In this millennium, is the Curse of the Bambino on us?

In April of 2008, the Yankees made a public splash by jack-hammering deep into their new stadium's still-curing concrete foundation to remove what they knew to be a dangerous curse upon their team: A David Ortiz jersey had been surgically buried into the floor by a "laborer," who was, in fact, an undercover hatchet man of the juju sciences. 

Today, we might wonder what else was set into the cement bowels of the Yankees' massive mausoleum monument to old money?

Are the Yankees cursed? Is this all an elaborate joke being played out on the cosmological stage, by grumbling, cheap-suited deities with axes to grind? 

If this weekend, the Death Star loses all four games - summoning Boston up from its grave and reanimating a corpse that had festered for weeks - it will be the Def-Com 5 of Juju. It will be time for pitchforks and torches, time to march upon the monolithic tomb that we once called "the House that Ruth built," time to disassemble this glued-together shit pile of cursed obelisks and start over, maybe across the street, where the vibes may still ring with hope.  

Could this entire 2019 season - the year of comebacks and improbable heroes - turn out to be a flaming paper bag filled with dog poop, left on our front stoop for us to stomp out? 

If Boston goes on a tear, takes the Wild Card and then runs the table - (dear God, we'd end up rooting for Houston) - this would become the worst October since 2004 - no, I take it back - the worst in our fan lives, a collapse as breathtaking as anything we've known, all while watching our arch-enemy lope past us to the finish line.

If we can imagine something, it can happen.

If Boston sweeps, they will have beaten us in 7 of the last 8 games. 

Last night, they sent the Light Brigade - seven of the 21 pitchers on their ridiculously bloated staff. (Next year, MLB will not allow such hording of arms.) Meanwhile, Domingo Jean German once again came up short as "ace" of our staff. Yes, German is a fine young pitcher. He's simply not a No. 1 starter. Last night - though squeezed by the home plate ump - he gave up four runs with two outs, letting a game slip away, with waves of despair rising from my TV like the tidal surge on the Outer Banks.

Could Boston do it? Yeah. They could. 

But everything hinges on this weekend. If they sweep the Yankees, they will feast upon a month of tomato cans. They play:

Three in Toronto, which is no longer the vibrant young team that played us. They have lost five straight. A chance for a sweep.

Two in Philadelphia, which has fallen out of the NL Wild Card race. Another sweep.

Three at home against the long-dead Giants. A sure sweep.

Four in Tampa. Season on the line. I wonder if anybody ever thought to bury an Ortiz jersey in Tropicana Field?

Three in Texas against the Rangers. Sweep.

Three at home against - gulp - Baltimore. Need I say it? 

Fourteen tomato cans in 18 games. 

Which leaves us with one question, perhaps to be answered this weekend:

After all is said and done, will the 2019 Yankees turn out to be the ultimate tomato can?