A sentence that, until today, has never been written before, and now will never be written again

The Yankees beat the Tigers on a game-ending balk by Luis Marte, scoring Zelous Wheeler in the bottom of the ninth.

Sorry Bernie and Donnie, but the Gammonites of Gotham are ready to vote Tanaka into Cooperstown right now

Yesterday, a light-hitting Phillies shortstop named Freddy Galvis wallopped a long home run against the Yankees. Or maybe not. Maybe we dreamed it.

 

If Freddy Galvis had gone downtown against CC Sabathia, we would face concerns today about CC's diminished fastball. If Mr. Fred had hit it against David Phelps, questions would circulate about Phelps' standing as fifth starter. If the Big G had hit it off Michael Pineda, Brian Cashman would have swam home to Tampa from Clearwater. 

Fortunately, he hit it off Masahiro Tanaka, whom the New York sportswriters have been trained to praise in a pitch-perfect chorus. Nobody saw it. Nobody cared. Not only did they praise Tanaka, but they went to the opposing team to garner more accolades. (Last time I looked, there are seldom more generous critics than players who just faced off against an opponent. Do you ever see them knock a guy?) Oh well...

Newsday: "... impressed both teams and the scouts..."

Times: "... another strong outing..."

Daily News John Harper: "...is already offering reason to believe he’ll live up to the hype that follows him from Japan, not to mention his $155 million contract.

Star-Ledger: "... he was terrific."

Marlon Byrd: "His fastball is explosive."

Ryan Howard: "He has control of the fastball."

Mark Teixeira: "He looked great."

Freddy Galvis: "He's got really good stuff."

Larry Rothschild: "I am not worried."

No. Yankee pitching coach Larry Rotchschild is not worried. Nor should he be.

Of course, nothing can be gleaned from the second outing of spring training. Nothing either way. It's just a hoop that Tanaka must jump through. Still, it's troubling when the entirity of the NY sports media is sure of something. That's what bothers me.

They were sure the Knicks would improve with Carmelo.

They were sure the Jets were rising under Rex Ryan.

They were sure about Granderson, Pavano, Randy Johnson and all the rest.

This we know: Fate is a maniac.

In 2014, nothing is certain about the Yankees. If we're lucky, Tanaka could be the Second Coming of Yu Darvish. And if so, that means some tough outings in the early summer. Freddy Galvis is the first guy to wallop a home run off him. He won't be the last. Let's not enshrine Tanaka too soon. Let's not even write him into the rotation just yet. He has a long way to go. He doesn't need hollow accolades.

The world recently dodged a bullet: Chelsea Handler met A-Rod, and they didn’t reproduce

According to HSN, (the Howard Stern News network), late night pin-up gorgon Chelsea Handler recently encountered Alex Rodriguez at a party, when he approached her and asked - quoting now: “Chelsea, why do you have to make fun of me all the time?”

I can picture A-Rod doing that. He’s wearing that droopy, sad puppy smile, the look when he’s going to strike out, but he hasn’t done it yet. His hands are clasped. He's whining again. He’s staring at the pitcher, King Felix, while all hope has drained from his once-mighty bat. He's not with Kate Hudson anymore. He's in the big leagues. This is Chelsea Handler.

According to Chelsea, Chelsea then said, “Get away from me, you’re disgusting. You’re gross.” She called him a “buffoon” and a “f—king a-hole.” (I’m not sure if a-hole was a humorous play on words, because she is a comedienne.) If she had a phone, or rolled-up newspaper, she would have beaten him with it. It’s not certain how A-Rod reacted to this complete humliation, but I think we've all an image in our minds: As he walks back to the dugout, carrying his bat, he glances back once, to gaze at her. Then he takes his spot on the pine with all the other rejected suitors, and a long line it is, because after all, this is not Cameron Diaz or Madonna. This is Chelsea Handler. 

