On Day Two of the Yankapocalypse, the zombies start scaling the wall

Yesterday, the first sprinkles of fire rained upon the Yankiverse. Everywhere, children were crying, as old people desperately searched for their channel-changers. Michael Kay and Paul O'Neill pondered the end of time, while John and Suzyn edged closer to the abyss and looked over the side.

"This is very frustrating," Suzyn said, as the hordes of hell began scaling the Great Yankee Wall.

Make no mistake here: We are dead. Nobody survives this movie. Not even Brad Pitt. Last week, everybody knew Teixeira was lost for the season, just as now everybody knows A-Rod won't return, and Jeter will never again play shortstop for an extended period of time. It's not that I am some oracle. It's just that we all know how apocalypses work. We've seen enough to know that, when you lose a Granderson on the first pitch of spring training, and then re-lose him barely a week after his return, the Fates have reached a decision: The sky is falling, pal, you can run or dig. And for now, all we can do is watch. In apocalyptic movies, the 3-D special effects are always worth seeing.

Yesterday began with tabloid accounts of Brian Cashman's impending psychological meltdown. Here is a bean-counter who spent the 1980s working the Xerox machine and being screamed at in 3 a.m. phone calls; he shinnied up through the system and consolidated power, like a Frank Langella movie presence. Now, with his midlife crisis sirens publicly blaring for three years - the stalker, the building-climbs, the leaps from planes - he's "popping" with public obscenities. Last night, in front of the cameras, Cash looked so calm and cool, as he graciously apologized for his foul words and joked about protocols and "reality TV." Ho ho effing ho. Off camera, what's he like? You wonder if he hasn't gone raving, butter-melting, 3-a.m. phone call insane. And could you blame him?


Then there is Mr. Hyde --A-Rod -- himself a mental foreshadowing of Miley Cyrus at age 40. He was seemingly overjoyed by a medical expert - maybe the only one in the world - who suggested Alex is ready to go back, be a star hitter for the Yankees and maybe reclaim Kate Hudson. He has been working hard in Tampa. Lots of pushups. Nobody has ever accused A-Rod of slacking in workouts. But he's like a bad writer working on a novel - it's not going to matter. Nobody will ever read it. Instead, they're reading today's tabs, which say that -  according to "sources," (almost certainly Cashman, back to wearing his cloak of invisibility) - A-Rod is not ready to start his rehab. Both the Daily News and Post today feature aggressive narratives suggesting that A-Rod will receive a lifetime ban or retire from the game: That he will never play another inning. Do you not think he is going batty?

This converged on a perfect night of horror, when the Yankees were effectively killed by their replacement 3B, the earnest and innocent bystander, Jayson Nix.  In another era, Nix could be our Luis Sojo - a solid backup IF and contributor. This year, trying to replace both Jeter and A-Rod simultaneously, he is drowning without even a bar of soap. Last night, he botched two bunts, leading to a 4-run inning, and later grounded into a DP with the bases loaded. It was as if the baseball gods wanted us to glimpse the future.

But I prefer the sounds of Hell. Last night, John and Suzyn rode a roller coaster between hope and despair. If you haven't been listening, you owe it to yourself to tune in. It is like being inside the bi-polar head of Amanda Bynes, while she decides whether to eat a cheesecake. One moment, with the Yankees scoring, they reach unprecedented peaks of ecstasy - we are, after all, only 2 out in the loss column! The next moment, my god, what are those things climbing up the wall?

Ouch. Did you feel that sprinkle? It felt... hmmm... hot. Something is coming, folks, and it's not the All-Star game.

You know what they say: Keep your friends close, and your channel-changer closer.