Done

Watching I.C.S. Sanchez's at-bat in the third was when I snapped.  For good.

It was when Toronto's rookie, who we had raked over the coals in his first start against us, threw a 94-mph fastball to I.C.S.—and he could not catch up to it.  I mean, he could not catch up to it like I could not catch up to Secretariat running the Belmont Stakes.

I mean it was like that pitch came by instagram, and he was riding Pony Express.

Then, two pitches later, living up the Yankees' most sacred dictum of hitting, Sanchez "dared to take a third strike," on a ball right down the middle.

That was it.  That was when I knew I wanted this awful excrescence of a ballplayer out of pinstripes and off my television set forever.

I.C.S.'s strikeout came with men on second and third and two out.  He followed it up with two groundouts and, yes, ANOTHER strikeout with a man on second in the 8th, in an at-bat that could have tied or won the game.

Today's Daily Pineapple was hardly the fault of I.C.S. alone.  It was a complete team meltdown.

But at it's heart was Gary Sanchez.

I know the logic of keeping him is impeccable.  I have argued that myself.  There is no way we can get much of anything for him in his current, zombie state.  I know that.

I don't care.  I'm beyond logic.

I know much of what is wrong with him is what is wrong with the whole rest of this rapidly deteriorating team, and that when we do get rid of him, he could excel again somewhere else.

Let him.  Then at least he would be, somewhere else.

I don't know if Gary Sanchez's problem is mental or physical.  I don't know if it's the result of a bruja's curse, or going off the roids that actually got him this far in professional baseball.  I don't know if he is really a stranded alien presence, or is suffering from Lou Gehrig's Disease.

I don't care.  (All right, I would care if he had a fatal disease.  But he don't.)

I just want him gone.

Yet ANOTHER starter who can no longer catch up to even a mediocre, MLB fastball?   Whose idea of getting made is standing there and taking the next strike down the middle?

No.  No more.  Get out, go.  Hie thee hence.  You have sat too long for any good you may have done.  Get thee to nunnery.  Get out of Denver baby go.  Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?

I pledge to you, I pledge to the American people, that if I am ever watching another Yankees game and I.C.S. Sanchez comes to the plate I will turn off the TV set, change the channel, or leave the room.

Done.