If I were an opposing manager, I would run the overshift on all the Yankees; they are either too stupid or too stubborn to adjust

Most major league hitters would salivate to see seven defenders sardined on one side of the field. Automatic hit. Adjust the swing and stroll to first. They could bat .400.

Not the Yankees, though. No sir. They're the Yankees! They never adjust. Just swing harder! Defenders bunched together? Drive it down their throats! We'll show 'em!

In game one, Curtis Granderson smacked two shots up the middle. One turned into a doubleplay, the other, a routine out. This, mind you, from Grandy, one of baseball's most eloquent speechmakers and a rare player with the speed to beat out a bunt and steal second. Seven defenders in right? Adjust? The Grandy Man can't.

Then there is the King of Swing: Mark Teixiera, alias "The Man Who Is Going To Change His Ways." (Already, a vast, secret fear is roiling the Yankiverse that Tex will swirl down the Giambi drain - an all-or-nothing batter, a human pop-up in the middle of our order.) Last night, we're down 8-2 with two men on base. A three-run blast would be nice. But frankly, a single would be sweeter. The Rays clog the right side - as everybody does against our boy - and the Texiambino blasts one to right - a solid hit if those pesky Rays weren't cheating, which turns into a rally-killing DP. (If there was ever a time for Tex to show the league he's changed, wouldn't it be early in the season and in the late innings of a blowout?)

But wait, there's more. Last night, Tampa overshifted on Arod! Arod! Nobody does that? Everybody knows Alex is too smart. Well, did he shorten his swing? Hell, no. He's not being paid $250 million to shorten his swing.

At one point late last night, when most thinking fans had migrated to the WWE, the John Chancellors of the YES booth discussed these Tampa overshifts. I think it was Michael Kay who said - reassuringly, like Churchill speaking to the war-stricken Brits - that only Tampa does this stuff. Other teams don't. We shouldn't worry. 

Listen: Worry! We just crapped the bed in two winnable games. And if our mighty all-stars can't take advantage of 90 percent of the field being as open as the Mohave Desert, then good night, Irene, because we're playing for a Wild Card at best. Our rivals will stack players like Leggos, and we'll hit into the teeth of it. You are either a smart team or a losing team. Thus far, we look like pugs, and our star firstbaseman is the biggest of all.