Tonight is the pennant race

If we win tonight... o-yessss-mamma!... then we beat those smug, sun-blocked, first-round-pick, Playstation fratboy bastards. We whupped them. We open a lead that won't disappear in the last week. We'll have taken three of four in a prelude to October. We'll have hit their aces, frozen their bats, they'll go home and we can start scouting Texas -- mm-mm, o-yess, warm Texas -- with its honey-baked ham-juicy bullpen and free-swinging disco buffoon lineup. We win, and we can mess with Boston heads this weekend -- "Watch out, Youk'll be back for the second round!" -- with Juan Miranda at first! Ramiro Pena leading off! We win, and we can just pleasure ourselves with Big Papi, make him a sex toy. We win tonight, we win the AL East.

If we lose? Well, then our first two wins -- taken in the ceremonial gush of a George's Great Pyramid at Giza dedication --simply foreshadowed our collapse: We got ahead, then watched them chip away. If we lose, they're the comeback team, they're the team that doesn't quit, and we're the guys with the swiss cheese bullpen and the hitters who can't move a baserunner. We lose, and we tromp off to cold, angry, Tea Party-crazed Minnesota in the first round, knowing in our doorknob-filled guts that they're the team with a score to settle, and you can't beat them every year. The Royals proved that in 1981. The Angels proved it in 2002. Boston proved it in 2004. If we lose tonight, bend over, Yankiverse. The Rays beat us, fair and square. We're the Wild Card team. And the planets are lining up for another epic humilation, this time maybe at the hands of Carl Pavano.

Let's hope we win.