FIFTY THOUSAND MOONS
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Posted by Alphonso at 8:57 AM
Last night I tuned in Pirela (on the YES network), recently recycled from anthracite country.
In the spring, before he hit the wall ( I can't use the term, " so to speak " here), Pirela was an aggressive, confident hitter.
After working with the 6 batting-specialist coaches on the Yankees, he is now a fearful hitter, praying for a walk.
The first pitch to him ( the Yanks were leading 3-1 and had one or two on base), was a fastball, mid center of the plate. Pirela let it go for strike one. In the spring, in Tampa, he would have crushed it for a double. Okay, I rationalized, he wants to get a read on the pitcher.
The second pitch was at eye level, and he fouled it off. " A bit over-anxious," I gasped.
The final pitch of this at-bat was that same first pitch fastball right down the middle, which he looked at ( meekly, I might add ) and sat down, ending any hopes of a Yankee rally. One of the most
ineffective at-bats you will ever see in the major leagues.
This is no longer a kid with dangerous at-bats. A kid who is going to make hard contact every time. A kid you don't want to see with runners on base. A kid looking for fastballs and hammering them somewhere.
This is now a scrap heap player with no future. He is slag. He is potash.
Send him back and forget about him.