"I mean, they're not crazy. Right?"

 

So May 1st marked the 104th anniversary of Babe Ruth's first home run as a New York Yankee. The Babe had had an absolutely wretched spring training, jumping into the stands at one point to fight a heckler—and nearly getting knifed in the bargain. 

Once the season started, he was no better. In April, he managed to hurt himself, insisted on playing centerfield (where he lost a game with his glove), and hit all of .226, with no home runs, and a Gleyberian 3 RBI in 9 games. 

He seemed to be living up to Red Sox owner Harry Frazee's characterization of him as an out-of-shape prima donna, and "one of the most inconsiderate men that ever wore a baseball uniform." 

The Yankees, favored in many circles to take the 1920 AL gonfalon, lost their first four games to Boston, while Frazee's My Lady Friends was enjoying an epic, six-month run on W. 41st St.'s Comedy Theatre—and soon to be the musical smash, No, No, Nanette.

The Red Sox were in first at 10-2; the Yanks sixth, at 4-7.

Then, on May Day, Ruth hit a titanic blast against Boston at the Polo Grounds, his favorite ballpark, and drove in another run with a double. Bob Shawkey pitched a four-hit shutout, and all was right with the world. The Babe went on to nearly double his own home-run record, with 54 on the season. The Red Sox would stink for the next 15 years.

So, is Aaron Judge about to go on a tear that will see him hit, say, 120 homers?  

Not hardly.

The other night on SNY's great sports wrap-up show, the estimable Anthony McCarron was on talking about what was wrong with Yankee bats. When he got to Judge, he repeated the same thing that all reasonable people are saying, which was something along the lines of:

"Judge will come around. The only other explanation for why he's doing so badly is that he's hurt, and the Yankees would not keep playing him if he's hurt. I mean, they're not crazy. Right?"

Oh, my. We've brought in Betty White from her Mary Tyler Moore years to give one of her classic riffs on Gavin MacLeod:

"Oh, Anthony. Poor, sweet, wonderful, rational Anthony. Of course the Yankees would play Judge while he's injured. They will play anybody when they're injured."

These are, after all, the same New York Yankees who played Anthony Rizzo last year for, what, three months after he was clearly concussed. 

The same Yankees who pitched Luis Severino for half-a-season after he had clearly hurt his arm pitching against the Red Sox in 2018. The same Yankees who played Judge himself for half-a-year, after he hurt himself at MLB's idiotic, All-Star Game home run derby, in 2017.

We're not even talking about just the Cashman Yankees. Our Bronx Bombers have made it a tradition to play all sorts of stars even when they're injured. 

They put the Babe into an exhibition game with an injured ankle, late in the 1923 season, even with the World Series looming. This is the same franchise that kept insisting Joe DiMaggio play with bad feet and legs their incompetent medical staff managed to injure—the same club that kept putting Mickey Mantle out there on one leg, and insisted there was nothing wrong with Roger Maris when he had a broken hand.

Just in case people haven't been paying attention, Aaron Judge is now botching balls in the field, too.

Aaron Judge has now hit into 10 double-plays—a figure that would give him 51 for the season, and easily smash Jim Ed Rice's record of 36. 

Aaron Judge is on a pace to strikeout nearly 200 times, a frequency we have not seen since the 208 in his rookie year.

Are the Yankees crazy? 

OF COURSE they're crazy! Crazy for maximum, short-term profits within the parameters of the cartel they belong to, without any regard to the long-term damage to their product, their brand, or the satisfaction of their customers.

They're crazy the way all of American capitalism has been, at least since the first devil's imp opened the first business school, and declared that all businesses were essentially the same. They're crazy the way GM could be the biggest car seller in the world for 75 years or so, and go belly-up in 2009. They're crazy the way New York landlords have basically filled the streetscape in much of Manhattan with buzzshops and nail salons, rather than ever settle on an affordable commercial rent.

Yes, they are crazy. And yes, Judge is injured. And no, they will not stop playing him until he has to be carried off the field.

