Maybe Not So Much?

* Also -- "Newbury Street's Frozen Yogurt Wars"? Ha ha ha ha ha. Good city. Good newspaper.

** Also -- congratulations to the 2011 A.L. Eastern Division Champion New York Yankees. I've said it before, and I hope to say it again, but this never gets old.

Oh, Joe.

Joe Girardi, haven't you ever seen a horror movie? When you have the terrible, mutilated creature on the ground, you fucking step on its throat. Then you chop its head off. Then you throw the head into a vat of hydrochloric acid. Then you pour the vat of acid into the East River. That's what you do.

Look, I know that technically the Yankees had nothing to play for last night. They've clinched the division, they've clinched home field, there's nothing more to clinch. Girardi didn't want anyone to get hurt. I get it.

But he and the Yankees had a chance to absolutely bury the Red Sox and they didn't do it. Something tells me that decision is going to come back to haunt them. Leave aside the rivalry and the recent history between the teams. Forget about it. What matters is this: the Red Sox are probably still the best team in the American League. Do you want the Yankees to face them in the ALCS?

Yes, they're in an awful slide. But they started out the season 2-10 and then caught fire. In a short series, Jon Lester and Josh Beckett are better than any duo the Yankees can come up with. Boston's lineup is at least the Yankees' equal, and their closer has been unimpeachable. Despite everything, I still think that if they get in the playoffs, they're the most likely A.L. World Series representative.

And not only did Girardi's unwillingness to go for the kill give Boston a one-game lead, it gave them momentum and a hook to hang their "team of destiny" underdog bullshit story on.

Austin Romine with the game on the line? With ARod and Jeter on the bench? Scott Proctor to lose it, again? (Please, won't someone put poor star-crossed Scott out of his misery?) The Yankees are 4-11 in extra-innings games this year. Normally, I'd write that off as a small-sample-sized fluke -- but not having seen Girardi's decision-making process. He continually allows his best pitcher to sit in the bullpen, saving him for a lead that won't ever come. He uses pitchers and hitters who aren't the best he has available. In extra-inning games, Girardi becomes a liability to the team.

Now he's given Boston life. Let's hope he doesn't live to regret it.

The Return: A Short Story

September 1, 2011, Boston, MA

The car sped by the ballpark in a flash, barely pausing to open the rear passenger side door and toss the package out on the street.

The package landed with a bone-crushing thud on the pavement, a large mass covered in old quilts and tied with twine. The package began to shift and move on the ground.

The quilts were thrown aside and a cloaked, hooded figure emerged. The hunched, wretched creature shuffled toward the clubhouse door. Not recognizably human, it moved forward only with intense effort.

It entered the clubhouse unnoticed and paused in the middle of the room, its face and head completely swaddled. After several minutes, the trainer, Gene Monahan came upon the figure and asked what its business was. The creature grunted, almost inaudibly. Assuming it was a sick, homeless man who had wandered in off the street, Monahan asked assistant trainer Steve Donohue to fetch some warm soup. Monahan gently began to peel away layers of rags until finally the creature straightened and revealed its craggy face from under a mound of unwashed hair.

"My God!" gasped Monahan. A crowd quickly gathered around.

"Are you..." said someone.

"Is that..." said someone.

"Scott? Scott Proctor? Is that you?" said Monahan.

The creature cleared its throat and spoke. "I...I was called that once, yes. Scott. That is my name. Scott."