Tonight's game was a cold beer after a jog.
A slice of pepperoni pizza when you're starving.
Having a catch with a nephew.
Watching Joba blow through the Rays was like watching your little brother walk the graduation podium (and yes, I mean you, Robbie-Boy). All the thoughts of innings and starts and pitch counts and blah blah blah--come on. Time to take the training wheels off. This kid is for real, and outside of Tim Lincecum (and even then it's a close call) I wouldn't trade him straight-up for any pitcher in baseball. Not Halladay. Not Beckett. Not Santana.
I understand the Yankees' wish to hoard their best home-grown prospect since Pettitte and Rivera both broke out in '95. (Ted Lilly had to make his bones elsewhere, which was probably best for all concerned.) And the Yankees have the luxury only a few teams--say, the Mets, Red Sox, Cubs, and Dodgers--have: they can pay market value for every one of their home-grown stars. But . . . come on. Turn him loose.