Yankee love.

I love the New York Yankees.

I love their tradition, their dominance, their steely poise, their nameless jerseys.

Their ability to take what's given to them and capitalize.

I love the preeminent stage that the Yankees are on and my good fortune that, on a handful of nights each year, I get to take in the full experience of watching greatness play out on that very stage.

I love the New York Yankees because, let's face it, They are Baseball. We're all just facilitators – enablers! – in their quest to add to their incomparable, indomitable, well-deserved legacy. Baseball, hot dogs, Yankee pie, and Yankee Yankee-ness.

Forget suggesting that the Yankees occupy a prominent place in the fabric of Americana. Americana has to take a number to get a sitdown with the Yankees.

I love the humanity that the Yankees consistently exhibit by allowing 29 other teams to play their game. I love their pitching, their hitting, their defense, their baserunning, and their compassion.

Did I mention their ability to take what's given to them and capitalize?

Love and kisses,
Gary Cederstrom


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