The 2001 playoffs were really rough for me. Everybody had jumped on the yankee bandwagon as usual, but as a bonus, even some yankee-haters fell for: "Not rooting for the yanks means not rooting for America."

World Series time rolls around, and it's the fifth time out of the last six years that I had to peek through my fingers at the TV, praying to every deity I can invent that some team, any team, can beat these despicable yankees for once.

Game 4, yanks down two games to one, down two runs, down to their final out, when a little man named Kim gives up a game-tying homerun, sending fake yankee fans into delerium, and sending me to pray to the one god I was trying to avoid--the porcelain one.

Then, to cap off the evening, Kim gives up the game-winning HR in extra innings, tying the series.

The next night, Game 5, I was in a bar in some town in New York state, down near that Greenwich, CT area to watch my ex's band play. I knew the game was unavoidable, another night of "out-of-the-corner-of-my-eye" watching, at least until the D-Backs had the game in hand.

So this other band is playing, and we're all stuck there, because my ex's band didn't get paid til the end of the night. This other band was called Bad Jack. And no, it wasn't just a clever name. The singer was holding a flute. I said, "They are NOT going to play a Jethro Tull song." But, of course, they did. The singer also bragged, "You may know my brother, Dave Attell, from Insomniac."

Anyway, they're playing, the game is getting toward the late innings, and it actually looked like the D-backs would go up 3-2, going home to Arizona. I go right to the TV, amongst all these yankee fans, ready to celebrate. But with the game on the line, who do they bring in? The same friggin' guy. Kim. Same deal, up two, two outs in the ninth, and he does it a-freakin-gain. Tie game, and the yanks go on to win.

When he gave up that third two-out game-blowing homer in two nights, I stormed out of that bar and walked for what felt like miles off into the darkness, into some unknown scary neighborhood. But I had a half decade's worth of baseball rage to protect me from any hooligans.

When I finally walked back to the bar, I just waited in the car til my ex came out. I didn't wanna go back in that bar, partly because I didn't know what kind of damage I did to the door on my way out.

Kim.

So then the Red Sox traded Shea for him. The man I'd never forgive, even though his teammates bailed him out of the '01 series. But if it wasn't for him, there would have been a lot less near heart attacks.

I didn't understand it. This guy is known for blowing big games to the yanks. Repeatedly. And we're trading for him?

I never did forgive him. I gave him plenty of chances, but I just didn't see anything good coming from this guy. I can think of five Red Sox fan friends (3 internet, 2 real life), whose opinions I respect greatly, and who always were glad that we had this guy. But I just never saw it.

And it's a shame, too. Because when I played Little League, I too was a short, submarine-style pitcher from either Korea or Connecticut. I could relate. And I was happy to have diversity on the Red Sox. I rooted for him. And I did see him pitch fairly well in Pittsburgh in '03. But overall, I never felt good about him.

Fortunately, I don't have to worry about him anymore.

And MICHAEL MYERS is back. He should be watch those signs from JASON V. OR HE'S gonna be in trouble. And if Fred Sanchez was still here, he could join the FREDDY CREW. GERlinda is Chan's sister's name, by the way.

Sorry. I did that because no one can fire me.

Forecast for Sunday in the Bronx: Windy, rain mixed with snow. Highs in the upper 40s and lows in the low 40s.