There is a simple reason--some might call it an excuse--for last night's terrible showing.
But last night's loss to Boston - ruined by Will Warren's inexplicable 1st inning - effectively ended the 2025 AL East divisional race.
Forget the first-round bye and home field advantage. To reach Valhalla, the Yankees must beat one or all of their greatest modern nemeses - the Redsocks, Astros and Jays. Nobody will do it for us. We either avenge the last dismal decade or - as the Boss would say - waste a summer, praying in vain for a savior to rise from these streets.
Yes, we do have the clunker schedule, while Toronto faces Tampa, KC and Boston. But last night's loss, coupled with a Jays win, puts us four down in the loss column - five behind if you add the divisional tiebreaker. Remember those games we phoned in against Toronto? Our 5-8 record against them? They're coming back to haunt us.
If the Yankees win ALL 13 remaining games, against the Twinkies, O's and White Socks, Toronto still needs only to go 7-6. Do the math. It's over. We went 9-17 against the Jays and Redsocks. That's humiliating. We earned this failure. Now, all we can do is chase the wild card participation trophy and, if we're lucky, enjoy the home field advantage against Boston in the nasty. abbreviated opening round.
From now on, it's all about avoiding the next bullpen meltdown, scheduling our rotation, solidifying Jose Calallero as starting SS and convincing Jazz Chisholm to keep his mouth shut. We'll have to beat Boston. We'll have to stare down El Chapo. We'll have to deal with the return of Roman Anthony. Do the math. The AL East? It's over.
After watching the highlights from last night, I noticed something.
You probably noticed it, too.
Boone is an idiot.
I've lost count of all the games he's fucked up by leaving pitchers in too long, fielding a less than best team, resting guys when they're hot, resting guys so they can be fresher somewhere down the road when it may not matter, choosing the worst bullpen arm for a particular situation, being a player's pal instead of holding him accountable...
You know the list. If Boone was merely mediocre, we would have run away with the division. But he's not. He's often an obstacle the team has to overcome, in addition to the opponent.
I know I'm just rehashing what we've all been carping about for years. No great new insights.
But, in the immortal words of Joe Besser, he makes me so mad.
They rattle me.
It's their self-congratulatory, "Oh-Did-I- win-another-Peabody?" announcers, who claimed to speak for the Heartland, even as they carried water for poor-mouthing billionaire owners. Whenever the ills of The Game were discussed, there was one bogey-man: The awful Yankees, who were buying pennants. You heard it from Cowboy Curt Gowdy, from Joe Garagiola, from the ultimate critic, Peter Gammons. Later, Aaron Boone became an ESPN talker. A-Rod. Big Pappi. Youkilis. Pedro. The unwritten rule, "If the Yankees win, they bought it." You'd think the Ilitch family (Tigers) or Rogers Communications (Jays) were funding their teams through bake sales.
Maybe, they're improved. (David Cone.) Dunno. Maybe, tonight, we'll see.
Tonight, the Yankees go into the black hole of Calcutta Fenway on ESPN, having won three straight without gaining a quark on Toronto. It's not a "must" win. Barring a meltdown, we will reach the postseason, (as Eduardo Perez will surely remind us, due to the big payroll, below only the Dodgers and Mets.)
If we lose, so ends the race in the AL East. Though we're down by three in the loss column, we're actually four behind Toronto, because the Jays handled us all season and own the tiebreaker.
If the Yankees sweep, they bury Boston and maybe cut another game from Toronto. That would leave them with one advantage: A cupcake schedule through the final two weeks, while Toronto faces a grinder.
We play 13 games against Minnesota, Baltimore and the White Sox - hateful, pennant race malcontents who disappointed their fans and would kill a puppy to beat us. Still, (and there's no nice way to put this), they suck. If we can't win 9 of 13, we don't deserve to win a division.
But even if we go 9-4, we'd still need Toronto to lose 8 out of 13.
And if you're talking about hatefulness, think: Tampa. Toronto plays seven games against the Rays. Close your eyes. You can imagine them losing four. Then it's Boston for three. (Go 1-2?) And three against KC, who remain alive in the wild card race. It's almost impossible to make up four games in two weeks. But three - by winning tonight? - that's doable.
So, tonight, it starts or ends. A Yankee sweep wouldn't be historic - no Boston Massacre II - (we'll probably play them two weeks from now.) But if we lose another game, the AL East race is almost surely over. And it'll happen on ESPN.
