And so it begins: Grandy is hurt

For the first 30 days, the best part of Camp Tamp was the injury rate. Yeah, Frankie C self-immolated again -- happens every spring -- but he's Plan B. Joba tweaked his weenie last week, and Colin Curtis -- the outfielder with the anchorman man -- went home in a supersling. We were generally safe and secure. (Keep your family safe and secure with NY Life...)

Yesterday, everything changed. Granderson pulled up twitching. Strained oblique. Whatever the hell that is. They say if it were Game Seven of the World Seires, he'd play. Whoopie. With Granyman out, Andruw Jones starts, and suddenly our top-to-bottom line-up looks more bottom-to-top.

But it's not losing Grandy for a week that scares us. It's like the western, where Scrappy and Mule are cooking beans over a fake fire. The Scrappster says, "It's quiet." Mule says, "Yeah. Too quiet."

It's too quiet. And we're too thin. Last night, on the MLB Speculation Network, one of the speculators speculated that A-Rod will have a great year, returning to Top 5 player status. Great. Just great. If the guy had broken into A-Rod's house and set skateboards on the stairways, or infected Cameron Diaz with the new measles, he couldn't have hung a greater curse on us.

All spring we've been contented. Now, Bartolo Colon is our fifth pitcher, and Andruw Jones might be starting. It's not quiet anymore. Is it starting?