On this darkest of all Mickmas Days, the question must arise: Are we in hell?

The signs are all too obvious.

The Yankees' season come sputtering to an end in the same way it has for most of the past 25 years...and our general manager holds a press conference to cheerfully announce that we will keep doing the exact same thing, in the exact same way.

The Mets were even worse this year. 

The Giants just surrendered 33 points in the fourth quarter after shutting out their opponent for the first three quarters—only the second time anything like that has happened in the history of the NFL.

The Jets have yet to win a game.

The Rangers get shutout every time they play at home, threatening to break an NHL record.

What is it with all these records of futility? It seemed like every time we looked up this season, we were told that the Yankees had performed their worst feat of hitting or scoring since some moment in 1912, or maybe 1908.

And then, of course, there is our manager—the first one in Yankees history to manage for eight seasons without ever taking a ring.

We can only guess what the Knicks, Nets, Devils, and Islanders have in store for us.

Which leads me to one simple conclusion on this Mickmas, holiest of all holy Yankee Days, birthday of the Commerce Comet himself: we have all died and gone to hell.

How else to account not only for the complete collapse of our sports teams here in Loser City—or how the Yankees are openly ridiculed on national television—but also how we ended up with an attorney general who looks like a car hop waitress and will gladly indict anyone alive upon orders?

How else to account for the imminent death of newspapers, magazines, motion pictures, and television?

How else to account for the army in our streets, chasing after immigrant delivery boys to see if they have their papers?

How else to account for a president who, in response to a nationwide protest against him, gleefully tweets out a fantasy video of him dumping shit on people from an airplane?

Nope. There is no other explanation. We are in hell.

And look! It's the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse!