The Death of Johnny Damon
By Judd
It's certainly a sad day in baseball. And although the sprinklers have yet to massage the radiant landscape of American's pastime, the hearts of those who believe in the loyalty of the game have been struck with a fast ball.
Two years ago, as the Boston Red Sox marched across the field after an 86-year drought, they finally felt the glory of what it was like to walk in Babe Ruths shoes. Among those players was a bright eyed neaderthal man whose burly beard and long silky hair comforted us and reminded us of a time when baseball was played not for fame and fortune but for the glory of being the best.
And in only two years, our dreams have been shattered, leaving us with a hollow feeling inside while questioning the integrity of those we once admired. And who may I say is the one responsible for casting the first stone. None other than Johnny Damon. The king of Fenway has taken off his crown and made his way towards the Bronx Bombers. A shocking trade from whom is now our biggest trader to date. Normar, we understand, Pedro, we never really cared, but Johnny, please oh please, not our Johnny Damon.
If it was Houston, we'd laugh. The Giants, that might be entertaining. Even the Nationals would have been acceptable. But not, under any circumstances would we ever have agreed to this. Not the Yankees. Anyone but the Yankees. We hate the Yankees. They stand for everything that is evil in sports squashing our backs and suffocating the life out of us. They are slowly killing baseball. They take, and they take, and they take. And when they're done taking. They take some more. Was Sheffield not enough? Did you not get your kicks from stealing Arizona's famed pitcher? Was turning a once respected Texan into a pretty boy whiner not a satisfying end to your repulsive dynasty?
I, as well as millions of baseball fans around the country, am shocked at the eagerness one player has to turn his back on a team and a city which showered him with support and love. This truly is baseball's darkest hour. The only thing that could totally destroy the game now is the loss of Chipper Jones. And as for our beloved Mister Damon, although you will live forever in our hearts as the man who saved the Red Sox, you have unfortunately died a slow and painful death as the man who signed a $52 million deal with the Devil. Rest in Peace lord Damon, for those of us who still bow to the Green Monster, your rule has come to a calamitous end.
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