Why is it that whenever I hear the phrase "possible catastrophic event," I think not of Flight 370 but of the Yankee pitching rotation?

Lately, like all of you, I've been working to solve the mystery of Flight 370. (Right now, I'm thinking "self-replicating human clone spores;" that's all I'm allowed to say.) Of course, a few big-mouth know-it-alls still cling to the non-supernatural explanations. Pheh. If this isn't a Bond Super-villain, I haven't been watching TV for 50 years. Still, let's consider the reality that every Yankee fan knows:

There ARE such things as unexplained catastophic explosions. They are unexplained. They are catastrophic. And they go... poof.

Right now, I'm looking at the Yankee rotation and thinking "Yep, it's Flight 370!" Of course, this is pure fan pessimism. Could be, everything will turn out fine. Maybe Adam Warren and Vidal Nuno will save the day, the way that fat guy, Hurley, did in Lost. It's spring, and every team in baseball is still the 1927 Yankees, every rookie is still Bryce Harper, and every returning vet is still Derek Jeter - including Derek Jeter!

But what happens, my friends, if our pitching staff is taken over by self-replicating human clone spores?

1. CC Sabotage. Unless he starts eating small children, CC will pitch this season looking like an Alvin Ailey dancer. We used to have a barge. Now we have a canoe. We are watching a grand experiment: Sabathia has dramatically altered his physique, slimmed down, and we shall see what happens. Feel free to roll your eyes. Listen: He's a smart guy, an experienced pitcher. Maybe he can get by on guile and control. But there is also the chance that he is done... poof... as a Number One. If so, our left wing just fell off.

2. Hiroki Corroded. The other day, he was pounded. Unmercifully. Last September, he was pounded. Unmercifully. He is one year older, and I'm not sure there is much more wisdom to be gained at age 38. Of course, we must not stress out over spring bombings. Nope, I am NOT stressing out over spring bombings. But until Kuroda throws well, he's still the pitcher from last fall, not last May. And if he's not a solid Number Two, OMG, we're heading for the Indian Ocean.

3. Masahiro Tanker. A third starter? Who's kidding whom? This guy has already become our de facto ace, our shining hope, and the write-ups have been relentlessly, almost excruciatingly positive (as they were in the first spring of Kei Igawa.) River Ave recently asked if he will be the next great Yankee? Come on, folks: This is how you kill a guy! Why not enshrine him in the Hall and work backwards? If Tanaka is the Second Coming of Yu Darvish - and that's a big if - expect major problems this spring adjusting to MLB. If we expect him to be our ace, that's like asking a stewardess to come up front and pilot the plane.

4. Ivan Supernova. He was cuffed around yesterday, reminding us once again what it means to have Ivan Nova in your rotation: It's a roll of the dice. He throws a shutout, then a clunker. We told ourselves that his emergence at the end of last season was a coming of age, his evolution into a higher strata of starter. But did we really believe it? Did he? When it comes to full disclosure, the Malasian authorities seem more forthcoming than the Yankees.

5. Michael Pineda. Well, here we go again - riding the Good Ship Hope. Nobody knows what to think. There is now talk of having him start the season in Scranton, so the Yankees can limit his innings; they don't want him to throw 200 this year. They're still treating him as a future ace, which is fine, I guess. But that's basically Cashman clinging to a frayed strand of his trading legacy. All I know is that I cannot shake the fear that if Pineda goes to Scranton, he will never escape that toddling town. A few Triple A hitters will cuff him around, and that will be that. His outings have been great in the Sim League. How much can we realistically hope this year?

David Phelps. Pitched a solid six innings this week. He's the blue collar guy, the Ted Lilly, the one nobody ever thinks beyond fifth starter. A couple malfunctions, and he's our Number Three. (This is not exactly Lester/Lackey/Buchholtz...)

Vidal Nuno. As big a mystery as Flight 370. Last year, one day, he was dueling David Price. The next, he was going to Scranton for a few days, then a week, then a month, then poof. He was somewhere over India.

A couple tweaks, folks, and those self-replicating human clone spores could have us in the same place. At the bottom of the sea.