I, Tomato Can: 2019 Yanks have yet to beat a team with a winning record

Of course, we blame the injuries. What did we ever do to piss you off, juju gods? Do you hate our glorious histories, our gym-sculpted bodies, our perfect comb-overs? They launched their sinister plague in spring training, beginning with the innocent puppy Estevan Florial, and have never relented. We assume they have a master plan. Trouble is, we can't see it.

So, yeah, we can point to the 14-man Injury List and say that no team - not even the Avengers - could face down the Thanos of sprained ankles and gonadal tweaks that turned our fully operational Death Star into a low-flying Herbie the Love Bug. Or, better yet, we can follow the time-honored reactions of executives and owners - and point to the injuries and proclaim that we will NOT use them as an excuse. (Hmmm, maybe that's what pissed off the juju gods?)

Whatever we do, the Yankees now face their first 2019 trial by dunking: Three series against teams with winning records - the Twins, Mariners and AL-leading Rays, whose hatred for us burns hotter than a trillion suns. 

Let's not overstate the importance of the next two weeks. No matter what happens, it will still be mid-May, the boats won't yet be in the water, and we will still be awaiting starters on the mend. By June, our lineup could be nearly re-intact (aside from the Troy Tulowitzki experiment, which increasingly looks like Kevin Youkilis II.) But some flapping red flags must be discussed.

1. Masahiro Tanaka might not be a front-line starter anymore. In three of his last four starts (21 innings), he has yielded 14 earned runs. That's Vidal Nuno territory. He completely barfed against the low-hanging Angels and Chisox, and was lifted under the Arizona sun after four frames of flimsy hackwork. He's 30, and his workload has dropped in each of the last three seasons - from 199 innings in 2016 to 156 last year. Now and then, he pitches well, and you tell yourself he's back, and everything is okay! Well, Pollyanna, it's not okay. 

Here's the deal: We have no Plan B. Luis Cessa is still a lottery ticket, our vaunted raft of young "power arms" sits down in Single A, and the eternal flame of Chance Adams (who actually pitched well last night for Scranton - 6 IP, 2 ER, 7 K) - is running out of charcoal. Come July 31, there will be Lance Lynns for sale, but the mere act of typing of such a sentence creaks my grimacing teeth. Do what you must, juju gods, but spare us from a September of thirtysomething band-aids. 

2. As much as we love Luke Voit, the jury remains in seclusion. Lately, Luke has shown a troubling tendency to hit grounders - 6 in the last six games, 3 of which became DPs, as he lumbered down the line. I don't want to sound a needless alarm, but we must remind ourselves that a hot April means nothing to a team that is judged by its work in October. 

But we do love Luke. He's hitting .297 with 9 HRs - tied for 4th in MLB). And look at his journey. Last May, he was 26 - at his sell-by date - playing 1B for Memphis in the PCL, where he'd hit .327 with 13 HRs. The previous season, in the Texas League, he hit .297 with 19 HRs. Good numbers, but going nowhere and getting too old to conjure gobs of drool from the scouts and bloggers.

Basically, last year at this time, he was Mike Ford or Ryan McBroom, (4-for-5 last night in Scranton), and any team in baseball could have secured him in a two-bit trade. (We got him for Giovanni Gallegos and Chasen Shreve.) Now, he's AL Player of the Week and poster boy for the notion that turtles can win a race; you can reach The Show by performing in the dinner theaters, rather than wowing the genome specialists with hefty stool samples. 

3. Likewise, consider Gio Urshella, age 27, who hit the ball hard every time last night, but had only a double to show for it. Last year, for three Triple A teams - he bounced like a rubber chicken - Gio hit .286 with 2 HRs. Okay, he's not Babe Ruth. But the guy is a major league 3B, and any team in baseball could have had him for a handful of magic beans. 

You wonder sometimes about the cruelties of the juju gods, who grant a youngster one shot at The Show, then tweak his shoulder and throw him back, perhaps to never see another chance. You wonder how they can rain injuries upon one team, while exempting another from the miseries that should be equal, according to the edicts of the Geneva Convention. 

But, hey, all those injuries brought us two weeks of Urshella, and he has killed it. Yeah, the juju gods do know what they're doing. Trouble is, we don't. And it makes me nervous.