But perhaps uncharacteristically for a Bronx-hating, Boras-loathing idealist who believes baseball players are paid way too much—consequently, those who go after the big bucks should be shunned—I'm willing to go out on a limb.
I'm willing to extend open arms in a man-hug of forgiveness to "The Idiot."
Yes, folks, here is a Red Sox fan who wouldn't mind welcoming Johnny Damon back into the fold.
I realize in saying that there's not even a snowflake's chance in the Sahara that Damon rejoins the Sox any time soon.
And it's not all about the bad blood, either. He does—as everyone and their moms know—possess one of the weakest throwing arms in the game.
But I want to pose a question to those of you who still use "Damon" as a curse word.
Have you forgotten?
Have you forgotten the man who came in looking like Jesus, calling the team a bunch of idiots and generally lightening the mood that had been way too tense in Boston for decades?
The poster boy for the 2004 Red Sox, who reversed the curse?
The guy who hit a grand slam in the second inning of Game 7 of the 2004 ALCS, which crushed the Evil Empire?
Yeah, the traitor, the Benedict Arnold who looked like Jesus and acted like Judas.
But aren't we all traitors?
Haven't we all at some point professed—and honestly so—that we would act a certain way given a certain situation? Then that situation came, and we realized the other choice wasn't so bad—and might actually appear profitable?
I must say I was quite mad when The Idiot signed on with the Evil Empire.
But now he's out—spurned by the organization for which he spurned the most awesomest team in the ... Oh, give me a break!
Baseball is a business, and anyone who doesn't realize that is way too idealistic about a sport.
Sure, there's such a thing as loyalty, but admit it—how many of you Sox fans were hoping we signed Roy Halladay out of free agency? And how many of you have ever secretly wished that the Sox could steal the classy, solid Derek Jeter to shore up our perpetually-in-flux middle infield?
Damon is no more evil for signing with the Yankees than, well, than Babe Ruth was. All he did was lay a curse on us that lasted for decades. I doubt we'll be talking about the curse of Damon any time soon.
Besides, admit it, the reason you were so mad when he left was because you genuinely loved the guy.
And even if he's not penitent of his egregious sin against the nature of baseball and the spirit of Boston, can't you just open your arms and let the wayward sinner know that he's still loved—and if he ever had a change of heart, the door to our hearts would always be open?
Johnny, you idiot. Love ya, bro!
There. I said it.