And so begins a long winter of discontent. While not as gut wrenching as last year's implosion in slow motion, it's every bit as disappointing. In a season where so many unsung journeymen became household names because of their surprising and gritty efforts, to go out this way in California just feels so empty. The winds of uncertainty is sure to blow more than a few familiar faces out of the Bronx. Did Bernie Williams really play his last game in front of the Yankee faithful? Joe Torre isn't quite the steady bet anymore in his tenure. Has his grace period met its end? Mel Stottlemyre could be eying a scenery change over in Seattle. Brian Cashman's contract expires (almost appropriately enough) on Oct. 31. Who's going? Who's staying? The reshuffling of power players eerily mirror question marks of the next roster unveiling on Opening Day '06.

As enemies of all things pinstripes rejoice, I have no choice but to find solace in multiple bottles of Absolut to numb the sting after leaving a dent in my flat screen from hurling my fuzzy slippers in frustration. At the end of the day, yes it's still just a game. But for the casual fan, it's hard to fully understand what it's like to ride and die with one team. Hurts like a motherfucker. The countdown to hope budding eternal at Legends Field begins now.

Labels: baseball, New York Yankees, playoffs