The Nation Mourns

By now everyone in Red Sox Nation has heard the word. Johnny Damon will not be patrolling center field for the old town team. Johnny served the nation with honor and played a huge part in winning the World Championship in 2004, and club management should be standing barefoot in the snow seeking the forgiveness of all of the citizens for permitting this travesty.

The nation can look back with pride and know that that the lads have accomplished goals barely dreamed of during the past century. We can be proud that the club is the only American League East team to win a world championship in this century, indeed in this millennium. Our hated rivals – and you know who they are – are basking in past and fast fading glory and in the joy of having stolen not only our great center fielder and lead off hitter but one of the leading intellectual lights of the Hub of the Universe. Best selling author Damon’s wondrous Transcendentalist book, Idiot: Beating “The Curse” and Enjoying the Game.

But all is not lost. Could Samson perform without his locks? It is reported that that Johnny will be introduced at a press conference later today, sans beard and hair. Can a proud `Dirt Bag’ find happiness in the perfectly pressed garb of a bourgeois uptight financial manager from Midtown? Never!

So it is unlikely that our poor lost son shorn of his hair will ever perform as well as he did in the Friendly Confines. To think that the poor boy will be required to shower before every road trip must be causing him great anxiety. How can he be expected to bat with that awful fact racking his lucre fevered brain?

I can’t imagine that the poor lost boy will ever find happiness in the Bronx. Showering, shaving, clean uniform, shiny helmet, and clean underwear every day; the thoughts of it must be giving him pause at this very moment. None the less, he signed the horrible paper.

And what else has he lost? Who’ll ever recognize him in New York? In Boston he was a real somebody. And his book, that’s the end of sales for that literary marvel; they say he was making ten thousand a year from that.

All that for George Steinbrenner’s cheap silver; I wish the hapless man well with the Evil Empire, and for just $52 million. Idiot!

Blog on!

Wild Bill