It's a hail of horrors, and the worst is yet to come

I believe that we at IT IS HIGH celebrate Yankee wins more joyously than anywhere in the known Rizzutonic universe. 

And when our heroes fail, we fling our buckets of flaming feces harder than anywhere else in God's creation.

Last night, we ran out of gasoline and shit. 

Last night brought what should have been the worst Yankee embarrassment since - say - Babe Dahlgren and Spud Chandler headed the war-ravaged teams of the 1940s. In fact, it was merely our worst game since Saturday and - if you want to travel back further - since the infamous Game 5 of the 2024 World Series. 

October embarrassments now happen on an annual basis.

Choking has become the Yankee brand. 

Seriously. How else do you explain the last two games against Tampa, when they have... 

Nearly been no-hit. 

Failed to plate one baserunner.

Struck out 18 times.

Turned every routine grounder into an adventure. 

Played as if watching the game on TV. (Can someone explain to Spencer Jones that, in the postseason, players dive?) 

Resembled the Redsocks. 

Against Boston, they made every play. 

Against Tampa, they've botched everything their way.  

Listen: This is where we're supposed to say it aint over, that we can win two in NYC and send this thing back south (maybe to coincide with a roof-shredding Gulf Coast hurricane.) 

Sorry, but it aint gonna happen. (Actually, the hurricane might.)

The 2026 Yankees are a team of destiny. 

Just not the kind we wanted. 

We know how this ends. Like last year, and the year before. The Yankees have mentally cleaned out their lockers. If Tampa scores, it's over. It will end on a cold, blustery night, with the Yankees down by a handful, with the TV announcers blathering excuses, with the umps hurrying things along, with the Rays pointing to objects thrown onto the field, and with the authorities fearing the cascade of boos will become something far worse. 

We're going home, where the anger will be hard to ignore. 

The worst is yet to come.