Mr. Met breaks bad, the biggest homer is going home, and the '17 Yankees face their defining stretch

Many years ago, as a pioneer of fake news, I interviewed the San Diego Chicken on a tour through Syracuse. By then, Chicken had reached the pinnacle, having single-clawedly birthed the sports mascot industry. Without him, there'd be no Phanatic, no Wally the Green Monster, no Otto Orange, no Michael Kay. Chicken broke new ground in the barnyards of America. And during his Salt City swing, to the delight of all, he was a walking Trump Access: Hollywood tape. Chicken groped young women. He bent and stared at their butts. The crowd roared. Chicken ruled the coop.

Ah, the halcyon days! All in good fun. Nobody cared about a copped feel. But the world changed, and those damn smart-mouthed feminists ruined everything. Last night, one of best soldiers, Mister Met, finally broke from the pressure. He flipped off a fan. Worse, somebody filmed it. Clearly, Met lost his cool. The pressure. Now, will he get a fair trial? Dream on. The franchise is already falling all over itself to apologize. Trump would not back down, dammit. He'd be tweeting support. But the Mets will jettison their embattled employee and - get this - reap the reward: Another week of dominating the sports tabloids. (They won the month of May.) They will continue to rule sports radio and remain NYC's most talked-about team. It's as if they cannot lose. No matter what happens with the Yankees, the Mets are winning the chicken coop. 

Once you lose a town, it's hard to win it back.

But in Chicago, today they will discuss Hawk Harrelson, who announced his retirement yesterday. Harrelson is 75 - John Sterling vintage - and baseball's biggest homer, by far. When critics complain about The Master, it's because they are conveniently forgetting Harrelson, who openly roots for the White Sox - or as he calls them "the good guys." Harrelson will shout for fly balls to "Get out, get out, get out!" or "Go foul, go foul, go foul!" And normally, we shouldn't give a damn what happens in another team's Sunoco booth. But Harrelson is the canary in the Sterling coal mine. His retirement is yet another reminder that this could be John and Suzyn's final season. Another one bites the dust. Nobody talks forever. 

Finally, let's talk about the Yankees. Insert sigh here. Six of our last 10 losses came because the opposition scored at least five runs. Over our last 15 games, our pitchers have seven times given up more than five. Here's the reality: Our rotation is cracking. 

So what do we do? To make an honest run in 2017, the Yankees will need an infusion. Traditionally, this would mean trading for some over-the-hill DH or starting pitcher with a torture chamber contract, the kind only dolts will assume. It would also mean trading prospects, which in the past, the Yankees simply didn't have. But this is the upside-down world. 

We have prospects galore, and everybody knows it. For one thing, we have too many outfielders - four in the majors, and they're piling up in Scranton, with Dustin Fowler, Clint Frazier and the eternal Mason Williams, who is starting to exhibit Slade Heathcott disease. We have Jake Cave, who played well last year in Scranton, toiling in Trenton, because there's no room in Triple A. We have outfield prospects like cherry tomatoes. And yet... a plea:

Don't trade prospects. 

Here's one fan's hope: Before we deal for some washed-up, 2013 all-star, let's try the kids and suffer whatever consequences ensue. Everybody knows Chase Headley is not the answer at third. And Glyber Torres is a month away, if not more. But Tyler Wade is on the verge. Why not? Let's try him. 

Everybody knows what Chris Carter brings: A dozen strikeouts for every home run, and a horrible, .200 average. It's not enough. But Greg Bird is three weeks away. In the meantime, let's try Rob Refsnyder - who at least puts the bat on the ball - and, as soon as he's ready, Tyler Austin. (I'm proposing Yankee lineups with two Aarons, two Tylers, two Austins, a CC and a Didi. Woah!) 

Everybody knows Masahiro Tanaka his wobbling. And Chance Adams needs at least two more starts at Triple A. Before we trade for a new Sidney Ponson, I say, let's try one of the young arms. Cessa, Green, Camarera, German.Take a Chance, Yankees! That's all I'm saying.

I just want us to exhaust all the possibilities before doing something stupid. We are entering a tough patch. Toronto has self-corrected, and the Redsock '17 Hall of Fame Superteam of Destiny (TM) has reassembled. But it's youth - not veterans - that carried us into first place. Let the Mets have the back pages. We need to stay young and keep our eyes on the prize: 2018 and beyond. The infusion must come from within.