Clint Frazier is the Pete Davidson of the Yankees

Yep, here's your IT IS HIGH Abstract Analogy of the Month: Clint Frazier is the Pete Davidson of the 2019 Yankees.  

Both are young, charismatic, overconfident and with a detrimental talent for capturing attention.  

If you never stay up past 11 p.m., Davidson is the youngest member of the Saturday Night Live cast, who spent the last year a) being engaged to and then dumped by Ariana Grande, b) siring 45-year-old Kate Beckinsale, who puts the "ILF" in MILF, c) picking a fight with a gracious war hero, and d) posting a bizarre note on Instagram that raised concerns about suicide. The guy is a media magnet. He's funny, but not that funny. There is simply a charm - a broad look-at-me grin - that pulls in people. You root for him.

Frazier has it, too. He always looked destined for the lights of NYC. His beaming smile leads the way, and whatever he does becomes media fodder, far greater than his footprint deserves. When he arrived, Frazier jokingly asked for number 7, and the writers made it a thing. He grew his red hair too long, and that became a thing. He became "Red Thunder," a doofus nickname, and when he asked that it be dropped, that became a thing. Lord knows what will happen when he inevitably shacks up with a supermodel - a sure Defcon 4 moment for Gotham's paparazzi. He's good, but not that good. Still, we root for him.

But something is wrong here. Davidson is running too fast for his own good. Meanwhile, Frazier the other night picked the worst time imaginable - on national TV, no less - to look like Soupy Sales in RF. Then, he compounded everything by refusing to speak with reporters. Bad idea. Today, it's the lead Yankee story in the Times. If the knives come out, he's done.

I want to believe that Frazier has not yet crossed an invisible Rubicon, destined to go in a trade. But his toes are in the water. If not for the insanely, Ellsburian nightmare injuries to Giancarlo Stanton, Frazier might have spent the last three months in Scranton. He shows a MLB bat and a glove that belongs in a Fellini movie. Frankly, he cannot be as bad as he looked Sunday. But the next time he plays in the outfield, and a fly ball comes his way, who won't be holding their breath?

I hope Frazier can step back from the precipice. If we trade him for a salary dump pitcher, we will regret it for a long time. He could be this generation's Jay Buhner. But nothing would surprise me. Last night, the Yankees looked deathly cold, reminding us that what goes up always must come down. We've been due for a correction, just as the Blue Jays (who had lost six in a row) were due to win a game. You could feel it all the way. 

Once again, our starter failed to go long enough to spare the bullpen. We can't keep going like this. The Death Star's history during bad stretches is to make disastrous deals, and Frazier is the shiny object in front of Hal Steinbrenner's eyes. Many teams would happily take him, especially if it means clearing a nasty contract from their payroll. This would be a shame, because I've lost all confidence in Stanton. Three months of recurring injuries is unacceptable. In that regard, I am become Miami.

The next few days could settle this. If the Yankees fail to sign Dallas Keuchel, a big trade becomes almost inevitable. And Frazier looks like the key to everything. Hold your breaths...

One other point today: Didi Gregorius is said to be on the verge of returning, maybe by the weekend. Woo-woo. Everybody loves Ser Didi. Everybody will welcome him back. Everyone will rejoice. But here's a bracer: Didi is 1-for-21 in Scranton, he took a big 0-for-5 last night, and Aaron Boone better show more forethought than he did with Aaron Hicks over the last two weeks. Only now is Hicks starting to hit, but he's been a lead bowling ball in the middle of our batting order - the killer of rallies. In the eighth against Boston Sunday, his failure with the bases loaded pulled the plug on our comeback. The number doesn't lie: He's hitting .224.

The Yankees cannot afford to slap Didi into the three-spot and watch him go 0-for-30, while he convalesces. Bat him eighth, even ninth. The same goes for china doll Stanton, if and when he ever returns - and maybe even Aaron Judge (though he is a special case.) We don't need these human fried mozzarella sticks clogging our arteries, or our basepaths. And we sure don't need them forcing a trade of Clint Frazier. (As long as he doesn't shack up with Ariana Grande; if that happens, he's done.)