Oh Captain, my Captain: Thank you for telling us the truth about your injury. Clearly, the Yankees were not planning to do so.

Oh, Captain, my Captain, 

Heal. 

Seriously. Stay off the toe. Rest that bad boy. Inject platelets. Take a cortisone shot. Hit the jacuzzi. Do foot massages, pedicures, hot stones, goat yoga, milk baths, magic mushrooms, gummies - eat a human placentas, great nutritional value! - whatever. Dip your foot into the healing waters of the Hudson. Receive a blessing from the Pope. Or Taylor Swift. Are you getting me? Heal thyself. 

And thank you for telling us the truth.

It's a torn ligament, not a strain, and you could be sidelined for a much longer period than earlier suggested, in fact - gulp - indefinitely - the scariest word in the Cashman New World Yankee dictionary. 

Clearly, the front office was not planning to tell us. Ever. They'd leave fans in the dark through July and August - gulp - indefinitely.   

It's refreshing to have someone who speaks honestly to us, the bootless and unhorsed, lowly fans. When you became captain, I bet you didn't think that would become a responsibility. 

For weeks now, the Yankees have lied. At first, they suggested your toe was hardly a concern at all. (This was probably just wishful thinking, so we shouldn't condemn them.) But now we learn that the injury is far worse than disclosed, and that, once again, we should never believe a word that comes out of their mouths - gulp - indefinitely. 

Look, I understand why the Yankees lie. We're just fans. We don't matter. They can raise ticket prices, charge higher cable fees, play Jackie Donaldson, whatever they want. We'll squawk, but in the end, we'll capitulate. We are hapless, pathetic creatures, barely a notch above TV zombies. So they just say that all is well, and we plod through our miserable lives in the usual state of drunken unreality. 

They see themselves as Jack Nicholson, yelling you can't handle the truth! If we hear Aaron Judge could be out for the rest of the year, we might do something disastrous - like watch the Mets. Thus, like generals in a ground war, they cross their fingers and tell us what they think we want to heare.

What amazes me, though, is how effortlessly - how cleanly - they do this. Giancarlo Stanton would be back soon, Carlos Rodon would be back soon, Luis Severino would be back soon. All is well. Go home, everybody, there's nothing to see, Nasty Nestor will be back soon, along with Ellsbury and Pavano.  

Well, all is not well. The 2023 Yankees have fallen into a chasm. A season on the brink. And it might stay that way indefinitely.