Yankeetorial: At the fulcrum point of the season, the Yankees are calling upon David Phelps, the runt of the litter

Tonight, in the glare of the Redsock-ESPN sound and fury machine, David Phelps will hold the 2014 Yankee season in his nicked and disfigured hands.

As a prospect, Phelps never received the full Yankee Tender Care Day Spa membership. He was the second coming of Ted Lilly, (and one day surely will be peddled for a Jeff Weaver - bling, busts and all.) The Yankees would coddle Phil Hughes and Joba Chamberlain, the beauties of the litter, gussying them up for the annual Debutantes Ball. Poor Phelps was the hairlipped sister down in the kitchen, cutting potatoes and spying upon the world through a fogged-up window. When Hughes and Joba grew double-chins and began to look like Hermione Gingold, the franchise discovered Ivan Nova. Then Michael Pineda arrived, and they sprang for nylon stockings and a Terry Richardson photo-shoot. They bought three CC Sabathia lifestyle lifts and then imported the international bathing beauty, Masahiro Tanaka. Meanwhile, down in her coal bin, Phelps knitted dresses from burlap bagss and freshly-killed rats. When suitors visited from ESPN and YES, they were never introduced to Phelps. Why bother? Nobody could be interested in such an ugly old shoe.

Over the last month, David Phelps has been our ace - or as close to one as the Yankees know. He kept us in games when we didn't even score a run. In his last start, Girardi abused him, leaving him for a few batters after the limo had turned into the pumpkin. Did the magic end? Tonight, we'll see.

Listen: It is a hackneyed trope of fan sites to assign vast importance to a single game, or a series, or sometimes even a single at-bat. That said, I firmly believe tonight could end the 2014 Yankee season.

If we can't win two of three from Boston - a demoralized team whose ownership has bailed on the players - I don't see how we can claim to be contenders in any race, even for the rancid one-game Wild Card. Soon, we go to Detroit. That won't be pretty. The truth is, the Yankees haven't beaten a good team in a long while. Our "streak" consisted of the Reds and Rangers, two festering vats of tomato. We cannot lose two of three to the Redsocks. We simply cannot.

It's time to show a flicker of life. We can't wait for the pretty girls to return with new paint jobs. The starlettes - Tex, Jacoby, Beltran, even Jeter - cannot get us to the prom. It's up to the scullery maids. It's midnight, and the luxury boxes are turning back into closets. It must start tonight. And it's all up to David Phelps.