game thread - july 18th, 2025 - back into the exciting second half of the season !

 

Twelve shopping days left until Cashmas. Dear God, we have been here many times before...

Excuse me, but do I know you? Have we met? I'm thinking Woodstock '99 maybe? No? It's just - your face seems... familiar. I can't shake the feeling that we've been here before, many times, here, in this bus station, almost as if in a dream.

Yeah, wait... I do know you. We were here last year, when the Yankees obtained Jazz Chisholm. And we were here years earlier for the Joey Gallo trade, and - gulp - going way back - for Pete Incaviglia, for Daryl Strawberry, for Jay Buhner - dear God, I remember now! -for J.A. Happ, for Andrew Benintendi, for countless August 1 midnight deals. You and I, we've been meeting in this Wilkes Barre transfer station every July since the dawn of baseball, waiting for something to change our lives, waiting for a chance to transform, waiting to go somewhere, anywhere.

Yeah, I know you. We celebrated the arrival of Harrison Bader, thinking this guy had to be great, because  the Yankees surely would never traded Jordan Montgomery for an injured schlub. We couldn't wait to see Mark Leiter Jr, and Glenallen Hill, and Raul Mondesi, and John Olerud, and all the others who would come and go, come and go, come and go...

The players leave, but we stay, like ghosts, rattling our chains in the hope that Brian Cashman will hear. 

Yeah, I remember you. We stood here, watching in horror, when the Yankees traded Al Leiter for Jesse Barfield. This is July, the doggiest days of summer, that unsettled period of dread, full of trade rumors and proposals, as the Yankees pursue some aging, underachieving veteran for a run at what will eventually be the wild card.

Take a look at the pitching stats on the above right. As far as I can see, no matter who we trade for or what we do, several arms hold the fate of the 2025 Yankees. Luke Weaver must somehow regain his fastball. Marcus Stroman must stay healthy. Jonathan Loaisiga must return to form. Max Fried's blister must heal, and Cam Schlittler must be for real. If those things happen, we'll be all right. If they don't...

Well, we will be here next year, like all the others. As far as I can tell, there are no busses leaving this place. 

Who's on catcher? Wells or Rice? Comparisons from the Poet and the Wonk

Heading into the dog days, the Yankee roster holds three LH catchers. Somebody's gotta go. 

So, who decides? The poet, or the wonk? Let's see...

FIRE OR RICE?  (Apologies to Robert Frost) 

Some say the year will end with Wells,
Some say Ben Rice.
With all his deepest slumps and spells,
I'm sorta done with Austin Wells.
But if, in trades, he'll bring no price,
I think we'll find J.C. Escarra
Is hardly our next Yogi Berra,
Thus, for now, let's go with Rice,
And hope his defense
Will suffice.

Okay, pretty bad. But at least it's not "Yummy yummy yummy I got trades in my tummy..." 

So, let's hear from the Wonk. The numbers are close, and there's something troubling about the difference in RBIs, but Ben Rice looks more productive. The second half should be his.   

Cultural Regression

 

The corporate entity known as MLB has now had 23 years to fix the possibility that its all-star game could end in a tie, ever since Bud "Mr. Comb-over" Selig stood around like a lox in his own ballpark, shrugging helplessly as both teams ran out of pitchers and walked off the field.

The potential fixes were not difficult. The teams could have been ordered to bring along one or two or three or four "extra" pitchers, duly compensated for their time, and to be used only in case of extra innings. 

Or they could have had on hand three or four of the most promising minor-league pitchers in the game, or college pitchers, or "guest pitchers" from leagues around the world...all of whom, we can surmise, would have been delighted to appear.

Or the managers of both squads could have been ordered not to run out of pitchers, something they had managed to not do in all-star games for nearly 70 years before the Miller Park Meltdown.

But none of this was done, of course.

Instead, it was left to that elegant corporate suit, Rob Manfred, to come up with yet another "solution" that mangles the fundamental nature of the game. This was the Home Run Swing Off or Jerk Off, or whatever it was called, reducing what used to be the best all-star game in sports to the batting-practice whacks of Kyle Schwarber, a tubby little sultan of blubber—three inches shorter and 15 pounds heavier than Babe Ruth in his playing days—with 314 home runs and 1,442 strikeouts to his name.