Speaking on behalf of humanity, I hereby applaud Chelsea Handler for showing the discipline to turn her back on a 6’3,” genetically honed, super-athletic, billionaire stud muffin, who may or may not have had other notions on that night - ideas he would have gleaned from Chelsea Handler’s memoirs or her show. Nevertheless, she “came through" in the clutch.

A one-night "Chelsea moment" for A-Rod could have been the worst thing, not only for civilization, but for the Yankees. Remember: We still have the bum under contract through 2016. Unless Kelly Johnson turns into Brooks Robinson, we’re still keeping third base open for A-Rod. The last thing Alex needed was Chelsea Ballhandler looking increasingly pregnant - and angry about it - while he hikes the comeback trail. And who knows? Maybe his stunning humiliation will cause him to push harder during workouts. Maybe a year from now, when he comes to bat in Tampa, he’ll look into the crowd and think, “OK, Chelsea, handle THIS.”

Now, philosophical question: What happens if A-Rod propositions Ellen Degeneres?

Happy Tex Day, Yankiverse

Today, Mark Teixteira will spit into his mitt, run out to first-base, and for the first time in a long time, add his voice to the  emerging chorus of Yankee infield chatter. Of course, it will be led by Captain Jeter, who relentlessly encourages his troops to achieve. At third, Kelly Johnson will be shouting nonstop messages of hope, perhaps in Japanese, to starting pitcher Masahiro Tanaka. At second, Dean Anna or Brian Roberts will be sounding forth. (Obviously, Robbie Cano never chattered; if he didn’t run out grounders, he certainly didn’t do infield chatter.) And now Tex will fill the air with bawdy sonnets and limericks, like a veteran rapper, in a bullfrog voice, happy in his Gilligans Island-like lagoon.

Why did I waste your time with that long, laborious opening paragraph? Because it’s Tex Day in the Yankiverse, the first game Mark Teixeira has started in a long, long time. It seems like a million years. On this august occasion, Yankee fans everywhere can gaze at Tex on first base and think of the deep, bottomless hole shall open there if Tex cannot play.

Of all the doomsday scenarios surrounding the 2014 season, an injury to Teixeira would be the most devastating. It would not only wipe out 20 to 30 home runs, but it would kill a gold glove at first base, the glove that presumably will hold together a major league infield.  

Last year, Lyle Overbay slowly captured our hearts, by over-achieving and hustling. But it was for nothing. We missed the playoffs. It wasn’t Lyle’s fault. He just wasn’t Tex. This year, it might be Russ Canzler, or probably somebody fresh from the scrapheap. But if Tex cannot play, the Yankees will be hard-pressed to win 85 games. In fact, they would be far more likely to suffer a complete, Met-like meltdown than to see a resurgence in the AL East.

So bring your juju to the radio or TV. It’s Tex Day, everybody. And from now on, every day is Tex Day. Until the day it’s not. And then we are screwed.

Little To Bank ON

It is really cool that YES is broadcasting games from Tampa.  I can sit at a bar in my basement, suck down crown royals, snarf jalepena pickled eggs and cram popcorn into my mouth, without getting pissed off at a single fan.

I loved watching that AAA pick-up, Dean Anna, with the .410 on-base percentage strike out twice in a row.  Guess he left some of the magic back on the coast.

Also, who is that guy Yangurla, and what if he goes 28-30? Does he get a shot?  Sure he does;  at Scranton.  We would rather keep Ichiro to kill rallies.

I still like the Murphy kid, whatever he wants to call himself.  And Almonte should be considered seriously for a spot.

Anyone want to comment on LaRoux?  He has been lights out in the two outings I watched.

No shot.  I know.  Scranton or Trenton to wither.

I am starting an amber alert on Tyler Austin and Slade Heathcott.

Gary Sanchez can also strike out with the best of them.

Lucky we got the bald guy.

Things I intend to teach the young Yankees

1.       Always check the feet. Shoes are the giveaway to what she’s thinking. If the shoes are caked with mud, and the toes are dirty, well, she just came in from a wet field. You gotta ask yourself, what the hell was she doing in a muddy field? Be careful.  

