Sunday, April 15, 2018

We have reached a sort of weird, perfect balance

The sort of thoughts inspired by a second-straight rainout:

Right now, the Yankees are 7-7.

They have also scored 77 runs, and allowed 77 runs.

Weird, huh?

Beyond the obvious iconography relating to our own St. Mick, this should tell us something.

That 77 runs scored? It's fifth best in the American League. That 77 runs allowed? It's 11th best.

I agree with Alphonso that Giancarlo has been a big bust so far, and I agree with John M. that the increasing one-dimensionality of baseball is hurting the game, and hurting my enjoyment of it. Too many strikeouts, too many guys going for the long ball, all the time.

But even with this less than auspicious start, the facts are that our Twin Towers so far total 21 runs scored and 19 driven in.

They are not the big problem. Nor is our offense, in general—and let's face it: we excuse those players we like the best. Gary Sanchez has spent most of April sucking because there's too much pressure on him? C'mon.

I think there is a whole book to be written on what fans, managers, and GMs will do to excuse a fatal lack of...pitching.

In 1929, Miller Huggins blamed his team's fall from first all the way to second on their supposed preoccupation with playing the market.

The Yankees of that day, who aside from Ruth were paid mostly in stale moon pies and jumping jacks, scored 899 runs in 154 games, and had a team ERA of 4.19. Hmm, I wonder what went wrong?

This century, we heaped all the troubles of the world on the shoulders of Alex Rodriguez because he was, well, such a twit. While in the very definition of insanity, we kept sending the Jaret Wrights, Kevin Browns, Javier Vazquezes and Carl Pavanos of the world out to the mound and expecting better results.

Our problem in 2018, thus far, isn't that we don't do enough situational hitting, though it's true that we don't. It's that we don't have a starting pitcher who can throw six innings.



2 comments:

13bit said...

And if the gods demanded a ground testicle-burger as an offering, who on the 40-man roster would step forward?

There is no joy in Mudville. Our pitching staff stands on clay feet. Our "relief" is tenuous, at best.

We will make a run at some point, but all we can do now is strap on our diapers and let the flagellation continue.

There are no more answers. There are no more questions. There is only the second hand, slowly ticking.

ranger_lp said...

7's are wild...