Nothing is happening, or so the writers would have us believe

We're told by the Gammonites of the Yankiverse that time this week does not exist: Nothing is happening. Nothing will happen. Nothing never happened. Cashman is down in his cellar, building his dream Leggo scale model of Courtney Cox, and until his obsession is completed, no player will be traded, ditched or signed. In other words, read the funnies, everybody. There is no Yankee news.

But something must be going on. Listen: Somewhere, something. Must be. Going on!

What about Mariano? He's preparing for throat surgery. Is he trying to sing with those raspy pipes? Is using hand signals at the dinner table to motion for salt and pepper? Is he sucking on Hall's Mentholyptis cough drops? Is he drinking lemon juice? Why isn't anyone investigating this?

And Robbie. He's back from China, right? I bet he's got stories to tell about the wall, or the trains, or the ladies. (He didn't travel with Melky, did he? Good God, they're probably still over there, pillaging some fishing village.) Did he buy anything? What if he brought back some of those Asian bark beetles? The Adirondack forests could be in jeopardy? Why isn't anyone probing this?

And Arod? We know from the T-and-A websites that he's hosting parties with workout stallions who do cartwheels just to show off their gams. We know his ex, Cameron Diaz, is making the rounds of late night TV to show her gams, which look like polished steel gams. And we know he's mastered the science of stealth. How about a feature on Arod's winter?

Instead, we're told nothing is happening. Don't believe it.

Something is always happening.  It's just not happening to us.