In what amounts to pretty much the only interesting sports story of the day, Joe Torre has taken it upon himself to write a tell-all book dismissing his former ballclub like so much prostate cancer.
In the book, Joe reveals that Alex Rodriguez is a weird creep, Brian Cashman isn't 100 percent on the level, and George Steinbrenner cares more about the "Yankees" than he does about the people who make up the Yankees. The title of the book, if you're interested in reading it, is Things We Already Knew*.
As former President Andrew Johnson reported earlier this week, the New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox are not, in fact, the same team. I've never thought of them as an autonomous unit, but rather a set of bookends. Between them lies history, science, geography.. all of the important stuff, everything you need to know. Everything outside of them is just crap on your shelves.
As Andrew pointed out, the teams are run very differently. The Yankees have unzipped their, uh, coin purse and put their dense, cylindrical wrapped coins on the table, scooping up the available big names in a grand fashion that leaves nothing but a cloud of smoke and gold-laced footprints in the faces of the competition.
The Sox have responded by holding up a picture of Dustin Pedroia and trying to find every free agent who looks remotely like him. It's been a running gag in our strip for a while now, but the Red Sox need to sign Delmon and Dmitri Young to keep me from going snowblind next season.
What a game. My good friend/Dugout associate Mike was in attendance and had the time of his life, a life which included Massachusetts native and former WWE champion John Cena there in Rays gear. LeBron James was also in attendance, wearing a Yankees hat, a Patriots jersey, and San Antonio Spurs shorts. And a hockey thing.
To help his cause, the aforementioned Mike has designed new Dugout playoff shirts that are available to purchase from our foreign warehouses at Spreadshirt! Support your favorite player or team (or hackneyed photo-comic comedy blogger) by buying one or more in any of our new styles.
For further information about the ALCS and "The Dugout," please click below.
The season is almost over, and we're finishing up with the Yankees and the Red Sox. And hey: I'm glad to be rid of at least one of them.
So begins our annual switchover to playoff-themed Dugouts. Or, if you want to be specific, "How Hard Is It To Do Four Dugouts A Week About The Angels."
Tonight's Dugout (chock full of new and seldomly used screen names) is after the jump.
When the Mets fired Willie Randolph, they also fired something much more important: first base coach Tom Nieto. A week and a half ago Jon authored Remember Tom Nieto, a pulitzer prize-quality Dugout about his exit from the big city and the ridiculousness of firing a guy when his last name is "Nieto." I'm with Jon, I wouldn't fire a guy named "Nieto" if he were in my employ, be he my stock broker, gynecologist, or street sweeper.
But to really remember Tom Nieto we have to explore who Tom Nieto is, so today, with the help of instant messenger logs from the mid-eighties and a heapin' helpin' of CGI, we explore a flashpoint in Tom Nieto's storied career: the day, the one and only single day he shared on the Montreal Expos with Terry Francona.
Ever since we heard about Manny Ramirez's scuffle with Kevin Youkilis last night, we at The Dugout have been feverishly working to devise a series of circumstances that could have possibly led to our beloved man-child getting in the face of a teammate.
Manny is surely among the most popular Dugout characters. Let it be known that whenever an unflattering story surfaces about him, we will bend the facts to our wishes and make up the rest. Manny chucked a Molotov cocktail into a bus full of nuns, you say? What you fail to realize is that he caught a "fire bug" in a bottle and was giving it to them as a present.
This week, God decided to pull off the most illogical series of events since the time he put Fabio on a roller coaster in Virginia and had him be the only person on the ride to get hit in the face by a bird. In case you haven't heard, the Orioles won two games!
I'm just kidding (Go O's!). At Fenway Park, a 13 year old girl named Alexa Rodriguez was attacked by a hawk. It's really her fault, though, because the hawk clearly asked for her to "put it on the boaaaaard, e-yes!" Or perhaps she was holding a can of corn. Whatever happened, it was weird, and just another one of those times when the fates lean down from mythology to whisper, "here you go" to The Dugout.
Find out where the hawk came from (and why it attacked) after the jump.
Living in Cleveland gets tough this time of year, especially if you work in food service. On the floor you've got customers asking you what's happening and what the score is, because I guess a mound of lasagna was too important an item to consume to watch the game themselves. In the back you've got cooks and bussers complaining about the game being on the radio because "baseball boring" and responding to every query of "what's the score" with "who, the browns." But everyone cheers when Borowski gets that final out, and in the middle of your commute home cars start honking wildly and swerving.
Cleveland, you'd better win these games. Fans in Colorado are eating fun-sized candy bars off the floor for nourishment instead of leaving their homes, for fear of spoiling the rally.
Also, the full credit for that Hideki Okajima picture to the right is really just "Elsa," so I guess a super-intelligent farming cow works for Getty Images.
In what amounts to pretty much the only interesting sports story of the day, Joe Torre has taken it upon himself to write a tell-all book dismissing his former ballclub like so much prostate cancer. 
As former President 
What a game. My good friend/Dugout associate 
When the 
Ever since we heard about 
WHEE
Living in Cleveland gets tough this time of year, especially if you work in food service. On the floor you've got customers asking you what's happening and what the score is, because I guess a mound of lasagna was too important an item to consume to watch the game themselves. In the back you've got cooks and bussers complaining about the game being on the radio because "baseball boring" and responding to every query of "what's the score" with "who, the browns." But everyone cheers when Borowski gets that final out, and in the middle of your commute home cars start honking wildly and swerving. 
