On this darkest of all Mickmas Days, the question must arise: Are we in hell?

The signs are all too obvious.

The Yankees' season come sputtering to an end in the same way it has for most of the past 25 years...and our general manager holds a press conference to cheerfully announce that we will keep doing the exact same thing, in the exact same way.

The Mets were even worse this year. 

The Giants just surrendered 33 points in the fourth quarter after shutting out their opponent for the first three quarters—only the second time anything like that has happened in the history of the NFL.

The Jets have yet to win a game.

The Rangers get shutout every time they play at home, threatening to break an NHL record.

What is it with all these records of futility? It seemed like every time we looked up this season, we were told that the Yankees had performed their worst feat of hitting or scoring since some moment in 1912, or maybe 1908.

And then, of course, there is our manager—the first one in Yankees history to manage for eight seasons without ever taking a ring.

We can only guess what the Knicks, Nets, Devils, and Islanders have in store for us.

Which leads me to one simple conclusion on this Mickmas, holiest of all holy Yankee Days, birthday of the Commerce Comet himself: we have all died and gone to hell.

How else to account not only for the complete collapse of our sports teams here in Loser City—or how the Yankees are openly ridiculed on national television—but also how we ended up with an attorney general who looks like a car hop waitress and will gladly indict anyone alive upon orders?

How else to account for the imminent death of newspapers, magazines, motion pictures, and television?

How else to account for the army in our streets, chasing after immigrant delivery boys to see if they have their papers?

How else to account for a president who, in response to a nationwide protest against him, gleefully tweets out a fantasy video of him dumping shit on people from an airplane?

Nope. There is no other explanation. We are in hell.

And look! It's the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse!

 

Rest In Peace, Jesus Montero

Ah, yes, I remember 2011... The Arab Spring. The death of Osama. Gabby Giffords. Charlie Sheen and Tiger Blood. William and Kate. And the ascension of Jesus, our one true savior.

Young, strapping, massive, bloated with potential, the future Pride of the Yankees... Jesus Montero.

That September, 2011, after hitting 18 HRs in 106 games for Scranton, Jesus reached the Promised Land - Yankee Stadium. It was a time of hope, barely two years out from our last world championship. The team was on its way to winning the AL East, and here was this man-child catcher, one of baseball's brightest prospects, knocking on our door. 

I will never forget his fourth game in the majors, an overcast afternoon against Baltimore. Alphonso was visiting, and though we were out in the boondocks of upstate NY, beyond a TV signal, we somehow finagled the game on a laptop. Missing it was not an option, so we hunched over the small screen. We had to see Jesus, this shiny new object... the future.

For five years, since he signed a massive contract at age 16, we had waited. The Yankees had outspent everyone, including all of Venezuela, and Montero had smashed his way through the system, making all the Top 10 prospect lists. He was a generational hitter, and he was here. 

That day, to our drinking delight, Montero hit two home runs. The Yankees beat Baltimore 11-10.

Montero went on to hit .328 with 4 HRs in 18 games. He so impressed the Yankees that he was added to their postseason roster, and he singled twice in two plate appearances against Detroit - which beat us in the ALDS.

We made it through that November imagining the "Baby Bombers," a wave of future stars that included Gary Sánchez, Dellin Betances, Manny Bañuelos, Tyler Austin and Austin Romine. Yeah, we crapped the bed against Detroit, but the future looked rosy.

Then Brian Cashman traded it away. Cash dealt Jesus to Seattle for Michael Pineda and somebody named Jose Campos. And suddenly, the future stopped flirting.

Well, 15 years later, we're still dealing with Cashman and his trades, most notably his eternal quest for what he calls his "Great White Whale," the pitcher who leads the Yankees to a championship. Fifteen years of Captain Ahab.

It's funny when Yankee-haters mock us for criticizing Cashman. But how can we not? He's the single person most behind the Yankees' epic world series drought, and it's the trades of youngsters like Jesus Montero that long ago robbed us of hope and innocence.

