"It is played everywhere. In parks and playgrounds and prison yards. In back alleys and farmers' fields. By small children and old men. Raw amateurs and millionaire professionals. It is a leisurely game that demands blinding speed. The only game in which the defense has the ball. It follows the seasons, beginning each year with the fond expectancy of springtime, and ending with the hard facts of autumn. It is a haunted game, in which every player is measured against the ghosts of all who have gone before. Most of all, it is about time and timelessness. Speed and grace. Failure and loss. Imperishable hope. And coming home." Ken Burns' documentary, Baseball.
As they say, hope springs eternal and in four months, thirty teams will lace em up again. They'll play through slumps, injuries, and those moments when the season seems to drag on, but they'll play, because this our game, and the feeling the Yankees' have right now is what we all hoped for, when we first put bat to ball. The Yankees are world champions.