After last night, every Yankee fan in captivity must realize that the Fates are pissing on us, that we are the new Knicks fans, and that this nepotism-cursed, crony-run franchise won't win anything meaningful until OJ is free, Trump is in his second term, and Burnam Wood comes to Dunsinane Hill... and considering wide-load tie-ups on the NY State Thruway, good luck with that.
This season already feels like it's six months old.
Last winter, the Yankees offered us two rays of hope: Greg Bird and Luis Severino. Bird never even made it to Tampa. Last night, the second shoe dropped. Severino - 0-6 and horrible - walked off the mound holding his elbow. Wherever he is, Manny Banuelos must be flinching.
Later, the Upheaval Empire announced that Severino's elbow has only a mild strain and will not need Tommy John surgery, and that he will rest and maybe return soon, perhaps in a matter of weeks. It's all okay, everybody. Tokyo has been spared from Godzilla.
Of course, nobody believes a word they say.
If there is one given in the Yankiverse, it is that the
Now we see why the Yankees have been fighting StubHub so bitterly: They rightfully see the secondary ticket market as their biggest nemesis in 2016. Come August, when even a Wild Card away slot looks like an impossible dream, those $500 fat cat tickets will be selling on StubHub for the price of a jelly doughnut. Those poor corporate bigwigs who still go to the games will have to sit next to barking street people, and not even John Oliver will give a damn about putting hipsters in the seats.
The fix is in, folks. The Redsocks are in first, the Mets own New York, it's barely mid-May and we are already down to stems and seeds... and the injuries are just beginning. What a sad time to be a Yankee fan.