YCS Super Sports Reporting Team Exclusive: Joe Torre's postgame speech

We write a lot of brilliant commentaries, pithy observations, and hilarious gags on this blog, and we're proud of them all. But what we pride ourselves most in at YCS is our hard, investigative reporting.

And tonight, we really pulled it off again, getting access to the Yankees locker room to bring you Joe Torre's postgame speech to his players. (Pretty amazing how we went from zero press credentials to covering one of the biggest sporting events in the world overnight, huh? Oh, and don't ask us why we didn't just record it and re-wrote it instead. It's just how we do things.)

Here's the exclusive transcript of his speech:

Well, boys. What can I say... This one's tough to take. I don't know if any of us can take much positive out of the way this season ended. We were built to win it all, and we didn't do that. It's as simple as that.

This is hard to say, but I just wanted to leave all with these last parting words before we get out of here: I hope you all die.

You guys really screwed me this time. Thanks. No, really. Thank you for getting me fired... Thanks a million... Thanks a hundred and ninety-six million.

My God. You can't give me one series. Not one damned series the last three years to save my ass? Now that batty old turtlenecked schmuck is gonna put me out on the street because after 97 years as a business man, he doesn't know the term "diminishing marginal returns."

Ok, I know; I know. The postseason takes luck. We've been through this talk. But you don't think just one time, for good ol' Joe, you could've actually made all that "winning when it counts" crap work? For me?

So fuck you.

Fuck you guys for getting pasted in game one. Fuck you guys for being dominated in game two. Fuck you guys for only scoring two runs off Paul fucking Byrd tonight! I mean... My God. It's Paul Byrd. Just look at him throw the damned ball. He looks like "Fat" Freddie Fitzsimmons out there. You guys remember "Fat" Freddie? Huh? No! Of course you don't! ...I don't! ...Because he pitched in the goddamned thirties!

Derek... You have got to be kidding me. Three times on base in four games? You know George already has Eckstein on the line, don't you? Where was the underhanded cut-off flip to the plate play this time? Hell, I'd have even taken one of those famous deep-in-hole backhanded stops that almost any major league shortstop can make but that people make a big fuss about when you do it. But you gave me nothing, Derek, and now you're dead to me.

Jorge... Hoo-ray on the career year! Best year of your life at 36! How about that? Round of applause, everyone! ...Quit clapping, dumbshit! I was being sarcastic! For the love of God, Jorge, where was that career year crap the last four games?

And Manishevitz--or whatever the hell your name is--when I say I have you in there for defense, that does not mean you are exempt from hitting the ball. I know you're usually terrible so I shouldn't be surprised, but I had you pegged as my "poor hitter who has an inexplicably awesome series." You were my Brosius. You were my Leyritz. And you did nothing.

And Kim Jong. Yeah, I'm talking to you, Waing. A big shibal nom to you. Three outs? That's all? Three outs? I mean, what happened? Too much math? Too much communism? Tell me something else your country does, so I can make fun of that too. Cram it!... Taiwan... I don't care where you're from. You couldn't give me-- wait... You speak English? Well good. Then I don't have to translate: Die, asshole.

Alex? Hell... mad as I am, even I can't rip you. You've been pissed on enough, and I already know they'll be saying that home run wasn't "clutch" enough or early enough or loud enough or some shit in the Post tomorrow, so you get a pass.

And lastly--Villone. Nah, don't worry. This has nothing to do with your pitching. What the hell am I gonna say about a third of a damned inning? Nah... It's your voice. It makes my skin crawl. I don't know why; it just does. Always wanted to tell you that. So please don't let me hear you speak again until I'm out of here.

As for the rest of you--well, not you Mo--but most of you: I hope you all get injured. You're the reason I got fired, just as much as I'm the reason we've lost in the first round the last three years. So if that's how how Big Stein's going to judge me, that's how I judge you. That's just how it is.

Now all of you get the hell out of my sight. Except for you, Mo. I love you.