An existential crisis in the Yankee infield poses one great question: Could Gleyber be this year's Donaldson or Hicks?

 

Last night, the Zone of Death (TM) continued in Poe's city of gaslights. I'm referring to the Yankee fog of nothingness that settles in whenever Aaron Judge strides to the plate. It thickens with Giancarlo Stanton, Anthony Rizzo, Gleyber Torres and whomever is playing CF. Last night, this meager five went 0-for-17, without even a walk, continuing their dismal 2024 seasons, continuing to sink without a bubble.

Okay, let's state it up front: Judge . Will. Hit. We know this. Any day now, any way now, he'll go apeshit. He'll win AL Player of the Week and scatter some opposing bullpen like pigeons from a sandlot. It. Will. Happen.  

Unless he's secretly hurt, in which case, all bets are off. 

As for Stanton? That's another story. He'll probably heat up. But his inability to sprint, without tweaking himself - that's a glitch. Rizzo hasn't fully returned from last year's concussion, and then there is Gleyber, currently the top Yankee enigma.

Thus far, he's been a disaster. He started the season hitting leadoff, the Yankees not wanting Anthony Volpe to face extra pressures. That sure didn't last. Torres stank at the top and has continued to skunk-up the depths of the order. He has yet to hit a HR in 124 plate appearances. (Last year he hit 25.) He has all of 6 RBIs and and 33 Ks. And questions that not long ago were unthinkable have become real: 

How long can the Yankees get nothing from 2B? 

Could Gleyber be this year's Josh Donaldson? Or its Aaron Hicks?

You remember Donaldson and Hicks, last year's Bobsy Twins through May. "Jackie" Donaldson was a complete disaster at 3B, though Aaron Boone defended him, and the YES team constantly saw rebirth in his swings - signs that never materialized. The fans booed, and his BA fell to .142. He was waived and sent to Milwaukee, where he hit .169. This winter, he retired.

On that note, I want to apologize to Donaldson for some of the things we said about him on this site. His problem was simple: He was done. At age 36, he had nothing left. He was out there, feeding his family, and his career was over. You can hate a guy for a lot of things, but growing too old should temper some of the bile. Donaldson was through, and the Yankee management deserved to be booed, not him. 

Then there was Hicks, an electrified corpse who left the Yankees hitting .188 (with 1 HR) who suddenly became reanimated in Baltimore, hitting .275 (with 7 HRs.) Alas, Hicksy flipped his final flop this spring in Anaheim, where he was hitting .222 before being recently released. 

Donaldson and Hicks, gone but not forgotten...

I raise them because DJ LeMahieu will soon start another rehab assignment. His last one, a week ago, lasted two innings. Expectations were for DJ - as soon as his foot stops hurting - to take over 3B from Oswaldo Cabrera. Well, maybe not. Last night, Oswaldo's 2-run HR saved our bacon. His glove his great, and if Oswaldo keeps hitting, LeMahieu might reclaim his natural position, 2B. 

That would leave Gleyber - well - eyeballing the land of Hicks and Donaldson. 

One other question here: 

Must we, as Yankee fans, always need a pariah? At times, I wonder... because someone is always underperforming. I worry that we have a tendency to latch onto that person, even when the team is winning. Of course, Donaldson and Hicks last year had to go. But Hicks made us look exceptionally bad. 

It's hard to imagine that Gleyber - at 27 and entering his walk year - is done. But if LeMahieu moves to 2B - as, frankly, he should - Gleyber is about to face an existential crisis. If he's traded for chum, does anyone not think he'll have a resurgence? Either way, the Zone of Death (TM) must end. 

The Albatross

An Albatross is a large , white seabird who lives forever and only occasionally has to flap its wings. 

The Yankee's acquired their own Albatross from Derek Jeter, several years ago. If Jeter were a decent person, he would no longer appear at yankee stadium.

Today, when you describe someone as an Albatross, you mean that they cause you great problems from which you cannot escape.  They prevent you from doing what you want to do.

