The Yankees make me cry
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Could there be anything more pitiful, uncomfortable, or just plain grotesque, than watching the Yankees stumble around against the Red Sox? The past few days have turned me into what could best be described as “a pathetic shell of a man.”
I considered the state of the Yankees for this week’s Bronx News Network Yankee column:
“All that glitters is not gold.” Shakespeare understood the folly of shiny-trinket obsession approximately 410 years ago, when he wrote The Merchant of Venice. The Boston Red Sox front office seems to understand that concept now. In fact, most of the baseball world gets it. The Yankees though, they might as well just be the Prince of Morocco, forever selecting the glittering gold casket.
I apologize for the melodrama. I also get this way after someone punches me in the stomach.