Hey Yankees...

All is right with the world: the self-righteous have dollar-billed their way to the top, the free-market is triumphant! And we the poor are even more rich in spirit. Like Dem Bums from Brooklyn for all those years, I awake with a tussled 'stache and a steely-eyed, non-stop believement (patent pending) that "we'll get 'em next year." I feel very, very sorry for Yankees fans the world over. It must be tough living in that characterless and sideburnless environment. Yankees fans can be analogized to two siblings, a boy and a girl, raised by a celebrated military man who employs his successful battlefield tactics to home life as well. The boy buys in completely, sure that discipline and tough love are what's best for him because you do not question your commanding officer. He will never rebel because he reaps the rewards of being second in line to this nuclear patriarchy. The tradition of Yankee Blue. He believes in birthrights and so does his sister, spoiled, gorgeous but not beautiful, obnoxious to the world yet celebrated by her clan, herpes then inbreeding. The Yankees are the baseball embodiment of that button-down plastic fantastic Madison Avenue scene, the military-industrial complex, 2.5 children, weedin' out commies as the one's who can't afford to buy a cap. To be clear, it's not really about the money. In baseball, the front office must do anything they can, within the rules, to win, and one way to do that is to throw money at the problem, but I do not begrudge them that. Their big money aquisitions did not beat us. It was homegrown Yankees Jeter, Rivera, and Pettite, that insufferable Johnny Damon, and somber Matsui who got the job done. And for my two cents it was Brad Lidge's blown ninth inning tie in Game 4 that was the crucial loss for the good guys. We were not clutch at the plate (save for CHOOCH) and so they beat us. Still, I wouldn't trade any one of our guys for one of theirs. We win as a team and now we lose as a team, our team, the team I love, that I can not wait to see at Spring Training. But I do love to chew on sour grapes and now I have that oppurtunity. So, in the words of the immortal Tanner Boyle, "Hey Yankees... you can take your apology and your trophy and shove 'em straight up your ass!"