Driving himself at a merciless, inhuman pace, Joggy Cano is preparing to dominate 2018

Bringing delight to Mariners fans everywhere - (thanks, Buhner's Ghost) - Jet-Set Joggy has undertaken an incredible, physically exhausting, body-hardening workout trip to the Holy Land, chronicled here. 

In October, the wandering smile turned an ageless 35. His Mariners contract runs for six more merry and mirthful years - at a meager $24 million per season. He isn't even halfway through his long, joy-filled jog!

Sadly, Jogginson has yet to play in a post-season game with Seattle. Last year, he hit .280 with 23 HRs and 97 RBIs, ranking 10th offensively among MLB secondbasemen, according to ESPN. Think of it this way: The Mariners paid slightly more than $1 million for each home run. Cano also contributed 18 grounders-hit-into-douple plays last year - that's about $1.2 million per GIDP. He ranks 4th on the career GIDP list among active players. Getting a little chubby out there. Last year he stole one base - one more than in 2016!

Someday, maybe Yank fans will forgive Cano for putting the cold, hard dollar first, for choosing an extra season of pay and jettisoning NYC after nine great years. I won't be feeling that way. Nor will I ever think it was good deal for Robbie to make with Mephistopheles. Come 2023, the final year of his contract, Cano will be 40 and fodder - viewed in Seattle as human bloat, blamed for the Mariners fiscal austerity, and likely performing the role that A-Rod did last year for Hal and Cash - a glorified Wal-Mart greeter, smiling up at the camera from a swimming pool inflatable duck.

I raise this because all Yankee talk this winter rides on an air mattress understanding that - by cutting payroll now - the Empire next year can sign Bryce Harper or Manny Machado to some jazillion dollar deal, which will extend beyond the next ice age. Both players are 25, so a 10-year contract might not seem so Canoesque - unless, of course, their agents demand a 12 or 15 year commitment. And if so, how many great seasons can the Yankees expect, compared to the dog years at the end, presumably tying us up through 2030. And because - hey - I might be dead or in La-La Land, why should I care?

Listen: Even if dead, or playing with my stool in some nursing home, I will still root for the Yankees. And Hell is hot enough without adding daily Satanic whiplashes from having to watch the last hobbling vestiges of Harper at age 44. (If the Yankees are bad, I imagine Hell offering YES broadcasts.)

What I'm getting to - in my roundabout, Joggie-globetrotting way - is this: 

In the modern age, there is only one way to build baseball teams, and it's from the bottom up. You want a star's first five years - not the last five. To do this, most teams need to "tank," to orchestrate a collapse. But the Yankees have a distinct financial, historical and cultural advantage over the others. This should not mean we must own every superstar's last five years. Unless the Players Association shows spine in the next union deal, the Yankees cannot simply outspend everyone else - the luxury taxes will kill us - but we can build the best development and scouting system in the game. We have the money to do that.

Today, the Yankee farm system is considered one of the deepest in baseball. I know that I'm viewed as a "prospect hugger," and there are times when young players should be used as trading chips. But come next winter, Yankee fans should ask one central question:

Over the next five years, which outfielder would be more productive - Clint Frazier at the MLB minimum, or Harper at $35 mill per season, through eternity? 

And that, my friends, is why I don't want Red Thunder traded.