I offer two words to summarize the ongoing status of Yankee LF Brett Gardner's problem elbow.Quack. Quack.
Good grief, what are they using to analyze it, a divining rod? Who's running the show, the team midwife? Gardner's been crocheting in front of the daytime boob tube since Tax Day, his arm wrapped in tin foil, but when he visits Marcus Welby for a monthly checkup, the veterinarian looks in his mouth and says, "Take two aspirin and come back in September." What color beads are we shaking over this guy?
Yesterday, word circulated that Gardy's elbow not only still hurts, but it picks up an AM radio station from Fort Wayne. That means 2012 looks like a wipe-out, and even though we're nine up - (As a rule, I never relax until we're 20 ahead) - everybody can imagine the September outfield pileup when Raul Ibanez - age 40 - and Andruw Jones - 240 (pounds that is) - run out of diesel. Suddenly, Cashman is back to sniffing for trades, which means overpaying for some warm body who is barely a blogger widget better than Chris Dickerson.
Personally, I blame our chronic inability to develop position players in the minors, which is epic when you consider all the Jed Lowries and Will Middlebrooks who vault from the Redsock primordial loins. (Not to mention the Rays full tap spiggot.) Our Scranton OF - now with Fukodome!- is roughtly the same age as most outfields in the Central divisions.
But one last mystery haunts me: Where TF is Eduardo Nunez? What happened to him? He's like Trini Lopez in "The Dirty Dozen." One minute, he's singing a song; next, he's gone from the movie. Last I heard, they sent Nunez to the Traveling Wilkes Barres to play SS every day. Then... poof, his parachute doesn't open, and he's vanished.
I think he's stuck in one of those Thruway rest stop toilet booths, where the latches get jammed. He could anywhere between Batavia and the Montezuma Swamp. I hate to even think of it: The guy is smelling that delicious Sbarro lasagna and those Roy Rogers Triggerburgers, but the automatic flusher keeps gurgling, obscuring his tortured cries for help. This is like that 2003 movie "Open Water," where a cute yuppie couple is left behind in the ocean to do a "My Dinner with Andre" conversation while playing shark soccer. It takes 90 minutes in the movie for the boat captain to realize that Ken and Barbie are missing. Do the Yankees even know Nunez is gone?
HEY, YOO-HOO, EVERYBODY: NUNEZ IS NOT ON THE BUS! DO YOU REALIZE WE LEFT HIM SOMEWHERE BACK THERE AROUND WEEDSPORT? HE COULD BE IN SOME TREADWAY RIGHT NOW, STILL WAITING FOR THE CONTINENTAL BREAKFAST. WE GOTTA GO BACK AND GET HIM!
Yeesh. We'll find life on Mars before we find a leftielder. Quack.
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2 comments:
Nunez is still in the toilet stall because he keeps dropping the paper before he wipes his butt with it.
come on, now. The Yanks are great at developing players. Austin Jackson is the real deal, and the Messiah Jesus just needs to finish his 40 days and 40 nights in the wilderness before he starts lighting it up. Gardner is another fine example of Yankee farm cultivation, although it appears that the Rallye BMW orthopedic practice needs a new stethoscope. And another thing, regardless of your pessimistic bleatings, our left field platoon has been pretty effective. Raul's been tearing it up enough to make somebody's calls for Johnny Damon seem -- how shall I say this? -- entirely wrong. And Andruw has had a few things to smile about, too. So, why don't you come in off the ledge for a few days and enjoy the fun. If the lead drops to 6 games, then you can resume your panic. OK?
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