HEAL, ANDY, HEAL

Mayday, mayday, if anybody can hear me, we are the survivors of Yankee-Oceanic Airlines Flight 2012. Our plane crashed and left us on a mysterious island for six TV seasons, and the plot has become so convoluted that we no longer recognize our own backstories. We need help. Fast. We'd forgotten about Michael Pineda, who has now turned up as a drunk. We thought Joba was killed in an underground Kidz Zone, but now he's returned as the evil smoke monster, and worst of all, the Steinbrothers have turned into Thurston and Lovey Howell, and they don't even belong on our show. Please, I beg of you... forward this message to Somewhere, Texas. Sending text as follows: ANDY PETTITTE, SAVE US...


Four-game lead. Thirty-nine left to play.

OK. Getagrip. Listen: We are in freefall. The plane is going to crash. Don your life vests. Take your positions. Hold in your minds one rock of purity, one card to play, one last hope of untainted virture. He is somewhere in Texas with his hoof in a giant medicated Zino pad. Maybe he is working the toes, learning to type with his feet like Daniel Day Lewis. Or maybe he is testing it, pushing himself, because we need Andy Pettitte like Italy needs olives. We need him to save our falling butts.

Because listenup... We're out of juju. We're out of starters. We're out of minor league pitchers with a month of arm-strength. The cupboard is bare. We're not signing Wally Whitehurst. Folks, we're stuck on this crazy island, and Joba keeps reappearing - even though he's dead - and motioning for us to follow him into the live volcano. Bad idea, people. We've seen the show.  BAD IDEA.

Yesterday, I did the math.

We have 39 games left. (Make it 40, because math is not my strong suit.)
If w we can win six of 10 - .600 percentage – the Rays have to do 7 of 10. That's the 1927 Yankees. We need six of 10.

But how? Every 10 games is two turns of the rotation. It's no stretch to think Kuroda and Sabathia can win three of their four. Halfway there. Thus, we need three wins from the others. That's where we get lost.

Right now, maybe Hughes maybe wins one of his two. But Freddy is imploding, Nova is horrible, Phelps is shaky, Scranton doesn't exist, and our bullpen can kill us at any time. (Not to mention Robbie Cano is terrible right now.)

We have one hope, folks. His name is Andy Pettitte. If he makes it back by Sept. 11, he's maybe four starts. We need four wins.

Mayday, mayday. Come in, Andy. We are the survivors of Yankee-Oceanic Airlines Flight 2012. Captain Girardi has gone crazy. We are stranded on a tropical island somewhere in the Pacific. It is sinking. Please write down these coordinates... 6 of 10, 6 of 10, 6 of 10... mayday. mayday, can you hear me? Does anybody hear me...