Still recovering from yesterday's near-catastrophe

It was supposed to bring the first true Jubilation of 2018, not the darkest nightmare since Chloe Kardashian's baby bump traumatized Snapchat. I had carefully arranged my juju portkeys, donned my Armor of Beowulf and Crown of Immortality - and set up the couch pillows, the malted nectar of Turpin, and the yellow power crystals of Cheeto. The TV was tuned to YES. It was the opening moment of the opening game - the Opening of the Opening - akin to that moment in The Lion King where Mufasa raises Simba to the Universe, and the zebras and elephants curtsy like Mike Pence at a tit farm. It was Biblical. It was Spielbergian. It was the Yankeean.

Then came the ultimate reminder of how quickly the bastard juju gods can turn on us. The Tigers' leadoff hitter, Leonys Martin, bounced a single up the middle. Gleyber Torres - our best prospect, our future secondbaseman, the Cooperstown Class of 2039 - streaked to his right and dove for it - just as Robbie Cano didn't do in 2008, when our season ended early. The ball glanced off Gleyber's glove. And Torres stayed down. 

"NOOOOOOOOOO," I screamed. "GET UP! DAMN YOU, GET UP, GET UP, GET UP!" There it was, the torn elbow, the broken spine, paralysis, life in a wheelchair, assisted suicide, a la Clint Eastwood-to-Hillary Swank in Million Dollar Baby. The worst spring opening event since the Grandyman broke his hand in his first at bat. Torres - the future of the Yankees, coming off elbow surgery - gone.

Well, he had the wind knocked out of him. 

But I am still catching my wind. Today, let us be reminded of the need for depth -  Johnny Depth: the young, Edward Scissorhands Johnny Depth, not the Jack Sparrow eyeliner version. And on that note, I'm happy to say that the three stars of yesterday's non-game, as far as I'm concerned, are grand omens of the Yankee future. They were:

Tyler Wade, who used his speed to stretch a single into a double, then rattled the pitcher into committing a balk, and then scored on a grounder. A purely manufactured run. (He was charged with an error, but the real error was by the official scorer; it was a bad hop.) Much has been said about Wade's poor performance last year, when brought up in a once-a-week utility role. But if Aaron Boone chooses to use a late-inning, base-stealing specialist, Wade is probably the fastest guy on our roster.  

Clint Frazier, who walked and then served notice by stealing second. Imagine for a moment the juju gods at their sickest behavior: Aaron Judge or Giancarlo Stanton gets hurt. If so, the Yankees can plug in Red Thunder, and who knows what we would see? This is not Zolio Almonte. This is not Ben Francisco. This is a high-ceiling prospect who, if given the chance, might be a star. 

Jake Cave, who wrestled a high-inside strike into a line drive single to left-center (not easy for a LH bat) and promptly stole second. He looks big, fast and strong. If either Brett Gardner or Jacoby Ellsbury get hurt - ("if" isn't the word, "when" is better) - he looks ready to go. 

Yesterday, the juju gods toyed with us. Next time, they'll mean business. Somebody will dive for a ball, and a gonad will pop like a kernel of Orville Redenbacher's. Remember: Our strength is our depth. It's the kids that will carry us.