2.       No peeing in the bushes. I don’t care how bad you have to go. I don’t care how long you’ve held it. I don’t care if the beer is coming out of your ears. Mets pee in bushes. Redsocks pee in the bushes. Yankees find a restroom.

3.       Don’t get hung up about which one is “the right fork.” The waiter will try to intimidate you by handing you several. Lift them, work them, study them – and select the fork that feels right… for you. You’re the one who’s going to use it. And don’t be one of those pansy-asses who eat pizza with a fork. Pick it up, fold it, and eat it like a man…

What am I missing? So much to tell them, so little time...

Meaningless fact that I hesitate to mention: Derek Jeter is 0-for-9 with three groundball double plays.

It’s impossible to imagine Derek Jeter being bad at anything. If he played the Sandra Bullock role in Gravity, he would have won the Oscar. If he came to my back yard and started shooting lawn darts, he would win. If he takes up curling, he will win an Olympic medal in 2018. Anything he does next year – writing ad copy, weekend news anchor, real estate sales – he will excel.

So there is NO REASON we should worry about the fact that he is 0-for-9 on the season with three double plays. NONE, WHATSOEFFINGEVER. Frankly, we should NOT EVEN MENTION IT, much less dwell upon it. He is ridding excess DP grounders from his system, exorcizing unwanted demons from his bat. DO NOT WORRY. Everything will be fine. OK? This is Derek Jeter we are talking about. THIS IS NOT DEAN ANNA. If it were Dean Anna, I would say, “Buy this man a ticket to Scranton, so we shall never have to see his pinstriped plumage again.” But the name is Jeter. Got that? J-E-T-E-R. He’ll be fine. Clip this and save it. HE. WILL. BE. FINE.

Did you hear me? I said he will be fine. So stop reading. There is nothing here to read. There is nothing here to see. I SAID HE WILL BE FINE. DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND ENGLISH? ARE YOU SIMPLY SITTING ON THIS WEBSITE, LOOKING AT THE PICTURES? THERE IS NOTHING TO SEE HERE. DEREK JETER WILL BE FINE.

Oh, I get it. You’re being stubborn? You’re wondering if I’m going to mention the fact that utility infielder Yangeroo Solartullah (or something like that, I could look it up, but out of principle, I won’t) is now 7 for 9. What if Yangerula was bitten by a radioactive spider and now has spider strength and agility? What if he was shaking hands with Jeter at the precise moment that lightning flashed, and all of Jeter’s superpowers were transferred into his body? Well, it didn’t happen. Understand? It’s the first five games of spring training. If in July, Derek Jeter is 0-for-145 with 60 ground ball double plays, come and talk to me then. At that point, maybe we’ll start worrying. Maybe. THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT NOW.

A big one-for-three will clear up everything. Besides, 0-for-nine is just an abstraction, a number analysis that does not characterize the quality of at-bats and placement of the ball. If those double play balls had hit a pebble and bounced into the outfield, he would now be 3 for 9, and we’d be talking about how hot he is. Oh for nine? Three groundball double plays. Big deal. Pass the meat loaf.

What does it mean?

Nothing!

What should we do?

Not worry!

Whose name should we not even mention?

Nobody!

When should we never not stop worrying?

Always!

What the heck? Pope says "Farnsworth?"

IN Simulated Battle, Pineda Neutralizes Tex

Neither of the above-named superstars has managed to log an actual pitch, swing, at bat or throw and catch at George Steinbrenners' Yankee stadium in Tampa.

Both are coming off what seems a lifetime of injuries, delayed recoveries and surgeries.

Yesterday, finally, they went mano a mano.

Tex hit sharp grounders to an imaginary second baseman, playing in short right field.  Each grounder turned into a double play, as the simulation involved moving a runner over from first and busting it, in an imaginary sense, down the ninety feet to first.

Pineda showed a quirky, slow pitch curve and a high fastball in the mid-seventies on the radar gun.

