FIFTY THOUSAND MOONS
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Posted by el duque at 6:57 AM
It's easy. All you need to do is wait for the Bronx Boredoms to score two runs, and then announce, "That's our show, thanks for coming, Miami Beach is the greatest audience in the world! Goonight, everybody!"
Listen: It's not even May 1, and I'm ready to shout MAYDAY. I am already sick of this team, this season, and this insufferable, Godot-like wait for some ray of hope. Every team we face unveils a 21-year-old rising star, the likes of whom - were he a Yankee - would generate apocalyptic 24-7 coverage by the YES mush machine. Instead, we're supposed to get excited about reclaiming scrap heap projects that have been kicked to the curb by their previous teams.
No. I take it back. We're supposed to sit happily and wait for A-Rod, Tex, CC, Headley, Ellsbury, Nova, et al, to start producing - even though it will only mean short term benefits if they do. It will mean we will justify burning another three months, as each climbs toward his concrete ceiling, which has been steadily caving in due to age and injuries. How many HRs does A-Rod hit this year? Twenty-five? With a batting average of .240? Is that our third hole DH? Each one deserves to shine in a supporting cast of emerging stars. Instead, they're packed like Syrian refugees into the same leaky boat, lost at sea and headed for collapse.
Worse, it's just so boring. The Yankees are a HR/K team in a HR/K sport. We score when someone hits a homer. Our pitcher dominate - lots of Ks - except for the occasional mistakes, which fly out of the park. Joe Girardi blames the over shift. The fans simply mourn the death of the adaptive player, the Lou Pinella or Roy White. They say you can't teach old dogs new tricks. At some point, you gotta put the dog down. Two runs a game. Last place. Mayday. Mayday. Mayday...