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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.

The whitest Dugout u'know is after the jump.

On my Myspace page there is a picture of me posing with John Adams, the Cleveland Indians drum guy. The smile on my face will let you know how sincere my loyalties to the Indians are, and how excited I am every time I walk into Progressive Field to watch The Tribe play. Even on dollar dog day, when they substitute the normal hot dogs with these wretched, bile-soaked wieners that make your stomach feel like Sal Fasano's face. I also have mark photos with Ketchup, Mustard, and Onion.

That being said, the only transaction worth nothing from the Indians besides signing and releasing Casey Blake again for fun is the addition of Kerry Wood to the bullpen. Wood is getting $20.5 million for two years with an option for a third year.

It is in times like these when my professional loyalties must come before my recreational loyalties. Kerry Wood in an Indians uniform is still Kerry Wood, by God, and if we make it to that third year option without at least five surgeries I will consider it a glorious miracle.

This morning's Native American Dugout is after the jump.

Who are the Tampa Bay Rays? How did they surpass the Yankees and Red Sox this year? Are you able to appreciate the Wilco reference in the above title? How did they parlay the second-lowest payroll in baseball into a World Series berth?

I don't know as much about this team as I should, but I do know that they play old-style, hardscrabble, hard-nosed punch-fisted baseball. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that they live their lives as off-the-grid survivalists, utterly independent of societal trappings

Today's Dugout is after the jump.

Mike Hampton has lasted six consecutive starts without injuring himself.

Carl Pavano actually held a baseball and took a major-league mound last night.

Rocco motherhubbarding Baldelli hit a home run Friday night.

These are players we all wrote off; whose health circumstances were so odd and frustrating that they were laughingstocks first and players second. Their frequencies of calamity were so reliable, so consistent, that they became universal tenets. The sun rises, these guys sit on a couch, the sun sets. This is no longer true, and the Grand Wheel of the Universe has lost three of its spokes. It cannot continue to spin. The end is nigh. Tell your family you love them. Wake up early tomorrow and cook up some Eggs Benedict, like you always told yourself you would, because our mornings left are few.

Has the Lord God grown preoccupied with other matters? What is happening here? Today's Dugout is after the jump.

Next steps in the Tampa Bay Rays revolution:

1 - Change name to "The Tampa Bay Rays of St. Petersburg."

2 - Incorporate Ray Charles into logo.

3 - Fill the big touch tank with straight lines that begin at a certain point and extend forever in one direction.