I was watching the Pinstripes play the 1961 Halo’s last night (love those Angel’s throwback jerseys, even if the number font was stolen from the ‘Sox) and noticed something interesting. The ‘Bombers were down, but obviously hangin’ in, the bench was lively, except for one part way down on the end. Two guys were sitting there, separate, talking to no one and each looking like they were on an island of their own. The Captain ‘Mister Yankee’ and Diva Posada. Two members of the Core, two pieces of the Dynasty.. each looking off into the void of what could be described as the end?
Now, having watched this team for years.. they beat us, we beat them and the War continues… the Fox love-fests.. ahem, broadcasts where Tim McCarver reminds us how totally and incredibly friggin’ awesome the Yankees are.. the smiling faces and camaraderie…. seem gone in some way. Like the soul of the team is gone. Well, maybe not gone, but older and very unhappy.
Maybe he’d have been happier in different colors.