Strange Times

These are strange times to be a Yankee fan. Displaced on the throne of supremacy by our rival stepsister to the north, pinstripe aficionados from Passaic to Peekskill face another year fearing a certain opponent more than we are feared by them. Even if fans can muster a glint of consolation in snatching from Boston the moral high ground that comes with the territory of near misses and second-places finishes, an inflated payroll, and the equally inflated muscle mass of our players, makes any claim to underdog status ring hollow.

Where others might see darkness ahead, Searching for Michael Fishman see hopes. Hope not in Rodriguez's bat or Jeter's self-assured smile, but rather in a bespectacled office slave pouring over spreadsheets. Michael Fishman was hired by the Yankees to run their Statistical Research Department, a move greeted with cautious excitement by those who understand the the shortcomings of counting stats, and bemusement by those who believe Miguel Cairo was ever an adequate bench player. Since Cashman's blind leap into the hitherto unknown field of analytical research, an area previously considered anathema to the Yankee way, Fishman has not been seen or heard from. Prevented from speaking to the media by his secretive bosses, Fishman remains a spectre, a math messiah waiting to emerge.

And if the our recent signings are any indication -- the dependably VORP-free Mientkiewicz comes to mind -- Fishman remains not only invisible to the media but to his superiors as well. And yet we hope, we watch, we read Peter Abraham with an uncommon zeal, anything to keep at bay the creeping doubt that we may have lost the throne for good.

Strange times indeed.