Monday, May 25, 2015
Posted by el duque at 7:44 AM
An old team, hoping for miracles, watching the glaciers melt, waiting for a savior to rise up from Trenton, or Charleston, or the Dominican Summer League. We still have those 27 world championships, but it backfires to remind Redsock fans about them. They laugh at us. We're still the team of Bernie, and Mariano, and the Captain... but the gods only appeareth on special annointments, which are carefully orchestrated and monetized by management. These days, it's hard to be a Yankee fan and not be cynical. Or haunted.
Our greatest hope is the top-to-bottom, infused mediocrity of the AL East. As John Sterling repeatedly noted last night, we've played terribly, but we're still only a game and a half behind Tampa. But that's a dangerous balancing act. One of these days, Boston or Baltimore will get hot. If a team runs away from an AL East cess pool, the Wild Card will not be an option.
Jacoby Ellsbury went out last Tuesday with a sprained knee. We have yet to win without him.
Our two front line starters - Michael Pineda and CC Sabathia - were both pummeled by Texas, a team that came to NY reputed to be among the worst in baseball.
Last night, our lineup featured nobody hitting above .279. And Brian McCann left with leg cramps.
Chris Young has turned back into a Met pumpkin. Jose Pirela has been just awful - which means he fits in seamlessly at second-base. We've been reduced to hoping that Garrett Jones will get hot - Garrett Jones (whose 2 hits last night lifted his average to .217.) We can tell ourselves that it can't get worse, but it can. One of these days, we're going to wander into a spooky old house. God help us if we go into the basement.