Schwarber, without opposition, put three balls over the fence, and the National League went home a winner, ludicrously washing away the biggest comeback in the game's history by the AL.

This solution is typical of Manfred, in that it:

—Was taken from other sports

—Stinks

Manfred has already given us the Home Run Derby, a gimmick borrowed from the NBA, which made its own all-star game a shadow of the accompanying slam-dunk contest. The Swing Off was borrowed from FIFA, which has managed to reduce the most avidly watched sports spectacle in the world to a "shoot out," the soccer version of the Swing Off. 

Thrilled by France's amazing rally from two goals down against Argentina in 2022? Aching to see what would decide that battle for the most sought-after prize in world sports?

Well, forget it. Time for the equivalent of watching the best golfers in the world take three-foot putts, and seeing who misses one first.

But such ideas are typical of Manfred, who just this year suggested "the golden at-bat" as a late-innings gimmick in ballgames, and who has wrecked extra-inning games with his insipid "Manfred Man" rule.

Bear with me, please, as I note here again that the first, full baseball game I ever watched was the 1967 All-Star Game, which went 15 innings. 

It wasn't a very good game, played at the height of the late '60s pitching dominance. On top of that, the game was in Anaheim, and some idiot in the commissioner's office at the time, decided to maximize the East Coast audience by starting it at 4:15, PCT. The result, a whole game played in the gloaming, was a combined 30 strikeouts, with all the runs scored on three "Schwarbers"—solo home runs.

I loved it. It helped that my father let me stay up to see the whole thing on our fuzzy little, black-and-white TV, moved to the kitchen of our rented half-a-house in Tenafly, New Jersey, so it wouldn't disturb my sleeping, younger sisters. I was thrilled, nonetheless: what would happen? Who would win? How would it happen?

Sure, things didn't turn out the way I wanted them to. The AL lost, and The Mick struck out in his one appearance, and a hated Met—this unknown kid pitcher, one Tom Seaver—saved the win for the NL. But hey, it was fun, it was exhausting, and better luck next time. No Schwarbering around.

It got across to me, at least on some level, that baseball was an amazing, one-on-one game, wrapped inside a team game—and vice versa. There were all sorts of ways to win, all sorts of complications, and who knew what would happen? It was the very complexity of it all that made it so intriguing.

Rob Manfred, by contrast, appears to be interested mostly in boxing up the wonderful sport he runs into neat little media packages.

Gone are the old minor leagues, with their histories, and individual names and stories. Gone are extra innings that—never very often—might go on who-knows-how-far into the night. Gone is all strategy and individuality, sold off for advanced algorithms (It is no coincidence that this year's all-star game featured an experiment with automatic strike zones for the first time). 

Here is power over grace, corporate flim-flam over any real emotions. 

This all-star game also featured a tribute to Henry Aaron's record-breaking, 715th home run—complete with computerized, laser depictions of where that shot landed. Unmentioned by the MLB flacks posing as broadcasters was the fact that the Braves' current field, "Truist Park," is not one but two heavily subsidized stadiums removed from the one where "Hammerin' Hank" actually did hit that home run, Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium—a name that, if not exactly one to conjure with, at least gave credit to the people who built it. 

(Also, unmentioned, of course, was how Aaron's mark was long ago surpassed in the fraudulent record books by a cheating juicer—another scandal that Rob Manfred managed to bury, not to fix.)

Here, too, is corporate posturing over even human decency, with everyone in attendance bullied into writing down and displaying in public the names of those cancer victims they cherish the most. Our culture has become so depraved that we don't even recognize how nauseating this is, a show of caring that will do absolutely nothing to help those it is supposedly for; a "taking a stand" against a biological entity which our ballpark courage will in no way ameliorate.

(You'll remember that we just chucked out on his ass the president who so wanted an actual, well-funded, national campaign against cancer, because our eggs cost a little more.)

We've all heard the term, "technological regression," about societies that, through disaster, neglect, and indifference, lose the ability to do those things they once did routinely. I can't remember who it was who said, "Show me the games you play, and I will show you the society you have"—or something like that—but here we are. Our cultural regression is all but complete.

