The votes, my friends, are seemingly in for the 2007 MLB playoffs and it looks like the world and the national media nitwits are voting for the New York Yankees to win it all. But that’s okay, right? No way!  Sorry, ESPN, but I'm simply not ready to give up on this fantastic roller-coaster ride in my own personal "Temple of Doom."

Sure, even the so-called "hometown hero" LeBron James is cheering for those damn Yankees - what’s up with that? Maybe LeBron is positioning himself to be a member of the floundering New York Knicks so he can perform some more lame skits on Saturday Night Live in the meantime. So be it, Jedi.

But I have not come this far to turn my back on the Cleveland Indians NOW. Besides my own blinded hometown loyalty, I truly believe that the Indians have the talent to win the whole baseball burrito. Regardless of that fact, I really just want to revel in the ridiculous fun that is Tribe baseball, as my local sports team tries to turn the corner on our town's so-called curdled history.

The billion-dollar “bionic Yankees” are “bigger, stronger, faster” to be sure. But my Cleveland Indians are a blast to watch on any given day and can leap tall buildings in a single bound. So, quite frankly, who could ask for anything more?

Win or lose, Mark Shapiro (our Tribe general manager) is the man with the plan! Grady Sizemore constantly climbs the center field walls at "The Jake" as only our very own C-Town Spider-Man can. The Incredible Pronk (Travis Hafner) can “Hulk out” at any given moment and smash puny pitchers in any marvelous minute (channeling his fan enthusiasm for pro wrestling and those WWE “sweaty men in tights” to be sure). Not that there’s anything wrong with that!  Hey, I enjoy Hogan Knows Best, myself (Help me).

C.C. Sabathia and Fausto Carmona are a fiery one-two duopoly punch that can, quite simply, bring batters to their knees out on the beleaguered baseball diamond. So the Yankees and the Red Sox are still the fan favorites, huh?  How can you, as a fan of the Cleveland Indians (or baseball, for that matter), not rightly toss that bag of noise out the proverbial third-floor window, I ask?

Quite simply, you CAN NOT in all good-natured fun during this Cleveland love-fest. I choose, however, to hunker down in the baseball bunker with Drew Carey and Halle Berry and cheer for my beloved Indians. Is that wrong? Am I mad?  I think not, fine folks.

I choose to smile a sarcastic grin and shuck for the Tribe. All the other outsiders who callously cringe that Cleveland is in the baseball playoffs can go throw themselves in a burning river of bile for all I care, quite honestly.