Is it A-Rod's hip that is barking, or could it be his tender feelings?

Yankee fans live in perilous times. Our mortal enemies, from above and below, have sworn not only to destroy us, but to steal our prospects and raise them as Mariners or Brewers. One mistake - one Drabek for Rhoden deal - and the franchise could be hurtled back to the great displacement of 1984 - the year of the Doomsday Georges: Orwell and Steinbrenner.

Yesterday, we cycled between hope and despair. Against a middling lefty, our marshmallow batting order couldn't even make a peep. Once, Jim Leland called us "Murderers Row and then Cano." Today, we are "Cannery Row and then Cano." We are the saddest team in baseball - a fan base as polarized as the U.S. electorate - half hoping Alex Rodriguez will save us, and half preferring to never see him again.

And now, his feelings seem to have been hurt.

A-Rod started a firestorm Tuesday with a seemingly harmless tweet that offered hope for his return. If the guy eats a peanut butter sandwich, he gets blasted as a jelly-hater. The Yankee brass reacted as if it had been hacked by Edward Snowden. Apparently, all "news" must be sanitized - or "Jeterized" - before being troweled out to the hungry public. The latest line says, according to sources - (i.e. Brian Cashman, speaking on voice distorter from his Cone of Silence) - A-Rod told the Yankees he might not be able to play this year, or ever. A day earlier, he was giddy about returning. Now, he's changed his mind. So there!

I have no inside track on A-Rod or Cashman or anybody. But if you have ever dealt with a six-year-old child, you have dealt with all of them. This is the classic reverse-polarity positive-negative "I want cake, no, I won't eat it and you can't make me, OK, I will have a piece" line of tantrum-throwing, which happens whenever somebody didn't get enough naptime and has become cranky. It's fitting that A-Rod would use it. It's sad that the Yankees do it, too.

Way I see it, the Yankiverse has two big days left on its '13 calendar:

1. The day Jeter returns. This homecoming gala, probably in late August, will bring blessings, speeches and tears. Maybe they will give him a car. Maybe virgins will toss flower pedals in his path. He will draw an historic ovation, and if he gets a hit - hopefully, the pitcher will David Price the situation - the celebration will last into the following evening. But the game won't matter. The Yankees will probably be so far out of contention that it's equal to an exhibition victory, a marketing ploy for 2014 bobbleheads. Or... maybe not... because of the biggest day of the century:

2. The day A-Rod comes marching home again. Hurrah. On this day, news networks will break from hurricanes or Presidential press conferences to cover A-Rod's first swings from the batter's box. Half the country will expect a sniper to shoot him down. Half will be rooting for it. The ovation will be thunderous, as cheers and boos compete. Whatever he does will go down in history. If he hits a homerun, I hope they have enough security to keep hordes from storming the field. He will either lead the team to a brief run, or his failures in the heart of the lineup will brutally end the Yankees' chances. But this will be the fulcrum point of our season, and I suggest - the magnetic reason we long ago became Yankee fans. The world will stop, and everybody - especially those smirking Redsock fans - will watch.

This will be baseball's moment of truth - that is, unless Bud Selig nixes it. I'm thinking he won't: There's too much money to be made, and MLB will lose big if both NY teams are booted from contention by August 15. Still, you never know. Selig - who embraced the excitement generated by the home run record surges of the 1990s, allowing the nation to forget his disastrous attempts to impose a salary cap, which led to the players strike - has built a huge operation around crushing any star who hits too many home runs and makes too much money. That the lords of baseball once happily looked the other way on steroids will be left to the Howard Zinns of history. There will never be another A-Rod. There will never be another George Steinbrenner. But George Orwell? I think we'll see plenty more of him.
So get ready, folks. The Yankee events off the field are already obscuring the nothingness that happens on Cannery Row. We live in perilous times. Might as well enjoy the ride.