As Hope Week arrives, Yankee fans begin to lose theirs

With a 14-game lead in the AL East, the mighty 2022 Yanks should be triple booster vaccinated against Covid, monkey pox and despair. 

Don't you believe it. At the beginning of Hope Week, pessimism reigns across the Yankiverse. And why not? For 13 years now, Yank fans have learned to expect the worst. That way, they're not disappointed when the October sky falls, and Chicken Little is proven right.

Okay, I know what you're thinking: Yeesh, Duque, how can you be so negative? We have a 14-game lead in the AL East! A winning percentage over .700! The most all stars named from any team! To hear you talk, the floors are caving. Good grief! 

Okay, smartass, since you mentioned them, let's talk about our "all stars." Though he pitched well last night, Gerrit Cole got whacked in Boston - five runs in six innings, forcing the bullpen to take over. Nasty Nestor couldn't make it out of the fourth. Jose Trevino has flattened as a .250 hitter. Aaron Judge's legs are shot, perhaps from roaming CF. Giancarlo Stanton is hitting .162 in July. And last night, Clean Clay Holmes blew a three-run lead without recording an out. Not one. Against the Reds. At home.  

Good luck, American League!

But wait, there's more. Aaron Hicks - hitting .385 over his last eight games - drilled a foul ball off his shin and hobbled off the field. That's the Hicks we know: Starts cold, heats up, gets hurt. Cold-hot-hurt. In the postgame Boone Lagoon, the Yanks downplayed Hicks' injury, saying hooray! no bone was shattered! But we've seen this loop. Cold-hot-hurt. Cold-hot-hurt. Expect him back after the all star break and hitting .150. Cold-hot-hurt.

DJ LeMahieu seems to have settled into a tired, glacial .260 continuum. The days of .330 look like ancient history; he's gone from great to competent. He entered July hitting .266. He's now .268. It's not terrible - let's remember: the guy plays everywhere - but he's not the MVP candidate of 2020. And it's hard to forget those two blown pop flies that opened the flood gates at Fenway...  

Speaking of those flies, Aroldis Chapman! Still no clue. In May, he headed baseball's deepest bullpen. Now, we're always a gopher ball from Wandy Peralta and Lucas Luetge, and did we really snag Albert Abreu after Texas waived him? Without El Chapo firing bullets (no pun intended), who can have confidence in him? Especially when he has none himself? Right now, it's Holmes, Michael King and the cast of Abbott Elementary. If we can't hold the line against Cincinnati, no lead is safe.

So, yeah, we're 14 up with games to play in October. Hooray. But a lingering deficit remains: Youth. 

Boston beat us with Jeter Downs. Last night, the Reds used a collection of nobodies. Tampa constantly replaces skin cells. But the mighty Yankees are now into their second straight year without promoting a homegrown impact rookie. Where are the youngsters, with their hope and innocence? Yeah, there's Baby-Faced Ron Marinaccio, whose arm has fallen off, and an occasional appearance of JP Sears. But Clarke Schmidt belongs on milk cartons. 

We have no youth. For unknown reasons, the Yankees seem to have soured on Estevan Florial. He'll soon be traded to a franchise that covets a young, speedy OF with power. But it won't happen here. The great Yank hope, Anthony Volpe, remains at least a year away, and SS Oswald Peraza - after a terrible start in Scranton - heated up in June and has flattened in July. He, too, more and more looks like fodder for a trade, into which Yank fans increasingly place their Hope Week hopes. 

Why the dearth of young players? Well, we traded them all, last Aug. 1, to bolster a wild card stretch run that - in the end - lasted one game. The dog days of summer are upon us, and no matter what their record says, the Yankees look tired, old and staggering toward the all star break. Hope Week? Be serious.