Mayday. Giant spill reaches Yankee Stadium

Screw Keanu. We need Michael Rennie. It's time to speak the words:

"Klaatu barada nikto!"

"Fire in the hole!"
"Houston, we have a problem!"
"Call up Bobby Meachem!"
"This call to the bullpen is sponsored by Transatlantic and BP. Let's destroy something... togethahhhhh!"

Two old, wretched teams, both gushing fluid from gaping holes in their buttocks. In the end, we won the meltdown contest. Sure, we can blame the injuries, or we can blame the wind, or we can blame the absurdly incompetent fielding of Marcus Thames -- (how does a fringe player let his fielding deteriorate so badly;  every pop fly is a story by Neil Gaiman!) -- but we have been put on alert:

No lead is safe.

"Klaatu barada nikto!"

Our bullpen cannot hold back the oil. The Hot Club Time Machine's been set to 2006, and we're reliving Tanyon and Proctor. This is our dirty little secret: Mariano is human. Jeet is old. Jorge is brittle. Andy is - well - God won't save him forever. "Klaatu barada nikto!"