Hey there, sexy. Ya. You. You’re looking good today. I know it’s a tough day. But you’re still looking good.

Look at all we’ve been through together, beautiful. It’s been one hell of a ride.

Remember our time in Seattle? You were the number one overall pick. In your first full season, you finished second in the AL MVP race. You were not only a sexy beast, you were already one of the best players in the league before you could legally drink.

You were the complete player. With Those strong arms and tight grip, you were crushing the ball and hitting for power. But you were also fast. Those bulging thighs and muscular calfs, helping you steal all those bases.

You were too big for Seattle. Your personality couldn’t be contained by a city best known for coffee and rain.

Everything is bigger in Texas. And that’s where you belonged. Big personality, big muscles, big smile, big contract. People tried to criticize you and the contract, but they were just jealous. You were the most complete player the game had ever seen. They should’ve paid you more. You were the MVP on a last place team. That’s how good you were. If you weren’t on the team, it’s possible that they would’ve gone 0-162.

You were too good for Texas. You couldn’t spend your career playing on a team that couldn’t help you. Baseball is the most individual team sport out there. You were doing your part. Everyone else let you down.

The Red Sox wanted you. You were going to be their savior, but MLB wouldn’t allow it. You already look like God, they didn’t want you to actually be God in Boston.

The Yankees needed you.

Fans criticized you for not being “A True Yankee.” Baby, that’s garbage. You switched positions, even though you were better than Jeter. You changed numbers even though you were better than Ruth. What is “A True Yankee” anyway? You did everything you needed to do to help the team win. Isn’t that being “a true Yankee”? You slapped the ball out of Bronson Arroyo’s glove because he tried to touch your perfect body. You distracted two Blue Jays players on a routine infield fly with your chiseled good looks. The only Yankee truer than you was a guy named Doodle.

In 2009, after nine long years, you delivered New York another title. I still remember that night. You, me, Goldie Hawn’s daughter. It was the perfect night for the perfect man.

They tried to tear you down. Remember how we laughed about the popcorn incident with the blonde from Charlie’s Angels? People couldn’t believe that such a physical specimen would disgrace his body with popcorn. They dug up PED reports from years ago and dragged your flawless name through the mud. They made you sit out an entire season to ensure your gorgeous eyes wouldn’t fill with tears as you hit 700 home runs and eventually surpassed their beloved Ruth and Aaron.

But you wouldn’t let them happen. You returned the following year, still filling out that Yankees uniform better than anyone before or after you.

I know the past couple of days have been hard. The Yankees have forced your soft lips to tell the world that you’re retired, less than two months before the season ends. They allowed the corpse of Jeter to play an entire season and threw him a party in every city, but they can’t give your toned and tanned body two more months?

It’s ok, though, love. You still have me. The one person who has always been here for you. Through the good and the bad, I’ve never left your side and I never will. It’s time to start a new life together. No matter what you do, I’ll always support and love you. Now, gimme kiss.