 

With Yankee trade expectations straight outa fantasy land, let's ponder what coulda been

Today, as I happily doom-scrolled on the Cal Raleigh, I stumbled onto a clickbait site that said the Yankees should trade for closer Emmanuel Clase and 3B Eugenio Suarez. What a delightful thought! Clase and Suarez! Hooray!

One thing, though: As long as we're self-indulging our Calgon fantasies, why stop there? Let's throw in Chris Sale, George Kirby and some bullpen lug nuts. We'll simply trade Spencer Jones, Cam Schlitter, George Lombardi Jr., Ben Rice, the Martian and whatever prospects are flying under Yankee Doppler hype radar, and - come next July - we'll occupy this same magical commode, swallowing the same insane dollops of crapola that come with being a Yankee fan. It'll be 2026, and - between the wildfires and floods - we'll face the usual dilemma:

We're good enough for Hal... but not to win. 

Sherman, set the Wayback for early March 2025: The Yankees have lost Juan Soto, but Hal Steinbrenner has signed Max Fried, Paul Goldschmidt and Cody Bellinger - convincing the Gammonites to stop writing Yankee obits.  

One problem, though: Third base. 

They have nobody. There's talk of Oswaldo/Oswald, and maybe a scrap heaper. Pablo Reyes? Basically, Yankee fans are fed one constant line: 

Hal is done spending... for now.  By holding the line in March, our crafty owner will have money to score somebody at the July 31 trade deadline.

That said, last March, there are two solutions out there, awaiting a call.

1. Alex Bregman, our long-term Astros nemesis, coming off a lousy year and looking for a short-team contract.

2. Gleyber Torres, who reportedly wants to stay a Yankee. (He'd play 2B, keeping Jazz Chisholm at 3B.) 

Both are a phone call away. If Hal dials their number, he writes a check, and the Yankees improve immeasurably. All they need is for Hal to spend beyond his comfort zone - as the Mets, Cubs, Dodgers, Phillies, Padres, Angels and other competing billionaire owners increasingly do. 

If Hal signs either, the Yankees don't have to drain their system on Aug. 1.  

If Hal signs either, he spares us the first half collapse, which sees the Yankees go from AL East leader to - well - claw sounds on the chalkboard - the wild card race. 

Bregman - hitting .298 with 11 HRs - is supposedly such a valued clubhouse presence that Boston wants to sign him to a long term deal. Or  Gleyber, hitting .281 with 9 HRs, the starting AL all-star, is viewed a leader on the best team in the AL. 

Hal could have signed either and not missed one meal - just as, once upon a time, he could have shelled out for Bryce Harper and/or Manny Machado. As we doom-scroll, if the Yankees had signed either Harper or Machado, imagine how many rings the team might now have? 

Well, it's time to flush. Wanna know the problem with the modern day Yankees? It's simple. 

Generally, Yankee players give everything they've got. 

But the owner never does.

One Question...

Can you fire a manager for 

blowing an All-Star Game?

For those of you who did not watch and may I say, I don't blame you one bit, it was a well played game for the most part with the American League coming back from a 6-0 deficit to tie the game and send it into extra innings.

Except...  

The Lords of Baseball decided that there wouldn't be extra innings. 

The game would be decided by a Mini Home Run Derby.  

Sure why not? They already stopped the game for a long, long, long "Stand Up For Cancer" segment that included a song and music video and then again for a tribute to Hank Aaron with projections and a hologram that was pretty cool, and the game was in Atlanta, so I'm going to give it to them. 

So, Aaron Boone, who never lets an opportunity to look like an idiot slip by, and whose record in extra innings speaks for itself, gets to pick the three players to represent the American League.  

On his team he had the MLB Home Run Leader and guy who won the HOME RUN DERBY YESTERDAY, in the Big Dumper, Cal Raleigh, and the guy who holds the American League Home Run Record and is just killing it this year in Aaron Judge. 

He also had and used, Brent Rooker from The A's. Rooker had homered earlier in the game.

Notice I said he used the A.  

He did not use the other two. He did not use the MLB home run leader or Aaron Judge! 

