For a policy wonk, Washington dashes your best hopes so often, it's a cliche.  Last night, as I sat freezing above home plate one out away from a 2-1 home opener win in the top of the ninth for the Washington Nationals over the Atlanta Braves, I knew it was too good to be true.

Sure enough, Nats catcher Paul Lo Duca failed to stop an overthrown fastball in the dirt and the tying run scampered home from third. A thunderous groan went up at the prospect of another Washington sports debacle -- in extra innings on a cold night to boot.

Then, with two outs in the bottom of the ninth, Ryan Zimmerman hit a 1-0 fast ball over the center field wall on a rope for a walk-off home run.  It doesn't get any better than that in Washington.

I grew up in New York City. I have one memory of going to Ebbets Field, and I often tell people that if the Dodgers hadn't left Brooklyn I would probably still be living there. But by the time I became a baseball fan, the Yankees were not just the only team in NYC, they were my team.

They still are. I've mellowed a bit in recent years (I no longer hate the Red Sox; I just root against them and hope they lose to every team they play), but going to Yankee Stadium is still close to a religious experience for me.

As a baseball fan, I'm angry. As someone who believes in markets and risk/reward, I'm not shocked or suprised in the slightest and consider everyone else who is to be naive.

I am a huge Yankees fan.

I grew up in Brooklyn.  Although I have one memory of watching the Dodgers play at Ebbets Field, by the time I was old enough to develop a loyalty to a team the Yanks were the only one left in New York.  I can still give you the names, numbers, and positions of every player on the 1961 Yankees. I still grieve over Bill Mazeroski's homerun in the seventh game of the 1960 series against the Pirates.  Thurman Munson and Bucky Dent will forever be heroes.