Better to run to Toronto...

...than to run to a girl you don't want to.
—Groucho Marx.

Reality bites.

The Yanks are now 38-22.  The nine-straight-series-won streak is over.  And just to match last year's ever-so-disappointing, 100-win club, they would have to win the next 12 in a row.

I know, I know:  after that, the 2018 Yankees went 50-40 the rest of the way.  But it's hard to promise that this year's edition won't fall just as hard, or worse.

The Ace, James Paxton, once again failed to be Andy Pettitte times five.  Or even, Andy Pettitte times .5.

The bullpen collapsed—again—leaving its record at 21-19 under my patented CollBull W/L indicator.  Not really all that formidable, and far from being the Best Bullpen What Ever Was.

Despite some impressive streaks, the pen remains, overall—between its horrendous start and its growing number of recent flops—a major disappointment on the year.

The hitting, considering the succession of tomato cans Toronto put out there, was disappointing, too.  And a crucial fielding mistake by Voit, who is now all but powerless at the plate, did not help.

But above all, this was a regression to the mean by management.

Carried away by his early-season successes—which we gave him full credit for; did we turn his head?—Coops went all in with Kendrys Morales, who after 15 games is at .167 with 1 homer and 4 ribbies.  And yet, inexplicably, still batting fourth.

And even after Britton capped off The Arson Squad's brutal night by giving up that titanic home run to Vlad the Impaler, Jr., the team was still just 2 runs down, with one inning yet to play.  A bloop and a blast, as The Master like to say.

Instead, we were treated to yet another outing from Luis Cessa, The Man Who Won't Go Away.  Ma Boone now adamantly refuses to try to grab games in which we are tied or narrowly behind in.  If we're not ahead late, forget it.

So one more game in Drearyville, then on to play in Cleveland against an Indians team that is fighting for its life, then the Mets (who always play their games against us as if it's the World Series), a rising White Sox team in Chicago, then Tampa Bay, Houston, Drearyville again, off to London with the Red Sox, more Mets, more Rays, more Dreary, more Rays, the Rockies, at Minnesota, more Red Sox,  Arizona, and Red Sox.

It doesn't calm down until August 6th, when we arrive in Baltimore for Game 112 versus the Birds.  That's right: 51 straight games against very good or very annoying teams, just as our pitching collapses, the Red Frazier Soap Opera launches, and our vaunted First Line returns to treat the season like spring training.

If we're 58-53 at the end of it, I say we'll be exceeding expectations.