And here's the saddest part. Montero crapped the bed in Seattle. He never hit, he got caught using PEDs, he showed up to camp overweight and, at one point, was ridiculed by minor league coaches as the "Ice Cream Sandwich." A colossal failure.

I'll always wonder: If the Yankees hadn't traded him, could it have been different? 

Jesus Montero died last week. Car crash. Venezuela. Not sure if he had any money leftover. Evidently, they were publicly seeing donations for his medical bills. Very sad. He was 35. 

Condolences to the Father and Holy Ghost. 

Toronto's bullpen has collapsed. Yankee fans can relate.

So sorry to hear about the Blue Jays' late-innings bullpen diarrhea.

So, so sad. 

Imagine: Leading in the bottom of the 8th, five outs from victory, then surrendering five runs, punctuated with a grand slam. For Yank fans, such an event falls beyond our capabilities to fathom. 

It's like calling upon Jake Bird, Allan Winans and, finally, a position player, to nail one down. Or bringing out Nestor Cortez for the first time in two months, to face Shohei Ohtani in a World Series. It's as if the ghost of Edwar Ramirez just returned from the Canadian North Pole. Or as if Fernando Cruz and Mark Leiter just gave up nine runs without recording at out. (This happened in September.) If Scott Proctor were here, he'd have burned his mitt at home plate.

So, so sad to watch the Yankees' season-long bullpen collapse happen to our fine friends from the Polite Buffalo, the Evil-Hateful Jays. Something about a bullpen meltdown magnifies the impending PTSD of defeat. Three reasons:

1. It always reflects on the manager. (See BOONE, AARON.) If he'd left in the starter, who knows? Managers aren't supposed to blow games. In It's a Wonderful Life, they say that whenever a Christmas bell rings, an angel gets her wings. In this life, whenever a bullpen collapses, the manager loses a nut.

2. It devastates the afflicted pitcher. Often, especially in October, you're dealing with a hearty bullpen lug nut, a season-long eater of innings. He's a trusted bar of soap, a bracing shot of whiskey, a jolly-good-fellow that nobody can deny. He worked his way into the Circle Of Trust. (Every manager has one.) And look - LOOK! He just got torched. On Star Trek: The Next Generation, the first thing a bad guy used to do was always punch out Worf. By that, he showed everybody that he was tougher than their toughest guy. In this case, Toronto brought in their Worf, and the Gorn just dropped him.

3. It revives the other team. Suddenly, everybody knows: You can't hold a lead. You can't close the deal. You had them, and you botched it. On The Patty Duke Show, this would be the moment when everybody at the sock hop realizes that it's Cathy, who adores a minuet, not Patty, who loves to rock'n'roll, a hot rod makes her lose control. Once they know who's really pitching, it's fukinay over. Tonight, Seattle will be playing on stilts. 

Yank fans know the feeling. Barely two weeks ago, we were suddenly vaulted into a Bizarro universe where Camilo Doval was the ray of hope, and Luke Weaver - honest, trustworthy Luke - was the pariah. 

Nothing burns like a bullpen meltdown. And Toronto just crapped one.

So, so, so sad. 

Let's face it: The Blue Jays did us a favor. There is no way the Yankees could beat the Dodgers

 

Since the Yankees' plug was mercifully pulled two weeks ago, I've channel-hopped the postseason, free-spewing juju at all the players who've made my Personal Life Vendetta Shitlist. 

Listen: You don't wanna make my Personal Life Vendetta Shitlist. 

