Where’d They Go? Where Are All Those Golden Years?

So someone comes up to me in the office today and asks, “Are you praying for the Yankees to beat the Indians so we can play them in the ALCS?”

After I gutpunched the guy and left him trembling in a pool of stale coffee and broken donuts, I thought about his query. And I came to the conclusion that, honestly, I don’t give a damn if we play the Yankees, the Indians, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Maroon 5, Conrad Bain and His Robots of Death or The Randy Quaid Clone Army. I just want to win the World Series.

Yankees vs. Red Sox? Yes, it’s good, wholesome, Neilsen-friendly entertainment, which MLB and FOX could no doubt market to the hilt. And I wouldn’t mind seeing Youk belt a grannie off that bloated Joba fellow. But I just want to see us beat whomever we play next and advance to the World Series. We made our grand statement against the Yanks in 2004, pulling off the single greatest comeback in ALCS history. We proved we weren’t afraid of ghosts, didn’t have to kneel at the altar of the Brain of Torre, didn’t have to run cowering everytime Jeets took bat and hand and advanced to the plate. We shocked the world, as El Bencho noted at the time, and left the Yankees staggering out the side door, wondering how in the f@#k we’d wrested the title from their pudgy digits.

Tonight, the Yankees could be eliminated from postseason play. Or they might not be. Either way, I just want our boys to be clean and hungry and ready for whomever heads to Fenway Friday night.