Instead it came down to some guy with eleven home runs so far this season. His career high by the way, Jonathan Aranda. He hit one to the fence and the other two would have been easily caught in the outfield. 

Dave Roberts didn't even have to use Pete Alonzo and the American League lost. 

They played hard.

They came back from a huge deficit. 

And Aaron Boone flushed it away. 

No interest in winning at all. Kept the two best HR hitters in baseball on the bench!  

Here's a more important question...

Who would want to play for this guy? 

An Above Average Haiku Tuesday – It is High, It Is Far, It is . . . THREE !

big miss and a swing

jazz, jazz, so full of pizzazz

redefines "tweaked"

 

The Home Run Derby raised one existential question? WTF was Jazz Chisholm thinking?

Last night, the eternally unblinking eyes of the Yankiverse - which have witnessed the grandeur and squalor of countless civilizations - watched the 2025 season dangle over The Precipice.  

There it was, the image of Jazz Chisholm - barely a month out of rehab for a strained oblique - lunging desperately at pitches, doddering like a George Romero zombie, with a Flash Flood Alert issued for his forehead, in the apex predator of Junk Sporting Events: Battle of the Network Stars Celebrity Boxing  the MLB Home Run Derby.  Shades of 2017, when Aaron Judge's torturous appearance tweaked his cabbage patch and nearly ruined his rookie season.

What was Jazz thinking, competing in a contest for leviathans? Was it hubris? Overconfidence? Magic mushrooms? Doesn't matter. The first round HR totals tell everything:

Junior Camiero 21
Oneil Cruz 21
Bryon Buxton 20
Brett Rooker 17
Cal Raleigh 17
James Wood 16
Matt Olson 15
Jazz Chisholm 3

That's no typo. That's a three. Chisholm - a petite 5'11" and (supposedly) 180 - entered the contest on behalf of all who do their adult shopping at Gap For Kids. He exited - not quickly enough - as a future Derby punch line. Most noticeably, at the end of his godforsaken round, he took several pitches, square down the middle. Was he gassed? Was he drained? Or was he feeling something? 

Maybe it's me. But I saw a professional athlete gasping for breath, and - considering the absurdity of his being there - not wanting to acknowledge an injury. Again, maybe I'm just being a sissy, but Chisholm - as his round came to an end - was clearly glad it was over. He seemed to be channeling Roberto "No Mass" Duran in his fight with Sugar Ray Leonard. 

We won't hear anything for days. And if it turns out that he tweaked something, we'll probably read Epstein's diaries before the Yankees come clean about what happened. 

Still, you gotta worry. If Chisholm goes down, dear God, the Yankees would go down with him. He is Aaron Judge's best protection, and he is the key to our infield defense. And today, we have to wonder: WTF was he thinking? 

For the troubled Yankees, the first half ends with these seven questions

 

Half-time.  

If everything ended today, we'd be heading to Houston, behind Blistex Fried, Jazz, Judge, Gio, and the cast of Squid Game. Of course, everything depends on what Cooperstown Cashman does in the looming Aug. 1 Reformation, when the Yankees once again mortgage next year for a shot in October.

Seven questions about the 2025 Yankees. 

1. Is this the real Anthony Volpe? 

He isn't hitting, fielding, stealing bases - yikes. Is this it? The guy bleeds Yankee plasma, no question. But at some point, for his and our sanity, the Yankees must move on. It's starting to pinch. Right now, everyone is quietly waiting for George Lombard Jr. to swoop in take over SS. But moving too quickly could undermine Lombard's development. So the question remains, as offered by the late and great Peggy Lee: Is that all there is to Volpe? 

2. How vulnerable is Aaron Boone?  

Depends. Boston just hit the break on a 10-game win streak. Is this another one of those years? Because Yankee managers don't survive Redsock resurgences.

Right now, here are the Top 5 People Currently Looking Nervously Over Their Shoulders, Ranked. 

1. Pam Bondi
2. The disaster pooh bah in Texas
3. Rosie O'Donnell
4. Elon Musk
5. Aaron Boone

If Boston keeps going, I'm thinking Boone jumps into the Top 3. (Word to the Wise: Don't Sleep on Kristie Noem.)