In fact, in this world, here are the top 7 worst Personal Life Vendetta Shitlists to find yourself on:

10. Taylor Swift. (You'll get a song written about you.)

9. Fox News. (Round the clock coverage of your wart.)

8. Joe Biden. (You'll be forgotten.)

7. Peter Thiel. (You'll be labeled the Antichrist.)

6. ICE (Next stop, Somalia.)

5. Saudi Prince Bin Salman. (Bone saw.)

4. Jeffrey Epstein. (You don't wanna to be on any of his lists.)

3. Donald Trump. (You'll get indicted.)

2. Mine. (You'll get beaned.) 

1. Vladimir Putin. (You'll accidentally fall out of a window.) 

That said, I have one takeaway from watching my enemies this postseason:

We should thank the juju gods for not having to be humiliated again by the Dodgers.

Watching their all-star team steamroll the NL - well - let's celebrate our early exit.

I won't complain about how the Dodgers spent $313 million - $50 million more than the Yankees - on payroll, and how that number actually ignores the deferrals made on Shohei Ohtani's contract, which amounts to a cooking-of-the-books that Old George could only have fantasied. 

I won't whine over how the Dodgers buy pennants, and world championships, or how their pipeline to Japan's greatest stars - three straight years, the best players went to LA - gives them a huge advantage. 

Nope. I won't complain. Not a peep. For 100 years, the Yankees used their money advantage to dominate baseball. Now, it's the Dodgers. Let's just be glad we don't have to get embarrassed.   

Listen: Had we gotten past Toronto, and then Seattle, we'd only have been more humiliated in the end.  

The gap between the Dodgers and Yankees - hell, between the Dodgers and everyone - is long, deep and dark. Be glad we're done. They can't hurt us any more.  

And if I happen to get indicted and sent to Somalia, where I fall out of a window, you know why. 

A Legitimate Question

Why did they play Volpe over Jose Caballero in the playoffs?

Aside from saying that Brian and Boone are incompetent morons. That's a given. I'm trying to get my head around their thinking from a financial standpoint because, as we all know, the bottom line for the Yankees is the Bottom Line. 

Volpe was hurt and they knew it, even if they did not understand the severity of it. That said, clearly he was a lesser version of a player who was already a lesser version of his "potential".  

Despite this they played a hurt guy over his superior replacement during the playoffs. 

Why? 

I get playing him all year if he's your guy but, and I'm talking financially here, doesn't Hal make more money if the team advances?  

Once the Yankees get past the trade deadline that's all the money they are going to spend on players for the year. So, financially, isn't the next goal to maximize their value? 

You know, WIN? 

Advancing in the playoffs means both additional attendance and TV revenue. Beyond that, the Yankees get to live live off of the "Historical Value" of a championship team.  Bobble heads, caps, jerseys, bringing them all back for a "special day" etc. 

So again, this isn't about an owner and a GM not bringing in the pieces to win, that's a separate issue, this is about failing to put your best team on the field from the players you already have. 

It doesn't make sense... financially.  

It doesn't even effect Volpe's value long term because the team could just say the benching was due to injury and the surgery in the off season backs that up. 

So for the last time... why?  What could possibly be the reasoning? 

Cash on Volpe: “I think the injury probably contributed to the performance season that he would end up having more than we would have thought based on our intimate involvement with him and our medical staff and how that played out."

Huh? 

Lemme get this straight, in an A.I. way... 

So, we're told now that Anthony Volpe will probably miss opening day, rehabbing from shoulder surgery on the tweak that wrecked his and the Yankees' 2025 season.

Excuse me, while I process this... 

Apparently, the Yankee Brain Trust will soon gather to plot a course for 2026. The team will consider Jose Caballero and/or Oswaldo Cabrera as SS placeholders, while Cashman prays for the sudden maturity of George Lombard Jr., and combs the scrap yards and recycling bins of The Damned.

Volpe should return in May, raising a question for the storied franchise: 

Now, what?

For three hard years, we've wanted Volpe to become a great Yankee. And - honestly - I think something is in there. The guy is a fighter and a solid teammate. But we're heading into winter with four basic Volpe memories:

1. Strike one.
2. Strike two.
3. Strike three.
4. Return to dugout. 

The Jersey Giants have Cam Skattebo. 

