Soul-crushing Yankee defeat conjures memories of Aroldis, Donaldson and Hicks.

Isaac Newton's beloved Third Law of Motion states that, for every great Yankee victory, there will be an equal and opposite crapping of the bed. 

This fits in with Flo's Third Law of Progressive Insurance, which states that a Yankee team can bundle its hitting, fielding and base-running lapses into one incredible loss, which feels like 10.

Which then can be summed up by Bruce's Third Law of fans, which says the Mets fan wanna be first, Phills fan wanna be king, but the Yank fan ain't satisfied 'til he wears a series ring. 

All of which leads to last night, when the Death Barge unleashed demons from recent dark seasons, memories we thought had been wiped clean over the last two weeks. 

Soon, like, maybe this week, we will learn the truth about the '24 Yankees: Are they really AL East contenders? Or did they simply just blow through a winning streak, and the stagecoach will now revert back into the pumpkin. By mid-June, will we be chasing a wild card? Last night, the Babaduks escaped. Let's roll call the demons...

The Aroldis Ninth. God help us. The mere phrase rattles me. It feeds the notion that no lead is safe, and that a one-run margin is basically hopeless. It's hard to believe that we had El Chapo for seven years - seven painful years - when his ERA flew from 2.01 to 4.46. He could lose on a HR to a 20-year-old Rafael Devers, or to a cheating Jose Altuve, or he could fill the bases with walks. Coupled with Gary Sanchez's defensive skills, to watch Aroldis Chapman implode was like adding Mentos to Pepsi and waiting for the sugar orgasm. He could fan the first two batters on six pitches, go 0-and- 2 on the third - and never throw another pitch within the area code of the strike zone. And the rivers of sweat! They cascaded off the brim of his cap. The guy left puddles. Seven years of blown leads, each one a torture chamber, followed by flood waters - and here's the rub: We might be eerily entering a similar state with Clay Holmes, who is known to hit slumps. We've seen him hit the wall. He did last night. 

The Donaldson Effect. There haven't been many Yankees to reach the state of utter revulsion achieved last June by Josh "Jackie" Donaldson. By mid-May, he was being roundly booed at home, and each pop fly or ground out conjured postgame YES assurances that his swing was finally coming around, and that he'd soon start hitting. Well, he didn't. He never even cracked .150, finishing his Yankee trial at .142. 

It's worth noting that, with decent Yankee finales, both Aroldis and Donaldson could have punched their tickets to to Cooperstown. Instead, I doubt it will happen. They reached the greatest stage in American sports, and they puked. They'll always fall a few votes short, because every writer in NYC only remembers one part of their career.

No current Yank qualifies for a Donaldson comparison. But Gleyber Torres could be the next Aaron Hicks. He just keeps messing up. Last night, he botched a key infield single, throwing wide to first - Knoblauch-like into the home dugout - advancing the runners, and adding to the pressure on Holmes. 

I believe the team has little choice but to go with Gleyber, at least into July. If he gets traded, we'll get next to nothing in return, and he could do what Hicks did last year: Make the Yankees look like a lost organization (which they might just be.) 

Add a Giancarlo GIDP with the bases loaded - killing the chance to break open the game - and last night raised memories of Journey's Third Law of Threesomes: 

Some will win, some will lose, some - like Greg Bird, Clint Frazier and Miguel Andujar - are born to sing the blues. 

Last night, we sang.