A Warning to Death and Taxes

("Nicknames on Yankees' Backs? What Would the Bambino Think?")

Death, taxes and no names on Yankee jerseys. Strike one (literally).

Yes, baseball could use some percolating, as sometimes it seems as out of place as a belt salesman at a nudist convention. The pace of the game often seeming neanderthal, a Volkswagen in a 21st century sports world of Porsche.

Bill Veeck brought us the midget batsman, Charley Finley allowed hideous uniform choices to emerge. Yes there were those who tried to bring color to a television set that was black and white.

But this, is this not a bridge too far? Is there no bastion that is sacrosanct, no refuge remaining?

What would the Bambino have scrawled across his back had he been given freedom of expression? Images of a hot dog, a beer and a cigar? 

No, there are some traditions that are greater than the moment, that can't be allowed to die. That are immortal. And if this one is not, then what else we consider immutable is anything but? 

 A warning to death and taxes. Be afraid.