So the Yanks recovered Al Leiter from the Marlins' clutches at a price that would make him seem like a journeyman reliever, relatively. What they got, despite my earlier preconceptions, was a phenominal six and a third innings of one-run ball from a man who had every reason to think his career had ended earler in the week. Sweating profusely on the mound, twitching and furiously talking to himself like a homeless man on s...
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