On behalf of the Yankiverse, I would hereby like to thank the space-time continuum, the cosmic Infundibulum, all pertinent god particles, and the ironies/vagaries of random numerical sequence - (in other words, "the Fates") - for delivering the most excruciating, boot-stomping loss of the season - if not the decade - on the one effing night we bothered to make fools of ourselves by attempting to believe.
Message received.
Rest assured, we won't try that again. You win, God, Allah, Buddha, Satan, or None-of-the-Above - whatever you are. You go Yahweh, we'll go ours. It's not that the universe is dead. It's just that the 2015 Yankees are... staggering, limping, reeling to fall over the finish line, only to find there are still seven laps left. We're a half-game up on Toronto, sinking without a bubble. At this rate, we won't even make it to Hope Week.
Insert sigh here.
You know, I thought it would be the injuries that killed us. I never saw Ellsbury and Gardner turning into pumpkins, right before our eyes. I figured that, at some point, Miller would blow a save, but not in Cleveland, not after a comeback, not in a game we desperately needed. And we haven't begun to fall apart. Let's face it: The injuries will come. They just won't hurt so much. I mean - when your 1-5 hitters go 2-66 (with 23 strikeouts), should you really fear a tweaked ball sack?
Back in February, I dreaded this season. I thought we'd be lucky to make it to July. In many ways, the Yankees have outlasted expectations. We should feel good about what's happened. But after last night, I'm sorry, folks. In rooting for this team, we've hooked a ride on Malaysian Flight 370.
Well, we called upon the universe for help, and nobody answered the phone. Let the record show that on Aug. 11, 2015, an emergency Juju Intervention was attempted, after the patient had reported chest pains and shortness of breath. CPR and a full cardio fibrillation was attempted. The patient was unresponsive. At approximately 12:25, E.S.T., he was declared dead.
And that's the deal, folks.
Mrs. Peel, we're dead.
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4 comments:
Change it to No Hope Week to honor our lack of offensive prowess.
I'm taking my ultimate step of Nu-Juju and not listening to the next game or two of this series. I remember sometime in the near distant past this seemed to help turn around a Bomber slump, though maybe it just helped me.
Seems the best we can hope for is the August slump virus spreads to the other teams in contention while the Yanks stay relatively healthy,,,,,, here's to hoping.
And, we'll always have July.
....And we will always have Scranton. Did Reify get tucked in last night.
Is some sort of sacrifice in order?
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