GOOD GOD NO

And so it begins-- and so it ends. The historic rising from the one-year ashes of playoff drought will soon be over. It seems the New York Yankees have come through on the promise to have a stellar offseason and make good on the promise of prominence in their new stadium.

As much as it pains me to say it, the Yanks got Teixeira. I held out hope that he would drift elsewhere, like flotsam or jetsam, and beach along the shores of California. Perhaps, maybe even corral on the Mass Pike. No, though, 'twas not meant to be.

His effect will be immediate, swift and sharp upon the heels of the Yankees enemies. Now, the Rays and Sox will deal with a true contender, pitching be damned. I mean, seriously, with this lineup, who can doubt the veracity and credulity of this team? Who can berate the smug look on the Steinbrenners' faces? Who, now, can cast the first or even last stone? Jesus Christ is risen, and his name is Tex.

The worlds darkest forests or scariest streets can no longer claim the fear of the mortal man. Now , that distinction belongs to the Yankee clubhouse: polishing their bats in effort to tarnish pitchers' reputations, banish lowly teams from the destiny of New York sports, and replenish their need for the blood of the crown.

OH MIGHT YANKEES WHERE IS THY STAIN, THE IMPURE BL

oops. Who the fuck is Kanekoa Texeira?

Well, as you were.