It's nearly 2017, and Cashman hasn't yet traded for one of his patented "live arms"

Okay, picture this: We're in a Tiki bar at 3 a.m. with a slobbering drunken Brian Cashman: I mean, he's in full George Thorogood mode... glasses askew, spewing flecks of saliva, eyes like hard-boiled eggs, and he's yowling about pitching... pitching... PITCHING gohfukkinammit... 

That's why he's been drinking for the last 10 hours. He has no pitcher. Here's a guy who throughout life has lusted after one consistent entity, the Holy Grail of Cashmanic behavior: The power arm. It can be Jeff Weaver, Javier Vasquez, Jose Contreras, Kevin Brown, Javier Vasquez again, the entire cast of Glee, all the way to Michael Pineda and - of course - Nathan Eovaldi. It's the constant theme in your doctorate thesis on the death of God in Cashman literature. Year after year, winter after winter, he trades the house for some 25-27 year old starter who has shown "promise" on some losing team in a city that doesn't remotely resemble New York. It's the reason everybody still expects the Yankees to trade for Sonny Gray or Jose Quintana - insert names here - because identities don't matter. What matters here is Cashman's one grand fetish, his uncontrollable itch. He sees that starting pitcher on the midway of kewpies, and he simply must lay down his money and try the ring toss.

I hate to say this, because it was such a tragedy, but when Jose Fernandez died in that boating accident last fall, but my first thoughts - really, I'm not proud here - were that at least it will keep Cashman from making a bad deal, which at the time was gaining in speculation. I should burn in hell for such thoughts. But in the matters of the Yankiverse, there is no morality, no judgement - only wins and losses. Fernandez was exactly the type of pitcher that Cashman would have found irresistible, and he would have forded heaven and hell to bring him to Gotham.

But getting back to the bar: We're doing shots, he's eyeballing women and talking up the need for pitching. But where's the beef? He's done nothing. He won't say a name out loud, because he's paranoid - the vengeful ghost of Dick Young might write a column about it - but he sure as wants somebody. The Yankees have kept their farm intact and - for now, anyway - and left lanes open for the likes of Judge, Frazier, Sanchez, Bird, etc - but the rotation is an empty closet. It's Masahiro Tanaka and whoever looks good in spring training. Look closely, and you'd think we were expecting 200 innings from CC Sabathia. (BTW... he thew 179 last year, 167 the year before, 45 the year before that.) Where's the beef?

Well, the answer is, buckle up. I never speculate on who the Yankees might get. It's pointless. But if we've learned anything from Cashman's time atop the shit pile, it's that he's always sniffing for the power arm. Something is coming. You think Javier Vasquez could make a comeback? Bad things happen in threes. Everybody, sing along with George... One bourbon, one scotch, and one bee-eeeer...