His command and control were decent, as Tex only drew one walk per inning.

Limited to 35 pretend pitches, Pineda claims that his arm is feeling good.

At the buffet table later, both were seen snarfing down seared tuna sandwiches, fried beet chips, and a ding dong.

Open letter to the people of Seattle: Ichiro wants to play “many more seasons.” He’s all yours!

Ah, greetings, dearest Seattle, (aka: "Sleepless In..."), and congrats again on winning the 2014 Super Bowl. May your concussions go away in time for training camp.

When I think of you, I think of Bill and Melinda Gates' continuing campaigns on behalf of humanity, the cool, Emerald City that gave us Windows ’95 and Courtney Love… the town that will get to watch Robbie Cano run to first and say, “WTF? He’s… jogging?” and the once-domed baseball fan base that still has one remaining obligation to the world.

Yes, Chiptown, you are the ones who must retire Ichiro.

You brought him, you enjoyed him, and soon, you gotta be the ones to change his bedpan.

Listen: You should consider it an honor. Ichiro Suzuki is a great player, a Hall of Famer. If Ellen Degeneres took a selfie in spring training, he would be the one in the back, smirking like Kevin Spacey. He’s done more to unite Japanese and American baseball than any other player in history. (Godzilla, Dice K, et al – they won’t get a cup of coffee in Cooperstown.) And the Yankees – for reasons stemming to our boy owners’ love of impulse shopping  – have him for one more year. One more awful, wretched, no-good rancid year.

Awww, it won’t be a total loss. This year, Ichiro could be the calming goat who sleeps in the barn with Secretariat, (Masahiro Tanaka). He and Hiroki Kuroda can give Tanaka a social life and a pair of role models. That’s worth something. And maybe he can surprise us. But right now, he is the Yankees fifth outfielder, and – frankly – if he wasn’t Ichiro, he would be sixth. (I’m thinking Gardner, Beltran, Soriano, Ellsbury, Almonte… Ichiro.) Last year, his on-base percentage fell below .300 last year, which is god-awful. He refuses to work walks, the bread-and-butter survival tactic for most over-the-hill hitters. Last year, his greatest threat to an opposing team was the chance of beating out an infield single. It hurts most when the pitcher just walked, say, three batters in a row. No matter how wild he is, he won't walk Ichiro.

Next year, he’s all yours, Seattle. Bundle him with the 300-pound Jesus Montero, the tenth year of Robbie Cano’s contract, and we’ll maybe even throw in Michael Pineda, after he re-tweaks his shoulder.  Maybe Soundgarten will re-unite and tour with Hole. Maybe Bill and Melinda was launch an initiative and bring back domed baseball. Maybe it doesn't matter. You won the 2014 Super Bowl. The headaches should end sometime in July, when the exhibitions start. 

What I've Observed

I have now seen two complete games on the YES network.   Maybe three.

I have observed the following:

1.  Corbin Joseph has been our toughest out.  He has had good, tough at bats.  He is now playing FB in a desperate attempt to have back-up value.

2.  Austine Romine's offensive debut consisted of standing at the plate and watching three strikes go by.         Great eye there Austin.

3.  While everyone has put away any concerns about Derek's ability to run ( ankle, muscles, etc ), I have observed a pretty slow guy busting it to first base.  He may just smack into a ton of double plays.

4.  Ryan Joseph Murphy?  Ryan James Murphy?  He has been pretty good in his at bats and also looks decent catching.  His mother didn't like the handle, "RJ." No matter; if he is good will will surely trade him.  And he is in that historic photo with Mariano.  Worth a career.

5.  Francisco is, for sure, our number two catcher this year.  Until he gets injured ( let's cut him a break this year, okay baseball diety? ).

6.  I have only seen Derek and Gardy play, amongst all the " big names" ; the Beltrans, that Red Sox guy, Tex, etc. Ichiro still looks like he will never walk, and is a slap hitter whose biggest threat is the infield single.

