The first red tide just went out, revealing the Yankees' tweaks and strains

I've always hated how the Gammonites equate a lack of injuries to a player "staying healthy." WTF?

Even the most injury-prone pro athletes should be models of "health," as we know it. They don't suffer pink rashes and hammer toes. They're young, in peak condition, and if they miss a month of playing time, they should be required to donate blood twice a week. "Health," as we know it, has nothing to do with a tweaked hamstring. You wanna hear about creaks or lack of mucous? I can fucking tell you about creaks and lack of mucous. No player needs to "stay healthy" unless he's drinking from the sump pump.

Anyway, so much for Happy Health February. 

One week into open camp, as red tide roils across the Gulf of Stupidity, the Yankees are already limping to the emergency room. At least five key players have reported injuries that could be nothing - or the equivalent of that city-killer asteroid. (If it's the latter, I vote for Cleveland, which is already dead.) Not a pitch has been thrown, not a grounder has been legged out, and we're dropping like flies. 

The list is terrifying... 

Giancarlo Stanton. Throughout his tortured career, Gio has suffered every injury known to humans. But this could be his masterpiece: Two tennis elbows? WTF? Who suffers two bum elbows, simultaneously? And this, atop his already legendary inability to run, which last fall made him a Strat-o-Matic card with four outcomes:  HR/K/BB/DP. Stanton was always a china doll. Injuries are his art. But he's outdone himself. 

Frankly, I cannot imagine how anyone can expect anything from Stanton in 2025. At best, he will always be one swing away from a three-month rehab. He's already "questionable" for opening day - in Stanton's dictionary, that means out through May - and it's a long cliff dive to Dom Smith and Ben Rice. For the Yankee batting order, it's night and day. I can already feel the intentional walks piling up for Aaron Judge.

Chase Hampton. Already, major concerns for his future. He's starting to looking like a mythological muse, or a sub-atomic quark, a phantom who only exists in legend or theory. He's suffering from a right flexor strain, which is what cost him almost all of 2023. It hasn't gone away. A month ago, to assure fans of a hopeful pitching staff, Boonie touted Hampton as a looming surprise. So much for that.  

Clarke Schmidt. A bad back. Shades of Mattingly. It might be nothing. Maybe he just needs an adjustable mattress. But anybody who's ever had a barking lumbago - (I assume that's everybody here) - knows how life-redefining such a condition can be. We wanted Schmidt to bypass Fried and Rodon, and become the Yankee No 2. We wanted his career season. We counted on him to give us flexibility to trade Marcus Stroman (which increasingly looks like a bad idea.) Now, everything is at risk.  

Trent Grishman. An old-fashioned, gee-wilickers, hammy pull. No worries. Grish will be back. Trouble is, he's Grish. His every appearance signifies an outfield vacancy, which the Yankees cannot afford. Imagine Judge, Bellinger or the Martian going down. (Assuming the Martian hits.) There's Grish. Yikes.

Clayton Beeter. Barking shoulder. For three years now, Cooperstown Cashman has desperately touted Beeter as a future spoke in the rotation. He's the last shard of positivity from the Joey Gallo debacle, the worst trade in Cash's algorithmic career. Now 26, Beeter is headed to the bullpen, if not the IL. One of these days, he's going to run out of options and disappear, the last vestige of Joey G.   

There's also a lingering timetable for Jonathan Loaisiga, returning from surgery. And Jake Cousins, who remains Jake Cousins. Let's hope they stay "healthy."