Nobody died

Well, nobody died. Right?

I wake up this morning, birds chirping, sun out, the TV still works - ("She's fine, officer, just a bit shaken...") No bloody fingers in the trash. No holes in the walls. No floods, no molten lava, no trees down, nobody died...

Well... yeah... OK, Hope died. Faith died. Respect? Her face is on the milk carton. As you can see, I won't post the Wild Card standings today. I don't expect expect to do it again this year. There is nothing to see, nothing to ponder. It's not that I wish I were dead. I just wish I were a Comcast customer in New Jersey. 

It looks like Boston's year... again. Boston's decade. Boston's century? Boston's millennium? Too sour? Hell, if you're looking for optimism, why... are... you... here? Did you expect a Hallmark card full of uplifting inspiration? Jeeze. We can be six games in first, and on this site, you'd think the sky was falling. Nobody comes here for optimism... but... fukkit, we gave this a run.

Yes, we chased the Bud Selig Memorial Mediocrity-on-Display Wild Card slot, baseball's version of the dollar-and-a-dream Powerball lottery. We chased our tail, round and round, and we stretched out this miserable death-watch season until Sept. 15 - six extra weeks - not bad, considering that it was supposed to end Aug. 1. By now, we were supposed to be 10 games out and playing Zolio Almonte and Melky Mesa (Hey, Scranton won last night, woo-woo!)  All this... and wait! WE HAVE BILLY BUTLER!

OMG. Oh. My. God. It's the era of Billy Butler Butter Ball. When is Billy Butler Bobblehead Night? Billy Day? Hey, everybody, the phone lines are open: Should the Yankees re-sign Billy? Where will he fit in under Joe Girardi's big 2017 pennant push? Can he play left field? Could he close?

Wait! Ooh-ooh, jumpin' Jehovahsat! You know who should close? Eli Manning! Because, folks, it's football season! Hey, the Jersey Jints are undefeated, the leaves are turning, you can buy that sickening pumpkin beer in the stores, and soon it'll all be Trump-Trump-Trump. The last time the Yankees collapsed like this, four days later, America re-elected George W. Bush and Dick Cheney, and I thought it could never again in my lifetime get worser - and what did I know? Here we go, everybody. Buckle up your safety harness. We're gonna disappear 11 million people. Maybe one of them will be Billy Butler.

Awww, fukkit. Nobody died. Hey, the TV gets 200 channels, and I hear they're selling LSD in micro-doses! Isn't there a fantasy network somewhere, you know, a place where the Yankees win? The sun is out. The birds are chirping. They don't know what happened last night. God, they're lucky.