666? A-Rod is - well - STILL within two home runs of SATAN.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

CODE RED: The rapidly collapsing Yankiverse is turning to juju

The Master tells us, you cannot predict baseball. But you can see a pile of crap before you step in it. Today, we stand knee-deep. Tomorrow, we will disappear. And it could be a long time before we slog out the other side. Think: 2017.

Throughout the known Yankiverse, from the swaggering billionaires of the upstate hamlets to the selfless workers of Wall Street, fans are whipping out their long-forgotten juju icons and strumming furiously in the hope of snapping out relief.

These post-game comments came last night at River Ave:

Kramerica Industries says: The day after the regular season ended last year, I recorded Gary Thorne’s call of Robert Andino’s walk-off hit that knocked the Red Sox out of the playoff race on the final day of the season. I listened to that thing all the time... Tonight I made my sacrifice to the baseball gods. I erased my cherished sound bite. I was obviously turning karma against me with that thing.

Danny says: OK, I vote we sacrifice a chicken. Jobu needs some help here. i’ll get a bucket and do a ritual tomorrow.

Brian S. says: I’m getting rid of the meme in my handle in an attempt to bring back our winning ways.

Andy Pettitte's Fibula
says: This is what we get for revelling in the Red Sox collapse last year.

 
Raul Ibanez AKA Tom Marvolo Riddle says: Right around the all-star break I cut my hair for the first time in about six months (maybe longer) so I stopped wearing my Yankee cap... Since then we’ve all seen what’s happened. I cannot believe that I didn’t draw this parallel before. Starting tomorrow I break out the cap again.
 
Listen: This is no time to hit the streets with beebee guns and silverware. We must be wise. We must channel our juju into one massive, overwhelming surge that causes Buck Showalter to puke the live horse heart he devoured last week. It must happen soon. We are knee-deep in Big Muddy. 
 
Burn the loser cap. Pull out that $59 limited edition, collector's grade decanter of Yankee Stadium topsoil and throw it into the wind. Stand before your TV set or radio, call the juju hotline and ask for the juju god on duty. Let him or her know how angry you are about the current situation. Demand a retraction. Demand a correction. Tell them you're writing a letter to the editor. Tell them you intend to go directly to the top - the Capital Letter God who runs hurricanes and earthquakes. Tell them you'll have their job. IT IS TIME TO WHINE, EVERYBODY.

 
 
 
SCREAM, YANKIVERSE, SCREAM. NOW. WHINE. LOUD. TELL THE JUJU GODS THAT IT THIS TEAM GOES SOUTH, THEY WILL NEVER HEAR THE END OF OUR COMPLAINTS. WE WILL WRITE DOWN THEIR LICENSE PLATES, AND WE WILL SEND THEM DIRTY MAGAZINES AND FRIED CHICKEN FROM POPEYES. THEY WILL HEAR THE DOORBELL RING, AND THEY WILL FIND FLAMING BAGS OF POO ON THEIR FRONT PORCHES. LET THEM KNOW WE WILL NOT TAKE THIS LYING DOWN.
 
JUJU. NOW. JUJU. NOW!

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