What's this? Good news on the corona front? From baseball? Holy crap, I'll take it!

Yesterday, I learned a hip new word to describe my life: 

"Doom-scrolling." 

It's when you sit at your computer all day, surfing for bad COVID news to amplify your depression. For the last five months, that's been my thing. Cruise the news. I'm a chronic doom-scroller.

Soon, maybe that will change. A huge sports tsunami is about to crash over us: MLB, the NBA, the NHL and even the NFL will replace pro cornhole and 20-year-old game replays - powerful distractions to the ice cream trucks now parked outside our emergency rooms. And get this: Today, across the Yankiverse, we have actual hopeful news: 

DJ LeMahieu is said to be recovering from the virus, he should rejoin the team next week and maybe even play on opening day.

Now, anyone who knows juju understands that hope is a dangerous commodity, sort of an emotional nitroglycerine. As soon as you start crowing that the Yankees haven't suffered a major injury in a while, somebody gets drilled by a 112-mph line drive. On that note, let's remember that before DJ can play, he must pass two of those awful nasal swab tests, display no symptoms and send Alphonso an autographed, bronzed stool sample for his home collection. (That's a joke.) If those criteria are met, Le Machine might even play in this weekend's exhibition series against the Mets (who, according to reports, might be bought by Sheldon Adelson; take that, all you woke Met fans.) 

In keeping with this site's lock-down ban on expressions of hope, let me note that LeMahieu's recovery is bad news for Tyler Wade and Thairo Estrada, both of whom became breakout faves. Also, let's continue worrying about Luis Cessa, El Chapo and all remaining members of the cast of Glee, whose safety is obviously cursed by dark forces. 

Thus, I refuse to let down my guard. I still fear the 2020 season will break my heart, that as soon as I start devouring box scores and listening to The Master, "driven by Jeep," COVID will surge and leave me depressed and devastated. One infection can quarantine an entire lineup. I don't see how that can change. 

But fukkit: Today, let's celebrate! We won one! WE WON ONE!  

Generally, I hate sports movies, because of - well - everything. But today, I'm thinking of a speech in We Are Marshall, which I've never forgotten. Matthew McConaughey tells his team that the key to overcoming tragedy is to have one good day. Add another, and you've had a good week. Put two weeks together, and you've had a good month. Have a few, and maybe, just maybe, you have a good year. That's life. That's all you get.

Yesterday, I stopped doom-scrolling for a moment to realize that the Yankees had a good day. Fuck me. I'll take it!