The sky is now red, the Earth is now cubed, fish walk upright on two legs and the French are victorious on the field of battle. Kevin Youkilis is now a New York Yankee. It’s sports, ye faint of heart, these things happen and happen often. The fans of the pinned and striped have little choice but to accept the soon-to-be-unbearded one as their own. To deny him is now treason. But after the shock and denial and anger and bargaining and acceptance, there remains one final essential question to be asked and then answered, one ultimate test that must be passed. The trial, the inquiry, is this: Is Kevin Youkilis too sweaty to be a New York Yankee?
It starts at the temples, pools and spreads across the forehead. Once volume meets critical mass, surface tension takes over, and the liquid begins to travel outward, onto the brim and then to the tip of the bill. The perspiration converges, multiplies, drips. Drips a lot. More so when present on a batting helmet, the wool absorbancy of the the on-field cap no longer an obstacle. This is the sweat of Youkilis, the excretion of a Red Sock, the sudor of a heathen. Greek God, pshaw! This is not the way of a gentleman Yankee.
Yankees are clean, pressed, presentable. They only exhibit unsightly grime when it is earned on the field of play, such as during a critical diving stop, or a collection of pine tar as to properly grip the baseball bat the way of a hitter professional. Sweat is not earned, for baseball is a static sport, it requires patience and intellect and quick bursts of athleticism at opportune times. Sweat is a weakness, a malady, and an unsightly one at that. The company mandate of clean shaven faces should help Youkilis, and it may be his only salvation. The removal of his tufted and moist secretion collector should allow for a more reasonable airflow about the face and neck, hopefully eliminating the stench of Bostonian sloth and smut from his person. It will have to do.
Will it be enough? Signs point to doubtful. If Youkilis is unable to combat and control his diaphoretic conniptions, his time in New York will not be pleasant or at all comfortable, either physiologically or physically, what with all the hatred and perspiration. Is Kevin Youkilis too sweaty to be a New York Yankee? Indeed he is. Will his countenance improve? Will he avoid the bleeding of pinstripes to solids, the dissolution of road grey to road black? For his sake, let’s hope so, for if he fails, they will not be not-booing, bellowing “Yooooouk,” they will be actually, booing. Booing the standard, traditional, normal way.