The IT IS HIGH Nation speaks... will the world listen?

As it was meant to be, the Starr Insurance Yankees lost yesterday.

The big brains at Fangraphs now calculate the team's chances of winning the 2023 Wild Card at 0.2 percent, known scientifically as a "half-smidgen." 

The Tankathon site gives them an 0.9 percent chance of tanking their sorry way into the top 2024 lottery pick.

Doing some old school, IT IS HIGH  math, that leaves us with  - hmm, carry the naught, where's the calculator? - a 98.9 percent chance that absolutely nothing will change, that they will continue to suck air with aging free agents, straight-jacket contracts and a farm system that is electrified by the Jeep bullshit brand. Meanwhile, everybody else in baseball - (in other words, the Mets and Redsocks) will at least do something.

I mean, I speak for the Yankiverse in saying... yeesh. We cannot hit. We cannot hold a lead. We cannot beat a certified tomato can in our home lair. We are wasting great seasons by two great players, both of whom must be reconsidering their reasons to be Yankees, and we cannot even find a half-smidgen reason for hope. 

But but BUT... the Yankees do have one thing that nobody else has.

Starr Insurance. Us. 

On a normal day-after, I would be drinking  Draino to get the taste of Tommy "Tomato" Kahnle out of my mouth, or photoshopping Harrison Bader-Ginsberg for his sombrero. But today, I have no bile to expectorate. 

Why? Well, we made it to Yankee Stadium for the second annual whenever  meetup of the IT IS HIGH Supermodel Cavalry, and I hereby want to thank all of you - you know who you are - for making this ridiculous blog a safehouse for Yankee prophets, tellers of truth and debunkers of bunk.

I told my family about you people. Nobody believed me. (Nothing new. They never do.) Now, though, they've seen it. And they agree: 

This matters.

So, our team lost. The tank continues. But we did our jobs. We raised our letters. We sent our message, we left our mark, we did our deed. For reasons that would require the late Stephen Hawking to deduce, we remain the most unbreakable, diehard fans of a certain team that stole our souls in childhood, and that we will never grow out of. 

So here we are, staggering through another cold August, but our integrity is still intact. Hal will never sell. But we will never quit bugging him. I thank you all for joining me on this journey. I have it on good information that when the juju gods look at us, they turn their heads and cough. Someday, we will make it. We shall romp through that field of nipples and drink the nectar of overpriced beer in pinstriped cans... and we will do it in late October under snowy skies, ruining the experience for everyone else... but us. 

Until yesterday, I was running low on hope. Today, no matter what the odds say, I believe...

So, the Yankees thank you. And so do I.