It’s so cold in the heart of the city. A miserable and wet day in New York has come to a kind of chilly equilibrium, as if the storm yesterday was intended to provide C.C. Sabathia with a dramatic introduction to a place the Yankees haven’t gone since the horrible fall of 2004. [Update: Well, unless it starts raining again in the, uh, top of the first.]
All that is gone: the soft bullpen, the unproductive superstar, the icy clubhouse. What’s left is hunger, and the persistently-Yankee-killing Angels.
Jay’s verse from “Put On” brings it back for us, because on the day I die I’ll have one last wish: put my Yankee hat on. The thread is open!