The Yankees have mastered the art of injuring players while they are out with injuries

Used to be, when a player went on the DL, you could target a return date and figure nothing would go wrong in the meantime. The good thing about injuries: You had reinforcements on the way.

Pavano. Bird. Ellsbury. Stanton. Severino...

Used to be, when a wave of injuries hit, you chalked it up to the usual grind; in the end, they would average-out. For every period of tweaks and tears, you could expect a spate of good health, while other teams suffered. 

Pavano. Bird. Ellsbury. Stanton. Severino...

Used to be, an MRI revealed the problem. 

Pavano. Bird. Ellsbury. Stanton. Severino...

Used to be.  

Not anymore. 

Let the record show that the fabled 2020 New York Yankees "won the winter" of 2019-20. Everything went our way. We signed Gerrit Cole. Boston traded Mookie Betts. Houston became a pariah. Then, as soon as players started reporting, the worm turned. Ever since camp opened, it's been one Yankee setback after another - and no end in sight. We entered as the odds-on favorite to win the 2020 World Series. Another injury or two - which now seems inevitable - and the so-called "Death Star" will be back at normalcy, chasing another wild card, as it did throughout the last, wretched decade.

In a way, yesterday's news about Luis Severino explains Hal Steinbrenner's brief surge in generosity, in the signing of Cole. Hal knew what we didn't: That Severino was feeling forearm pain, that James Paxton's back was barking, and that the Yankees had no legitimate No. 1 starter. 

Thus, they had no choice but to sign Cole, which meant jettisoning Didi Gregorius, Austin Romine, Dellin Betances and Edwin Encarnacion - and then holding onto J.A. Happ, despite conventional wisdom that expected his contract to fly out the door. 

Last night, I hope Brian "Cooperstown" Cashman went out drinking. Surely, he needed to hit a bar, cut loose, sing kareoke. Maybe Gordon Lightfoot's Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. ("Fellahs, it's been good ta know yaaaa...") Cash earned a night off, because today, he's back to the reality of Luis Cessa, Jonathan Loaisiga, Michael King, Deivi Garcia and Clarke Schmidt - pitchers who should be competing for the 25th and 26th roster slots - as the fourth and fifth starters.

Suddenly, the horizon looks pocked with desperate trades and murky free agents. Suddenly, Andrew Cashner looms, reminding us of the days of Sidney Ponson. Meanwhile, we find ourselves exhaustively studying Nick Tropeano, who pitched two scoreless innings yesterday. He's 29 and last year pitched at Triple A, with an ERA near 6.00. Suddenly, we're back to turning over rocks, talking hopefully of a "next man up" surge of pitchers - no-names who come to our rescue - something so rare that it is almost unprecedented. 

A month ago, we looked like the deepest team in the AL, if not all of baseball. 

We didn't know. 

Now, we do. 

Pavano. Bird. Ellsbury. Stanton. Severino...