing a Rangers official, collapse to the ground and pretend to be choking.

6. Jokingly tell people on the street, "Gee, I hope it doesn't rain!"

7. Sneak into Mexico and behead a few gringos.

8. Tell everybody how much you loved "Friday Night Lights."

9. Leave your hotel room by rappelling down the building.

10. Sign Yu Darvish.

Who is pitching...? according to Abbott & Costello

Hey Abbott, who is pitching?

Yu.

Me? What the...? I can't pitch. I'm not warmed up. I'm not ready.

I'm well aware of that.

So then, who's pitching?

Yu.

Me?

No. Yu.

BUT I CAN'T PITCH! WE ALREADY DISCUSSED THAT! 

I know. That's why we're going with Yu.

But that doesn't make sense. WHY ME?

You mean, why Yu?

Yeah. Why me?

No, why Yu?

Why ...you... I'M GETTING MAD, ABBOTT! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! WHO IS PITCHING?

We're going with Yu.

OK, I'll get ready.

No, Kei is gone. Back home to Yu.