The ball rolled around in Gardy's glove, pondered the universe for one long moment, and then it decided to stay

So long, Jogginson Cano! Get 'em next year!

It brought one of those insane, out-of-body moments - the reason we root for the Yankees, which eclipses all the arguments of why we should not care. It vaulted me from the couch, wailing like a piglet in a pen. Game of Thrones doesn't do that to me. The Oscar awards don't do that. It was a moment I'll remember all winter - (no, NO, let's be honest): I'll remember that catch the rest of my life.

At the sub-atomic level, they say moments don't exist. They cannot be quantified. (How many moments in a minute? A billion?) They cannot be isolated. But moments are the time frames by which we ridiculous humans measure our lives. We cannot relive a minute, but certain moments never end. They last forever. You reach a certain age - I'm a fogey - and you think your best moments - even as a Yankee fan - have come and gone. Then Brett Gardner slams into the wall and holds onto the ball, and you're on your feet and screaming, as if the living room got hit by lightning. Weird, eh?

If last night had gone the wrong way - let's say if the ball bounced into the stands - we'd be emotionally dead today. I'd bite off the nose of anyone who even talked about the Wild Card race. And if we lose tonight, Toronto leaves five up in the loss column and shrugs off this series like a baby flea bite. We made our bed in April. It's been a glorious five weeks since the "sell-off," but now we wonder what took so long? How could we limp all the way to July 31 with such a tired, boring team? The answer was always right in front of us - the kids at Scranton were crushing the league - yet we slogged along with Tex, A-Rod, McCann, etc.

A question: Do you think we really learned anything, or next winter, will Hal revert back to the ways of the almighty contract? (There are rumors that we'll package our four best prospects for Jose Fernandez or some other ace, who surely will then need Tommy John surgery.) Frankly, I'd like to see a sell-off every July, if we have prospects. No more kids rotting in Scranton. If he's ready, clear a path. That's what Boston is doing, and thanks to Yoan Moncada, they might be winning for a long time.

Which brings me - at last - to Gardy, for many years my fave Yank. When the team signed Ellsbury and Beltran three years ago, it left a foul taste, because it seemingly meant Gardner was gone. But lately, I've wished him gone. He doesn't hit for average, he doesn't hit for power, he doesn't steal, and last night, I was furious at him for pulling up on a bloop single that drove in two Toronto runs. I was preparing an angry rant that would lay the loss on Gardy.

Well, he didn't make the greatest fielding play of the season, but he made the most important one. And the image of him throwing his arms into the air like Nixon, flinging the ball upwards like a little leaguer, it's a moment for the scrapbook in my head.

These are probably Gardy's final days as a Yankee. Either he or Ellsbury must go, and Ellsbury's contract makes him untradeable. It's nice to appreciate Gardy for a change. Last night, he had me screaming with joy.

We are alive. Maybe not for long, but we are alive. There will be more moments. They will last forever. Let's hope they're good ones.