Tuesday, May 21, 2013
The Yankees are about to become the most ungrateful team in sports, and I am now dreading the return of the superstar lineup
Posted by el duque at 7:36 AM
OK, you get my point, right? I'm in love with Lyle Overbay! There! I've said it! The forbidden truth! We want to get married! We want to adopt! But his boyfriend's back, and there's gonna be trouble, hey-na, hey-na...
Listen: It's weird, rooting for this Yankee team. It's unlike anything we have seen since 1994. It's like 1983, the crash year, except we're winning.
Last night, Lyle, Travis Hafner and Vernon Wells stole another victory with the kind of clutch hitting that, frankly, our big stars failed to furnish over the last three years. The A-Rod menagerie always put together big numbers, and we made the playoffs - but they were always a disappointment, never as good as they should be, because nobody hit with runners on base.
Now this. Overbay is on a course to hit 20-25 homeruns and hit .255 - which is about what we'd get from Mark Teixeira (OK, maybe 30-35 and .240). Hafner would smack 30, and Wells, 35 - but folks, it aint gonna happen, because in another month, Joe Girardi will be rationing ABs like bottled water after an earthquake. As for David Adams? He'll be back on the DL - the Demoralized List - in Scranton, with Brennan Boesch, Corbin Joseph, Vidal Nuno, Austin Romine and maybe Eduardo Nunez.
In about two weeks, Teixeira and Kevin Youkilis return. Shy of a suspicious series of airport restroom accidents, there is no way Overbay can stay a Yankee. We will salute him as he walks out the door - to Boston, Baltimore or Tampa, wherever - knowing that the most serendipitous Yankee acquisition since Aaron Small - the girl we've come to love - will soon play against us. And then... what will we become?
The old baseball rule says you can't lose your job to an injury. I accept that. It's not Teixeira's fault that his wrist popped. But the old pessimistic fan in me says Tex will come back slow, cost us a few games, then finally start hitting and - pop - there's goes the wrist, and this time, he'll need an operation.
Same with Youk. It's not his fault that his back feels like he sleeps on a bed of nails. But the old doomsdayer in me says he'll come back slow, cost us a few games, then finally start hitting and - ohhh - this time, gone for the season.
A-Rod? You know the drill. By then, David Adams will have languished in Scranton for two months, and whatever magic this team captured in May - well - we can remember it and smile in September.
It's amazing: I am literally dreading the return of the superstar Mega-Yankees.
Last night, Curtis Granderson came up in a critical situation. In his signature move, he struck out on a 3-2 pitch that was above his nose, then marched skillfully back to the dugout, shaking his head. By my estimation, we have about 150 Grandy strikeouts to track through between now and October. Each will be more maddening than in the past, because he'll be taking ABs from Hafner and Wells. For a while, we'll have seen another option.
I don't claim to know what Cashman can do. Frankly, this has been his greatest spring as a general manager. For us fans though, the Yankees have always been an affair of the heart. That's why we are so irrational and impulsive. I make no excuses for my rants and behavior. But this is one pain I can see coming. We're about to have our hearts broken.