Once Again, Cashie Got Played.

 

SNY was reporting last night that Aaron Judge and his wife being "caught" visiting San Francisco a week ago was apparently a "staged" incident—staged for the benefit of you-know-who.

The network also reported that the Yankees are highly suspicious about the timing of the Time (the timing of the Time?) article, in which Judge expressed his (mild) displeasure about Cashman deciding to negotiate in the media last spring, in order to put more pressure on him. 

In that piece, of course, Judge also remembered fondly his old dreams of playing for the Giants and living in their native, Northern California with his then college sweetheart (and now wife).

There was also, of course, his sudden visit, swooping in to listen to San Diego's offer—an offer he swiftly rejected, even though it was reportedly the highest on the table.

Huh. What a surprise. Brian Cashman, Master Negotiator, General Manager for Life—Cooperstown Cashman—got played once again by a Yankee great. 

The last time, of course, was when Derek Jeter, in his short tenure as Marlins GM, deftly placed the millstone known as Giancarlo Stanton around his neck, even as Cashie was bragging all over the press box about what a great deal he had pulled off, and what an incompetent boob Jeter was.

At least, this time Coops was played for "good," by a ballplayer who was willing to leave money on the table to return to New York. I know, I know: signing a contract for $360 million is not exactly a sterling example of selflessness. But it WAS one more indication that he wanted to be here, which is a nice shout out to the fans. Some anchorwoman on the local, CBS News was practically chirping with delight over the fact that Judge—and Samantha, his wife—wanted to be in New York.

Have we really got that desperate?  

But never mind. What Judge's maneuverings spoke to were, once again the street smarts of a player who has always seemed smart as hell on the field, as well as a rock of emotional stability under the white-hot glare of the New York spotlight.

So a bunch of rich idiots in their playoff seats booed him. So what? Judge was smart enough and mature enough to know that wasn't New York. 

He was also able to figure out that while San Francisco has a lovely ballyard, it isn't built for right-handed sluggers, and that while he would have been part of a new, Murderers' Row down in San Diego, a park named after a pet food company—and a town, nice as it seems, where the leading cultural attraction is the aquarium—isn't really the proper stage for a legend in the making.  

All to the good. There are, of course, no guarantees as to how Judge or the Yankees will actually fare over the next nine years. There's no pre-determination in baseball. 

But again, it bodes well that Judge was canny enough and stable enough—in a time of Kyrie Irvings and Aaron Rodgerses—to keep his temper, keep his wits, and help not only himself but the organization he wanted to play for. That speaks well of him, not only as a competitor, but a teammate.

Chances are, Brian Cashman will never understand just how much tsuris Judge spared him over the rest of his life. And no doubt, Hal Steinbrenner will go on thinking he's hit a triple, after being born on third base. 

Who cares? We got Judge! The real talent, and the real man, on the New York Yankees.