In the 100th game of the season, God finally joins the Yankee 25-man roster

It was like watching ants fight a tidal wave. They couldn't pull their tarp. (Why does that sound kinky?) The juju gods had sent a deluge, and Noah Girardi was safe and dry in his hand hewn Yankee ark.

Face it, humanity: Last night's Yankee victory was an act of God... of Yahweh, Allah, Budha, Gaia, Jehovah, Zhule, Claverino, Stoopah-dooba-doonga, Brad, Sellerinoanbarnes... El Supremo, the Prime Mover, the Sky Pilot, the Big Boss with the Hot Sauce... you pray, He plays...
the first sign all season that somebody out there, beyond George Steinbrenner's hideously swollen corpse, is ready to spin miracles for the otherwise cursed and hell-bound 2014 Yankees.

Make no mistake, Boston frat-boy soreheads: God has joined the Yankee 40-man!

A roll-off win, courtesy of Mother Nature - or, to you nonbelievers, global warming. Screw you, Richard Dawkins. I'll take Richard Dawson. Let's face it. Without God, we were going to lose last night. We had scored our two runs. Our offense was done. They couldn't hit Yu Darvish with tennis rackets. Soon. Joe was going to bring in his B-team bullpen, featuring Chris Lesomethingorother, who'd pitch one game and be gone. Without a deluge - without God as our Zimmer bench coach - we were going to lose two out of three at home against the worst team in the AL.

And then a voice spake, "Let there be lightning!" It wasn't Michael Kay. Nope. He actually said, "We will do our best to entertain you." If he had done magic tricks with lit matches and his bare ass, he couldn't have topped watching the grounds crew - metaphor for humanity there - haplessly struggle against the elements, like Kelly Johnson attempting to play first base. Nope. All we had to do was let God weave His miracle. He could hit .320 and replace Robbie Cano, doncha know!

Take heart, Yankiverse. We are three games behind Baltimore (only three "in the loss column," as John Sterling would remind us.) We are a half-game behind Seattle ("tied in the loss column") for the remaining Wild Card slot, in that insanely divine, one-day Seliginomics payoff - I mean playoff. You could yip and moan and say, "Who cares? Without Tanaka, we have nobody to pitch in that one game." Oh, but no. We have found our Game One starter. He goes by many names. Last night, it was Curt Flood.