Johnny Damon, you are now dead to me. I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.

(Monty Python references aside, look, I understand how it must be hard to resist when they basically drive a dump truck full of money up to your door, but if you're gonna leave Boston for New York, couldn't you at least have gone to the Mets? I can respect the Mets. I even kinda like the Mets! But the Yankees? Dead, I say. Dead!)

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