Nothing Left To Do But Smile, Smile, Smile

Hey there Fackers. Well, this might be the most expensive post I've ever authored here. As I mentioned last week, I've been in Chicago since Saturday. Since my swanky hotel charges $15 a day for internet and I've been trying to keep expenses down, I've been off line since writing the Game Three recap (thanks for carrying the weight Jay - great job this week). But in the euphoria of winning tonight I decided the company can spare an extra $15 and get me online - it's cheaper than having to pay for a superstitious flight reschedule and extra hotel night had the Yankees lost tonight.

I want to share a quick story that bends a bit from the logical, rational type of thing we've tried to do all season long. As I mentioned last week, the Yankees have never won the World Series with me being at home. In the story I told earlier this year, the first time the Yankees won the World Series in my lifetime, 16 year old Matt was on a field trip to Washington, D.C., being held hostage at some lame ass dance in Washington, D.C. After courageously escaping several times to watch Game Six over the course of the night, the chaperones finally held me hostage where I was supposed to be. With no hope of escaping, I was left to find out that the Yankees won the World Series when the DJ cut in to Billy Idol's "Mony Mony" to make the announcement.

Flash forward 13+ years to tonight. Instead of a high school leadership conference dance I'm trapped in a sales meeting when the first pitch is thrown. As I anxiously await for it to end, I follow the first two innings on my phone with GameCast. As the meeting wraps and I begin walking to the hotel bar, I get notification of Hideki Matsui's home run. By the time I settle in with a few Fat Tire Ales, the Yankees are up 4-1. As Robinson Cano stepped into the box to lead off the bottom of the fourth, a familiar tune came on as the bar music. Billy Idol's "Mony Mony". The same song from 13 years earlier. No joke.

I'm not a superstitious man, but I do believe that sometimes life taps you on the shoulder as it tries to get your attention. At that point the cautious optimism I had as I finally got watch Game Five starting with the top of the ninth, the same optimism I've felt the past two days knowing my favorite and most-trusted starting pitcher from my years as a fan was taking the mound tonight, turned to a cool confidence. Stupid, I know. The very idea of which is something I'll surely scoff at in the years to come. But at that moment, short of the Almighty Himself offering me a glimpse to the future, I don't think there's anything that could have assured me of the future more than that.

I suppose it's only appropriate that after combining music and Yankee baseball here all season long that the final night of the longest baseball season ever would end with a bit of throwaway music enveloping me in a sense of assurance. I'm not sure what more to say at this point. I just have a dumb smile across my face that won't seem to go away, and for lack of the YES Network out here in the Windy City, I'm stuck watching ESPN over and over again.

Thank you to Jay for extending the offer to me to join this little party back in May. Thanks to all our blogofriends all across the internets for all the links and the help in growing our readership here. Most of all, thanks to all of you Fackers for reading and commenting and giving us a reason to keep doing this day after day. If it weren't for you, there wouldn't be much point to this. Thank you, and we promise to do what we can to keep stoking the hot stove until we can utter the second sweetest sentence I know: "Pitchers and catchers report".

I can't hope to top Jay's choice of Old Blue Eyes as the final out was recorded. I suppose I could go with Billy Idol given my above stories, but that wouldn't quite fit our tastes here. Instead, me and my goofy smile will once again turn to the band that I leaned on so many times over the course of the year. As we all say the sweetest sentence I know - "Yankees win the World Series", and the team dog piles in the clubhouse, and the nine year World Series "drought" is gone - there's nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile. See you at the parade Fackers.