Two seven inning games at home against a floundering Redsocks team? What could go wrong?

The Yankees currently have two problems: The 8th and the 9th. 

Today, they face neither. By tomorrow, with luck, they'll be holding a wild card birth. Look at the standings, look!

Why, after we take game one, all we need... wait... WTF is happening? Everywhere you look... is that, um, hope? Dear God. I'd forgotten what hope looks like. And.. gulp... optimism? This is nuts! Where's the despair? Where's the existential rage? This is a Yankee blog, goddammot! Where are the chains? The torture devices? What is happening to our world of pain? 

(Oh, and by the way, ha ha, did I mention that Oakland today plays the White Sox, still smarting from last weekend's spanking. Ha ha. We could bypass them, too!) 

Moreover, for reasons of juju, I shall not post the infamous Ryan McBroom profile. 

Today, wow, look around: The Yankiverse is a pleasant, joyous meadow - a garden of tits and ice cream, where shiny happy fans smoke the good weed and cheer their Olympian heroes. It's a bit, um,  disconcerting. Where are the bugs? Shouldn't there be a wildfire? Let's throw a little, um, perspective onto this picnic basket of fun.

1. Something's wrong with Clint Frazier. I mean, there are injuries, and there are injuries. Apparently, Clint won't be back in 2021, and from the bleacher seats, this looks particularly serious. He has vision issues and apparent vertigo, said to be not stemming from past concussions. So... WTF? I don't even want to speculate about such symptoms. But yeesh, let's hope he's okay. I mean, the guy is just 26. No Yank since Cameron Maybin brought a more infectious smile. I hope he rejoins the team, if only in spirit. I mean... should we be thinking about armbands?

2. Last night was the classic example of a HR victory. The Yankees won 2-1, on a 2-run blast from Joey Gallo (who makes the strangest faces I've ever seen on a player). In between, they squandered rally upon rally, twice via DP grounders from Luke Voit, who looks and runs like a circus strongman. The game should not have been so close. We should have scored four or five runs, and I cannot escape the dread that, come October, the homer-happy lineups always wilt against good pitching. The Yankees need to manufacture runs. They cannot homer their way to a world championship.

3. This weekend, I happened to watch a men's slow pitch softball tournament for about five minutes. It was wonderful. The pitcher tossed the ball, and the first batter hit a liner to center. Next pitch, a grounder to SS. Next pitch, single to right. Next pitch, RBI double. Next pitch, fly to deep center. Five batters, five pitches. And it hit me: 

Once upon a time, baseball was game of nonstop action. 

I watched five batters in the time it'd take for Aaron Judge to work a walk. 

Baseball is baked into American culture, but all the Field of Dream cornfields in creation cannot save the sport from the five-hour, 30 strikeout game. Watch the real game, and you'll see what we've lost.