Howl

I saw the best seasons of my generation destroyed by indifference, uncaring stupid selfish
heirs who have done nothing looking to convert the last angry rat turd into yet another dollar,
lickspittle office politicians burning for their Cooperstown fix who cannot tell a pitcher from a toxic poisoned glass of water,
and hire clueless, idiot managers content to sit on Fenway benches and dribble away the last innings of a once proud pitcher...

—Hoss Ginsberg

Sigh.

I could go on.  But I won't.  Save to say that this looks like it will be another of those years.

2004, 2005, 2006, 2007...oh, how they flew by!...2010, 2011, 2012...2017, 2018...

One after another in which the Yanks had a real contender, but didn't even make the World Series because of the same damned thing in the end:  they were short a pitcher.

Sometimes a reliever.  Usually a starter.  Or two, or three.

Even the 2009 team was scraping through by the skin of a blistered forefinger at the end.  Down to three starters because they wouldn't take a flyer on Pedro.  They were lucky enough to get one good year out of Burnett, and Pettitte was able to pitch on short rest in the Series, or they would have lost that one, too.

The pitchers they could've had over the last few years?

Scherzer
Verlander
Sale
Cole
Corbin
Keuchel

Didn't need all six.  Two or three, or maybe even one would've done.

So, instead of a nice romp to the flag, we are going to get yet another Eliza-chased-across-the-ice stretch run.  Chased by wolves.  Wolves with shotguns.  Wolves with shotguns and wings.

Maybe they'll hold on to first and maybe they won't, but in any case it's not a team that will get past the ALDS.  Again.

I would howl.  But I'd rather have a drink.  HAL and Coops and Ma ain't worth a good howl.