There are some things that you just don't do.

You don't drag old ladies out of cabs just so you can get a ride that little bit faster.

You don't walk around in the snow barefoot.

You don't walk away from the Red Sox to sign a contract with the Yankees.

It's simply not DONE.

Say what you will, but I am fully aware of the fact that I'm not a grown-up Red Sox fan. When it comes to that team, I am still the embodiment of childlike enthusiasm.

Knowing that I'm going to go to Fenway on a game day makes me wake up with a grin on my face that morning. I've been known to yell at the television when I watch games. I follow the stats during the season; I follow the hot stove discussions during the winter.

And I stop rooting for any player when they walk away from Boston and sign with New York. Example? December. 1992. Wade Boggs is my favorite baseball player (he plays third base, at that point I play third base. A natural favorite player selection.) He signs with the Yankees. In my mind, he stops being Wade Boggs, ultimate Hall of Famer. He just becomes another Yankee.

Boggs? Oh yeah. Him. Yeah, he used to be good.

So here we are. December. 2005. Johnny Damon is not my favorite player - not even close - but I've been enjoying his role as a Red Sox leader. I view him as an essential component of the ever-dwindling Boston team.

He signs with the Yankees.

It's not as quick a switch this time, admittedly, as I've developed stronger language than when I was, you know, 12. So there's a lot of cursing involved today.

But ultimately? He'll cut off the hair, he'll don the pinstripes and, in time, he'll become just another Yankee.

But until that happens, I'll curse a lot. And not just at him. Or at the Sox front office, who continue to convey the sense of utter chaos that's ruining any prospects we have left for next season. Because they should have signed him sooner (sound familiar? Oh wait. We've learned nothing since Theo left. Go us.) and should have swallowed their pride in order to make it happen.

At the general absurdity of it all. To say no to $40 million over four years, for the sake of sticking with the team that made you a baseball icon. $10 MILLION A YEAR.

Loyalty is a big thing with me. I'm a fan of the lifers - the players who stick with their teams throughout their careers, the ones in which there's no question what hat you'll wear when you're immortalized in the Hall of Fame.

I know that there's a big gap between $40 million and $52 million. But at that point, does it really matter? Why face the wrath of the fans who fell in love with you just so you can make some more money that you'll never be able to spend?

Of course we're pissed off. And while I have to laugh as I commiserate with fans who are calling Damon "The Devil" today, I get why they're also swearing him off, just as we've sworn off everyone else who has made the choice to switch over to the arch rivals.

It's juvenile, of course. But this is baseball. Juvenile behavior is inherent and, therefore, justified. Because if you stop to think about it and be mature about what you're discussing, you take the wonder of the game right out of the equation.

You realize that you're talking about love for a group of guys for whom you scrimp and save so you can buy overpriced tickets and marked-up beer and watch them try to hit or field really little white balls.

So screw maturity. I embrace my immature, baseball-loving side.

And I'll continue to wind up pissed off when a player does one of the things that everyone knows you just don't do.