Why do we feel so rotten about this Johnny Damon business?

For weeks, I've been trying to ditch this Johnny Damon funk. I just can't. He appears in my dreams, shouting to me from the bottom of a well. He's crying. He's asking me why we pushed him into the abyss. I wake up screaming.

I truly like Brett Gardner. I like Curtis Granderson. I could grow to relike Nick Johnson. (But I hope Javier Vazquez' brain explodes, because the mere image of him in Pinstripes is revolting. HE should be at the bottom of that well.)

Yes, back in December, Johnny wanted too much money and too many years. We said fuck-off, and then pushed the trade buttons. Now he's down there, without a market, contemplating retirement, and Yankee blogs have the audacity to crow about how smart Brian Cashman is...

But conniving is actually the world.

All last season, we played lovie-dovie with Damon. We were going to resign him. That was the line. He gave us everything. Presence. Calmness. Hits. Stolen bases. Power. Clutch. Smarts.

Gone.

Moreover, in coming to the Yankees, he endured a ton of filthy crap heaped upon him by Redsock fans. They hated him with the blank, dull blackness of a billion Tim Green novels. Yeah, we paid him lots of money. But I'd like to believe we offer the loyalty that Boston doesn't. (See Wade Boggs, Carlton Fisk, Pedro Martinez, et al.)

We did dirt to a great Yankee. That's why, this winter, we may look good on paper, but we feel like we're looking up from the bottom of a well.