Benedict Arnoldry not included

Red-Socked Prof: Who is that Helen up there? That's Alyssa Milano, not the springest chicken, but by far the most beautiful former diva presently designing fashions for Major League Baseball. She's an estimable person, entertaining the troops (whatever that means!), clothing the naked masses, and making this cheerleaderless sport that much sexier. Why is she the Whore of the Known World then? Because she's wearing a Yankees shmata, which she helped design. She insists (we find upon further research) that she is a "die-hard" Dodgers fan, but she is obviously not a real Dodger fan. 1941, 1947, 1949, 1952, 1953, 1956, 1977, 1978--no fucking Dodger fan would ever wear anything with that hellish brand on it. She is here to tempt you. You are here not to be tempted.

   Frank Sobotka, that Paris, was tempted, I'm sorry to tell you. All year long he surrendered his proud Red Sox nation, his personal integrity, his very balls to this painted enemy. It began with a seemingly harmless striptease by the name of Phil Hughes, a rookie and therefore not a chief offender, but by the time Frank was done, he'd given us the reach-around of Johnny Damon, the bloat necrophilia of Jason Giambi. I can't recall his other prostitutions.

   There exists an alternative tradition in Greek mythology, according to which the real Helen was spirited away in a cloud, and lived the duration of the Trojan War chastely in Egypt, a succubus in her place in Troy. And I like to think that somewhere (Egypt? Lubbock, TX?) there's a real Frank Sobotka/Slothrop, an inherently good and uncorruptible person, spirited away while this impostor--this catamite who pulls his skirt up and down for every passing Yankee--has sought the dissolution of a once-glorious fantasy baseball empire. I'd like to think that next year we will find him again, magically free from the stain of Yanking. But I fear--I fear--all that's left is the jezebel, the self-slandering whore.