Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to talk with you again...

They shouldn't have played the game. Assholes. They waited nearly three hours, three fucking hours, until hardly anybody remained in the shit hole known as Guaranteed Rate Field. They did it to save money, obviously. It's always about money.  When you play in a place called Guaranteed Rate Field, can there be any other consideration than money? 

They shouldn't have played the game... 

I still feel sick this morning. And I'm pissed. It ain't right. Dustin Fowler didn't deserve this. Who the hell is running this universe? Is this somebody's idea of a joke? Bring up an innocent young player, mire him in traffic for 90 minutes while racing to the game, make him wait for nearly three hours for the most exciting moment of his life and then... this? He never even comes to bat? No. It ain't right. I tell you, if anybody is running this show, it just ain't right. 

I keep thinking of Moonlight Graham in Field of Dreams, denied for eternity his one shot at glory, or Roy Hobbs in The Natural. It's like that opening scene where Hobbs strikes out The Whammer on three pitches... and then pays the price. Make no mistake: This is one of the cruelest acts ever perpetrated by the juju fates who run the baseball universe. They should be ashamed of themselves. Dustin Fowler didn't deserve this. 

They shouldn't have played the game...

How could they leave electrical boxes so exposed, so perfectly situated to wreck an outfielder's knee? Didn't the designers receive a guaranteed rate of pay? The Yankees should hire Trump's lawyers and sue the city of Chicago down to the mayor's porn stash. Surely, White Sox outfielders get warned about the danger. But a youngster barely 20 minutes into the most memorable game of his life - what chance did Dustin Fowler have? Goddamm. It's just so wrong, folks. It's just so fucking wrong!

Joe Girardi cried. Right there, on the Guaranteed Rate grass, for the world to see... a grown man wept. And in that moment, I remembered why I love the guy. Yeah, Joe's had some bad seasons, made some lousy decisions, but listen: His heart has always been pure. He's still the guy who, while driving home from a World Series celebration, stopped to help a desperate motorist on the side of a busy highway outside White Plains. Last night, for the universe to see, Joe cried like a baby, and I am thankful that he is our manager. I'm glad he was out there, because it meant that every Yankee fan in the world did not have to cry alone. 

In two days, we have lost two young players - Tyler Austin and now Fowler. It's as the Fates are testing us. And make no mistake: The Fates are fucking assholes. They couldn't make it as legitimate gods, so they sit around, fixing baseball games and thinking they're important. I hope they face an Attica riot in heaven, or hell, or wherever they are. It ain't right. Greg Bird, James Kaprelian, Glyber Torres, Tyler and now Fowler. To make matters worse, Rob Refsnyder stank out the joint last night. He muffed a fly that allowed two runs - the final margin of loss. And this morning, things are so nuts that we're actually summoning back Chris Carter from the Netherworld. Apparently, even with the Yankees eating his salary, nobody else in baseball wanted him. It's that bad. When I look outside my window, I expect to see Rod Serling making a speech into a camera.

They shouldn't have played the game...

Have I said that this really, reallly sucks? That's not the most poetic way of putting it, I guess. And let's be real here: Nobody died, right? Dustin Fowler should be back for spring training, starting over - (though he may never have the same speed, the same abilities, the same golden future.) This just sucks! This is why players receive such ridiculous gobs of money - and why owners should be horsewhipped and dragged through the streets. For the players, nothing in baseball is ever guaranteed - except, of course, Guaranteed Rate Field. That's guaranteed to make money. That's guaranteed to suck.

Jesus, we need to win tonight.