"These guys look great!", yelled the devil on my right shoulder Monday night.

"It's only early May. They've started off like this before," said the angel on my left.

"20-7? They've never started like this before!" said the devil.

"Almost all of their games have been against Baltimore, Kansas City, and Tampa Bay," pointed out the angel. "Their real season starts Tuesday in Oakland."

The angel continued Tuesday night. "You know their season depends on Pedro. He had a rough game tonight. Don't count on him blowing everyone away."

The devil snorted. "Look at the rest of the rotation! Burkett's fine, Lowe is better than anyone could have bargained for, and Oliver looks good too," he countered. He added, "And even if Pedro did struggle tonight, they got the W."

Last night, the devil was on fire. "12-6!" he yelled. "Everyone's hitting! What's more, everyone's hitting in the clutch! Manny's on fire! Shea's on fire! Johnny Damon's the leadoff hitter they've been looking for for approximately 175 years!" The angel, somewhat subdued, just sniffed and reminded me to check the calendar.

The angel was in my face all this morning. "No way they sweep Oakland," he muttered, reeking a little bit of gin and a bad night's sleep. "And the Yankees will win tonight and the lead will shrink a bit."

After today's game, the devil was ecstatic. "When Jose Freaking Offerman's chipping in, you know I'm right!" he yelled. "Embrace the dark side. Believe that this will be the year!"

The angel was gone. On my left shoulder was an empty bottle and a note that said only "I'll be back in August."