3. What can we get in a trade for Spencer Jones? 

Not advocating it, as Jones invigorates our fleshy fantasies, with the idea of a bookend giant slugger in LF. But let's face it, Jones might be the Second Coming of Joey Gallo, and who wants that? Also, his trade value may never be higher. (Sports Illustrated calls him "baseball's most intriguing prospect.") 

Look: All trades depend on the details. Let's assume that Cashman is already making calls. What does "intrigue" get you? How intriguing!  

4. Whaddawe do 'bout Boston?

We beat them like a rug, that's what - in a four-game home series that begins Aug. 21.

By then, they may have passed us in the standings, and everybody will be three weeks into the Trade Deadline Facelift. The Yankees are 1-5 against Boston. That cannot stand. The Rays and Jays won't do it. Nor would I put money on the Tigers. Either we beat the Redsocks, or this lopsided millennium will get even darker.

5. Will Aaron Judge leads in HRs only three times? 

Depends on Cal Raleigh, who is NOT a flash-in-the-pan. If Big Dumpster wins the HR race - he currently leads - Judge's universal dominance as Earth's Greatest Slugger could end. He lead in HRs in 2017 (52), 2022 (62), and 2024 (58.) 

Moreover, if Raleigh brakes his HR record - he's one behind Barry Bonds in the books - it would slightly undermine on Judge's Ruthian feats. As Yank fans, we want Judge's HR record to last - well - at least three years, right? 

That, or his 62 HRs would look like a spiked total in a time when slugging records commonly fell. Judge is certifiably great. His our captain. He's a future Hall of Famer. But let's hope he beats the Dumper.

6. How high can Jazz Chisholm go? 

He's been on a tear since returning from his injury, and he seems happy at 2B. How long can he keep it up? His ceiling is - well - do we have a read? 

For years, he's been touted as a potential star. He almost put it together last fall, but he was playing out of position. Now, at 2B, he's where he belongs. And at 5'11, he is the most unlikely hitter in the Home Run Derby. 

Watch him win it.  

7. Is Jonathan Loaisiga done? 

When he returned, last month, our bullpen looked solid. Now, it's more porous than the national effort against measles. Unfortunately, he's not the pitcher we remember from 2023. He's getting pounded, and it's scarier with each appearance. Forget the Circle of Trust. He's a candidate for Scranton.

Half-time. A lotta questions.     

sunday √s 13 thread cubs (zim) game yankees july . . .

 

For the Yankees, objects in the rear view mirror may appear farther away than they actually are.

 

As we head to the All-Star break, time off from the Great Midsummer Plummet - (aside from the Seattle interlude) - let us take a moment to ponder the emerging, 2025 worst case scenario:

That Boston wins its 5th world championship in this godforsaken millennium.

If we believe in magical thought - and who here doesn't? - we should all be standing naked at the Precipice, screaming madly into the Firmament, eyes open to the vast, bludgeoning Abyss. 

I mean, check out the sequences in play.

Boston won it all...

In 2004. 

In 2007. 

In 2013. 

In 2018. 

Listen: They're overdue, like the Grand Canyon. 

And they are using the same old formula, (as the Yankees are reusing theirs, which has won - hmm, checking the numbers here - Absolutely Nothing since 2009.) 

The Redsocks are young, hungry and ascending, baseball's hottest team, soon to be bolstered by the return of Alex Bregman. They can trade for anyone, thanks to a farm system overflowing with talent, which they nurtured for four years.  

Try not to pee, as you ponder the differences between them and us: 

They get an all-star 3B, while we endure the comedy team of Oswald & Jorbit.

Today, in the kiddie draft, they'll pick 15th, while we wait until #39. Of course, we'll tout whomever we select, but let's face it: The premier talent will be long gone. 

They are harvesting one of MLB's top rated farm systems, an abundance of trade chips. We have three: Cam Schlittler, George Lombard Jr. and the meteoric Spencer Jones. (FYI: Last night, Jones went 0-5 with 2 Ks. In yesterday's Futures Game, Lombard  went 1-2 with a double and a walk.)  

Today, we sit two behind Toronto, three up on Boston. Aaron Judge is second in home runs, second in RBIS and first in Batting Average - still the game's greatest slugger, even as Big Dumpster Raleigh defies gravity. Deals are coming. The Yankees are going to trade for - well - something. A storm is coming. Boston is closing. Be afraid. Be very afraid. 

