Dear Boston Red Sox (and by that, I mean John Henry and the Fenway Sports Group):

When you finally came to your senses and fired He Who Must Not Be Named (but whose name rhymes with Shmalentine and dear god whoever thought that was a smart hiring decision?), some of us (and by that I mean most of us) were hopeful. We hoped, quietly, that you might throw a ticker tape parade to welcome Kevin Youkilis back from Certain Exile in Chicago because everyone knows that the only team with “Sox” in the name that Kevin Youkilis should be playing for is—well, you know.

And you know, maybe you’ve just been too distracted by your other sports teams, like the Liverpool Football Club. Maybe you were so busy Never Walking Alone that you missed the newsflash.

Just in case—just to make sure we’re all clear as to what, exactly, we’re talking about—let me spell it out for you: THE NEW YORK YANKEES ARE STEALING OUR THIRD BASEMAN.

And yes, yes, yes. We remember Nomar. We remember Pedro. We remember Lowe. We remember that Johnny Damon only made it into People magazine’s list of sexiest men alive when he played for the Red Sox, not after he went on to the Yankees (and the Tigers . . . and the Rays . . . and the Indians . . .). We remember that these things that seem so dreadful at the time sometimes have a way of sorting themselves out.

But we also remember 86 years. And we can’t help but remember Bobby Valen—erm, Shmobby Shmalentine.

And we remember how much we hate the Yankees.

And we remember how much Kevin Youkilis hates the Yankees (or have you forgotten about Joba Chamberlain?).

And frankly, John Henry, the whole idea of it makes my heart sink as much as watching a constant loop of YouTube clips of Bill Buckner’s Game 6 error.

And if that doesn’t convince you, then consider this: It’s Hanukkah. What better present to give on Hanukkah than deliverance from the Yankees? (Although I concede that the gift of deliverance from a plague might seem more thematically appropriate on Passover.)

So come on. Open up thy wallet and deliver us our Youk.

Irreverently yours, Robin