After everything that has happened, tonight will define 2020

Call me a crazy, bull-goose looney - (R.I.P. Ken Kesey and Randall Patrick McMurphy) - but I believe that by next October, the World Series will be played in front of live fannies rather than poster-board figurines. Thus, the next two weeks will be shoehorned into history as a unique moment - a post-season of neutral fields, fake noises and not even one boo. Lose tonight, and we will forever view 2020 as a mistake, a glitch, a rat we brought home from vacation, thinking it a Chihuahua. Lose tonight, and the moral of the story will be simple: We should have never lowered our guard, never turned on the TV - instead of YES, we should have said no.

But if we win, and then keep winning - (hey, we'll have beaten the AL's best team, right?) - we will not care if a 60-game season is a joke. Tonight is Kismet. Tonight is Kerouac. Tonight is everything. 

So... like America overall, we stand on a precipice overlooking heaven and hell. Realistically, I have nothing else to say. 

That said, I did draw up some notes...

1. Early in the playoffs, Met spinmeister Ron Darling was asked what the Yankees want from Gerrit Cole, based on the money they're paying him. His response: Cole needs to pitch the team to the World Series, and anything less will be a failure. He was right. 

Tonight, Cole gets his shot at Yankee mythmaking. If he can carry us through October, nobody will care if the regular season was a joke. The playoffs are real, and pitching on three-days rest is no Covid hallucination. The season may have been Fake Sports. What Cole does now is for the ages.

2. Tonight, the Death Star need at least six good innings from Cole. Seven would be better. Going the distance would be godly. The Rays bullpen will be rested. I rant about our homer-happy lineup, but tonight will probably hinge on long-balls, because Tampa won't let any pitcher get too deeply into trouble. A three-run homer wins this game.

Our big three - Green, Britton and Chapman - will pitch on fumes. I cannot help but think the game might hinge on - gulp, dare I write this? - J.A. Happ, who was ridiculed after game two. Happ's Yankee history is a roller-coaster; whenever he's relegated to The Abyss, he returns to pitch well. If Cole falters - if the myth gets undressed - Boone will need a lefty to turn the Rays lineup around. That's Happ. After that, if it's not too late, maybe the ultimate chance for legend: Deivi Garcia?

3. It's clear by now that Kyle Higashioka is the Yankee catcher. In one at-bat last night, with Jordan Montgomery serving tennis balls into the dirt, Higgy made three incredible stops, holding Tampa runners in place. I shudder to think how Gary Sanchez would have handled them. There is no going back to Sanchez. I'd prefer Eric Kratz, with his knuckleball.

4. Gleyber Torres' resurgent October reminds us all how short the regular season was, and how little we can assess it. I mean, seriously, does anyone truly believe that, in a 162-game season, Luke Voit would have led MLB in homers? Listen, Luke would have had a great year, maybe finishing in the 40s. But he would have spent a month on the Injured List, and he would have gone into a slump. 

In a normal year, 60 games brings us into June, with the brutality of the pennant race still in the distance. Gleyber entered the playoffs with a wretched set of numbers and the lingering fear that he cannot play SS. Whatever happens, he'll leave October with his image restored as the true future face of the Yankees. (Sorry, Aaron Judge, but as you say in the commercial: Fagettabowtit.)  

5. On that note, the Gammonitic universe has fallen for Randy Arozarena, the 25-year-old Cuban who looks like the Second Coming of Hank Aaron. But in a normal year, he would still be in his Odibe McDowell phase (remembering one of the great two-month legends of the past.) Maybe Arozarena is a future superstar. Or maybe pitchers simply have not developed a book on him. Remember how great Aaron Hicks looked for two months in 2017? Not to rip on Hicks - who's had back luck with injuries - but is anybody this good? 

6. I was terrorized last night when Aaron Boone yanked Zack Britton in the eighth. The guy was dealing. Tampa had no chance. Then, suddenly, there was the chance that Bad Aroldis might show up. When Bad Aroldis comes in, no lead is safe. 

And when Aroldis Chapman walked his first batter, I was screaming at the TV. (I later apologized.) Today, I can discern - well - let's call it a relative wisdom in the move: Maybe Boone was giving El Chapo a few batters to acclimate himself. With two outs, he was less likely to melt down. It worked. But yeesh, Britton lowers the temperature, and El Chapo raises it. At some point...  

7. I still can't fully process Giancarlo Stanton. Yeah, he's had a great series. Yeah, he's come through. But last night - biggest game of his Yankee life - he jogs out a DP grounder, while the Rays are soft-tossing the ball. The announcers even mention it. Later, Stanton whacks a ball into leftfield corner, and does his home run jog out of the box. Fortunately, the ball bounces around, and Stanton gets a double. No harm, no foul, I suppose. Yeah, I realize he's a hamstring waiting to tweak, but mark these words: At some point, his inability - or unwillingness - to bust his ass will cost us a game. This is no way to lead a team. 

Tonight... One flies east, one flies west, and one flies over the cuckoos nest.