"And I scream from the top of my lungs: 'What's goin' on??!'"

 

With apologies to 4 Non Blondes.

What happened last night to Aaron Hicks was truly a sad thing, the gruesome end of a career for a generally likable person. Hicks has rarely been able to stay on the field for long, but he has played hurt for us, and played well. 

Who can forget that incredible, 2019 game in Minnesota, where, after his two-run, ninth-inning home run, he went all-out to catch a flyball in deep center with the bases loaded, diving and sliding on his stomach? 

That year, in the ALCS, he got off the bench despite being hurt—unlike somebody else we could name—and hit a game-winning home run to push the series back to Houston.

All right, at his very best, in 2018, Hicks...was just okay. Twenty-seven homers, 11 stolen bases, terrific fielding...and still hit just .248 and still missed 25 games.

Whatever. 

There's a bigger problem going on here, one that Kremlin-on-the-Harlem refuses to address and our somnolent sporting press refuses to look into.

Year after year, player after player, members of your New York Yankees simply implode. What looked like the next dynasty, an entire generation of dynamic young ballplayers...has just been annihilated.

I know, I know: promising young players come up, they flourish for a while, and then they fade, like so many violets in the fall. Or the summer. Or whenever violets fade. 

But this is ridiculous. Player after player not simply disappointing, but coming apart at the seams.

Greg Bird, first baseman of the future, has the greatest spring anyone has ever seen—then fouls a ball off his foot and can never hit a fastball again. Gary Sanchez looked like the best young catcher since Johnny Bench. Then—pooft! Gleyber Torres disappeared three years ago, and has barely been seen since. 

On and on it goes. Miguel Andujar is only just showing signs of life again, after years of injuries and slumps. Setback Sevvy is about to return from another setback—for how long? On and on it goes: the two Mikes, Tauchman and Ford. Tylers Kepner and Wade. Clint Frazier even changed his name. And now Hicks.

When they do go to other teams—a la Jordan Montgomery or Garret Cooper—they sometimes, mysteriously revive, or do better than they ever have.  Huh.  

Up they come, and down they go. Completely, totally—beyond repair. Injured, wrecked, physically, emotionally, psychologically,  to the point—as we saw last night—where they can't even remember the rules of the game.

Only the Judge—somehow—survives, and he's been through plenty of physical woes of his own.

Look, obviously something is wrong, even if Brian the Hutt refuses to tell us.

Remember the great "investigation" that Cashman told us he was going to make after (what was then) an extraordinary number of injuries in 2018? No?

Neither does anyone else, apparently—especially in the local papers. 

Obviously, there is something very, very wrong in the way that the Yankees train and coach ballplayers, in the minors and the majors, mentally and physically.

Is this part of the "3 True Outs" approach that is ruining the game? Is it some special nonsense dreamed up by The Rappelling Elf?

Past time we found out, though. Past time, especially, that some members of the working press took an interest in it.