Friday, July 11, 2014


I told you.

I told you more than once.

A murky and lasting malaise has swallowed the 2014 Yankees like a ground fog on the moors.  If you have not already guessed, I, the black swan, am the messenger of this doom.

Now, half a season in, only Kuroda remains from the starting rotation.  Soon, even his great warrior code will sink beneath my spell.  The heart has been pierced.

Cashman has the green light to trade anyone and everyone for no one.   Our dim future becomes blacker once he pulls the trigger.  Think of the few Yankee prospects you have heard complimented.  Consider them gone.  Another old and beaten no name arrives, for years and years.

Ineptitude builds upon itself and flourishes now, like a plague.  And it is catching.  The cure is there, but no one sees it. No one acts.  Time continues its path of destruction.

Let's be honest about Tanaka ;  he is done.  Girardi blew his arm out.  I watched him do it and laughed at his rhetoric.  I encouraged his excuses, his dopey rationale.   Tsk, tsk.

Note to Joe;  once every 4-5 days in the majors is not the same as once a week in Japan.
Do the math you dolt !

When Tanaka comes back, the Yankee stink-weed swamp will still be murky and dangerous.  He will have trepidation.  Rightly so.  Dr. Andrews will have to fish him out of the muck.  Then surgery, then rehab, then the long anticipated return to Yankee stadium, then more tweaks and stints on the DL, then obscurity.

He, like Pineda, is soon to be folklore. Count on it.  Count on it.

The best young pitcher the Yankees bought in two decades;  reduced to torn ligaments. Reduced to ineffectiveness.  Reduced, worse, to sameness.  Jim Miller speaking Japanese.

 And for what?  To, with luck, make the one game play-in?  To feign progress?

There is no future here.  All is dark.  All is quicksand and lack of oxygen.  No one breathes here.

Move on.

This is my territory now.

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