Juju gods laughing: Pineda's greatest outing ever happens in an exhibition game

The half-go juggernaut keeps rolling. At 14-5, the Yankees are the best damn team in exhibition baseball, the Alabama football of meaninglessness. This is not hype anymore. We have reached dogma. We lead the always-irrelevant Pirates by a half-nonexistent game, and yesterday, all inconsequential cylinders were fake-firing, as Michael Pineda threw five perfect, pointless innings.

Listen: I'm not complaining. It's not the Yankees' fault that nothing matters. In fact, we should embrace this magnificent insignificance. This could be one of the greatest teams in the history of March. Yesterday, Pineda threw five innings, allowed not one base runner and fanned eight. He's been a spring Drysdale, a grapefruit Clemens, a Tampon Verlander. Want to get giddy? Greg Bird hit his fourth useless HR, Chase Headley stole a worthless base and Jacoby Ellsbury is hitting an immaterial .308. Of course, it's just a dream. In fifteen days, we'll wake up and find that Pineda is once again our third starter, and we'll know in our hearts that he peaked on March fucking 15th in one of the first twilight games of spring.

I'm not complaining. A batter is a batter, and a game is a game. Pineda can't do better than 15 up and 15 down. But bookmark this date, because we know the reality. At some point, months from now, we will look back at March 15th and say, "Fuhhhhhhhk me, this was when we should'a traded him! We could have gotten somebody! Why the hell did we hold him?" 

Well, the answer, of course, is simple: The great and mighty Yankees - and their wise and warm-hearted fans - are hardcore addicts for the most dastardly drug ever cooked up by man: The hillbilly heroin known as hope.

Dear God, gimme some of that shit. I'll sell the house. I'll rob a bank. I'll even watch YES pre-game shows. Just gimme a dime bag of felony-grade, uncut hope. It doesn't have to be homegrown. It can come from Cuba or Japan, and it can be a long, white line or a syrupy brown dollop. I don't care. I'll swallow it. I'll mainline it. Just gimme, gimme, gimme... Ahhhhhhhhhh...

So... if you are thinking that the Yankees today would ever bundle Pineda with a dozen Cito Culvers and spin him into a 2019 World Series, nope - forget it. We never throw out good stash. Last July, when the kitchen was on fire and the cops were coming, Hal ran through the house, trading everything he could find - the ludes, the dust, the weed, El Chapo, Andrew Miller, everything. He sold it for a tidy sum - an unprecedented Yankee move. Most of the time, we're the ones out there on the street, looking to overpay for a bag of junk.

Today would have been the day we sold Pineda at his highest value. We won't, of course. And I'm not saying we should!  No way! He threw five perfectos! You can't trade him now! Maybe he's turned the corner! Maybe that crap he told Meredith Marakovits last month - you know, concentration, focus, blah-blah-blah - maybe he'll win 20! We're a half-game ahead of Pittsburgh. We're in a race, and I'm in my haze. Gimme some more. Ahhhhhh... actin' funny, but I don't know why. 'Scuze me, while I kiss the sky!