Yankeetorial: Pavano speaks, and maybe the Yankiverse should listen

To the Yankiverse.

Dear Madam or Sir,

Baseball is about timelines. Everyone knows how Abner Doubleday made the few seconds it takes a homerun to leave the field precisely match the duration of a male orgasm.

Also, the average length of a baseball career corresponds to the life of a dog. The great ones live 20 years and become cherished friends. Some get hit by cars. Now and then, one bites you and must be put down.

Friday, Carl Pavano said this:

"When you're down, you expect your organization to pick you up, not kick you when you're down. I've had to pick myself up quite a few times the last four years."

Throughout the Yankiverse, this prompted one basic reaction: Whinings from a pampered, self-righteous, lowlife millionaire scumtwat who can't look in the mirror without breaking a rib.

Well, maybe it's we who should look in that mirror.

First, no finger-pointing. Whatever anybody said about Pavano, there is surely worse in our cellar, next to the girlie magazines with Kei Igawa's face pasted on the centerfold. And the worst, of course, is the insufferably rancid sucking-up syncopathia practiced by some blogs. Only God knows how the cyber-blowjob ruins players and prospects.

In 2009, how about this resolution?

Be better pet owners.

If a prospect poops on the floor, don't beat it. Slap its behind with a rolled up newspaper! Then put it outside for a while. When it cries, let it back in.

Change its water daily. Don't let it drink out of the toilet!

Don't let it up on the couch. Scold it, but love it. Make it sleep on its rug.

When it learns tricks, give hugs -- and maybe a Liv-a-Snap. But don't go overboard.

And most importantly, help it when down. Seriously, folks. An injured paw is an injured paw. When your dog is limping, does it help to scream? Does it understand?

Were we good owners for Carl?