Giancarlo Stanton is our Albatross.

1.  His contract is weighty and never seems to end. 

2.  He only flaps his wings once in a blue moon, and usually, it makes no difference ( solo homers which travel 480 feet and have an exit velocity faster than a flying bird ).

3.  He kills rallies by striking out at key moments or batting into a double play.

4.  He is cumbersome, awkward and sloth slow.  One day, we will see him thrown out at first on a single to left.

5.  He consumes far too many of the teams' seed supplies. 

6. He can't play a position.  

7.  It is demoralizing to watch him come to bat, when you know he will soon return ( bat in hand, eyes  watching the clouds )to the dugout.  Not advancing a runner. Not making a productive out. In fact, if there is a man on first, it is best if he strikes out.  That still leaves the runner on first. 

8.  His presence is an embarrassment to Boone.  Normally, when a player fails to produce, and offers little value or flexibility, he is cut, traded or demoted for further seasoning. Boone cannot do that with Stanton.  In fact, he has to pencil him him to the middle of the lineup even after a goolden sombrero the previous day.  So Boone only manages 8 players.  

9.  Worse, Boone has to make "baseball talk excuses) to justify Stanton's continuing failures and deterioration (e.g " I think he put a pretty good swing on that.  He just missed it.").

10 and now, he is ruining the hitting of teammates. When he was thrown out at second on Wells' single to right field, Wells lost the base hit on his record. The Yankees can't score runs as it is;  We can't have hits turned into outs. 

The Yankees will win nothing as long as Stanton is a regular in the line-up or on the bench.  We can only prayer an  injury, because Hal will not allow himself to be pubically undressed.  

Stanton will play forever.  We are weighed down forever. 

A Pressing Problem

Mets Can't Wear Alternate Jerseys Because the Pants Haven't Arrived

As the nation'l pastime seeks expanse
To pull in those who might just glance
And, intrigued, give the game a chance,
Manfred should provide some pants.

Fans in Britain, Spain and France,
With soccer frustrated perchance,
Might get all "Tinker! Evers! Chance!"
But won't if players have no pants.

College hoops? Yeah, "The Big Dance!"
Skaters 'round Stanley's cup prance.
Football thrills all uncles and aunts.
Baseball? They ain't got no pants.

On-field play can be enhanced
And fortunes made through slick finance
But we might have a free "snake dance"
Unless MLB invests in pants. 

The dead zone in the Pacific Ocean has nothing on the one in the Yankee lineup

Somewhere out there - beyond Guam, Samoa and Shangri-La -  there floats a vast skin of plastics, the microscopic residue from 100 years of Bic pens, Polish Spring water bottles and single-use grocery bags, the sharts of civilization.

I probably shouldn't compare the middle of the Yankee batting order to this existential embarrassment. I mean, our lineup poses no direct threat to our friends, the whales.

But, hey, if the Croc fits...

Last night, our Big Four Run-Makers occupied their own personal oceanic dead zone - going 0-for-14 with 6 Ks and three surgically directed DP grounders, which effectively clogged our engines and left us in the middle of nowhere.

Whenever the lineup turned over, and they came into view, for Yankee fans, it was like the horror movie trope where the young woman climbs up to attic, to see what's making the thumping sound, and you're yelling, "NO, DON'T GO THERE!" But they always do, because they don't know it's a horror movie.

The result: Long, weary, unbridled, home run swings - and nothing to show.  

Not only that, but Gleyber Torres - who may be running out of time, in his contract year, no less - contributed a bonehead play that would have made Fred Merkle proud. (And if you don't remember Fred Merkle, that's another reason you need Hoss Clarke's great book.) Instead of making an easy throw to 1B, Gleyber attempted a cross-diamond fling to third, bouncing it off the baserunner and allowing a run to score on a night when the Yankees would only tally two. 

The big takeaway from our first match-up with Baltimore:

They find ways to win. The Yankees find them to lose. 

