Voit hobbles his way into a leadership position on the Yankees

These days, those aren't "boos" you're not hearing from Yankee Stadium's phantom fans. It's the nonexistent-chorus of "LUUUUKE," which is what we'd be hearing in normal times. The pandemic has conspired to deny Luke Voit what should have been the greatest future memories of his career: Being feted by a delirious Yankee Stadium crowd.

Last night, in a regular Yankiverse - a long, long time ago, and far, far away - after hitting his second three-run HR, Voit would have been pushed from the dugout, cap in the air, blushing a tomato, as 55,000 nut-jobs verbally elongated his name. Instead, some stoner in a sound booth jimmied up the cheer knob, producing noise that, by now, even sounds phony on the radio. Fake cheers for fake games. 

I get it that MLB wants to project a semblance of real games before actual, nachos-eating people, and the fake crowd noise worked... for a while. But these days, the excitement comes in the shouts of teammates, and that Memorex-induced roar just gets in the way.

But that's not why I'm mentioning Luke. 

If you watched last night's home run trots - (btw, he is now tied for the MLB lead with 16) - you saw him hobbling, slightly but noticably. The first thought, "Uh-oh, another one." But then you realized that, no, he's got a bum hind-paw, but he's playing through it. 

What a concept: Playing through an injury.

Then you remember those who have witnessed most of 2020 from the hot tub. 

It's easy to draw a vicious red line between Voit and - ahem - those who will remain nameless - wait, no, fukkit: their names are Judge, Stanton and Paxton - and ask why one guy is hobbling while the others are reading The New Yorker. Look: I'm not here to judge. Every injury is different, and strained muscles - especially when they are the size of small children - certainly suck. For all the missing time, nobody to my knowledge has suggested that any of the currently Yankees are faking it. In fact, the saddest player of the last 20 years has to be Jacoby Ellsbury, and for all his money, I wouldn't wish his nonstop train of injuries on anybody. 

Still, make no mistake: If the Yankees make the playoffs with a newly healed lineup, the heart of our batting order should remain the gimp at first. 

And if it turns out that Luke's bad foot keeps him from playing first base, well, old Giancarlo better fucking learn to play LF, or he should spend October in the Scranton complex. (If Clint Frazier keeps hitting, I'm not sure we have a place for Stanton anyway.) 

They used to say that a player is never supposed to lose his job because of an injury. Well, that was a Yankiverse long, long ago and far, far away - in front of real crowds instead of cardboard pop-ups. 

The 2020 Yankees have found their leader, and one day, we will properly shout his name: Luuuuuuuuke.