Hail Caesar

For the 27th time in their existence, the New York Yankees, baseball's version of the Roman Empire, were crowned the World Series Champion. Like the crowning of many Roman emperors, the championship will be celebrated in the streets of the homeland, with confetti replacing the blood of slaughtered chattel. And like the leaders of Rome, those who helped to build this Yankee empire come replete with stories of lavish spending, unchecked megalomania, scandalous personal indiscretions, and a list of enemies as long as the list of victories.

Just as Rome was not built in a day, the Yankee empire was one that could only be built through exorbitant spending and manipulation, but most of all, hard work and ruthless perseverance in the face of its enemies. Now the triumphant empire stands proud over its fallen enemies, holding trophies the of their conquest. Their enemies, not dressed in blood-stained armor like the soldiers of Carthage, Palmyra, and so many, but in dirt-smeared uniforms and battered cleats, are left to watch, in both awe and envy of their pinstriped conquerors.

As a member of one of those conquered nations, left battered and beaten by the conquering force, I am left alive and defeated, resentful of success won at the hands of my own dominion's failure. Even more painful than the defeat itself, though, is the thought that for the following days, I must be forced to live by the saying "when in Rome..." Thus, like the Roman gladiators, many of who were slaves from a defeated rival, I can only turn towards the Steinbrenners, Brian Cashman, and the Yankee players, and bitterly address them; "Hail Caesar, we who are about to die, salute you!"