The decimation of Boston caps a delightful first-half, so let's give credit where it's due: To the juju gods!

Okay, everybody... exhale.

We just finished a wonderful, joyous and orgasmic first half of baseball. To cap it off, the Yankees humiliated Boston in a way that may have effectively ended their hopes this year.

Of course, anything less than a 2022 world championship will leave us raging at the cosmos - that goes without saying - but still, there are times when credit must be given where it's due. No, I'm not suggesting we lay off Cooperstown Cashman, Food Stamps Hal or Chewing Gum Von Boone. They still have work to do. 

But today, I want to acknowledge those adorable and overlooked deities who toil in the sweatshops of eternity - the juju gods, whose job is to fix baseball games. 

At times, I have posted angry sentiments about these unsung undergods, who work nights, weekends and holidays, who gather in the foyers of infinity to smoke their cigarettes, and who occasionally push our Frenzy Button, as they did Friday night when the Yankees twice grounded into DPs with the game on the line. I could bellow obscenities at them - actually, I have, many times - but on this sunny July morning, with a 13-game lead in the AL East, I see no reason to speak ill of these charming, lovable, hard-toiling faeries.

In particular, I'm noting their direction of one line drive yesterday off the bat of Aaron Hicks. The ball collided with Chris Sales' pinky finger, breaking it and probably ending his season - along with the dream October that Redsock fans were fantasy. 

Look, I cannot lie: My first reaction to the liner was to yell things that, I hope, will not be held against me at the Final Judgement. 

Chris Sale has been a nemesis in our sides for 12 years. (Remember: He also killed us as a Chicago White Sock.) The fact is, if Food Stamps Hal Steinbrenner had simply signed Yoan Moncada, Sale might have - could have - been a Yankee. Also, a broken pinky is not pancreatic cancer. It's about as minor as a season-ending injury can be. 

That said, I understand the disappointment Chris Sale must feel today. I wish him a recovery, so that someday the Yankees can beat him in a big game. 

There are injuries of malice (beanballs), malpractice (OF collisions) and hubris (not playing in Toronto for refusing to be vaccinated.) But it was those mirthful jackals of enchantment - the juju gods - who directed that ball into Sale's pinky. In a million swings of the bat, Aaron Hicks might not do it again.

That, my friends, was pure juju. 

And this year, with a few exceptions, the juju gods have been kind to us. 

In the past, I have suggested that these divine divas of infinite legerdemain have shown a tendency to torture us in October. I just want to state right here, for the record, that I understand they are merely doing their jobs. I thank them for their work, for their tireless devotion to detail, and - in advance, I humbly suggest - for their help in the 2022 world series.

Today, these gallant overseers of everlasting necromancy deserve nothing but praise. I'd also like to note how they saved Joey Gallo's final moments in the Yankee sun with a HR. Nice touch, people! That was artistic!

I wish there were a way to reward these sorcerous pixies of devilry. On that note, I want to declare an IT IS HIGH MORATORIUM ON CRITICIZING THESE MARVELOUS HUMANOID DEMICREATURES. 

Most of all, I just want to say, Thanks! And, hey, have you guys been working out? Because I'd swear, it looks like you've lost weight...