No cavalry is coming to save the Yankees. Maybe that's a good thing.

Last year, right around now, Yank fans burned candles of desperation for the return of DJ LeMahieu and Anthony Rizzo - two former all-stars who would lead the franchise through September and beyond. We also harbored some early onset dementia toward Jasson Dominguez, who could rescue LF from Faceplant Verdugo and maybe grease the Second Coming of Juan Soto. 

High hopes.

None of which came true.

Of course, we were luxuriating in the modern tradition of The Yankee Wait - anxious days, weeks and months - for someone, anyone, with a big contract and a cracked ceiling, to fly in from the horizon and save us from the misery that Boone, Cashman and Food Stamps Hal had conjured. 

In this pathetic millennium, Yank fans have regularly fixed on an August savior -  Luis Severino, Harrison Bader, Domingo German, you name it, we've had it - who would come off the IL and re-energize this team. Traditionally, it's been Giancarlo Stanton, though Aaron Judge and Gerrit Cole also joined in. It's always somebody big and expensive, and it bestows upon the YES Network meat puppets a ridiculous hubris that other fans privately mock. Won't be long before Gary Sanchez and Tyler Austin get back! Yeah, right.

Well, this year, it's sorta strange, but... well... we got nothing. 

Nobody returning. Nobody ascending. Nada. Nothing.

Check the Injury List or the Scranton box scores, and unless you've an unhealthy love for Amed Rosario, nobody is healing - at least enough to rescue this team. What we see is what we've got. Here's the lineup... 

c: Right now, Ben Rice. We traded a farm system full of catchers, only to watch Austin Wells crumble. Nobody left in Scranton. Nobody on the IL. It's Rice.

1b: Right now, it's - gulp, umm - Ben Rice. A youthful Paul Goldschmidt won't magically reappear. It's - um - Rice. Good luck, sir!

2b: Jazz. (DJ is a memory.)

ss: Volpe. George Lombard Jr. is next year.

3b: Ryan McMahon. Whatever he does, that's what we've got.

lf: Bellinger. The Martian seems to have woven himself a ceiling from the iron threads in his glove. 

cf: Trent Grisham. Spencer Jones is next spring.

rf: Giancarlo, until he's hurt. (Spoiler alert: He'll get hurt.)

dh: Judge. Of course. Or - gulp, umm -Ben Rice.

Same with pitching. Last year, we awaited Marcus Stroman and Clay Holmes. (And we told ourselves that Gerrit Cole would pitch himself into his 2023 Cy Young form.) This year, nobody's coming from Scranton. 

If you don't like this team, you're outa luck.

But here's the thing: I'm okay with that. 

How many years did we wait on Setback Sevy, only to watch him doink a gallbladder, or simply get pounded? This year, if there is no cavalry - at least there is no false sense of confidence. The Yankees are in a dogfight for the last measly wild card berth. If they fail, they miss the postseason, where October looks mighty dark and bleak. 

Nobody is coming, and I say, that's fine. 

If they fail, a shitstorm needs to happen. I'm good with that. At least it keeps me from having to monitor TJ Rumfield in Scranton. (.309 with 14 HRs!)