Happy Yankees Elimination Day!


SoSH Member
Jun 4, 2011
In 2018 it was “We want Boston.” and this year it was “We want Houston.” Maybe these folks should stop talking for their own sake.


SoSH Member
Jan 27, 2006
I want to publicly thank Vaz and the Astros for making me blissfully and almost uncontrollably happy

Mueller's Twin Grannies

critical thinker
SoSH Member
Dec 19, 2009
Severino always looks mad.
Severino had worked as a stevedore for going on 15 years when he fell and broke his back in '98. Thank god for the union, he was fond of saying, or I'd be out on my ass right now. He sat out for a long two years, laid up, getting heavier and more depressed.

He finally got back to work in late 2000, resigned to working in the office job they'd set aside for him and hobbling around the docks from time to time, supervising. Like some kind of fuckin gimp, he'd mutter to himself and shake his head in frustration, wiping sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his overcoat. He felt like he'd let himself go but couldn't work up any motivation to do much besides lay down with a beer and watch the tube after work. He and his wife, Anne, were both deeply unhappy, but he didn't have any idea what to do.

In October of 2001, just after life seemed to be getting back to normal in America, Anne told him she was leaving him. Life's just too short, she said. He couldn't blame her one bit.

Sevy spent a lot of the next decade staring into the middle distance at work and watching TV with the lights off at home. Before he knew it, he was in his 50s.

In 2009, he rekindled his dormant and deep-seeded love for the Yankees. He followed the whole season, from Spring Training to the glorious World Series win. Baseball brought him back from the brink, gave him hope. From 2009 forward, Sevy spent a lot of time attending games in the Bronx. But he was always self-conscious, always uncomfortable. He always kept to himself.

So on that day in 2011, when Robinson Cano hit a home run into the seat just in front of him, he stood up in disbelief. Nelson Cruz was on the field and throwing a tantrum. As Cruz locked eyes with him for a split second, Sevy felt something come loose inside him.

"FUCK YOU," Sevy hollered. "FUCK YOU. FUUUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU." The phrase tumbled out of him, again and again, into the chilly night air. Sevy released the last 10-plus years of pain and uselessness and self-hatred. "FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUUUUCK YOU." He couldn't stop. The words were setting him free.

When Sevy finally sat down, he felt lighter. The game rushed by in front of him and it hardly registered when the Yanks lost at the end. As Sevy trudged back to the subway, he still felt that lightness. He ran the moment over and over again in his head, just as he had been doing for hours.

FUCK YOU, broken back. FUCK YOU, depression. FUCK YOU, self-doubt. FUCK YOU, self-pity. FUUUUCK YOU, loneliness.

The doors to the subway closed behind him. Sevy smiled.


SoSH Member
Dec 11, 2008
Hooray, it's time for all the "The only time a team has come back down 3-0 in the ALCS" segments