The Rip Van Winkle Team

So there we were, a bold young Yankees team, starting off on the morning of this new dynasty with our dog, Wolf, and a whole slew of brilliant young prospects.

But then, see, we got waylaid by this strange little gnomish man with a twinkle in his eyes.  Perhaps he was asking us for help hauling a cask of mysterious spirits up into the hills.  More likely, it was a freezer full of ice cream sandwiches.

Anyway, next thing you know, we're waking up with a long white beard, the dog's gone, and our head  (or stomach, or hamstring) hurts something awful.

All of which is a very roundabout, New York, Old North River way of saying...how the hell did this Yankees team get so old???

Take a look at them on any given night, and half of this squad looks like it can barely dodder around out there.  Neil Walker is having a terrific season—for an 80-year-old.

Gardner can't even pick up balls in the outfield anymore, much less hit anything with his patented, "Maitre d' Swing," designed to kill any and every rally with the level efficiency of the head waiter sweeping that little crumb-catching, metal device across your table top.

"Oh, the bases are full of runners?  Pardon, let me sweep all that out of the way, monsieur."

CC, for all his guile, can barely get through an inning against the worst-hitting teams in baseball anymore without allowing 2-3 runners.  We would be insane to re-up him.  But then, every other starter on this team seems unable to go six innings either.

Even our young players look old.  The Gleyber fumbles around out there and can't score from third on a wild pitch, Bird has turned into a statue, and Stanton looks like an old man.

I know, I know.  It's getting toward the end of the season, and the small hurts mount up, and this team might look altogether different if the likes of Judge, Didi, Clint Frazier, and even Old Sancho were out there, uninjured.

But didn't we start this season with literally 10 outfielders?  And 9-10 infielders?  Sure, the starting pitching was always a little thin, but didn't we have the Packed Bullpen of Death?

And wasn't it just LAST SEASON that we had maybe the best farm system in baseball, with our teams finishing first at almost every level of the minor leagues?

That was, either, all a mirage, or we have traded away the future for a handful of magic Happ and Hapless beans.  Either way, it reflects damned badly on our GM...who has, come to think of it, been known to dress up like a very suspicious, elfin creature...

This gets back to the whole problem of Cashman deciding—on the basis of one, very nice playoff run—that he had essentially finished his Team of Destiny, and just had to add a few finishing flourishes.

Instead, as many of us have been raving for months, this season should have been full of the joys of bringing up young infielders, outfielders, and pitchers, and seeing how they did.

And maybe...they would have stunk up the joint.  But then at least we would have known—and we would have seen if Cashman knew anything about talent or not.

Instead, as El Duque noted, other rebuilding teams are already starting to sweep past us.  The White Sox, the Rays, the Atlanta Braves, the Phillies all suddenly have brighter futures.

Hell, if the real estate racket that runs the Mets sold the team tomorrow they would run us off the field by next season, having already secured the hardest part of rebuilding a club, which is putting in place a great young starting staff—something that Cooperstown Cashman can never, ever seem to come close to doing.

Cashman has managed to land us back in the place where HE feels most comfortable, which is where we have to buy up proven talent.  The huge contracts that he will throw at the likes of Manny and Bryce will, no question about it, eventually prove to be millstones around our organizational necks.

But hey, we have no choice now.  And even when those guys are in their late 30s, they could not possibly look any older than the Rip Van Winkles of all ages who we have out there now.