Goodbye, Smilin' Eric and Good Luck, Smoltzie

Going to the Yankees is like pledging allegiance to the Nazis, the Cylons and the Sinister Six. Once you go there, I can't let you back in the good graces, no matter how many roast beef sandwiches or Leighton Meester photos you send me. So it is with great regret that I discovered Smilin' Eric Hinske had gone pinstripes on us. Although he was more famous for that bad-ass faceplant catch than anything he did with his bat while he was with the Sox, I dug Hinske, simply because he looked like the ultimate teammate. Always laughing, always bullshitting, always ready to pigpile for a walk-off or work the top step to cheer on the batter. Although 2007 was a happy time for all of us, Hinske looked like he had a rager for every waking second of every game, with that ear-to-ear grin perpetually plastered on his mug--at least when he wasn't sucking down post-clinching game brewskis and cigars. But now that he's in the Bronx, he might as well have been sucked into The Negative Zone for all I c...