Apparently, the Yankees GM is on vacation this week. The nerve. The unmitigated gall! Doesn’t he realize that he dumped delicate negotiations in the lap of Jean Afterman, his assistant GM, who just went ahead and signed Melky Cabrera for a million dollars more than he’s worth? Doesn’t he realize that a fan’s GM should never, ever go on vacation, the same way our doctors and dentists should never leave town?
What if there’s a baseball emergency? Like if Andy Pettitte changes his mind and wants to come back? Like if Posada has a setback in his rehab and we need another catcher? Like if the Jays suddenly and inexplicably decide to sell us Roy Halladay? Yes, I’m sure Cashman has a BlackBerry, but if he’s really, truly on vacation he’ll probably turn it off.
So where is he?
He could be renting a house in the Caribbean, having a second honeymoon with his wife, Mary.
He could be playing golf at a fabulous course here in California.
(I’m just assuming that’s a golf shirt. Why else would he wear it?)
He could be hanging out in Tampa with Hankenstein – sort of a pre-spring training vacation.
He could be skiing in Utah or Colorado.
He could be practicing his standup routine at some borscht belt place in the Catskills.
(“A shortstop walks into a bar and…..”
Or – and I know this is a stretch – he could be in Washington, D.C., hiding under this.
(The hat, not the person.)
Or maybe he’s simply holed up at home in Connecticut with the phones disconnected, spending quality time with his young children.
“Daddy, you gave all that money to CC, AJ and Tex,” says one of the kids as Cash is putting him to bed. “Are the Yankees rich?”
“We’re comfortable,” Cash answers. “Whenever we need something, it’s there for us.”
“Then there is a Santa Claus?”
Cashman pauses, wondering if he should tell the child the truth.
“No, son,” he decides. “There isn’t. He’s just a fairy tale.”
“But I saw him! I did! I did!”
“That’s enough now. I have to go check in with my office. They don’t know where I am.” Cashman tucks the boy under the covers and kisses him goodnight.
Little Cashman smiles as he drifts off to sleep. He knows there’s a Santa. He saw him the night he came over to the house. It wasn’t a fairy tale or a dream or any of that. It was a real Santa. A Yankee Santa. A Santa who promised to win a championship in 2009.