“I don’t care what our offense is doing. When you give up nine runs, it’s a big hole to dig yourself out of. "

Let the comforting words of David Phelps lead us all toward peace.

Peace, my dear Yankees. Peace.

Close your eyes, everyone. That's right. (Figuratively, otherwise you can't keep reading.) You're going to feel a little poke. It will burn for a second. Don't worry. It will bring warmth.

You will see a white light. Follow it. Don't be afraid. It is the white light of happiness.

Yes, you'll suffer no more strikeouts. No more popups. No more being hurt by the other teams. The nightmare will have ended.

When we awaken, we'll have a payroll of $189 million, an outfield of nobodies, and no concerns. There will be no booing. There will be no anger. It will be spring of 2014, we won't recognize anybody on the field, and we won't even feel like complaining. We will be free.