During the carefree years of my pre-adolescence, one of my favorite TV programs was “The Jetsons,” the after-school cartoon comedy about the trials and tribulations of an out-of-the-ordinary family living thousands of years in the future.

From all those unforgettable Jetson moments—who could forget when Rosie turned into an evil housekeeping robot or when Judy almost ran off with Mr. Spacely’s son?— I found one episode to be unusually disturbing.

The program was a glimpse into what professional sports might look in the year 3005, and in its depiction of a futuristic game of football, human athletes were replaced with robot athletes and people were regulated to the role of spectators.

“What a horrible idea,” I thought to myself, strawberry Pop-Tart in hand. “What fun would watching sports be if it were just a bunch of lifeless robots with no feelings, no sense of pain and especially no ability to randomly break out in the Icky Shuffle?”

I mean, I could certainly understand the use of artificial intelligence when it came to referees and even the occasional sportscaster (i.e. Stuart Scott), but to replace living, breathing athletes with mobile computers? The thought was too appalling for words.

Or at least it was, until about 72 hours ago when the heartfelt belief from my youth shattered right along with J.D. Drew’s left wrist, adding to an already laundry list of Dodger injuries that have made the hope and enthusiasm of a 12-2 start disappear quicker than a plate of ribs on Bartolo Colon’s dining room table.

Yes, I know it may sound a little irrational, but after losing yet another Dodger star to injury, the idea of fielding a team of completely indestructible machines sounds pretty good right about now. Really, wouldn’t a ban on oxygen-breathing players be worth not having to see Scott “Call me when it Lands” Erickson come out of the bullpen—or Jason “The Pinch Out” Grabowski step to the plate with two on and two out in the ninth?

The only thing I’d ask is that the Gagne 5000 model comes with those silly goggles and the Milton Bradlenator is programmed to fire plastic beer bottles at any trash-talking fans. Oh, and if we really wanted to keep it realistic, the Jason Phillips robot must have a 50-pound weight attached to its wheelbase for proper base running velocity.

Just think, after he was done with the game, the Jeff Kent robot could find a second job as one of those “Rock ‘Em, Sock ‘Em” robots, ready and willing to knock the head off of any member of the press willing to insult his 70s-era mustache. And the Hee Sop Choi edition . . . don’t even get me started.

Seriously though, I can’t think of anything more frustrating for a sports fan than injuries. They’re the salt in the wound, the kick to the groin, the bad news that no one can plan for, when all hopes for victory vanish more quickly than the sports ticker flashing the bad news across your TV screen.

No longer are we cheering about home runs and shutouts, but positive medical reports and shortened stays on the disabled list.

I know the traditionalists tell us that injuries are “just part of the game,” and I’ll give them that. But losing six members in the starting lineup and the best reliever in the game in a matter of months—that’s just cruel and unusual.

The Dodgers will actually play tonight without Gagne, Kent, Bradley, Drew and Cesar Izturis. I mean, how good would the Chicago Cubs of the 1910s be if Tinker, Evers and Chance were all out with hamstring injuries?

Hopefully, this all doesn’t sound like incessant Dodger fan wining, but after Izturis, Kent and Drew all went out in the span of three days, it just pushed me over the edge.

I guess let’s keep a positive attitude and hope for more Jason Repko’s and less Mike Rose’s. The sooner the Dodger stars return, the better.

And if things really go south, there’s always those Jetson reruns to catch on the Cartoon Network. Happy viewing.