At this rate, they'll be lucky to leave Baltimore in second place. And they are trending downward, still living off the glorious opening two weeks when everything clicked.   

It's taken us seven years to shed the monkey on our backs known as the Houston Astros. Now, the Orioles - a young and ascending team - could be taking their place.

Around here, we often call the Yankees "the Death Barge," a long-diseased reaction to Brian Cashman's famous 2018 description of them as a "fully operational Death Star," referencing the Evil Empire. 

Well, there is no empire, no battleship in the sky, no intergalactic force. There is just a big, slow-moving thing in the water. It's still way too early to sound the alarm, or start trading bodies, or declare ourselves lost at sea. But the next two nights could show us what kind of gap exists between the O's and our heroes. And where the hell are we? Guam? Easter Island? Jurassic Park? We have two games to recapture some sense of hope. Otherwise...  

The kid who they replaced Sterling with is unlistenable. I almost don't want to say it because he's so young. And I was no great fan of Sterling. But the kid calls the Yankees like he's announcing the bride and groom at a wedding.

— Richard M. Nixon (@dick_nixon) April 30, 2024

;

Yankee players are "giddy" over Luis Severino's 7 innings of no-hit ball; Yankee fans, not so much...

Kudos to Luis Severino for taking a no-hitter into the eighth inning yesterday. Seriously. Congrats in order.

Still, WTF? I mean, damn, humina-humina, I'm sorry, I'M REALLY SORRY... but we sank nine years into this guy, waiting and hoping for him to put it all together and win a Cy Young, and now, he's gonna be a star with the Mets?

Yankee players still stay in touch. They love the guy. 

WTF?

The NY Ciphers add another shutout to a remarkable spring of zeros

Thirty games into the thicket, our swishing and swooshing '24 Yanks are on a pace to record 30 shutouts - that is, to be held scoreless 30 times - a feat that conjures memories of Matt Nokes, Alvaro Espinosa and some of the great engines of haplessness in Gotham history. 

Of course, they'll need up their game to beat the all-time record for  shutouts, 33 by the 1909 St. Louis Browns, a 7th place team led by Hobe Ferris and Lou Criger - yes, THE Lou Criger, and don't forget Ham Patterson!

If these Yankees do achieve scorelessness immortality, last night's nine-inning cipher spree will take a special place in goose egg lore. 

At one point, the rather moribund Giancarlo Stanton - baseball's slowest baserunner since Smokey Burgess? - could not reach 2nd base on a line drive single to right. The ball handcuffed Giancarlo, who assumed his signature toiletless squat halfway between 1st and 2nd, and then was unable to waddle forward quickly enough to save the inning. To call Giancarlo "slow" is like describing the Atlantic Ocean as "moist."

Of course, there were other zero heroes - Aaron Judge, chasing a 3-2 pitch out of the strike zone, with runners on 2nd and 3rd, comes gloriously to mind - but Stanton's inability to move, added to all the other inabilities, wins the IIHIIFIIc participation trophy.

Five shutouts. You can sense them coming, as the missed opportunities mount. In the 9th, Oswaldo Cabrera belted a long fly - a dramatic, game-tying HR? And you could imagine The Master shouting, "IT IS HIGH, IT IS FARRRR... IT ISSSS..." Nope. It was caught, a warning track out.

The Super Ciphers are in 2nd place, a few percentage points behind Baltimore. The next three games will likely dictate whether we chase the O's or start looking over our shoulder, starving off the surprising Redsocks. Its May, and we already have five shutouts. 

This team may have found its destiny. Or, at least, its Ham Patterson. 

It isn't a cookbook! It's a prophecy!!

 

So, in their last 9 games, your New York Yankees have been shutout twice, scored one measly run in a third game...and have now scored 6, 15, and 15 in Milwaukee.

JOHN WAS RIGHT! THERE REALLY IS NO PREDICTING BASEBALL! HE WAS TRYING TO TELL US BEFORE IT WAS TOO LATE!!!

