Once upon a time the New York Yankees were in need of a manager. They thought Buck would come back to their ass castle for an insane amount of money just like every other douchebag they buy a set of pinstripes for. Little did they know they were dealing with a man of integrity and hard work, the cornerstones of any successful franchise. They wanted more of the same, Buck was hoping for a challenge. Enter the Woerioles, Major League Baseball's retarded, red-headed, pimple/freckle-faced fat kid in the cellar. After failing to reach the 70-win plateau a season ago and 15 years below .500, the bad birds of Baltimore are bound for the Bronx in a series tied at a game a piece. Showalter has yet to flinch. This improbable turn of events is probably exactly what he envisioned in his big beautiful brain. Let me get some magic, hon.