7.  Some infielder from San Diego made a great play.  Then booted a routine grounder, just like
Nunez ( no sign of him either ).

8.  Mason Williams looks decent in CF, but he can't hit at all.  Biggest offensive punch in two games was a dribbler to the mound for a double play.

9.  Where is Tyler Austin?  Where is Slade?

10.  Finally saw what's his name ( the switch hitting OF who had a great off season in Venezuela, and hit about .275 for the Yanks for a month or so last season ) but he did dick, hitting once from the left side.

11.  Some no name has two home runs already.

12.  The Pineda thing ( pitching two innings in a SIM game ) is ominous.  I still say;  he doesn't pitch for the Yankees.

13.  Bettances has a good line, so far.  But he doesn't strike guys out.  They hit him hard.  I say he fails.

Yanks are on again today at 1pm if you get YES.

As ace of Yankee Sim Rotation, Pineda could win the Great Clunker Swap of 2012

Michael Pineda threw two solid sim innings yesterday against the 1927 Yankees, making Ruth and Gehrig look like ghosts of their former selves, while somewhere in Arizona, a secret operative of Brian Cashman was slipping Jesus Montero another malt shake and double-cheese pizza. Thus, after two years of play, the Yankees now lead Seattle in the Great Clunker Swap by a score of Zero to Negative 1. We’ve pulled ahead.

A piece in today’s NYT confirms what the Yankiverse has been gargling for weeks: That Montero may be one of the great, pajama-pissing, slobbering, fall-down leviathans in MLB history, a 5-tool disappointment. In only two years of rancidness, Jesus has: 1) Failed to hit, 2) Failed to be a catcher, 3) Proven to be injury prone, 4) Been suspended for juicing, and 5) Eaten his way off the roster. Jesus has been eating in the manner that CC Sabathia has been dieting, and it now looks as though the Great Swap, in which the Yankees and Mariners traded their lawn chairs in Hell, now is tilting toward New York, by default. 

Montero came to camp 40 pounds overweight, which is a throwback to the 1950s, when guys bagged groceries in the off-season, instead of hiring trainers. Meanwhile, Pineda came to camp at his assigned Yankee weight! Hoo-ray! That’s something he did not do two years ago, before blowing out his shoulder. But the big news of the day, if you’re scoring at home: Pineda has now pitched two Sim games in Florida.

That’s right. Sim games. “Sim,” as in “Simply Meaningless.” Or Simpathy. In other words, two years after his arm injury, the Yankees are still treating him like an ancient Chinese vase, pretending that he is the lost Koufax from Atlantis.  Good grief. What a joke.

Pineda was expected to return last August. In July, the Yankees breathlessly reported his pitching lines in Charleston and Tampa, as he rose up the system, preparing to take New York like Lady Gaga in her egg. Then in the lost mines of Scranton, he threw like Kim Novak. He suffered not only stiffness, but bombings. The Triple A hitters were not simulations.

So now, he’s back, and as long as he’s throwing against fantasy league all-stars, the Yankees have won the Great Trade, and Cashman looks like Syd Thrift, dealing with old George. And it’s part of the detritus that doubles as spring training coverage.

Listen: We all want Pineda to succeed. I will happily apologize for every snarky word ever written about the guy, if he becomes a real MLB pitcher, like the one he supposedly was in Seattle. If Pineda could be a Number One or Number Two starter, the Yankees could win the AL East this year. That’s the kind of splash he would make on this franchise.

But it seems to me that the longer the Yankees treat this guy like a china doll, the more likely he is to become one. There’s a point where we have to compare him to everybody else in baseball who is NOT Jesus Montero. I don’t care if Montero weighs 400 pounds and is accused of eating small children. If Pineda spends April in Scranton, he and Jesus ought to quit baseball and tour as a band. They could call themselves Ten Years After.

