In the movies, that's how it begins: The Zombie Apocalypse. One guy bites another. That makes two, then four, then eight, then a million.
That's also how the Yankeocalypse happens. A Jonathan Loaisiga bites Clayton Beeter, who nibbles on Luis Gil, and - kaboom - the Zombie King himself, Giancarlo Stanton, shows up to feast.
The opening of spring training begets the first wave of injuries. When it's Scott Effross, we ignore it. When it's Gerrit Cole, we feel dizzy.
Yesterday, the Yankees announced that their Greatest Hope for 2026 - Cam Schlittler, has a barking back and lateral, and he'll take some time off, presumably to watch TV or tour the Dali Museum. Immediately, the team activated its Pooh-Pooh Machine, turning on gaslights from NYC to the Gulf of - um - America?
They claim our concern should be Zero.
Move on. Nothing to see here...
Listen, Cam Schlittler is why Yank fans haven't been rioting in the streets. All winter, whenever the team passed on a free agent, we were mollified by the notion that Schlittler, our looming young star, would save the rotation. Nobody inspires more hope. Last year, he arrived July 9 and went 4-3 (a 2.96 ERA) in 14 starts. He shut out Boston over eight innings in the Wild Card series, then pitched into the 7th, allowing just two earned runs, against Toronto in the Division Series. On Feb. 5, he turned 25.
Now, they say he'll "skip a few bullpens?"
In other words, they'll shut him down and hope the problem goes away.
Along with a tour of our medical tent, the opening of Camp Tampa is always time to acknowledge the glaring reality of the upcoming season. The 2026 Yankees are a hand grenade with the pin half-pulled. If it doesn't go off, if everybody stays healthy, they might make it until Gerrit Cole, Carlos Rodon and Clarke Schmidt return. And if the grenade blows, well, it's Cade Winquest, up from the Rule 5 draft.
One day in, one man down. "Don't worry," they say. Move on...
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3 comments:
This season is another Groundhog Day. It's just Chinatown, Jake. Say it ain't so, Shane. We'll always have Paris. When I'm here, I want to be in the jungle, when I'm in the jungle, I want to be here. We're off to see the Wizard.
Great collection of movie lines, bitty. But you forgot one, from Apocalypse Now: "The horror. The horror."
Yet another inexplicable bit of incompetence from the Cashman Yankees: in a baseball world where players now routinely work out all year long, how can it be that they are not continuously monitored, so that they do not overdo—or (is this a word?)—underdo during the off-season?
Ah, well. I always had the feeling that Schlittler's name was going to prevent him from being great in the first place.
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