Ten taketh-aways.
1. Kudos to Luis Gil. His gutsiness - pitching out of two jams - challenged the bullpen to hold the line. When Cruz gave up that HR, the first hit of the night, the gravity of shame showed on his face.
2. Aaron Judge crushed the longest HR this season at Fenway, an estimated 480 feet. It's a wonder the US Air Force didn't try to shoot it down.
3. Giancarlo with a 114-mph line drive single to right. I believe something has happened this season to the relationship between Stanton and diehard fans. In recent years, he was mocked for his fragility and taken for granted when he does play. Last year, when he couldn't run, everybody thought he was done. Now, he could be a candidate for Cooperstown. All he needs is a ring.
4. Until further notice, Jose "the Gay" Caballero needs to play SS. I don't understand the double-lined facial markings, but I love the guy. Last night, you felt the tension rise across Fenway whenever he came to bat. Everybody knows: If he gets on, he'll steal second and maybe third. And in doing so, he disrupt the pitcher, catcher and infield. The guy brings chaos.
5. As for Anthony Volpe, the more I hear about his partially torn labium, the angrier I get. Last year, the Yankees let Anthony Rizzo play two months with the lingering effects of a concussion. His game suffered, and his career went into the crapper. Did they do the same with Volpe? I get it that Volpe wants to play and he gives his all, but he should not start another game at SS until Caballero proves to be deficient. In fact, if there's an all-purpose utility man at Scranton, the Yankees should bring him up and put Volpe on the injury list. He's washed out an entire year.
6. Last night, Bednar looked solid. One two three. It's been a while since a Yankee "closer" - Bednar included - shut down the other team without subjecting us to a heart attack. Remember how Mariano used to do it?
7. Speaking of closers, the Yankees still need to address one key element of our Vendetta List: El Chapo. We haven't gotten to Aroldis all season. It's time for the Cuban Water Cannon to meltdown, and to rejoice as the gallons of sweat pour from the open beer tap of his visor. We endured him for four years. It's time for Boston to catch a glimpse of our past.
8. No nice, unminced, non-juju enflaming way to say this, but without Roman Anthony in the lineup, the Redsocks just don't look all that scary. I have dark fears about the next few seasons, as Anthony grows into a star. I don't wish injury on any player - (actually, that's a lie, but fuckit) - but I really hope Anthony is not in the lineup when we face Boston in October (because I think we're going to face Boston in October.)
9. The Apple TV announcers last night talked up Ben Rice's "breakout" season, and you know what? They're damn right. I think we've sorta overlooked how central Rice has become to the Yankees, not just as a 1B but as a backup catcher. He bats third. We can worry about Anthony in the future, but Boston fans have to fear Rice.
10. Just win today, and gthen, against Crochet Sunday, spring a surprise on dear Aroldo. Wouldn't it be nice?
Yesterday, I came as close to dusting the dirt from my feet and turning my back on the New York Yankees as I have since sometime in 1984, when they traded Graig Nettles and I tried to become a Mets fan. Didin't take.
It's not that the Yankees have been a model of integrity, well, ever. This was a team, as Robert Penn Warren once wrote that was conceived in sin and born in corruption. Its original owners were the nation's leading gambler and the most corrupt police chief in New York City history, which is saying something.
The very best of the team's owners was a cold, ruthless son-of-a-bitch who publicly humiliated Joe DiMaggio. Most of the rest have been, to quote Lady Caroline Lamb, mad, bad, and dangerous to know. Same goes for so many of the racist, incompetent front office people the Yankees have employed.
Old George was no exception, a greedy, whining, scheming, bullying nepo baby, who at various times professed a willingness to move the team to Denver or sell it to the Dolans. It was, never let us forget, in Yankee Stadium that a baby-shark Donald Trump cut his teeth not only on the ways of only George, but also his greatest mentor, Roy Cohn, the gift who never stops giving, and who Trump would come to ignore and humiliate like everyone else who has helped him along the way.
First came the announcement about Anthony Volpe. The fact that he has been hurt since May is something that many of us here have suspected...since May.
I agree that Volpe's problems extend well beyond this injury to his non-throwing shoulder. But still: to put him out there to face ridicule from the hometown fans and the further diminishment of his confidence is beneath contempt.
It is also, I'm sorry to say, par for the course for our thoroughly loathsome general manager, Brian Cashman, whose quest to build himself a new Jeter has made him oblivious to basic human decency.
