Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to talk with you again: The first soul-crushing, mind-numbing Yankee defeat of the season

At times, I really envy fans of pro wrestling. They always know someone is in charge. They know everything happens for a reason, that their reality is scripted by a coherent consciousness - not random chaos - and that the Great Writer has a plan for them. Everything will be explained, and all will be rewarded, because there is a Creator, and He - (Sorry, ladies, it's definitely a he) - is calling every shot. Pro wrestling fans never have to stare at a starless sky and wonder if anybody up there gives a crap. They know that Vince McMahon exists. They know He is listening.

The Yankees do not have a Vince McMahon. I tell myself that they have a vast arsenal of "juju," a theoretical gism generated and vented by the largest nut-bag fan base in America. On a given night, I believe it can transform a Scott Brosius into a Mike Schmidt. But you can never count on juju the way WWF fans can count on Hulk Hogan.

Last night was one of those faith-sapping losses that will haunt us through the month of April, or at least until a deeper trauma replaces it. (Which could be this weekend; Boston is coming.) Last night's loss reminded us far more than that we have no bullpen. It showed us that we have no Vince McMahon.

Last night, in the seventh inning, I would have bet the house we were going to win. We'd seen Carlos Beltran's first Yankee HR. We'd seen Professor Tanaka settle down and dominate the O's. We'd scrambled to manufacture a tying run - something Yankee teams have not done well in this Millennium. Those things were supposed to happen for a reason. They are not supposed to be pointless. We were going to win that game. I was certain.

Then Sean Kelly came in, and - to be fair to him - nothing went right. The O's hit several pitches that were out of the strike zone - just lifted them over the infield. In the bottom of the ninth, we brought up the perfect dramatic finale: Ex-Oriole Brian Roberts, the tying run, hitting a walk-off HR, which he nearly did. And finally, there he was Yangervis Solarte - who ridiculously now receives the second loudest ovation after Jeter. (What does this tell us about hope within the Yankee fan base?) On the first pitch, inside and off the plate, he took a massive, undisciplined rip. Then he hit a tailor-made DP grounder. Did the legend of Yangervis just pop? Is that what Vince McMahon would have written for us?

I'd forgotten how much the Yankees can hurt me. I figured after last season, I was immune to hope and the ridiculous belief that things in baseball happen for a reason. Listen: Pro wrestling fans are morons. Yankee fans should be smarter that that. Ahh, but it's spring, and the sap is running, and damn... there I was, thinking Vince McMahon was pulling the strings. Might as well have been hoping for Linda McMahon. A long night. Maybe a long year. And here comes Boston...