Historical factoid

Dave "Baby" Cortes died in 2022, although even his own daughter didn't know until three years later. He hit #1 in 1959 with the classic, "The Happy Organ," the title causing at least a couple generations of boys to guffaw and chuckle uncontrollably.

But in his NY Times obit, there was an odd Yankees-related connection. Thought I'd share.

“The Happy Organ” lived on as a cover tune as well, recorded by artists as diverse as the surf band the Ventures, the Jamaican reggae band the Soul Vendors and the longtime Yankee Stadium organist Eddie Layton.

Game Thread – 07/012/25 – R I N G. T H E. B E L L ! ! !

 

A night of HRs - in NY and Scranton

First, let me hereby grovel, like the microscopic flea that I am, in praise of Cody James Bellinger, son of Clay. 

Whatever I ever said bad about him - (in the heat of battle, a general sometimes must berate his lieutenants) - I take it back. Three HRs? That's a grand night! Hip hip! (!!!) Hip hip! (!!!) Hip Hip! (!!!) Forhe'zajollygoodfellow, forhe'zajollygoodfellow, forhe'zajollygoodfelloooo, which nobodycandeny! It's been a while since a Yankee brought felony-grade, Old Testament, Liam Neeson vengeance upon a former team - (I recall a shutout over the cheating Astros by Gerrit Cole) - and it's refreshing to know that other teams piss off players, too. It's not just us. 

So, in case you're scoring at home, a great Yankee night... 

1. Three HRs puts Bellinger at .285, with 16 HRs and 54 RBIs - which stacks up against Mr. Met Money (.265, 22, 54), and with a clear defensive advantage. (Remember the shoestring catch he converted into a DP against the Mets?) The moment that Juan Soto signed his mega-deal, he stepped into an ugly, joyless realm that will forever inspire unfortunate comparisons, and whenever one pops up, I shall lord over the bum and roil the heavens like Betty White after a 30-rack of Labatt's Blue. 

2. Yes, the Cubs were demoralized, but Carlos Rodon - with 8 shutout innings - wins an All-Star designation. Along with whatever bonus money is involved - which is always a thing - this should lessen the publicity burden on Rodon, due to his big contract. After a crapola first season in NY, he has quietly become a crucial cog on the Yankee staff. 

3. The Yankees have now won five in a row. They remain two behind Toronto, but the recent streak has spared them from being bypassed by Boston - which has now won 8 straight. Yank fans should be very, very afraid. The Redsocks are young  and hungry. Cross your fingers that DJ LeMahieu doesn't somehow find his way to Boston. This might be one of their years.

4. Down in Scranton, the emerging titan, Spencer Jones, hit another HR - his sixth since being promoted to Triple A, a three-run shot that broke open the game. (Note: He fanned twice, still a sucker for something.) But with each passing game that he stays above .400, the buzz becomes a roar. We are entering the Jones Conundrum: The more he hits, the more we want to see him in Pinstripes, and the more we'll get for him in a trade.  

Today, 1:05 p.m. We're closing in on the break. Last year, we crapped the bed against Baltimore - an omen of the World Series finale. Maybe this year, we stick the landing? 

Happy birthday, Bern!

And may Cody Bellinger continue the celebration Saturday.

Me, I'm going to Cologne to visit friends, so will be deprived of watching the last games before the break. And why is the break seemingly getting later and later in the season? Used to mark the halfway point, but not anymore.

Must have something to do with money. Everything does. Ask Soto.

Maybe I can catch some of the game on the Audacy app. Haven't listened to Suzyn in a while. 

By the way, I started smoking again. I know, I know. But adjusting to this move to Germland ain't easy. Serious Manhattan withdrawal symptoms.

I'm hoping to get back to New York this fall, but can't be sure of when. I'd love to see any of you guys when I'm there.

Six losses, five wins. Streaky.

FLeXeN √s RºDº'N - Fry up da Fish, Slap it on a Dish, Eat it with your Face . . . Last Licks !

                                                                                            SEE YAH!

