It's getting biblical

Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?

Injuries. Non-starter starters. Bullpen lugnuttiness. Girardi's choices. Mason Fucking Williams, even. Guys who need a rest (who are in their 20s or early 30s and in better shape than any of us have ever been in in our lives but get tired by preparing for and playing baseball for 5 or so hours every day).

It's a plague of locusts, blood running from our taps, boils on our noses, and the smiting of our first-born cocktail every evening.

Jesus wept, but at least he could
eat a lot of ice cream, get fat and make a couple million in the minors before he buys a beer distributorship. Us, we get nothin'. And when we get fat, all we get is statins and admonishments from our significant others.

These last four games have been curtain-rendingly awful. I used to say we can't always score eight runs to bail out the pitching staff, but now even eight isn't enough. And Mason Fucking Williams.

I mean, what have we done to deserve this? Was it hubris? Is it the God of Steinbrenner testing our faith? If we sacrifice a ram on the site of the old Stadium, will that atone for whatever our sin has been? And if we can't find a Ram, can we use an old Silverado?

Our only hope is that, somehow, we rise from the dead, even though it's been four days instead of three. It simply has to be now, before too much rot sets in.

Master, save us. Just say the warble, and our team shall be healed.