Yankees unveil new formula for winning: Score more than 10

Maybe I'm watching too many Knicks games, but who feels safe anymore without at least a double-digit lead? This weekend, the Yankees seemed to rediscover the three-point play, er, run HR, that game-changer from the distant past, in Old Milwaukee. 

Ah, yes, the town, not the beer. True home of the Braves. The soulful oasis of cheese and testosterone, which hasn't hurt  me since Eddie Matthews and Warren Spahn, whom even I am too young to remember.  

Why can't we play more games in Milwaukee? Like, all remaining games against the Brewers? Can we move spring training there? Tampa hates us, and between the red tide and the book burnings, the air is practically unbreathable, The only reason we train in Tampa is Hal: He has his mansion, pool, rec room and hot tub there, and he doesn't want to move. Screw dat. There should be a rule about MLB teams holding spring training in the backyard of a division rival. The Yankees don't need Tampa nursing a perpetual stiffy about us. Certainly, the good people of Wisconsin could build a dome or two, to welcome us each winter? We've also got global warming working on our behalf. 

Before continuing, look - LOOK - at those wondrous numbers from yesterday: 14 base hits and six walks - braced against only 5 Ks and only one GIDP (Stanton, of course.) It was like Candyland, moving Lord Licorice to Cupcake Commons, along with the Duke of Swirl - taking our minds off the puppy-shooting headlines of today. 

Was the sudden output due to installing Peachfuzz Verdugo at cleanup? Either way, I'm all for anything that lessens Giancarlo's appearances in crunch time moments. Even when the Yankees roll, he wriggles. His average is leaking toward last year's sorry output, and I gotta believe that, somewhere within the Yank brain trust, Cooperstown Cashman is eyeing a replacement. Is Willie Calhoun out there?   

Not saying Stanton should be benched or Scrantonized, nothing yet. He deserves another month. But the question is simple:

The MLB Fastball: Can he still hit it? 

If so, he'll get hot and maybe bat .250 with 30 HRs. If he can't, why are we even reading this paragraph? Between now and July, when The Martian should be playing rehab games at Scranton, Giancarlo can determine his fate. But if he's still loitering, hitting below his weight, the drums will be beating. We don't need a guy who can't hit, can't field and can't run.  

Other thoughts:

1. There is a real possibility that the Yankees' back page tabloid dominance in NYC will end this year. The Knicks should grab at least 110 covers, many at the Yankees' expense. If the Jets or Giants win any games in 2025 - (a valid question) - they will poach more Yankee covers. 

For the first time since Hal took over the Death Barge, around 2008, his franchise could be an afterthought in Gotham. Considering the amount of money that's been spent, there would be absolutely no way to spin the outcome, other than pure mismanagement. 

2. Tonight, we enter the gauntlet: Four games in Baltimore, which once was - according to HossClarke's wonderful book - baseball's dirtiest team. Right now, the O's might be MLB's best, and they might even be improving. 

Tonight, we line up Clarke Schmidt, without whom we would be toast this season, then follow with Nasty Nestor, Blue Gil and Rodon. These four games will set the agenda through the first half of 2025 and maybe cement this team a reputation as "road warriors." It's up to you, New York, New York.

28 Days later... an old fashioned, from-the-git-go, laugher

Finally, a chance to breathe.

A ninth inning where the lone drama was whether Jose Trevino's knuckler is his  true future. 

A game without angst, without anger, a chance to reflect upon and channel-hop to LeBron or hand-woven Home Shopping pillowcases. 

The type of game that long ago lured us to the Yankees - once an Evil Empire, now just evil.

You could say the Yankees wasted a great start by Carlos Rodon, or that Oswaldo's batting average keeps shrinking, and the bullpen still needs arms - but I'm gonna let go of the drama. 

We needed a laugher, a game without pain, and we got one.

Today, the rubber match in Milwaukee, then on to Baltimore, the first fist-fight of 2024.  Enjoy the Calgon Bath Oil moment...

