Let the record show that our offense exploded for three (3!) runs, and our outfielders ran down Vidal Nuno gopher balls the way Lindsay Lohan's convertible runs down jaywalkers.
I read about it. I wasn't awake, leading any juju intervention. Maybe next week, when the Yanks return to civilization. Or maybe in July. Or later. A new rule: Always save the last juju bullet for yourself.
Today, I woke up wondering if the Yanks have any one team in their system that is cracking heads - you know, dominating. I recognize that wins and losses matter as much to the Yankees as Gwyneth Paltrow's theories about water having emotions - comparative to developing Cito Culver into a serviceable first-round pick. (He's up to .240!) But under Old George, our farm teams were encouraged to win - you know, the Yankee tradition, blah-blah-blah - and at least one club always challenging for a pennant, or a governor's cup, or something.
Well, here are the numbers. They show the New York Mehs.
Across the board, we are average, distinguished only by the amount of money being spent - three times that of small market teams.
I believe the Steinbrenner boys are channeling their dad. Old George won in the late-70s, then personally orchestrated a 14-year barf - until Buck Showalter, Gene Michael and Bob Watson restructured the organization.
Hal and Hank won in 2009. Ever since, we have swirled down the drain, each season worse than the previous year. I doubt this malaise will last 14 years, or that Brian Cashman will survive it. Somewhere out there, right now, an old baseball geezer and a computer dweeb are waiting, and someday, they will rebuild the Yankees. (Of course, there is one difference between now and the 1990s: We can chase the one-game Wild Card illusion - the savior of mediocrity.)
Meanwhile, the Yankees are barely worth watching in prime time, wherever you live - Scranton, Trenton, and anywhere but those dandelion fields in Dominica. We are mediocre, except for the cars we drive, when hitting jaywalkers.