Where's the Erotica?

I am a New York Yankee fan. Through blown saves, choked series, hired guns, and motivational coaches, they are my team. Laugh, poke fun, and hate me all you wish, but no one can convince me otherwise. I love the New York Yankees, absolutely and without equivocation. But loving them means that, at times, I must question. At times, I must criticize. And then there are times like these.

As all the world is aware, the Yanks are off to their worst start since 1991 [I remember 1991. I was a 9 year old with a mini-Mattingly jersey, pigtails, and new front teeth... the only time I knew something was wrong with the Bombers was when my father ranted at dinner (or wherever else), citing that we were dead last and dysfunctional and calling whatever manager that had floated through the turnstyle that week, a bum. In '91, it was Stump Merrill ... he was actually a "fucking bum," at least, until my mom heard overheard the comment and slapped my father in the back of his shaved head. He tried not to whine about it but the smack still echoes in my mind. Seeing his pain, I tried to support him by saying, "He IS a bum, daddy" but it didn't seem to help the situation. His eyes glistened and he gave me an endearing look... that red handprint was on his head for two days. Oddly, I've never heard my dad say "fucking" since. In any case, Mr. Merrill was clearly a downgrade from "goddamn bum," Bucky Dent... We'd not yet had the pleasure of upgrading to mere bum, Buck Showalter. But I digress.] and Sunday, we had our asses handed to us yet again. This time by Tejada and the Orioles... a squad that I was sure had been shamed out of existence after Palmeiro started schwinging for the fences. After the game, the Big Stein got vocal (read with Larry David/Seinfeld voice):

"Enough is enough. I am bitterly disappointed as I'm sure all Yankee fans are by the lack of performance by our team...It is unbelievable to me that the highest-paid team in baseball would start the season in such a deep funk. They are not playing like true Yankees."

This is a big shot in the dark but could the reason be that they aren't true Yankees? I've been watching New York all my life and I still don't know what makes a true one. [Go with me on this. I'm about to reach... far.] It's like Justice Stewart's attempt to differentiate porn from erotica.. I know it when I see it. Pornography inspires lust... raging lust that leads us to engage in various activities with partners or simply ourselves (oh shutup, you know you do!). Its the movies that play in our heads, the things we wish we could do. Whereas erotica, sexually explicit though it may be, isn't that way; it's the examination of what we actually do, for better or worse. It has merit beyond its ability to arouse. It is sex in its full breadth and depth, an ongoing discussion of who we are in bed. Apples and oranges, I guess. It's not like you can really compare them... bad porn is as horrible as an undercooked slider from White castle. But erotica is always choice, crafted with skill and care.

I'm sure I've lost some of you by now. Those that have hung on, thank you :) You can see where I'm going with this. Porn is the Yankees since 2002, a gang of overpaid hookers bought by the General after Arizona Diamondbacks made him lose his mind. Sexy and pricey, they became Yankees for two reasons alone: so no one else could have them or because no one could afford to pay them. Kevin Brown is a nasty personality and a psych job to boot. Jason Giambi is a $17M albatross that fields like my 4-year old nephew. Alex Rodriguez has been solid and put up with the madness of being moved to 3rd base. I give him credit for that. But he isn't a leader like Jeter is and he isn't a gamer like O'Neill once was. His defining moment in Yankee lore (or perhaps Sox lore) is a rather effeminate slap play on a pitcher with an identity crisis. He is symbolic of a failed $205M experiment, nothing more.

But the Yankees of the 90s... They were full of class, clutch performances, and the idea that you play for the pinstripes and not the number on your back. They played with guts, bravery, and determination. They were boys of summer that commanded respect and gave everything they had on countless epic nights. That was erotica. Jeter, Posada, Williams, and Rivera, players groomed in a once solid farm system, are what little we have left and the latter two are fading fast. Sure, we have Tino, Mike Stanton, and Ruben Sierra again but too little, too late. We're a porn squad and George Steinbrenner has made us this way.

Maybe all of this madness will be a wakeup call for Steinbrenner. Maybe we'll go back to developing talent in our farm system rather than shopping out our best prospects for mercenaries with a 2 year shelf life. Maybe we'll go back to erotica. Or maybe I'll have the wakeup call and stop being so bloody idealistic.