Thursday, September 10, 2015
Posted by el duque at 6:21 AM
Insert horrible scream here.
All right, get a grip. One of the kinkier truths of the 2015 season is that the Yankee "baseball men," the gin-swollen golfers who cut the cards, generally did well. Give them credit: They discovered Didi Gregorius, Nathan Eovaldi, Andrew Miller, and the cast of Glee, also known as the bullpen. And yes, we are a mere fan-in-the-cheap-seats blog. What do I know? What does any of us know?
Well, we know this: As longtime and desperate Yankee fans, we remember the 14-year turd-barf, when the Yankee brain trust was fruited Jell-O, and our "baseball men" were merely 24/7, toady extensions of George Steinbrenner's sagging mental gonads. As a result, we shall never be able to simply sit back and accept their virtuous wisdom. My Yankees, right or wrong... if right, to bat left, and if wrong, then for Godsake, scream bloody murder at the bozos who signed Pavano and Igawa.
So... I won't say the name. Let's call him Big Muddy. We saw what happened last night. The game bounced off his glove and hit him in the chin. It floated through his legs into right-center field. On YES, Paul O'Neill - apparently in some drug delirium - opined that Chase Headley had thrown him "a change-up" on the slow lob, which would have ended the inning. That's like saying Attila the Hun was "not quite himself" when he raped half the Asian continent. Last night, Big Muddy went one-for-two, raising his average to .205. That's about as good as it's going to get. Two weeks ago, we thought we saw a glimmer. Now, infield pop ups and grounders to second. And the big fool says to push on.
Listen: I don't like drilling for Yankee scapegoats. Believe me, it's no fun. The 2015 Yankees have come a long way, exceeded expectations, and obviously, Big Muddy has the support of his manager and teammates. That says something about loyalty, team spirit and his personal character. I get that. But it's been five frickin' months, patiently waiting for hope. We all figured that, at a certain point, Big Muddy would learn to bunt or hit to left, where the defense doesn't even bother to play. We figured it would improve. Or at least, that he would field his position well.
Insert barf here.
I'm starting to think the entire 2015 season has been an elaborate, reality TV show practical joke on Rob Refsnyder. Poor kid. He had a nice spring training, was dropped to Scranton and got off to a terrible start in the field. An error every game. He settled down, started hitting, raised his average to .300, and message boards were full of fans who said he was doing all right in the field. The Yankees brought him up for a then-critical series in Boston. He homered to win a game. The team said publicly that he was going to get a shot after the All-Star break. Apparently, he didn't bow and scrape to the right guy. After one series, he was demoted. From there, demoralized, he went into a deep slump. It's the Frankie Cervelli Story, all over again - but with one difference: Instead of having Brian McCann to play the position, the Yankees are pushing on with Big Muddy.
Well, last night, Big Muddy swallowed us, alive. Here come the Blue Jays. The Big Fool says to push on. Like, what other choice do we have? At this point, none.
But here's an essay question for the "baseball men:"
How does a team with a $200 million payroll and a supposedly rising farm system go an entire calendar year with a so-so fielder who barely hits .200?
Neck deep in the Big Muddy.