So here we go. Early July, a season on the brink, and an end in sight to the era of Aaron Boone.

My god, they're like a talk show panel, spitting applause lines to a studio audience.

"We're not good right now," says Gerrit Cole/Joy Behar. 

"We've got to remember who we are," says Jazz Chisholm/Whoopie Goldberg.

Applause. Well, who the Yankees are should be easy to remember. They are a 13-year cicada manifestation, rebirthed from 2013, the year of Lyle Overbay and Melky Mesa, when they finished 3rd in the AL East.  

The Yanks have now botched nine of 10, tumbling like socks in a drier, after yesterday's phoned-in fiasco with Minesota. Everybody's got an excuse. Everybody's got a tag line. And everybody agrees on the problem: Affordability Focus.

"Losing sucks," says Aaron Boone/Elizabeth Hasselbeck.

Applause. Like last year, eh? In fact, this is last year's team, kept intact through Brian Cashman's experiments in cryonics. Right now, this team will be remembered for Jake Bird and Max Schuemann, and for its ridiculous collapse after Aaron Judge cracked a rib.  

Listen: If we live long enough, we will laugh at the memory of 2026: 

The last season of Aaron Boone. 

Applause. Yes, this is it. This is the team that ends Boone's reign. (Note: It won't take out Cashman. Whatever he has on Hal Steinbrenner, it must be Epstein Island-level shit.) But this can take out a Yankee manager.

Tonight, in Tampa, the trap door opens, and we see what lies below. 

Losing four in Tampa - easy to imagine, considering our recent play - would put the Yankees nine games behind the Rays in the loss column. From now on, they'd be chasing a wild card. 

Losing four could leave the Yankees tied with Cleveland in that wild card scrum, one game ahead of Texas, currently a .500 team.

Losing four could leave them a mere four ahead of Boston, with nearly a half-season left. 

Losing four would leave them five games above .500. 

People, we are standing on the precipice, looking out over a deathly hellscape, and preparing to leap. It's cold down there. Pronk, Lyle, Melky and the gang are waiting to catch us. So are the ghosts of Stump Merrill and Dallas Green. This could be the last Great Yankee meltdown in our lives. 

I know it hurts. I know it's scary. But don't be afraid. Breathe in the impending gloom and step forward. Soon, Boonie will be gone. This is the year it happens. And maybe, just maybe, this is the week. 

Applause.