Let us now consider the universal truth from 2016

My one big life takeaway from the 2016 Yankees:

The universe is rational, until it isn't. Everything works, until it doesn't. The juju gods like you, until they don't.   

Yesterday, it was as if we had time-tunneled back to April, when a two-run lead looked like a 500-foot wall of lava. In the ninth, we went down 1-2-3, not even the faint suggestion of "bringing the tying run to the plate." We had one moment in the eighth, two men on and Jacoby Ellsbury - our hottest hitter - at the plate. He hit the first pitch. Inning over.

The Yankees hit, until they don't.

This team - be it the Retrieval Empire or Baby Bombers - shall be remembered for games against Tampa. In late July, the Devil Rays swept us, crushing Hal Steinbrenner's dreams of Yanktopia, that mythical Peter Pan world where his players never grow old. Rebuffed and humiliated in his winter-home town, the boy owner angrily ordered a season-ending sell-off, killing the team's wild card quest.

Like many of Hal's schemes, it backfired - but this time, in a good way. The Yankees shed their slow-footed, boring, veteran roster, replacing A-Rod with Gary Sanchez as new face of the team. Everything worked until yesterday, when it didn't. Tampa took game four of the series.

Listen: It's aint over 'till it's over, and it aint over. But 2016 will hinge on one game, and unless somebody invents the time tunnel, yesterday's loss will sting for eternity. The world is great, until it sucks.

We return to Tampa next week. Our last three games against a tomato can. Two out of three won't cut it. We must sweep.

The Tampa series will be sandwiched by four in Boston and four in Toronto. By then, it might not even matter. Every series is the World Series. And every game against Tampa is the Seventh Game. Everything works, until it doesn't. Hillary is healthy, until she isn't. Trump can't win, until he can. The juju gods like us, until they don't. Yesterday, they didn't. There's nothing more to say.