FIFTY THOUSAND MOONS

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Pirela Is Potash






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.




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