Suddenly, the end is in sight for the Yankees. It will not be pretty

For nearly 60 years, I have watched the Yankees obsessively. They were never a hobby or fun-filled pastime. They are a presence, a projection of my mind, or my soul - or maybe something I'd prefer not identify. I dunno. They have brought great joy, moments when I literally leaped up to shout with happiness. But I also know this:

The end - that is, the final loss of a Yankee season - is never pretty. 

In this world, there are few things uglier than a final loss at home.

That last defeat is not PG-13, not suitable for children, or women who are pregnant or may want to become pregnant, or people with heart conditions or who may be experiencing suicidal thoughts. The final moments come with unholy shrieks, words best unpondered, and a dark sense that a zombie damn has burst, that no security force on earth can control this crowd, and that we are staring into the open maw of Hell.  

When the Yankees lose this series - as I now expect - Yankee Stadium will become Hong Kong. 

We will hear boos of an intensity not known in recent times. They will corroborate the worst decade in Yankee history, a stretch when the once-premier team in American sports failed to reach the World Series. It will take months to fully process the magnitude of this failure. We will have squandered some of the most uplifting events in modern times - career years by wondrous, over-achieving players... because we dumped them for a bunch of returning celebrities.

How I could have been so naive? Why did I believe Luis Severino - or anybody, for that matter - could miss six months and suddenly return in peak form? How did I convince myself that the long Yankee history of home run hitters failing against solid pitching would no longer apply, and that this year, it would be different? What made me think the Yankees could "bullpen" the entire month of October? Why did I think Giancarlo Stanton would stay healthy for a week, much less a month?

Yeah, I know, I'm venting, lashing out at everyone near... but damn, I've seen this movie too many times to not shout out to the theater what's about to happen next. The Astros look alive in every sense of the word, while we just march back to the dugout, bats in hands. We have yet to touch their bullpen, while ours will soon crack at its seams. We cannot beat Geritt Cole, and we know it. Tonight, Greinke will shut us down, and then comes Verlander. And if we're even lucky enough to bring in El Chapo with a lead, then comes the inevitable meltdown. 

I doubt this series will return to Houston. Our world collapsed with the game-tying HR that Adam Ottavino surrendered Sunday night. Aaron Boone was over-managing because last year, against Boston, he under-managed. It's a symmetry, right? It almost had to happen. 

All season, the Yankees roared back from adversities, many of them just like this. But that was a team of nobodies. This is a lineup of poohbahs who sporadically sat out the last four months, carried here on the shoulders of men who earned the Major League minimum. The end is near. And trust me, it will not be pretty.