Hicks is out, Houston is disgraced, and smiles are erupting across scattered outposts in the Yankiverse

Yesterday's mini-news that Aaron Hicks will miss most of 2020 gave me a brief tummy ache. I didn't heave, it quickly passed, and I had to smile: Like... this is news? Aaron Hicks, hurt... again? Hicks looks good coming off the bus. He's a Greek statue - big, strong, chiseled, wound so tightly that any false move brings a glitch in the Matrix. He lunges for a curve; an oblique bursts like a water pipe. He outruns a grounder; a hammy barks like Lassie, with Timmy in the well. I had to laugh. Hicksy, hurt again... haha...

Listen: This is no character thing. As far as I know, Hicks is a model inmate, an Eagle scout, an earnest ballplayer wishing only to play ball. But the juju gods have rendered their verdict: He's a china doll, his game defined not by his .236 career average, but by all those tweaked gonads. He's good until something goes pop. And something always goes pop. 

He'll be 30 next July when - presumably - he returns. (I say "presumably" because the Yankees have a way of re-injuring the injured, much like crooked prison guards jamming up the incarcerated.) By July, someone will have claimed CF, or else we will be in a heap a' trouble. It could be Mike Tauchman, or maybe Cameron Maybin. Certainly, it could be Brett Gardner, the de facto Yankee captain. Hicks' injury gives us an excuse to keep Gardy for at least one more season. He'll turn 38 next August. I thought we were going to lose him. Now, he should stay. Feel the smile growing?  

Hicks' injury - (by the way, it's his elbow; he'll need Tommy John) - could give one more chance to the OFFICIAL MASCOT OF IT IS HIGH: the ever-precocious, glove-challenged, "legendary bat-speed," pride of Scranton... Clint Jackson Frazier. In mid-summer, when the Yanks traded for Edwin Encarnacion - (another china doll, it turned out) - the Red Menace's once promising 2019 turned into a garment malfunction. By all indications, the Death Star sought to trade him at the deadline. Unfortunately, his stock value by then had fallen below Uber and Lyft. So, as strange as the juju fates would have it, Frazier may have just received a second chance - like Gardy - courtesy of Hicks' elbow. Call me crazy, call me a fool, call me a cab... but hey, I'm smiling. 

One other newsy bit brought a smug grin yesterday: The Astros fired their assistant GM for yelling obnoxious things at female sportswriters in the locker room after their victory over the Yankees. I believe you call tell a lot about a team after they beat the Yankees. After winning the 2001 World Series, the Arizona Diamondbacks mocked us by playing "New York, New York" on their p.a. system. Classy, eh? Well, ever since, they haven't won squat. Houston's "Me too" moment came from a suited boar named Brandon Taubman, who sought to celebrate his orgasmic victory by telling off Uppity Women Everywhere - (where are you, Helen Reddy?) - that he was glad Houston signed a wife-abuser, Roberto Orsuna. (Then, to top it off, the franchise lied about it, claiming it didn't happen.) 

In that moment, "Give 'em Hell" Taubman managed to ice the shit cake that Houston might have to eat over the next five months. You know how Aaron Judge called the Yankee season "a failure" after we lost to Houston? Well, the Astros might head into winter not only wearing a four-game sweep, but a "beats their wives" sign on their backs. 

If something could make the recent Yankee loss sting less, this is it.

Now, I don't mean to make fun of Taubman's comment, or his predicament. Nor do I want to ignore that the Yankees could have just as easily be wearing the albatross: Long ago, we bit our lip and traded for Aroldis Chapman on the cheap, after his domestic violence case became public, and the Reds cut bait. Also, we have Domingo German, whom we disappeared in September, after his case became public. We are not angels. That said, I'd like to think there is a huge difference here: Say what you want about Cooperstown Cashman's trades: The guy knows enough to not shout abusive tirades at sportswriters, male or female, on a hot button issue. He didn't survive 20 years in NYC by emulating Morton Downey Jr. 

So, I am now officially rooting completely for Washington. Take it in four, Nats! Send those smug bastards home in disgrace - swept, humbled, embarrassed and vilified  Come on, juju gods! Make this hurt so bad they wish they never even won the pennant. Ahh, yes, I'm smiling now. October doesn't feel so bad.