The latest entry in the long-running series in which Brian Cashman discusses the current state of the New York Yankees. With his headwarmer.
Cashman: Alright, Headwarmer, let’s go. I’ve got front row seats to Barenaked Ladies.
Headwarmer: Sounds good. While you’re at it, if you’re gonna live in 1998, why not re-sign Brosius and O’Neill. That’d be a sweet move.
Cashman: Enough of your sass. And may I remind you the venue is non-smoking. [grabs a lit cigarette from Headwarmer]
Headwarmer: Then it looks like you’ll be making a couple trips outside whenever there’s a lull in the show. Which I predict will come every f%#king waking moment of it.
Cashman: No way. One smoke break. Maybe two.
Headwarmer: The f$%k you say? Look, you owe me, pinhead. After those goddam comments about Burnett.
Cashman: Huh?
Headwarmer: [Opens newspaper] It’s all over the place. Standing up for that overpaid, tattooed freak.
Cashman: He’s a quality cog in the machine…
Headwarmer: And if that wasn’t bad enough, you drop a line like “smoke the objective pipe.” What the f#$k does that even mean?
Cashman: I was being eloquent. Writers are tired of the same old quotes.
Headwarmer: I don’t know what kinda tricks you learned in prep school, baldy. But unless you’re strung out on heroin in some shady Mexican warehouse where one guy has a gun to your head and another one’s holding a video camera, you don’t use the words “smoke” and “pipe” in the same sentence. Christ, I’ve had Theo Epstein’s baseball cap texting me, giving me shit for the past 48 hours. If I had hands, I’da tapped your nuts with a hammer by now.
Cashman: I don’t need this. Least of all from you, Headwarmer. We’re two years removed from a World Series victory.
Headwarmer: But here’s the thing, Turkey Tits: Aside from you and your Barenaked Ladies T-shirt, no one gives a damn about the past. It’s what you’ve done for us lately and lately, there are problems. A-Rod’s been reduced to self-parody. Jeets got his 3,000th hit and now looks more focused on his next perfume ad. SiSi’s been lit up his last couple times out. Burnett’s an adult version of that kid from grade school who ate crayons and hair and showed up without pants every other day.
Cashman: We’re a half game out of first. Second best record in the league. Gaining momentum for September. The Sox just dropped a series to one of baseball’s biggest jokes, they lost Buchholz for the season, Crawford’s a bust and Gonzalez is a week or two away from admitting he’s got a bum shoulder and won’t be hitting anymore home runs this year. It’s a glorious time to be a Yankees fan!
Headwarmer: I’m not feeling the love. If George was still with us, he’d be gluing one of your hands to the phone and the other to the waiver wire and lobbing hot coals at your worthless sack until we were 10 games up in the division.
Cashman: Don’t question the method. You might think I’m crazy, but I’m not.
Headwarmer: Said the man wearing a headwarmer to a concert in August. And don’t you have a pipe to smoke, Brainiac?
Cashman: You’re made of hell, Headwarmer. Pure unadulterated hell.
Headwarmer: Nah, I’m made of 100% synthetic material. Just like your World Series aspirations.
