The first last day of the season, and already thinking of 2018

It's hard not to sit, drink and ponder next year. I mean, by now, it's a mental tick. Since June of 2016 - when A-Rod and Tex simultaneously went knock-kneed, rousing calls for a top-down Yankee rebuilding plan - we've been awaiting the summer of 2018 like a doomsday cult. That's when our Yankee spaceship will arrive, piloted by Admiral Brian Cashman, ushering in the 1,000-year dynasty of peace, prosperity and starting pitching. Sure, this year brought some pearls - Gary and the Aarons - but we still can't swim with the Indians or Astros, right? Next year brings the mother ship, right? 

Next year will be our third straight spring awaiting Greg Bird. Nothing wrong with that. It's just true, that's all. We awaited him in 2016, after he dominated in late 2015. Then Bird missed the year with surgery. This April, we awaited him after he dominated in spring training. Then he missed five months with a bad paw. Next spring, we'll be awaiting him again, and there's nothing wrong with that, right? Next year, Bird arrives. Right?

Next year will bring the true explosion of Red Thunder, aka Clint Frazier, whose brutal gymnasium workout videos we have watched like lechers since August 1, 2015, when we received him for Andrew Miller. He's already grown larger than life - he's Red Thunder, goddammot! - and he looks like a guy who demands greatness of himself. This was his awkward opening, the kind Aaron Judge suffered through a year ago. Next year! 

Next year will bring Glyber Torres, who should be here now but for a bum elbow. Torres was recently ranked the top prospect in baseball by some bullshit service, which is crazy, because nobody should rise in rankings while missing time from injury. It just shows how stupid these services are, and how at least some of them cater to hyping large markets, just so they can push crazy fans' buttons - like mine - and get us thinking of next year. Knowing this, I still say...  next year!

Next year, we could see Miguel Andujar at 3B, possibly the first home grown Yankee star to play third base in our lifetimes. Think about it. We've had nothing but nobodies. The one great 3B raised by the Yankees was Mike Lowell, who we traded for four bars of soap. Before that, it was Mike Pagliarulo, a prototype of the modern player, in that all he did was hit homeruns and strikeout. We have never grown a star from our our dirt. Andujar could be it. As a result, expect him to be traded, while we re-sign Todd Frazier. Still... next year!

Next year, we would see Chance Adams, and a renewed, less intimidated Tyler Wade, and maybe Justus Sheffield and/or Dillon Tate, and maybe Billy McKinney (who will learn first base, just in case - awww, what could possibly happen to Greg Bird?) Next year, next year, NEXT YEAR... that's what we've waited for. Next. Fucking. Year.

In the meantime, there is Tuesday. What's to say. It's one game. We will win or lose. Anything can happen. Today, we will find out definitively whether the Indians (101 wins) or Astros (100 wins) will be rewarded by facing the wild card winner. Whomever it is, if we beat the Twins, we will be facing a vastly superior team in a five-game set. Well, anything can happen. You can't predict baseball, Suzyn. Ahh, but there's always next year... NEXT YEAR!