Saturday, July 2, 2016
Posted by el duque at 8:09 AM
Five bouts with mediocrity.
On the scale of ten, we are a five (5).
In the weather report, we are a 50 percent chance of rain.
In the Miss Universe pageant, we are Miss Congeniality.
We are the movie starring Kate Hudson, the Presidential campaign of Marco Rubio, the month-old six-pack of Utica Club, yesterday's four-dollar turkey sandwich from Subway... we are phlegm, bedpans, nail clippers, toothpicks, unleaded gasoline and margarine. We are Upper Canada. We are clothespins, boxer shorts, tube steak, tap water... we are the 2016 Yankees... the Geriatrics of Generic!
Each time we reached .500 in June, we promptly lost a game or two, thereby re-establishing the Newton-Eovaldi Third Law: For every Yankee victory, there is an equal and opposite Yankee defeat.
So, they did it again last night on the West Coast, and if you stayed up late to torture yourself, it must have been damn good marching dust, because my dawns with Mourning Joe ended when Andy Pettitte came to take the ball from Mariano.
We have played eight games against National League cream puffs - San Diego, Colorado and Arizona - and we have lost six. Believe it or not, we actually had winning records in May and June, but it was that horrible, El Chapo-less month of April that consigned 2016 to Hell. It's July, and we still haven't recovered.
So, today we will surely win, bringing us to .500 again, and Lucy will yell, "Go ahead, Charlie Brown, kick the ball!" and we will take our running start. Fortunately, it's another late game in San Diego. Wait... that's another five.
We are a night game in San Diego. And they're still wondering whether to buy or sell?