The Yankees have Anthony Scattered Boos. 

Detect the flaw in Anthony Volpe's batting strategy

 

 Is it...

a) Hands too high
b) Elbow too straight
c) Too many bats.

Turns out, Volpe played hurt. Should we thank him?

This week, Anthony Volpe - the Jersey boy, the former future-Jeter, and the forever chemical in the Yankee bloodstream - went under the knife to repair a torn labrum in his left shoulder, an injury that happened last May 3 and fostered the worst year in his athletic career, if not his life. 

So, what are we supposed to think about Volpe? Three possibilities...

1. He's a tough kid, a gamer, who played in pain.

2. He's an idiot, who didn't disclose his injury to coaches.

3. He's a victim; the team knew he was compromised and ruined him, by sending him out night after night. 

Obviously, it's all three. 

Volpe played in pain, a page from the John Madden School of Gonad Tweaks. Unfortunately, MLB isn't the NFL, and while he was filling the role - and protecting his job - he was also killing this team. 

On May 3, when Volpe dove for a ball and felt his shoulder pop, he was hitting .233. That followed a month of April, when he hit 5 HRs. (Note: On trajectory for  a Chisholm-esque 30.)  

Here's what's weird: Right after the injury, Volpe sorta improved. He hit .246 in May, his best month of 2025. (But he hit only one HR.) Then, the floor dropped out.

In June, he hit .205. 

In July, .172.

In August, .191.

Worse, his fielding degraded. There was a stretch when he couldn't seem to throw to first, and folks were remembering Knobby. 

When you realize that one fukking measly extra Yankee win in 2025 - just one! - would have... 

a) won the AL East
b) brought a first-round bye
c) won home field advantage in the playoffs.

And then you think of Volpe shitting the bed all summer, thinking he was doing us a favor... well, fuk me. 

The problem was magnified by the collapse of the Oswalds - Cabrera and Peraza - the pair that once-upon-a-time might have replaced Volpe and solved the problem.

The loveable, always-smiling Oswaldo Cabrera broke his ankle on May 12, sliding into home. He was hitting .246 with one HR, but holding down 3B defensively. You had the feeling, it was his position to lose. (I also had the feeling that Oswaldo could play SS, if need be.) Then, snap, he was gone. 

Meanwhile, the perpetually grimacing Oswald Peraza was a folding into a stone cold Triple A flunky. He'd once compared favorably to Volpe, but his bat and glove had disappeared. Peraza, hitting .152, was dumped off to the Angels at the trade deadline for a handful of magic beans. (Something called "Wilberson de Pena" and "future considerations.")  He finished the year at .164. 

My god, WTF happened to Peraza? Three years ago, he looked like a future everyday SS. By August, he was a DH/1B, a pug boxer in a flophouse gym.

Ah, but now we're getting into management, which is a lost cause. It's like Democrats complaining about Kash Patel: Nobody in power is listening, and the angrier we get, the more they giggle.

If Brian Cashman had done what he does best - that is, combed the recycling bins and found a veteran SS -the Yankees could have allowed Volpe to heal and - who knows? - we might still be playing. 

One victory. Just one.

So... in case you're scoring at home, a recap:

Nobody cares what we think. Management bet on a nicked-up Volpe, and that's Chinatown, Jake. The fans booed Volpe in his final appearances, trudging back to the dugout after another strikeout. He might be done in NY. What a sad image. What a terrible outcome. And what a colossal fuckup! 

If there was such a thing as accountability, somebody would lose his job. Ah, but that's another subject for a cold, dark winter. 

The leaves turn in Loser City.

 

The night is bitter

The stars have lost their glitter

The nights grow colder

Suddenly you're older—

So it's over at last, not only the season but the postmortems.  

