Hub fans bid kids adieu

Let's get one thing straight, Suzyn: You cannot predict baseball.

Nope. You simply can't. It's like when Burt Reynolds co-hosted on the Mike Douglass Show... anything could happen. Sally Fields might pop out unannounced, or Burt on a dare might fling off his shirt, prompting Mike to do the same. These poor millennials, they have nothing that compares to the daytime television of 1970. 

And that's baseball, Suzyn. Unpredictable. And on that note, I'm not predicting that Boston's 2019 season is over. Nope. The Redsocks could start drinking shots before each game, win 15 straight, bypass Oakland in a whoosh and vault back into the Wild Card mix.

But Suzyn, they're screwed...  

Last night, we got 'em. We got 'em good. We stuck it in. We turned the blade. We shut their big fat "Yankees suck!" pie-holes, and we sent them Ubering home thinking about Tom Brady and the start of pre-season hockey. They know the deal. They've watched their team die in slow motion, in time-lapse photography, over 140 sad and ugly games, and last night, we got 'em good.

While I have you, Suzyn, I'd like to say a few words about Mr. Edwin Elpidio Encarnacion.

Let's start by saying I was wrong: In the beginning, when the Yankees obtained the man The Master calls "Eddie," I lashed out crazily over the dissing of Clint Frazier, whom I felt was being undermined by a strange whisper campaign within the Yankee organization, because of an arrogance that - in many cases -  comes with the job. Enough of that. Frazier needs to learn how to run down fly balls, and sometimes, I wonder if he ever will. But Encarnacion has been a joy, with a calming influence on the teamd. 

He came to the Yankees with no illusions about playing time or his reputation. His nickname was "E5," though it's now "the Parrot." In fact, stuffed bird that his teammates purchased, and now brandish whenever he comes through, testifies to his standing within the clubhouse, not only as a player, but as a person. Earlier this week, he and Gary Sanchez visited the recovering David Ortiz, and the picture of Encarnacion and Big Papi was all that smug Redsock fans had to see to know that their time in the wheelhouse is coming to an end. If there is an heir apparent to Ortiz, it is the Parrot. And if to Pedro Martinez, it is Luis Severino. And if to Pedroia, it is Gleyber. (Or maybe Gardy. Or maybe LeMahieu.)  

Last night, the Parrot led the Yankees to the latest "biggest win of the season." I hereby nominate him for a Nobel Peace Prize. It's been 10 years, but at least today, the Yankees wake up with the true advantage in the rivalry. You can't predict baseball, Suzyn. But you can appreciate what has happened. Last night, we got 'em. We got 'em good.