YES, WE CAN! Miracle Yanks Topple 1st-Place Rays

Just 3.5 games behind! (Four in loss column.)

These crazy kids, you can't help but fall in love with 'em... again!

I'm tellin' ya, they just don't know any better, so they go out and beat the big boys, in their own back yard... in front of more than 20,000 people.

I'm still shaking. MY HANDS ARE TREMBLING ON THE KEYBOARD. THE DAMN THING IS STUCK ON CAPS LOCK, AND I'M TOO EXCITED TO TURN IT OFF!

THAT'S RIGHT. IT'S CAPS-LOCK TIME ON THE KEYBOARDS!

BLOGGERS, LOCK ALL YOUR KEYBOARDS ONTO CAPS! LET'S SHOW YANKIVERSE BLOGIDARITY!

ALL YOU CYNICS, ALL YOU DOUBTERS, ALL YOU BLAME-YANK-FIRSTERS, YOU KNOW WHY YOU DO DON'T MATTER?

DO? YOU? KNOW? WHY? YOU? DON'T? MATTER?

Because -- (wait a second, something happened to the caps-lock!? ooooh, hell with it, I'm too excited to bother with it, but I will tone down my remarks, accordingly.) While you angry downer-doubters were blogplaining that the team is too fat, old and stupid to win the big Tapioca Enchalada... they weren't listening.

Holy shit! I'm in italics. (OK, stay focused. This is good. This adds emphasis! People read italics with more interest, because the letters are slanted. I can get away with more.)

Goddamm you, you blogiots, you blogtards! It took a certain Uncle Hank to get the kids together and tell them to believe in themselves... the way he believes in them. Maybe he promised to quit smoking if they win the World Series. Maybe he told them a certain story of a miracle horse named Seabuscuit.

Who cares what he said. I don't care if he recited "Wind Beneath My Wings." It worked.

KEEP JERKING THE REINS, MR. HANK. HUG THE RAIL. USE THE WHIP.

IF WE COME IN SECOND WITH A BROKEN HOOF, HELL, WE'LL PUT HER DOWN!

BUT LET'S NOT THINK ABOUT THAT NOW. WE'RE 3.5 GAMES OUT.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!

DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES? YESSSSSS!