An open letter to the Juju gods: One more Boston loss, and I'll call this year a wash

Dear Madams or Sirs,

The fate of the 2016 Yankees was etched into my concrete Buster Browns last April: For the first season since Danny Tartabull and Arturo Lopez roamed the earth, we were so fundamentally bad that thinking fans started actively rooting for a tear-down. When Tampa swept us at the trade deadline, it was an act of tearful, yet supreme mercy akin to the closing scenes of Old Yeller. It rousted Hal Steinbrenner from his Ibogaine delirium and forced him to actually think about the future, rather than his next uniform number retirement.

Make no mistake: It was a crap year - a failure, a lost cause, a rancid 365-day mucking out of a toxic sewer dump.

But, hey, Juju gods, who stays mad?

Not me. I'm a nice guy. And I've changed. Those lewd remarks I made about owning you - grabbing you by the - umm - that was just fan blog banter. I didn't mean it. Besides, I've heard far worse from Redsock fans on the golf course - far worse. That wasn't really me. I'm not that way. I've changed. Hey, you wanna see me grovel? OK, look, I'm on my knees, groveling. You got me. You win.

So, anyway, here's my deal:

I'm willing to accept 2016 for what it was - pure crapola - and forget it, to move on, as if nothing happened... if Boston loses today.

That's right, Juju gods, I'm talking to you. If Boston loses - if you simply put a bad-hop here or there, or wrangle a called third strike, I'll call it this wash year. Hey, we were going to win. But these whiny Boston cheesedicks have been planning their victory parade since May, telling us how great they are and how smart they are, and how this is their century, and how everybody loves them... and hey... I'm looking at you.

I'll move on. I won't complain all winter. I'll talk you up. I'll say nice things. One more loss, amigos? One more loss. Today. One more loss, and Boston is right where they belong: With us.