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Home; Honking Post, Pics to Follow

First: Fuck Torre. The money drub should have meant nothing if he meant what he said about love. Write a book, give a couple of “motivational” speeches, and you would make more coin than you’d earn on any Yankee contract. You turned down more than twice what any MLB manager earns… fuck you, it was about the money. You wanted the money. There is no fucking thing like love in this arena when you turn down five million plus… you could make that much money having Filip Bondy ghosting a book while you sleep through the fifth inning.

Darth Boss George wanted you dead a year ago, and you knew it. It has been borrowed time since you couldn’t stop the ’04 Sox. Your extension contract was friggin’ insane, and, again, you knew it.

Yes, that week leaving you in the wind was a douchey deal, but you wanna know something? Billy Martin would have said “what did you expect? Steinbrenner plays nice?

“Buy the ticket; take the ride; the ride is called ‘gimme rings’. All else is shit.”

You took Buck/Stick’s team and won like crazy; you didn’t do shit beyond that squad’s breaking up. When Brosius and Paulie walked, you were seriously fucked. In association with Cashman, you helped chase Tino out of town to make room for that ridiculous douche RhoidBoy, and destroyed the pitching staff that won the first three rings.

The “Yoba Rules” were aimed right at you, because Mel was no longer around to stop you from burning arms out (see Quantrill; Gordon: Proctor). You sent Monahan and a can of bug spray to save the kid instead of pulling your team off the field, and then had him pitch two innings while your team had a motherfucking five run lead?

Fuck You, Uncle Joe.

Next: Go Sox; beat the Rox
(Hey? I am an AL guy, 24/7/365)

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