Breaking News: The Yankee bullpen is officially fried

 And in the end, the love you save is equal to the love you made... t'wasn't those planes that killed the beast, it was beauty that killed the beast... whatever... it was the Michael "Gulf of" Tonkin Incident that mercifully ended last night's ongoing torture party in Milwaukee. 

What can we say, beyond that when the game ended, no one feigned surprise. This was Destiny, 100-proof, a preordained outcome that followed every pitch, every pop fly. To bastardize a ditty from John Irving...

Whether you're early
Or whether you're late,
It's all the same to Fate.

Part was poor baserunning. Part was bad hitting. Part was the closing lineup of Joneses and Trammels, and six pitchers - an unsustainable drain on elbows and cuffs, which led to the Yankee debut of newly shaven Michael Harvey Tonkin, 34, the Doomsday horseman, signaling the outcome that lurked all night.  

Honestly, where do you start, beyond the instinctive certainty that the Yankees would lose, even with a lead in the 10th. Too many dark omens, too many blown ops, too many missing links to the team's near past, all manifested in the presence of Tonkin, a statistical doppelganger (according to Baseball Reference) to the following elbow belchers:

Blas Minor
Ryan Dull
Carter Capps
Oliver Drake
Bill Burwell

Okay, look... 

I don't mean to disparage Tonkin, who is feeding his family, and who actually might have thrown scoreless innings, if not for those pesky ghost runners. But his presence last night showcased the sorry state of the Yankee pitching staff - a group that is officially fried. We've moved past the Poteets and Burdis - long ago visited the moments when Scott Proctor would have burned his clothes at home plate - and we're now in the land of daily waiver wire pickups, scouring the landfills for usable parts. We have reached August Distress levels, and it's not even May 1. 

The Yankees remain in second place, percentage points behind Baltimore, with a 5-5 record over their last 10 games. Today, there is no way in Hell to predict who will be pitching the late innings, except that he probably wore a Railriders jersey this week. Mike Axisa says this could be the toughest road trip all season. And we're already out of pitchers.

April is coming to an end. My only friend, the end...

We have met the tomato can, and they is us.

 We are the Andy Warhol of ball teams:  90 percent hype, 10 percent weirdness.

Did the Yankees just suffer the worst, out-of-body loss of 2024?

For me, one of the scariest moments in cinema history comes in The Blair Witch Project, when the campers come to realize they've been hiking in a circle, hopelessly lost, facing an evil beyond their imagination. All they can do is scream into the haunted forest.   

Like Yank fans, last night... 

I believe I speak for the Yankiverse in saying that last night troweled out one of the truly, soul-crushing losses of 2024. Surely, some evil humdingers are still out there, lurking, salivating, waiting for us with thumbscrews and glossy photos of Stump Merrill. But there won't be many games that serve up such ignominy as we took in last night. It was a Master Class in reliving the last decade.

Two bases loaded GIDPs. 

Eleven runners stranded. 

Eleven whiffs. 

A squandered start and bullpen. 

A home loss to a team without a home. 

The second disheartening defeat - (on the heels of Monday's 2-0 butchery, when we fell in the 9th) - in a series the Yankees seemed to take for granted. 

The Yankees are now in second place, a few percentage points behind Baltimore, who they face next week. Sinatra's refrain - "ridin' high in April, shot down in May" - is playing. After an incredible start, we won't even be leading our division, heading into May.

Last night was magnificent for channel-changers and New York sports cynicism. In the NFL draft, the Giants used their 6th pick on a small (6') wide receiver, the kind of selection that - historically, for the franchise - goes nowhere. One positive: They didn't trade their first pick next year, as it will probably be first in the entire draft. 

Or you could watch the Knicks, battling and finally falling to Philly. The series will go to the end, the last possession, the final shot, the concluding ref's whistle and the last bounce - the will of the juju gods. Everything else is destiny. Generally, the Knicks are not good with destiny. 