The Yankees didn't win it all—something most of knew would happen.  They didn't return to the World Series, either, something most of us also expected, nor did they win the division, or a hundred games, or do anything else of note.  

Without the extended extended-wild card system putting the Top 40 percent in the playoffs, the Yankees season would have quietly ended weeks ago—and not much the worser.

The team couldn't win when Judge was hurt or slumping. They couldn't win in the postseason when Giancarlo took a year off, even though Judge came through. Well, hey, that's a tiny variation!

The shortstop we all knew couldn't hit or field well enough to start for a winning team, had another wretched year. Fortunately, for our general manager, he got hurt as well, so that baked-in excuse will keep him in the Bronx until he goes the way of all Gleyber.

The washed-up first baseman we got cheap did no better than the cheap, washed-up first baseman he replaced.  Our catcher of the future looked like our every catcher of the recent past.  Jazz ended the year yawning openly and staring in perplexity at his glove. 

The pitching staff, starting and going, was threaded with huge holes.  So what's new?

What did surprise me, at least, was how the Mets collapsed as well, not even making the playoffs. That will bring changes, at least, but so much else remains the same.

What do we have to look forward to?

The local football teams are already a combined 2-10. Once again, the Jets have brought on a coach wound way too tight for the vicissitudes of New York City.

The Giants seem to suddenly have hope, due to their quarterback with the splendid name of Jaxson Dart. Dare we foresee a 2030s where he is stepping out with our shortstop-of-the future, Dax Kilby, the Mantle and Gifford of their time? The Ax Brothers??  Maybe, "The Ax Men"???

Well, maybe. More likely they'll both flourish elsewhere—as those two QB discards from NYC, Sam Darnold and Daniel Jones, are doing right now. (Have our football teams been taking pointers from Cashie and friends?)

What else is there after football?

The Knicks made the conference finals for the first time in almost 25 years, and promptly fired their coach. (The Liberty, providing more proof that the women are catching up to the men, fired their coach, too, one year after winning their first ever, WNBA title.)

Here it is only mid-October, and the Rangers have already been shutout three times at home and are the verge of a new NHL record for that. 

Two years ago, they compiled the most points in the NHL. Last year, they didn't make the playoffs. This year, they are chasing some of those amazing, 100-year-old-plus, non-scoring records that we were told the Yankees kept breaking earlier this season.

After the Rangers, well, there are the Devils and the Islanders. The names seem vaguely familiar, but indelibly attached to other decades, in the distant past, like the monikers of six-day bicycle racers, and silent movie stars.

The Nets? They have reached the black hole of sports in their Goniff Arena, beyond the reach of any meaningful comment whatsoever.

That great beginning

Has seen a final inning

Don't know what happened

It's all a crazy game...

Sure is, especially here in Loser City.

Oh, I know that Doug K. is right, and New York is not "Loser City" when it comes to most of my fellow citizens (Though maybe we should wait to see how this election turns out.) .

But it is Loser City, all right, when it comes to our ridiculously over-subsidized, over-indulged, overpriced, under-performing, under-engaging, generally awful, hopeless—and indifferent—sports teams.

Yes, yes, I know: I have no idea what it's like to live in Kansas City, Miami, Cleveland, Wherever the home teams have fled or just plain stink, year in and year out.

At least, in those places, the fans don't have to put down major money just to hear some front-office gibbon like Lonn Trost or Randy Levine or Brian Cashman tell you that you've never had it so good.

The road gets rougher

It's lonelier and tougher...

But not for the nepo magnates who run our teams. They are surrounded by huge, comforting piles of money, and courtiers and fawning "reporters" from the sports media they largely own, telling them all the time what a great job they are doing.

Well, time to get watching our other local clubs make Brian Cashman and the Yankees look good by comparison. No doubt, another five months of watching losing like that, and we'll be chomping at the bit for Opening Day. 

Really, there is nothing to say about the '25 Yankees, and I am sick of saying it.