In continuing youth movement, Yankees to sign Kim Novak

All right, no more talk about shortstops who came over on the Mayflower. Not after watching Kim Novak last night on the Oscars. All Derek Jeter needs is a Lifestyle Lift – (Debbie Boone had one!) -and we’ll be fine.

I don’t know how old Kim Novak is.

I don’t want to think about how old Kim Novak is.

Let’s just say she was probably a pinup in Yogi Berra’s locker. Let's just say her promo glossies are in black and white. Last night, she looked a little electrified – (Did Matthew McConaughey have her hooked up to a stun gun?) I say, good for her! She's still out there, taking her cuts on a major league field.

And what was the problem with Pink? She didn’t care enough about the Oscars to sing while suspended from a trapeze? Good grief. And how could the Academy overlook Grown Ups 2! I thought Adam Sandler was great. (A Yankee fan, by the way.)

Sabathmageddon: CC needs an immediate injection of an extra 5 mph and 50 pounds

It’s here. Our first September crisis. Dear God, the most  critical stretch of the season. And it's upon us: Sabathmageddon.

Dark clouds in the distance. Girardi must mess up this team, do something crazy. A Katy Perry lip-synch video? A “Welcome Back Kotter” memorabilia scavenger hunt? A hot jalapeno pepper-eating contest? Jeez, I dunno. Could we unite by betting on hobo death fights? Where could we find the hobos? Do people call hobos "hobos" anymore? Does Katy Perry? Dear God, this is getting confusing. It's more dire than we thought! 

The problem here is simple: CC Sabathia needs to eat. He needs to eat a large animal, something with a bell around its collar. He needs to eat a rural Pennsylvania town. They're called "Buroughs" in Pennsylvania. Did you know that? CC needs to add 50 pounds of pork. We need to rearrange the new, genetically modified version, who looks like CC in a thinning fun house mirror, or CC, the finalist in the “The Biggest Loser.” Yesterday, Stringbean pitched two scoreless innings against the Phillies. He never cracked 90 on the radar gun. This is scary. This is Yankee doomsday. Right now, the hardest throwing lefty starter in camp is Vida Nino.

Yes, it’s early. OK, we haven’t even yet tapped the green beer kegs. We should be more worried about Toro Tanaka throwing too hard, too soon. Nothing in these games matters. But jeez, not even 90 mph? CC can't even reach the speed of a Kennedy heir while on beta-blockers? Come on! He needs to eat a Kennedy heir.

CC says not to worry. OK, no problemo. This isn’t me, worrying. This is me, terrifying. Every hope we have for a bounce-back 2014 rests on CC Sabathia returning to form. Without him: Game over, maaaan, game over. Understand? O-ver. So should we worry? Hell no. Just be terrified.

OK, I should get a grip. Yesterday, CC pitched two scoreless innings. A scoreless inning is a scoreless inning is a scoreless inning is a scoreless inning, right? I could go on. It’s a scoreless inning, even in March. Which is what this is. We haven’t even filled out our Final Four brackets yet. Syracuse University men’s basketball hasn’t even collapsed yet. (Uh-oh. Check that: They HAVE. It's later than I thought!)

Listen: I missed yesterday’s game on YES. Friends were texting excitedly me about Tanaka. And the write-ups later described Tanaka overpowering. I didn’t learn until today that he gave up two hits. Bloop hits, the writers stressed. That’s how they phrased it when Mariano blew saves, at the end. They deconstructed each hit to make you believe it was an anomaly, as if Mariano wasn’t reaching his final outings.  Two bloop hits is still two hits. And 88 mph is not 90. It’s early. It’s way too early to be this terrified. But that’s what happens when you miss the playoffs, and your farm system ranks among the worst in baseball. We’ve got a month to figure this out. Anybody know any Katy Perry songs? You think Katy Perry could recruit some hobo boxers?

News From the Shadow of the Baseball Cathedral: BRONX BOMBSHELLS

Shuttered Bronx strip club could become church

Platinum Pleasures, the last remaining strip club in Hunts Point, has shut its doors — but in lieu of lap dances, a neighborhood pastor wants to turn the former jiggle joint into a place of worship. 

