With the KC sweep, all the Yankees' supposed advantages of a first round bye are gone

Remember how, heading into the AL Division Series, we wanted either the Royals or O's - (didn't matter which) - to be 100 percent drained of piss and testosterone - bats limp, bullpen fried, legs of grease and lungs crackling with microwave popcorn vapor?  

So much for that.

Come Saturday at 6:50 p.m., KC will be ripe and rested, stoked on crowd noise and network honeys, while the Yankees will be waking up from a week of self-pleasure, a mini all-star break that has become MLB's biggest postseason flaw. Instead of gaining an advantage, as in the brutal NFL, baseball's winningest teams face a week of Calgon Bath Oil Beads, softening whatever edges that got them here. 

Since the playoffs were expanded, top seeded teams have won three of eight ALDS. 

Not only that, but by sweeping Baltimore, KC will face the Yankees with a) its bullpen rested, b) its rotation in its moon cycle, and c) the first-time jitters of playing in October behind them. 

Be afraid. Be fucking afraid. Still, the Yankees will have no excuses for losing. Our Big Two outmatch theirs. We have: 

Aaron Judge, the Captain, the lifelong Yankee, and the undisputed greatest slugger of his era. But in postseason play, he's been - well - Danny Tartabull. In 12 playoff series - 44 games - he is .211 with 13 HRs (most of them solo shots, he has only 25 RBIs.) Two years ago, in the ALCS against Houston, his last time in the limelight, Judge went 1-for-16. That's the stuff of boos, which have been the norm in most Yankee Octobers of this millennium. If Judge is hot, the Yankees are nearly unbeatable. If he's cold... well... boo.

Juan Soto. In 29 postseason games, he's hit .261 with 7 HRs. Most of this came in 2019, at age 20, when Soto beat Houston's brains out. That year, leading his team to a ring, he hit .333 with 3 HRs in the world series. They still love him in Washington. Trouble is, in 2022, he sorta flopped with San Diego, hitting .222 in the NLCS. 

Everybody knows the secret of this October: It's Soto's crossroads in NYC. If he leads the Yankees to a world championship, he will bond forever with the franchise and fan base. Food Stamps Hal will have to sign him - as he did Judge - and Soto will be a Yankee for life. Cue the happy guitar.

But if the season ends with scattered boos and angry postgame tribunals, the exit signs will beckon to Soto. Some small market billionaire - hitter-starved Seattle? - will offer the moon, and Soto will follow the candied trail of Robbie Cano, however cursed it may be. Cue the pipe organ.

Bobby Witt Jr. Against Baltimore, he went 3-for-9 with 2 RBIs. He was thrown out trying to steal. This is Witt's chance to shine in the national spotlight, as Soto did in 2019. The Royals - brilliantly - signed him to a long term deal last year, so he won't be a free agent until 2031. 

Watching this guy, I get a scary George Brett vibe. He has all the trappings of a Yankee killer. If we pitch to him, he'll maul us. If we walk him, he'll steal second. I'll watch him hit from behind the couch. 

Salvador Perez. This year, he finished with 27 HRs and .271, plus he crushed opposing running games. In eight postseason series, over three years (33 games), he's hit .234 with five HRs. He's the best catcher in baseball, and KC has him for two more years. He's not Soto - (41 HR and .288 this year) - but remember, those numbers come from a fucking catcher. 

Somebody better throw some firecrackers into the Yankees' blissful week off. This is going to be a dogfight. Shall we dredge up the Pine Tar rule?