We may be facing the craziest Yankee year in our lifetimes

Thus far, this is all we can say about 2020: 

It's bat-shit wacko.

I mean, forget the impeachment, the nut-job Grammies, the contravirus, Sir Rush "Who... me?" Limbaugh, Meghan & Harry, the 65-degree day in Antarctica - disregard all the toxic, cultural dandruff that tweets its way into our souls each day. Just look at the cascade of crazy, end-of-times-level sporting news, and you wonder where to put the panic room?

Five weeks in, the Astros' cheating scandal is still mushrooming; the more it's examined, the more fundamentally evil it gets. The Mets comical search for a new owner has fizzled into a zombie eternity of Wilpons. And now, the Redsocks' amazingly moronic plan to trade their marquee, generational star, Mookie Betts, seems to have evaporated on a stack of MRIs. Minnesota supposedly is ditching the deal (after Boston - facing furious fans - started demanding more than somebody named Brusdar Granderol.) Can the Redsocks take back Mookie - and the overpriced David Price - after swimming a sewer sea to get rid of them? 

Meanwhile, the absolute worst thing that can happen to the Yankees is taking place on a daily basis: 

The 2020 team is being crowned world champions. 

Yes, the Gammonites are calling the election before a vote has been cast.

Listen: This is not normal. Do do not look up, or you might see the Four Starters of the Apocalypse warming in the pen.

In fact, you should be afraid. Be very afraid. There is nothing angrier, hungrier, more cynical and unforgiving than a New York fan base convinced that this is The Year. Time and again, we've seen strong teams on paper wither under the ape-in-iron-mask rage of the 24-hour Gotham talk media. This year could be one for the ages.

It's amazing how, last week, the Yankiverse shrugged off news that last year's ace, James Paxton, could miss half a season due to back surgery. In another year, such a revelation would blare sirens along River Avenue. Yet this winter, expectations remain above the clouds. Everyone seems to assume that Luis Severino will return to the dominance of early 2018, that Giancarlo Stanton will be restored to the glory of 2017, or that last year's nonstop wave of injuries will end.  

None of those hopes may come to fruition. Who is sure that Luke Voit and Mike Ford can play 1B, or that Gleyber can handle SS, or Aaron Judge can play for a season? In so many ways, 2020 could be a death sentence year for Aaron Boone. His teams have twice come close, and he has survived to manage again. But another loss in October could open the flood gates beyond firing Larry Rotschild and the trainers. Even Brian Cashman - who surely owns compromising pictures of the Steinbrenners - could find himself on thin ice, being kicked up the management ladder into Randy Levine territory. The greater the expectations, the harder it is to win... and I cannot remember a winter more filled with certainty. Every Yankee fan I talk with says the same: This is our year. There is no way we'll miss out.

That's the worst juju ever.

Look at Tampa. You find an ascending team that won 96 games and lost to the Codebreakers 3-2 in the playoffs. Look at Toronto, and you find a wave of talent that battled the Yankees tooth-and-nail last September. And we can never sleep on Boston, even if they're tanking for 2021. 

It's been a crazy winter. It's going to be a crazier summer, full of anger and fear, and most of all, full of surprises. I invite you to come along for the ride, to keep us from going insane, and to survive the wacko avalanche that is about to happen. Together, we can make it. We either stay sane together or go insane separately. But one thing is for sure: Get ready for some crazy.