LOOKOUT BELOW! The Starr Insurancers reach .500, pull into Tankathon tie with Arizona

In the name of Starr Insurance - signature partner of the NY Yankees through, um, 2031! - let's not sugarcoat the current predicament: 

To catch their crosstown rival Mets in the 2023 Tankathon, the Wankees Yankees, over the next six weeks, must go totally cold - Oppenheimer's absolute zero - virtually halting the vibrational movement of their atomic particles in Scranton.

It won't be enough to give up five runs at the start and then record only one hit off a journeyman sluggo, as they wondrously did last night.

Hell, anyone can disgrace themselves against the best team in baseball. This weekend, we host Boston, a team of sinkholes with barely a puncher's chance at the final wild card participatory ribbon. 

Boston has the LF we should have signed last winter, the pitcher we should have protected two years ago, and Chris Sale, whom they obtained for the Cuban prospect we long ago should have outbid them to secure.

But but BUT... we have one thing they don't have. 

The Starr Insurance Arm Patch! 

Yes, Starr Insurance, our partner for the next years, along with Giancarlo Mendoza.

Who does not love the Starr story? Did you know that Corneilius Vander Starr opened his first insurance company in Shanghai, back in 1919? Well, now, you do. Let's hope Hal has Starr policies for his homes and boats, so he won't sink with this team. 

So, with six weeks to play, sitting at .500, what should the Yankees do?

I say... STAND PAT! 

The Yankees are hapless, toothless, punchless and directionless - (unless you consider "downward.") This team can easily lose 10 straight to fellow tomato cans. Frankly, we have one option: Root against them. 

This team has already done the impossible: It's made me feel sorry for Aaron Boone. Night after night, the poor man gets thrown before the cameras to make sad excuses for players who are either dead as gravel or who just do not give a wiz anymore. Boone's regular hostage videos will be his legacy. He knows he's gone, come October, the scapegoat to this humiliation. The one question remaining: Will he crack? Will he start belching obscenities, shaving with the microphone and swiveling his head 360, like Linda Blair in her pajamas? 

If the Yankees continue to slide, maybe the angst will rise beyond Boonie. Maybe Hal will feel a pang of discomfort. Some night at The Club, maybe the Commodore will idly mention it, causing Hal to break into a sweating spell. Maybe, he'll find a loogie on his windshield, or a flaming turd on his doorstep, or he'll wonder if the clams - all still tightly shut - might be undercooked?  

At least Steve Cohen tried to buy respectability for his Mets. Over the last decade, Hal has played a parlor game - seeking to spend just enough  for the Yankees to contend, but to never go overboard, never cutting into the full inheritance. 

Nope, this team needs to lose. And why not? It surely has insurance.