Suddenly, a darkness like none before looms on the Yankees horizon

Every morning, as I have done for the last thirty-some years, I plunk my ass down to write a soulful, heart-felt, blistering, psychotic rant about some new way in which the Yankees - my Yankees - have pissed me the fuck off. 

It might be a pitcher who can't throw strikes, or an outfielder with the flexibility of a Pringle's chip. Often, a certain dumb-as-lice, poor-mouthing, Sonny Drysdale-esque, billionaire owner receives a burning chunk of my lava-laced bile. For me, it's more than therapeutic: It's the only normal I have ever known. On the day I die - hopefully, many years from now - you will know that I am in the ground, because the screeds will cease, and the only howls I make will be the empty winds over my angry stone. 

But lately, a darkness looms like none I've seen before. Lately, I find reason to wonder if there will even be a season, or if it will be played before living, breathing fans. Lately, I've been pondering the possibility that the year 2020 will be remembered not only for its lack of yet another Yankee world championship, but maybe of a season at all.

Today, I am pondering the absolute worst-case scenario.

Of course, I'm referring to the possible injury of Zack Britton. 

Yesterday, a batting practice come-backer glanced off Britton's wrist, causing him to cry out and waddle off the field. The Yankees claim x-rays are negative - no broken bone - and that Britton will not miss major playing time. Trouble is, the Yankees no longer have credibility on the matter of injuries. Over the years, they have squandered all believe-ability, as they constantly assure us that players will return soon, only to have us then wait weeks, if not months, for rehabilitation. We're done believing them. They've become Baghdad Bob.

If Britton is hurt, a huge plank will have broken in our last bastion of defense - the bullpen. Certainly, at age 32, Aroldis Chapman cannot be counted on to last the season. He's hit the Injury List twice in the last two. Though his earned run average dropped last year - to 2.21 - El Chapo looks shakier and shakier, nothing like his glory years between 2012-2016, when his ERA hovered near 1.00. His tendency to walk the lead-off batter is going to send me to an early grave.

If Britton is hurt, the Yankees have no proven closer to buttress Chapman. In each of the past few winters, they fortified the bullpen - last year, it was Adam Ottavino - but this year, nothing, nada, crickets. In fact, they watched Dellin Betances walk out the door, without even a qualifying offer. 

Yankee fans have grown accustomed to the five-inning game, where our starter merely has to hold a lead into the sixth, to be then followed by a train of power pitchers. If Britton is hurt, that train breaks down in Utica, like regular Amtrak service.

A quiet truth about this spring was that the Yankees could always afford to lose outfielders or designated hitters. We'd find replacements either from our ranks or in the vast MLB scrap heap of talent. But if we lose our bullpen - for years, one of the best in the game - it's a long, disastrous call to Scranton. This spring, Yankees touted a bunch of young arms - Deivi Garcia, Mike King, Clarke Schmidt, et al - but one by one, they have proven to not be ready. 

If we lose Britton, it's time to get into the bunker. The end is near.