Ladies and gentlemen, today, we can reach the bottomless bumph of mediocrity.

Human beings cannot achieve perfection.

There is always a tiny snag, or stain, or doohickey - something that ruins the perfect whatever. The Iranian rugmakers would insert one wrongful stitch, just to let Allah know they're not stealing his thunder. The ancient potters would leave a carbunkle in their mug, just to show subservience. Three Dog Night, to reveal themselves as mortal men, like everyone else, sang "Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog," the wretched song that killed their string of worthy hits. Humankind does not toy with perfection. It pisses certain entities off.    

That said, I believe the Yankees are on the verge of attaining - from a nuanced perspective - the  Absolute Perfect Summer Collapse. 

Two six-game losing streaks, nearly back to back. When an infielder throws a ball, God knows where it will go. Between innings, they bean their own teammate. They misplay routine grounders and pop flies. No lead is safe. Their pitching rotation looks like a bomb went off. By the eighth inning, if a position player isn't pitching, it's a name you've never heard. Jayvien Sandridge?  Where did he come from? Where did he go? An ERA of 27.00. And he sounds like a plan for flood control. WTF? 

Welp... today, at 1:40 p.m., the Yankees can take a grand step in the direction of perfection. 

Of course, they must lose.  

Seriously, just lose. Get swept. Let the Mets - the effing crosstown METS, and their traitorous money-grubber - mock us. Let their loudspeakers play "New York, New York," and let them own the back pages, claim the city. And let this Yankee team achieve perfection in the category of sports misery. 

I've had enough. I've seen enough. Jeremiah was a bullfrog. Sing it and fail, o, vile imposters... fail.