Seven points re: the Yankees.

1. They do not practice fundamentals. Beneath them. 

2. They have squandered Aaron Judge's greatest seasons. 

3. Their farm system is far more depleted than they admit.  

4. As long as the Mets lose, they face no consequences for failure.

5. Hal fears being yelled at by Cashman. 

6. Because they own their own media, they never face real criticism. 

7. They will not win a world series in this decade.

All We Need Is a Lighbulb for His Mouth

 Above Average's post inspired me...

Like his doppelganger, I wonder if putting Cashman in that cranium-squeezing device might bring him (and us) relief...

It can't hurt.

An Above Average Haiku Tuesday – ØHAL, ØPAL, & ØSEEDY

IT SURE SUCKS AND BLOWS

THE SEASON CAME TO A CLOSE

LOOK AT THESE . . . BOZOS !

How could the Yankees lose? Didn't they hit the most HRs of any team?

The Dodgers and Mariners might end up grappling in the World Series, but let's take comfort in knowing that the Yankees - with three players whacking more than 30 HRs apiece - won baseball's true title: 

The regular season Team Home Run Derby. 

Neither Trent Grisham (.235) or Jazz Chisholm (.242) chased the batting crown, but both contributed to the most important Yankee stat: Homers. Grisham hit 34, Jazz hit 31. 

But with the exception of - say - Aaron Judge (and maybe Cody Bellinger), whenever a Yankee player strode to the plate this year, they were swinging away!

So went the '25 Bronx Bombers - MLB's Three True Outcome all-stars. 

First in HRs. (274)

First in walks. (639)

Third in strikeouts. (1,463)

(They finished first in slugging percentage [.455] and tenth in batting average. [.251])

In the recent postseason, the Yankees had six players - Judge, McMahon, Volpe, Bellinger, Chisholm and Rice - tie for the team lead in HRs... each with one (1). As a team, they finished sixth in HRs, tied with Detroit. 

As of this posting, they are fourth in '25 postseason strikeouts (with 66 out of 235 ABs).

Look... I get the Yankee HR thing. The franchise is synonymous with sluggers - Ruth, Gerig, Mantle, Maris, Jackson, Judge. One year, when old George tried to win with speed, I recall Whitey Herzog saying the Babe would be spinning in his grave. 

The Yankees are supposed to lead Creation in HRs. This season, they hit about 80 more than their AL East torturer, the Blue Jays. But if you live by the HR/W/K continuum, you die by it, as well. 

The Yankees lost to Toronto because the Blue Jays relentlessly served singles into the outfield and, with the exception of one game, they didn't botch plays in the field.

So, as the days grow shorter and the winds turn colder, another slugging Yankee team has gone home, and the banjo hitters play on. I wonder if, in our lifetimes, the Yankees will figure out what everybody else knows: It's the little things that win rings.

The Home Run Derby happens in July. Nobody cares about it in October. 

Post Mortem: Two Quick Fixes

El Duque’s all too accurate foretelling of the Yankees off season plans the other day left me empty and angry. Is there no way out of this morass? 

In the past I’ve suggested they bring in a Feng Shui expert like Marie Kondo to help remove all objects that block energy and don’t spark joy – principally Aaron Boone, Brian Cashman, and Gleyber Torrez. Went one for three.   

OT: Did anyone else catch the look of disgust on lifetime cheater A.J. Finch’s face after Gleyber’s at-bats in their win or go home game against the Mariners?  

Fun times.

Bonus: Who else here knew that the Tigers were going to lose the second they saw Tommy Kahnle enter the game? 

--

I’d like to see a similar purging of the team’s negative crap but as the post Rufus shared proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the real problem is Hal and he ain’t going nowhere.

So what’s a mother to do?

It doesn't matter how desperately the Yankees need to change all management, Brian and Aaron Boone stay. Sigh.

This year they tied for the best record in the AL and last year they made The Series. 

