In 2006, after the first flameout in Detroit, while enjoying the honking horns in the mostly abandoned downtown, I wrote that the Yankees had descended to organizational complacency:

“As of now, the Yankees are officially the Atlanta Braves. They have a nice little season. They qualify for the playoffs. And then bad stuff happens to them.”

That was two flameouts ago in Detroit. Watching a beleaguered city, given hope from the federal investment in the auto industry, celebrate a rare victory in anything, it is hard to keep a straight face, if you love underdogs.

As for what has befallen the Yankees, it seems to be the predestination of an old-fashioned children’s fable — the prince or princess haunted by a fatal prediction:

If you sip from the magic potion, you may enjoy the bloom of youth. But never forget that someday the dark angel will return and claim his percentage.

The curse, if you will, of the Yankees has been the rush to acquire Alex Rodriguez from Texas for the 2004 season, a continuation of the Steinbrenner Fatal Flaw — the Yankees cannot stop overpaying for aging sluggers and pitchers.