Toronto's bullpen has collapsed. Yankee fans can relate.

So sorry to hear about the Blue Jays' late-innings bullpen diarrhea.

So, so sad. 

Imagine: Leading in the bottom of the 8th, five outs from victory, then surrendering five runs, punctuated with a grand slam. For Yank fans, such an event falls beyond our capabilities to fathom. 

It's like calling upon Jake Bird, Allan Winans and, finally, a position player, to nail one down. Or bringing out Nestor Cortez for the first time in two months, to face Shohei Ohtani in a World Series. It's as if the ghost of Edwar Ramirez just returned from the Canadian North Pole. Or as if Fernando Cruz and Mark Leiter just gave up nine runs without recording at out. (This happened in September.) If Scott Proctor were here, he'd have burned his mitt at home plate.

So, so sad to watch the Yankees' season-long bullpen collapse happen to our fine friends from the Polite Buffalo, the Evil-Hateful Jays. Something about a bullpen meltdown magnifies the impending PTSD of defeat. Three reasons:

1. It always reflects on the manager. (See BOONE, AARON.) If he'd left in the starter, who knows? Managers aren't supposed to blow games. In It's a Wonderful Life, they say that whenever a Christmas bell rings, an angel gets her wings. In this life, whenever a bullpen collapses, the manager loses a nut.

2. It devastates the afflicted pitcher. Often, especially in October, you're dealing with a hearty bullpen lug nut, a season-long eater of innings. He's a trusted bar of soap, a bracing shot of whiskey, a jolly-good-fellow that nobody can deny. He worked his way into the Circle Of Trust. (Every manager has one.) And look - LOOK! He just got torched. On Star Trek: The Next Generation, the first thing a bad guy used to do was always punch out Worf. By that, he showed everybody that he was tougher than their toughest guy. In this case, Toronto brought in their Worf, and the Gorn just dropped him.

3. It revives the other team. Suddenly, everybody knows: You can't hold a lead. You can't close the deal. You had them, and you botched it. On The Patty Duke Show, this would be the moment when everybody at the sock hop realizes that it's Cathy, who adores a minuet, not Patty, who loves to rock'n'roll, a hot rod makes her lose control. Once they know who's really pitching, it's fukinay over. Tonight, Seattle will be playing on stilts. 

Yank fans know the feeling. Barely two weeks ago, we were suddenly vaulted into a Bizarro universe where Camilo Doval was the ray of hope, and Luke Weaver - honest, trustworthy Luke - was the pariah. 

Nothing burns like a bullpen meltdown. And Toronto just crapped one.

So, so, so sad.