"It's great to be young and a Yankee."

Cheers, Boston. I was worried this series was going to be the official swan song of my cardiac health, but you bookended the season nicely. I love symmetry. On a more humane note, I will say that in Girardi's first season as the Yankees' manager, they missed the playoffs for the first time in ever (in ever, Jerry. In ever.)

And it was compounded by the fact it was our big last-year-in-the-stadium thing. Just like it was the Socks' 100th year at Fenway. So maybe don't lambaste that self-absorbed nincompoop who led the Socks into an abyss on which the Mets have had a strangehold.

And that is called "magnanimous in victory."

The Yankees are called "AL East Champions." Another descriptor for them is "Possessing best record in the AL." How that happened. I'm not sure. The Yankees made it happen just like the star feline of this creepy film. 13 times in 17 years. Good God.

The New York Yankees beat the Boston Red Socks (using whole names to make it official a la college diplomas) in a 14-2 rout that featured multi-bomb performances, filthy pitching, and unrelenting aggression. You know what it reminded me of?

The way the NY Giants played the Pats in 2008 on Dec 28. Regular season game. They've already secured playoff spot. But they didn't rest their starters. They didn't save anything for the swim back.


The Yanks had to play for a win. But they played for the jugular.


Infantry reserve into the center.
But, my lord, you've taken the field.
Now we'll take their spirits.


The Yanks weren't playing to embrarrass Boston. That was just a cute byproduct. They were playing to remind everyone (and maybe themselves) that a few weeks of sluggish sub-par playing wasn't going to define them. They're the Yankees, dammit.

They're go yard or go home. They're "New York, New York" and October and 2-out ralllies and classy comraderie.

The Red Socks took control of this game first, as much as the Red Socks can ever really control a game. A 1-0 lead, says my phone. Blech. I followed the last game of the season at a Lymphoma Research Foundation (LRF) charity auction.

Almost every speaker was a lymphoma or leukemia survivor, and every last one of them began his address with a Yankee score update. They beat cancer. Yankees beat Boston.

(Apparently there was a debate on, too, but I only like things with objetive, quantifiable measures. If the debates were determined by who could make the other debater clear his throat or repeat the question, then I'd be more into it. No, I really wouldn't. I think it's boring.)

Anyways, cheers to the LRF for an outstanding evening. And for supporting the demolition of the ultimate villian (cancer) and the demoralization of the also-ran one (Red Socks.) Thank you for all the work you do, you no doubt had a part in my dad's own lymphoma recovery.

So it was an interesting evening in baseball. Gonna be a hell of a postseason. And, you know, just plain hell. It's painful to be so tethered to something. But thankfully, tonight's win means it's only gonna get worse. That makes sense to baseball fans.

When Grandy hit his [first] longball of the game, I eased up a little. It took a little bit of getting used to, the fact that I didn't have to really scoreboard watch, since we've spent the last few weeks eying the O's the way I watch whatever I put in the office microwave, my nose pressed up against the glass as if to indicate to onlookers that there's no cause for concern, I'm not going to hold up the microwave usage by leaving unattended leftovers in there.

It became some psychotic game of Red Light Green Light 123, where we couldn't keep our eyes off them for a second without them sprinting towards us.

But...

So, we can review the game but the only innings I actually saw played live were the last 3. However, I did get to see one of the greater parts of the night, which was when the Orioles' loss was broadcasted to Yankee Stadium. And in the middle of Arod's at-bat, the Yankees starting celebrating their AL title.

Yesterday my mom said, "I know you don't want to hear this, but I almost feel sorry for the Red Socks."

Unabated contempt < genuine pity.

It's true. The Red Socks have been reduced to having even the most combative Yankee fans feeling mercy. In essence, Boston's galactic failure this year was SO EMPIRICAL AND CONSUMING that I can't even get any kick out of being obnoxious about it. I mean, when they collapsed against the Orioles last year, I was in hog heaven.

"Everything you know is wrong."