Next year, and then the year after... watch out

Friends, Romans, Yankeefans, lend me your ears;
I come to praise Cashman, not to bury him;
The trades that men make live after them,
The wild card is oft interred with their bones,
So let it be with Cashman… 

Okay, big announcement here: I, el Duque, solemnly swear that - regardless of what happens next Tuesday - there shall be no further complaints whatsoever about Cashman's deadline deals - not a whimper, not a whisper, not a whelp, not a whinny! Radio silence. I shan't lash out or belch bile. I'll be proper and respectful. I'll kneel and pledge fealty. 

Oh... okay, if we lose, perhaps I'll mention the trades now and then, in passing. Casual references. And if Blake Rutherford wins the MVP someday, maybe I'll feel compelled to note that he brought us a .205 hitter who peaked in the Toms River Little League. Okay, if we lose Tuesday, I might say something - you know, a gentle, good-faith ribbing between us sunlit fans.  

But today, nothing. Unlike the Gotham Gammonites and paid YES cheerleaders, who seem determined to jinx this team, I'm staying hushed. Still, if I read another story about how the Yankees could "surprise" everyone in the post-season - (people, it's not a "surprise" if you're predicting it) - I'll personally pie Rupert Murdoch the next time he emerges from his underground crypt. These writers keep suggesting there is reason and justice - something beyond happenstance - in the nine-inning season that is about to take place. The truth is, we could play the Lehigh Valley IronPigs in a one game wild card and piss it away in the eighth with our two "closers" on the mound. But no matter what happens, we must remember this: A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is still a sigh, the fundamental things apply, as time goes by.

And here is a fundamental thing: It's been a good year. If any of us were offered a home field wild card and potential rookie-MVP, we'd have signed up without a hitch. And regardless of what happens next Tuesday, we are looking at a young team that is capable of winning multiple pennants, if not a handful of rings. 

We saw it yesterday in HRs by Aaron Judge, Gary Sanchez and Greg Bird, the threesome whose arrival this year was dented by injuries (Sanchez), nagging malignancies (Bird) and a tropical depression (Judge.) The Yankees possess three of the game's most promising sluggers - three, four and five in our batting order - through the next decade. (Note: If Bird's numbers over the last 30 days were projected over a season, he'd have 35 HRs and 105 RBIs.) Up the middle, we have Didi Gregorius and Starlin Castro (who could even be traded) - and Aaron Hicks. Then come the intangibles: Clint Frazier, Glyber Torres (top prospect in baseball, according to one ranking), Miguel Andujar, Billy McKinney, and the Tylers - Austin and Wade - a group from which at least one solid regular should ascend. Two years from now... Hicks, Didi and Castro are 29; Judge is 27, Sanchez and Bird are 26, and Luis Severino? well, he's turning 25. Tell me this team doesn't win something. (And in case you were wondering: Two years from now, Manny Machado, is 27, and Bryce Harper, 26.)

I don't know WTF will happen Tuesday. But 2017 was a good year. We were never supposed to get this far. We are playing with house money, and the only "surprise" is that 2018 arrived early. Don't let the homer courtiers convince you that the Yankees are some secret team, a "wild card," so to speak. Let's enjoy this ride, even if it only lasts nine-innings. But next year, and the year after that, we should not have to play a one-game season. This is our last wild card, dammit, for a long, long time.