Let me take you back—way back—to the legendary “Drunk-in-Epcot-Mexico” post I wrote for my buddy Mike’s birthday years ago. Here it is: "I'M DRUNK IN EPCOT MEXICO" & WHAT COMES NEXT. It was chaotic, it was tequila-fueled, and it made him laugh, which was the whole point. Because that’s what brothers do—we give each other stories worth retelling.
Mike and I have been friends since 1989. Nineteen. Eighty. Nine. We’ve been laughing at the same stupid inside jokes for decades, and they still hit like prime Bernie Williams lining one into the gap. Time hasn’t changed anything between us. We don’t see each other as much, sure. He doesn’t write for Bleeding Yankee Blue anymore, sure. But he reads every word, supports every rant, and we talk nearly every day—because that’s what real friendship looks like. No drama, no nonsense, no algorithm required.
This week, I found myself back in Orlando… back in Epcot… back in Mexico… and yes, after a couple of margaritas, right back thinking of Mike and laughing again. The last time I was there, my kids were three. Now they’re teenagers. Life moves fast—but the memories? Those stay parked exactly where you left them.
And yeah, here at Bleeding Yankee Blue, we still write about the Yankees every day—even if the current version of the front office tries its hardest to make us question all our life choices. The players? We love ’em. The franchise? Always. Competitiveness? Essential. The front office? A flaming bag of complacency on the doorstep of 161st Street. Mike and I share the same brain on that. Always have.
But here’s the truth that Thanksgiving forces you to slow down long enough to feel: all the rants, all the sarcasm, all the roasted marshmallow-hot takes… none of it matters half as much as the people behind it.
I’m thankful for Mike, who helped build Bleeding Yankee Blue with me back in the day. I’m thankful that no matter the miles, or the years, or the chaos, we zip right back into sync—especially during moments like this. I’m thankful that real friendship survives when Twitter threads, hot takes, and fake tough-guy commenters do not.
And I’m thankful for YOU—the BYB readers, the lifers, the loyal crew since September 14, 2010. Fifteen years later, you still show up. You still read. You still argue like civilized human beings, which is now rarer than a Yankees prospect developing into an actual star. Respectful banter is alive and well… just not on social media, where nuance goes to die.
That’s why I went underground again. Why BYB stayed clean, tight, smart, grassroots, and bullshit-free. Social media has turned people into loud, joyless, knee-jerk reactors… and I refuse to let BYB become another casualty of that nonsense. We keep it simple. We keep it classy. We keep it ours. That's why we're gone from those places... forever.
So, here’s the recap for Thanksgiving:
I’m thankful for our readers.
I’m thankful for the friendships.
I’m thankful for the BYB family and Jeana Bellezza Ochoa.
I’m thankful that we get to do this our way—zero filters, zero corporate buzzwords, zero drama.
And yes, Mike—I promised you another drunk Epcot Mexico post… and buddy, I delivered.
Love you, pal. Happy Thanksgiving to you and to every single BYB freak out there.
Thank you for your support.