Not much better was the reaction of Aaron Boone. I know that Boone's endless, drivelous attacks of words are his way of avoiding accountability—or perhaps evidence of some terrible brain disease, God forbid. But his answer to questions about Volpe—something along the lines of "I think they learned that the tear was an old injury..."—went beyond his usual absurdity.
You think they learned? What is wrong with you???
Either Boone really can't remember just what happened to his young starting shortstop, or his evasions are in service of his masters. For God's sake, Mr. Boone: stand up and be a man, and stop covering for people. Can this job really mean this much to you, under these circumstances?
Far worse, of course, was the team's collective decision to piss on the memory of the heroes and martyrs of 9/11 by making the commemoration of the day a stage for Donald Trump—one more stop on his endless road tour of Revenge and Destruction.
I don't expect ballplayers to stand up to a president, especially once as vindictive and thin-skinned as this one. I don't expect ballplayers have very good politics at all.
(Although, come to think of it, why should that be? These are fantastically wealthy, grown men who made their fortunes by maintaining the most successful union in world history. Time, maybe, for someone to at least ask them about the massive contradictions in how they cash in and how they tune out?)
But their playing the simpering, smiling, grade-school audience for this awful excuse of a man was unpardonable. So was the reaction of Randy Levine, of course, but then who doesn't expect that squalid collection of hair dye not to bow and scrape to anyone with power?
All in all, it was a disgrace—crowned by Trump declaring himself the team's good-luck charm. Yeah? To that I say, "Go, Mariners!" Or somebody. Not, I'm sure, that whoever wins it will be much better, in this supine excuse for a republic.
As the King of Late Night, Larry Sanders suffered numerous anxieties. But his worst fears surfaced each summer, when the network sought his vacation replacement. Larry lived in terror that somebody - Carrey, Seinfeld, anybody - would come on and be funnier than he. It drove him - and his staff - sorta crazy.
So, today, why am I thinking of Larry Sanders?
Obviously, it's Anthony Volpe.
So... for the last three months, he may have been playing in pain.
I can almost hear the studio audience chanting... "Larry, Larry, Larry..."
Dear God, where do we start?
Well, to begin with, nobody should question Volpe's grit. He always answers the bell. But but BUT... if he's played in pain for the last three months, maybe we should question his intelligence.
Since May, when he jammed his shoulder and felt a pop, Volpe has been MLB's worst starting shortstop. By a mile. By ten miles. The lack of offense and defense at SS is the biggest reason why the Yankees are three behind Toronto in the AL East, and barely a spring of nasal hair ahead of Boston in the wild card.
And now, we learn he's been playing hurt?
Shoot me. That's some serious Larry Sanders-level paranoia: That he refused to sit out of the fear that Oswald Peraza would take his job? WTF? We're two weeks from the clang ending the regular season, Volpe's year has turned to shit, his career is hanging by dental floss, Yank fans have been booing him - (a Jersey boy!) - at home... and now, now, NOW we hear he's been playing in pain? Who is running this operation? Brian Daboll?
Full disclosure: I'm a secret Volpe fan. For three years, I've been Volpe's Pavlov's dog. If he goes 2-for-3, I drunkenly leap into the Happy Pit of Hope, thinking he's turned the corner and will become the Second Coming of Jeet. My second greatest fear - after being outed as a Roan Chappell stalker - is that Volpe gets chased out of NY and lands in, say, Tampa, where he turns into an all-star. I don't want to live in that world.
But whadda we make of this? He's been playing hurt? Did nobody on the team notice? Did the coaching staff know? It's three effing months. NOW they tell us? Has everything about Volpe since May been a lie? I believe that's called "gaslighting?" WTF? Next time they press Larry's APPLAUSE button, maybe we - the studio audience - should just go silent. And for god sake, sit this guy down until he's pain-free.
"So, where was I? Rody gave us a chance. Six strong innings, kept us in it. You gotta like that. And I do. But you know, we just didn’t back him up. Offensively, we’ve got to do more. I can tell you that, in this league, one run just isn't gonna cut it, especially when the other side scores eleven. Jesus H. Christ, who thumb-tacked my bunster?
