Hapless Yanks blow another; Did we shoot the juju moon too soon in June?

Thank you, Mustang, thank you soooo much, for boasting that your Rivalometer Index caused the now-long forgotten Yankee 10-game winning streak. As soon as you jumped onto the bandwagon – no, as soon as you climbed onto the bandwagon, dropped trough and mooned the juju gods — we started losing. Way to go, Al. . . that’s right, "Al," as in "Al Batross."


OK, very well, no problem. It was going to end eventually. We have now experienced the limits of the juju surge. We now know what one International Juju Intervention can do — 20-4 — but then. . . WTF? Well, here’s TFW: You wake up shivering cold and naked in the gutter, covered in Purina Dog Chow and unable to remember anything except the words "Coronet Blue," (a ‘70s joke that most of you won’t get.) You don’t know what happened. You don’t know what didn’t happen. You were playing unconscious. Now, you’re conscious, in fact, keenly aware that each pitch is spinning really fast and – like, WOW, man — you’re grokking that everybody in the stands, even the kids, will someday be dead. So you swing like Billy Crystal. And it’s all because of Mustang. . . and that Rivalometer of his better not show the blue arrow pointed up. Ask not to whom the Blue Arrow points. It points to thee.

We have now dropped two out of three — at home, in our backyard, in front of our wives and children, in broad daylight, on TV, to a team most remembered for the surreal size of Dale Murphy’s facial mole, which needed a zip code. We are staggering, wandering, collapsing — waiting to be no-hitted by R.A. Dickey — hoping to run out the clock on the season — but it’s June.

Solstice. Longest day of the year. Not made any shorter by Philip Hughes.

Did we shoot our juju moon too soon?