Reductio ad absurdum

 

Comes word that Aaron Judge is now suffering from a sprained ligament in one or another of his toes, and may or may not be back in time for the All-Star Game, several weeks hence.

In my ignorance, I had no idea that one could sprain a ligament. Perhaps next he will fracture a gene, or pull a blood cell, or maybe tear a body cavity. 

Rumor has it that there is an entire department at Yale's medical school now devoted to annotating and cataloguing the injuries that the Yankees manage to come up with.

What seems obvious, though, is that it's absurd for us to have gone about following the Yankees as if they are a traditional, major-league team: 

Pondering the lineups, debating the new statistics. Assessing whether this player or that should be released, or called up from the minor leagues. Parsing the cryptic statements of the manager, or the opaque strategies of the front office.

The trouble is that these Yankees are nothing like a traditional major-league ball club.

They are more like the Olde Towne Team, some group of mature men who gather, when they can, at the ballpark down by the train yard, to play for their friends and families. Sometimes they perform marvelous feats, and sometimes they seem preoccupied by weightier concerns. But under no circumstances are they to be taken seriously.