And then there was our heroes, who last night delivered another central message: This team can still suck. In March, we bought into the notion that one great hitter could transform a lineup. In April, we realized that Stanton is still Stanton, Rizzo is Rizzo, etc., down the line. April has seemed like a lifetime. We greeted Juan, said goodbye to John. And after all is done, we're still lost in the forest. 

Game Day, Draft Day, Game Three Knick Game, Thread

I'm exhausted already. Oh, and the Yankees loaded the bases in the first with no outs and failed to score.

Who's backing up on first? Only Abbott and Costello know, as the Yankees play a dangerous shell game

Attention Walmart Shoppers: It's time for some Cat-4, felony-grade juju. 

From now on, whenever Anthony Rizzo or Oswaldo Cabrera step to the plate, wherever you are, point your best juju shotglass or roachclip in the direction of the Montefiore Medical Center and chant, "LET HIM LIVE." Both are currently the last lines of defense to the immediate Yankee future. 

If either tweaks a gonad, or strains his cabbage patch, the Death Barge has no 1B or 3B replacement, without panning the streams of Moosic for somebody, anybody, which is always dangerous at the MLB level.

If Rizzo goes down, our 1B is Oswaldo, which means nobody to handle 3B or backup SS. Simplified, we'll play Whack-a-Mole with the Injury List. 

So, you ask, WTF? Wasn't Brian Cashman's greatest skill his ability to scan the recycling bins of MLB for used brake pads and rotator cuffs? Last year, around now, sensing a dearth of lefty bats, he brought in Franchie Cordero, Jake Bauers, Willie Calhoun and Billy McKinney - the Four Stopgaps of the Apocalypse - to survive the month of May. 

This year, if Rizzo or Oswaldo's bottoms bark, here's what might happen...

1. Journeyman Jahmai Jones, at 26, will learn an emergency position. Over his four-year MLB career, he's played 2B, OF and DH, with a BA of .170 and no HRs. (He missed the John Sterling HR Holler window.) This year, he's 0-for-1.  

2. Oswald Peraza? Nope. He's "hitting" at the Tampa complex, weeks away from a rehab assignment. What a cruel set of cards he's been dealt. It's hard to remember that, in 2022, up for a September cup of coffee, Peraza hit .306 and was nearly anointed as Yankee SS of the future. But but BUT... the guy'll soon turn 24. Twenty four. Too young to give up on. But, for now? No help.

3. DJ LeMahieu. You all know his foot is not healing well, and we've seen how diminished he is when swinging in pain. Eventually, he'll be back, but this ailment is now into its second year. DJ remains a solid clubhouse presence, a grand old franchise warrior, but something is wrong here. No immediate remedy. Another lost month? Or worse?

4. John Berti, a guy we traded a high ceiling prospect for, has been abducted by an abductor strain - (aren't I witty!) - until further notice. Haven't seen any updates. Lost in the memory hole?

5. Kevin Smith played 3B last night for Scranton. He's 8-for-40 at Triple A, that's a perfect .200. In a pinch, he'll probably get the call. But he's 5'11," not exactly what you want at 1B.

6. Caleb Durbin, the 5'6" mite of Moosic - (as Martin Mull would say, "He's last to know it's raining and first to know it's a flood") - went 2-for-4 last night for Scranton (playing LF.) He's hitting .280, but the average is dropping. (He started this season on fire.) Durbin can play everywhere, we are told, but my hunch is our Altuve won't play 1B.

7. Jose Rojas, a 31 year old journeyman, played 1B last night in Scranton. He also plays 3B. He's hitting .193 at Triple A, with 3 HRs. In his MLB career, over 225 at bats, he's hitting .188.

8. Jordan Groshans, 24, a former 1st round pick of Toronto's, was picked up this spring off the scrap heap. He plays 3B, a career .270 hitter in the minors with speed - 87 SBs.

9. Presumably, Lyle Overbay and Jason Nix are out there somewhere, waiting for the call. In the meantime, remain Juju-Vigilant. We need a security detail about Rizzo, who has just started hitting, and Oswaldo, who is - basically - our starting 3B and entire bench.