As he meets his bros in the desert, let's venture into the mind of Brian Cashman

This week's GMs cluster-frack in Phoenix will likely produce only stunted news kibble because - well, let's be honest - they're not owners, just the hired help. The True Pooh Bahs of the Game (aka League of Inherited Gentlemen) are still determining such matters as:

1) Future teams' luxury tax cap threshold.
2) Future international draft.
3) Future qualifying offers for free agents, and whether they'll be linked to loss of draft picks.

Each is part of the next Players Union contract, and until it's done, the lowly, rodent-like GMs might be skittish about doing big deals.

So... in the meantime, let's play the parlor game called "Inside Brian Cashman's Mind," as he ventures into the vast, iguana-infested, suburban wastelands of molten asphalt and gun-carrying waitresses with bee-hive hair. Let us go into the Brian Brain.

Wow. It's scary in here. In July, you'll turn 50. Shit. The hair is going - check dat - gone. You could get a weave, but the writers will know. The contact lenses restored a little vigor, but the paunch is growing. Thank god the stalker is gone. Your contract is coming up, but as long as the college photos of Hal remain under lock and key, you have job security. In three weeks, you'll have to rappel down that building again, a charity thing, but why are you feeling nervous about it? You wish you could say no. It's that damn year 50 thing. You're not Benjamin Button. Fuck. You wish you and Theo could grab some Viagra Single Packs, slip away to Vegas for a night and find some showgirls - pretend to be Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, like the old times. But Mr. Cubs is too famous now. Damn. It's going to be a week of sushi bar french fries and trying to dodge old Joel Sherman.

So here are your three objectives.

1. Finally... get this team below Hal's goddamm magic payroll number. For six years now, Hal has been whining about the Yankees paying too much in luxury tax - which they do. You've flirted with $189 million but never nailed it. Thus, that ridiculous mating dance with fiscal integrity: You get close to $189, fall apart, and then send in the clowns - a Youkilis, a Pronk, a Wells, a whatever. This year, the Yankees are on the dime for $27 million in luxury tax. But this should be the last insane tax bill Considering your young, cheap players - (Sanchez, Austin, Bird, Judge, Refsnyder, Hicks - no scratch that bum - Williams, Severino, Green, Cessa...) - and the $60 million coming off the payroll - (Tex, Beltran, Miller, Chapman) - you have no excuse for hitting the target. Once below it, everything resets, and the penalties end. You must be cheap, especially when escaping Sherman's bar tab.

2. A hitter and pitcher who won't cost your first-round draft pick. In the last two years, you've gone all in on the draft - (Rutherford, Kapriellan) - grabbing the best talent rather than playing cutesy (Cito Culver, Andrew Brackman, etc.) This is where Hal still can spend his inheritance. So you must keep that first-round pick. That means shunning free agents tagged with qualifying offers. Instead of Edwin Encarnacion and Kenley Janson, you can chase Carlos Beltran and Aroldis Chapman. And why not Beltran? He knows NYC. He knows the AL East. He'll no longer need to play RF. He's great in the clubhouse. He's - well - only 39. He might accept a two year, front-loaded deal. He probably still has an apartment in town. Last year, he hit 29 HRs, 101 RBIs and batted .295. That'll protect the kids. And hey, if they don't blossom, you're sunk anyway. Thank god for those photos of Hal.

3. Find the next Rich Hill. (Note: Not last year's Rich Hill, who will cost a shitload... but next year's Rich Hill.) You need a few journeymen starters, guys in their low 30s who know how to pitch. They might come as free agents or in trades. (You've already said goodbye to Brett Gardner and Brian McCann.) You must not sign a Pavano. You need guys who won't strangle the payroll for five to seven years. By August, Justus Sheffield, Chance Adams and Kapriellian could be ready - and who knows about Severino? You have a mini-wave of young pitchers. If they all collapse, well - you're sunk anyway.

So you think Dave Dombrowski would want to hit Vegas? He looks a little like Ben Affleck, right? Aww, fuckit. With the right showgirls, it doesn't really matter. Do you think you could pass for 45?