Boone stays.

BTW there’s a nice article on a potential replacement in Shelly Duncan in today’s Yanks Go Yard. 

Wishful thinking. 

So assuming that Hal and Pals ain’t going anywhere let’s look at some doable moves…  

Volpe Needs To Be Gone  

We all know this but here's the thing... This might be possible. Doesn’t matter how much the front office believes in him.  He is being booed off the field. The only thing he is elite at is getting undeserved at bats.  

It’s gotten so bad that when he makes a slightly above average play he is praised in the broadcast booth like he’s Ozzie Smith. Like we should take a picture of it and put it up on our refrigerator. 

Bottom line, he is openly despised by a large portion of the fan base. Gleyber level stuff.  

But the real reason? The REAL bottom line. 

While the Yankees are not in the business of winning championships they are in the business of selling merch. Volpe no longer does that.

This is a life size cutout of Anthony Volpe. According to Fathead (the official MLB licensee)

“Crafted with attention to detail, the Anthony Volpe size cutout captures the essence of the player in action. Its sturdy foam core construction ensures durability, while the vibrant print brings the athlete to life. This isn't just a decoration; it's a tribute to your passion for baseball and the New York Yankees. Let your fandom shine with this unique piece that celebrates the energy and excitement of America's favorite pastime. Elevate your space and show your support for Anthony Volpe and the Yankees in a big way.”

The player in action? It looks it’s capturing the essence of him watching a third strike right down the middle of the plate.  

The first run sold out. There won’t be a second.

The Yankees will move on.  

Jazz Needs To Be Gone 

More than his errors in the field, the boasts that fail to be backed up, and his horeshit demeanor, Jazz can be summed up by one act, The Yawn. 

Hopefully his “historic” 30-30 year will have some value in the trade market. Hopefully more value than his limited edition Next Stop bobble head. Can’t wait to see the next one. 

GENERAL MANAGEMENT TIP #1 - Trades 

The Yankees should only trade for guys in the minors or proven winners. The Red Sox added Bregman and turned it around. Likewise Springer with the Blue Jays.

No more trades for Marlins or  Rockies. The team should only acquire players who have winning in their DNA.  They are better off with a lesser player who knows how to win than a 30-30 guy like Jazz Chisolm who clearly does not.

GENERAL MANAGEMENT HOT TIP #2 - Free Agents 

No more future HOF players who come here for their final year(s).

No explanation needed.

Speaking of players past thier prime I’ve noticed a pattern when watching the YES broadcasts.  They do bumpers that show a photo of player who played for the team they are playing that day and then a photo of them playing for the Yankees.  In pretty much every one of them the Yankee photo shows an older, slower, version. Doesn’t make them bad per se but it’s interesting that it’s never the other way around.  

 --

Volpe for anything.  Jazz has real value.  Bullpen help plus a high end minor league player? Whatever, getting rid of both of them is addition by subtraction.  It's a start. 

The Yankees will be worse next year.

To the right, see them empty yellow boxes? Four, in 14 years. Despite spending twice as much as most teams, the Yankees those years failed to qualify for the expanded playoffs, which are practically Little League participation trophies.  

By this time next year, it'll be five misses in 15. 

First, they're gonna stick with Volpe. They'll say he played 2025 hurt. George Lombard Jr. won't be ready, and they won't wanna spend big on a free agent SS. So it'll be Volpe. And he'll suck.

They'll re-sign Trent Grisham. The Mets or Dodgers will outbid us for Cody Bellinger, prompting a panicked Hal to bestow an 8-year, Aaron Hicks-level deal upon Grisham. And  he'll suck.

They sign some aging 3B to a Josh Donaldson contract. And he'll suck.

Gerrit Cole will return in July. He'll be pushing 36. He'll suck.

Aaron Judge will face nagging injuries that reduce him to 90 games and 30 HRs. He'll still be great. But without him, they'll suck.