Nixon vs. Soto

 

All But One...

 ...contributed to the grand plan ( and play ) in the last innings of yesterdays glorious victory. 

It ranged from amazing at bats ( Grisham and others )  to amazing defense ( I'll insert Ben Rice for this one ). Multiple big hits ( Wells gets the carrot, but there were several by others).  A rare game-changing deliverance by GS in a pinch hitting role.  And on it goes.

But our third base position remains a black hole.  Vivas was given a second chance ( he fanned on his first visit to the stadium ).  He had to know he was given this opportunity because Paraza was all glove and no bat.  So what does Vivas do in his first at bat?  He goes down looking at strike three. 

Even I remember that every coach who ever spoke to me said," if it is close...when you are in a two strike count...you swing at it. "  Vivas didn't get that message ( same for too many yankees ).

Vivas also looked lost on that pop up that he called for, and required Dominguez to catch.  Vivas has a glove?

So fast forward now to Paraza.  He finally gets a critical at bat, and his job is to move the runners over to second and third, by laying down a sacrifice bunt.  This is a redemption moment.  A chance to contribute and earn another shot at hitting a pitch one day.

So what does he do?  He blows it.  His bunting technique was like a foreign soccer player getting his first at bat ever in an American baseball game might do.  He stuck out the bat, and stabbed at the ball....thereby assuring a pop up or a foul ball.  Lucky for the yankees it wasn't a double play ( that's why the Yankees had him bunting.....he is a double play magnet when he doesn't strike out looking ).

I keep hoping that Paraza's glove can buy him more time. That some of those hard hit balls will go elsewhere than to a waiting fielder. 

I don't have that hope any longer.   

And Vivas ain't looking like the answer either. 

At the risk of self-luxuriating, let us brazenly bathe in last night's perfect Yankee victory.

If only life could imitate last night...

Hitless through seven. Down by five in the eighth. Facing an all-star closer. With Giancarlo's first career pinch-hit homer. A huge hit by the suddenly revived Austin Wells. An acrobatic, game-winning, Ichiro-style slide by Anthony Volpe. A video replay that, for once, goes our way. A walk-off by the captain, and a postgame shower of ice water.

Pinch me.

Oh, one other thing: Down in Wilkes Barre, Spencer Jones - the Titan of Triple A - continued his (still small sample size) rampage, going 2-4 with 2 RBIs and 2 stolen bases. 

Listenup, people. Quiet in the back. 

If we are going to spit flaming chunks of bile after every unforgivable Yankee defeat - (which, spoiler alert: is exactly what we will do) - then we owe it to ourselves to enjoy the Calgon Bath Oil Beads beauty bath that was delivered last night (at least in our memories) by the strangely hot, tightly-clothed lady who years ago on TV commercials became the human face of diarrhea and - if you remember - was a briefly beloved icon of IT IS HIGH hope. I give you... The Angry Bowel Lady. 

It's been a long time since she went away - and I hope your symptoms went with her - but last night's win conjured memories of the good old days, when our heroine proudly wove her spell of Spandex against the explosions of feces that enflamed us.

In fact, last night's great Yankee victory was tempered by the news that bikini gymnast Livvy Dunne had been rejected in her bid to buy a Manhattan condo formerly owned by Babe Ruth, proving once and for all that rich people have glass tubes in their crotches and secretly hate everything that is young. (Which is, in a convoluted way, why the Yankees are what they are.) 

But back on topic... honestly, at one point last night did you make peace with a loss, as long as we didn't have to stomach a no-hitter? Me? I bailed in the seventh, when Seattle opened a 5-run lead. I was ready for Jorbit Vivas to pitch the ninth. (I should add that I suffered a secondary wave of despair in the 10th, when Oswald Peraza failed to bunt our ghost runner to third. C'mon, man. Peraza is hanging on by a thread. This is a guy who needs to know how to bunt. He looked awful. He's scraping to stay in the majors, and he didn't bother to learn to bunt? WTF?) 

Save your bile, everyone. We'll need it. But last night might have brought the greatest single moment for the 2025 Yankees. A magnificent Yankee win. Savor it. And chin up, Livvy. If the Angry Bowel lady could make it, there's a place for anyone.