So, all in all, you gotta tip your cap to Detroit. They put together some good at-bats, found holes, and took advantage of every mistake. And from our side, the mistakes are not acceptable. We’ve gotta be better. We’ve gotta execute pitches, to make plays, and keep the game in front of us, full-frontal, boob city, va va voom, Bob's-yer-uncle! That's Chinatown, Jake. And we will. But last night, we didn't. I mean, make no mistake: That was a loss. And that loss is on us. We’ve gotta own it. We've gotta hang it on the wall, gotta set it at the dinner table, and then we gotta flush it down the Jimminy spigot. Gotta learn from it, gotta get some good swings, gotta stick to the plan, and gotta come up with the plan. That’s what we gotta do, and we will, because we gotta."
Seventeen games left.
The wheels are falling off.
https://twitter.com/i/status/1965571869207367919
High upon a lonely ledge
A figure teeters near the edge
As jeering crowds collect below
To egg him on with "Go, Man, Go,"
But who will ask what led him
To his private day of doom,
And who will answer?
Okay, I know what you're thinking: The 2025 Yankees, right?
Listen: Every now and then, the universe blows its nose with you. Last night, for example, when all of NYC realized it's time for Jason Dart. Today, we're out on that ledge.
Make no mistake: Boone is a dolt, and Anthony Volpe may suck - (last night, he added to his list of maladies, "CAN'T BUNT") - but our 2025 apocalypse is the bullpen.
Last night, on full display, came a meltdown worthy of Chernobyl, if it hosted the New York State Fair. The seventh inning became an hour of torture that, in terms of jaw-dropping awfulness, rivals a Morris Dancers street show I witnessed 20 years ago, which still pops up in nightmares. Nope. In the circles of Hell, last night falls near the 2024 World Series Game 5 Inning 5, which peaked with the Pointer Sister, Gerrit Cole, teaming up with Anthony Rizzo to egg us on with "Go, Man, Go!
Nine runs, all earned, on five hits and five walks, in one inning. Most came with no outs, as the Yankee bullpen sank without a bubble.
Last night, we saw our destiny.
In three weeks, this creaky roller coaster will slide into the postseason, probably against Boston, and it will require somebody - God knows who - to get the last nine outs of multiple games. The bullpen phone will ring - at one end will be a shrieking, murderous Aaron Boone - and we must wonder: Who will answer?
I believe it will be Mingo. Take it away, chief...
'Neath the spreading mushroom tree
The world revolves in apathy
As overhead, a row of specks
Roars on, drowned out by discotheques
And if a secret button's pressed
Because one man has been outguessed
WHO WILL ANSWER?
Donno. But it won't be Mark Leiter Jr. I can tell you that.
Joey Gallo? Get the bucket.
Nathan Eovaldi? Shoot me.
Kei Igawa? Carl Pavano. OK, that's enough.
Jordan Montgomery? I said THAT'S ENOUGH!
Well, back on July 15, we could add Gleyber Torres to our personal shit-list.
After all, Gleyber was:
a) Bearded.
b) Hitting .277.
c) Staying awake during games.
d) Leading the young Tigers to 1st in the AL Central.
e) The AL starting 2B in the All-Star game.
Basically, he was enjoying a revenge season, letting us scream that the Yankees had pulled another boner (in the non-Viagra sense of the word.) Last winter, it was no secret that that Gleyber - (inspiration for the worst John Sterling HR call in history: "... And like a good Gleyber, Torres is there!" Yeesh.) - wanted to stay a Yankee, but mean old Mr. Cashman said no.
Sadly, Cashman's plans for the infield involved DJ LeMahieu, Oswald Peraza, and the juju gods, who nearly amputated Oswaldo Cabrera's leg. For a while, it meant that Jazz Chisholm had to play 3B, a place he detested, unsettling the Yankee infield in two locations.
Well, Jazz is back at 2B. And MLB's regular season stats are - like far-flung precincts in an election - taking shape. They vindicate Cashman for his decision last December: To not offer Gleyber a contract and let him fly away with the whispering winds.
By now, you've memorized the above comparison stats. What's amazing is how much more Jazz has produced with about 70 fewer at bats. He's on a course for 30 HR and 30 stolen bases. At 27, he's a year younger than Gleyber. (And I'm not sure he can grow a beard.) Yeah, he looked foolish in the Home Run Derby, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it taught him something he had forgotten: That his greatest asset can be speed, not power.
So, over the next three days, stand back: We'll get a full-scale YES comparison between Gleyber and Jazz, the Yankees' past and present. And if Gleyber hits one - (like a good Gleyber) - we will want to unleash some prime and juicy rants. But let's cut Coop some slack. Yes, Joey Gallo will never go away. But Cashman made the right move at 2B.
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