On Wednesday night, the official Major League Baseball team of GFY HQ, the Los Angeles Dodgers — a team which had a year I can only describe as insanely injury ridden; one of our pitchers, for just one example, was about to make his return from Tommy John surgery when he ate a chip wrong and tore his esophagus — beat a defensively beleaguered New York Yankees squad to take home the World Series title, four games to one! (Or, as they call it, a Gentleman’s Sweep.) Just as I did the last time we won — in the middle of a pandemic, also few days before a critical election — I burst into tears, despite the oft-repeated fact that there is no crying in baseball. Other than crying, there is no better way to celebrate a victory than looking at photos of ecstatic men hugging in tight pants. (With apologies to Aaron Judge, whom you cannot dislike… unless you’re a Red Sox fan, I guess?)
