The Yankees - R.I.P.

Ever since Reggie hit those three home runs on my 13th birthday I've felt that the Yankees win for me. This year, they are reveling in the love of kicking my ass when I'm down. For the first time since 1994, I'm writing their obituary with over a month left in the season, and since I've answered the question a million times in the last couple of weeks - I'll answer it with a post - I'm going to be all right!

First off, despite the big money and the flair for the dramatic - it isn't the end of the world if they miss the playoffs. The World Series is an unbelievable goal each year and me and the boys can't expect that everything will always work out. It's difficult to temper expectations and one of life's best lessons is that sometimes your best moves don't pay.

Not that it isn't difficult these days - through the years the excitement of the Yankees has been at the forefront of our every day lives in the summer. My brothers and I grew up watching the Yanks when they weren't very good - we always had Billy Martin around for comic relief and Don Mattingly around as a true testament to all that was right with the game.

Then Torre, Jeter, Tino, Bernie and O'Neill won for us - 4 times in 5 years - and the expectations went completely out of whack. They were now supposed to win every year. Yet life doesn't work that way. Money doesn't buy happiness - of course don't give me the $ is the only reason they won argument - what team doesn't throw money at their quest for glory? (Oh yeah, the Bills and Sabres).

Anyway a funny thing happened to me to temper my love for the Yankees. On the morning of Jake's life-saving operation the Yankees lost the World Series to a crap team in the bottom of the 9th on a broken bat pop-up that barely made the outfield grass. Big deal.

Yet what was funny was that as we were celebrating Jake's success friends and family were consoling me about the Yankee loss. I couldn't have cared less that Curt Schilling and Randy Johnson (2 real idiots) won. On that day I learned that life was bigger than the Yankees.

There - I said it - life is bigger than the Yankees.

So if you see me in the next couple of months, kiss my Jeter ring, bow to my Yankee hardhat, ball cap, t-shirt, signed Mattingly jersey, my dog Melky, and my homage to the Yankee tradition. Just don't mention Manny or Ortiz, or the freaking Florida Marlins, of the Arizona Diamonbacks, or any of the a-holes that might be playing come October. I'll be soaking my head and waiting for the free agent signing period when Uncle George and Cousin Hank reload for another run at glory.

Seriously, it'll be just fine.