An Early Christmas in the Bronx

Christmas came early this year in New York. For the good little girls and boys who love a Bronx tale, Santa filled our stockings with Cole. And it made us smile.

Forget the 12 days of escalating gifts from our true love, one big one from the son of the Boss more than sufficed. We don't require five golden rings, for soon enough we will have our 28th. We just saw the ghost of Christmas future and he was watching the ticker tape parade down Broadway. And it made us smile.

Come Gerrit, Luis and Masahiro too. Add a few more reindeer like J.A., Domingo and, for good measure, Deivi. Rudolph can stay home this Christmas. No emergency backup needed.

This is the 2020 version of Star Wars and the Evil Empire is kicking butt.

With an everyday lineup that makes Murderer's Row seem more like they committed simple assault and battery and a relief corps that can put out the worst conflagration with a rising four seamer, a nasty slider, or a sinker that disappears faster than a hamburger in front of Donald Trump, our cup runneth over.

So what is $324 million among friends?

We have suffered far too long. A decade without lording over all others feels like an eternity. The world is beset with woes and the impeachment of the liar in chief is on full view, non-stop. We were in desperate need of the jolly old man with the funny red suit and the flowing white beard. And he didn't disappoint.

OK, we understand the games still have to be played. And anything can happen. But today there is but one truth. We are back.

Merry Christmas to all. Except the Red Sox (and maybe the Astros). And to all Yankee fans, a very good night.