Skyrocketing rents leave more Bronx families in cold 

Skyrocketing rents are helping to push a growing number of Bronx families into homelessness, stretching resources even thinner in the borough that already counts the highest number of occupants in the city shelter system.

Developers add 1.4 million square feet of malls to the Bronx

Although the county is one of the nation's poorest, the paper reports, it's also the third-most dense, so developers see an opportunity for customers to make a lot of lower-priced purchases that still add up to big bucks.

Man dressed as woman steals iPhone at wig store

Police are now searching for the suspect, described as about 5'7" to 5'8" tall and stocky in build. He was last seen wearing a multi-colored dress with a black hooded jacket and a red hooded coat. 

Amazing autographed poster

Cool poster

He's selling it.

Has these autographs:
Berra, Yogi
Boggs, Wade
Campaneris, Bert
Cano, Robinson...  Oops, lost me there. Not interested.

And a ton of others.

The Yankees’ nuclear stockpiles at catcher must be used to handle the spent fuel-Rod at third

As The Master loves to say in the Daily News Fifth, “Hey, now, looking at this Yankee ball club…”

Few positions appear rock solid through the next millennium. But if we’re not stuffed to the wheelhouse with catchers, then take me to the train station and unhitch my red caboose, because my loco engine has run off the rails. (I have no clue what that metaphor means, but it sounded good coming off the bat.)   

Yesterday, we were visited by the Ghosts of Catchmas Present and Future. They both hit home runs. First was Brian McCann, the Catcher of Now. Then it was Gary Sanchez, the Catcher of Tomorrow. We also have Francisco Cervelli, the Catcher of Yesterday, and Austin Romine, the Catcher of Five Minutes ago and maybe Five Minutes from Now. Then there is the Catcher of the Alternative Future, J.R. Murphy and – stay with me here – the Catcher of the Distant Future, Peter O’Brien, and yet another catcher they signed from Venezuela, the Catcher of the Next Age - I’m talking Arthur Clarke stuff here – and he’s so far off that we really cannot know his name. We’ll call him Jorge 3000.

This remarkable surplus is going to come in handy, especially considering our problems at third base. Remember how the used to call Brooks Robinson “the Vacuum Cleaner?” The Yankees third base is just known as “the Vacuum.” And if catching represented our hopes and dreams, third base represents the sum of our Yankee fears.

We have the third baseman of the past and future, A-Rod, who - like those newly discovered CERN nanoparticles – can actually inhabit two locations in time. We have the third baseman of the moment, Kelly Johnson, but he is only for this precise moment; if you blink or look away, he could be gone – to second base, or nowhere. He may not exist. Then we have the third baseman who exists only in theory, Scott Sizemore, because half the fans think he’s Grady Sizemore, and the other have think he’s Scott Spiezio, and he might not hit, and he might not field. Then we have the third baseman who comes via the San Diego wormhole, Dean Anna. Last year, in the Pacific Coast League, he was Rod Carew. But that was an alternative universe, not the one we inhabit. Here, he might be Cod Rarew. Finally, we have Eduardo Nunez, who stands at the absolute nexus between science and religion, where all truth becomes fiction and reality only exists in the imagination. Chew on that for awhile, next time Nuni comes up with men on base. But here’s the deal, when he’s not playing, Nunez looks great. When he’s in there, he sucks.  

The Creator of this time and space conundrum – Brian Cashman – is waiting to trade one of our catchers – from the past, near present or future – for a third baseman who actually exists in the real, luxury-tax-paying world. Supposedly, there are excess infielders with the Diamondbacks and White Sox, two franchises that, by the way, have never been known for doing us favors. What do I know? I know this: When the Yankees signed Brett Gardner to a long-term deal, the fine print said that one of their catchers was going to be traded. Yesterday, two balls left the park, courtesy of our catchers. One of these days, a Yankee catcher will follow.