Chronicle of a Death Foretold

 

Ah, why is that Black Swan always right? It must be the Einstein of birds.

But this one was predictable. Indeed, we all predicted it. Setback Luis Severino, down again.

I was surprised to see that some of my brethren here never liked Setback Sevvy. I loved him. By his third year in the show, he was one of the best pitchers in the major leagues, finishing third in the AL Cy Young race. By the next season, 2018, he was even better, the ace of the staff.

That year, as the Yanks came charging up the standings, chopping 7 1/2 games off the lead of the streakin', cheatin', BoSox, it seemed as though there really might be another dynasty. On July 1, our boys slugged the Carmine Hose in a Sunday night game at the Stadium, 11-1, leaving them tied for first after exactly half the season. The Yanks were 54-27, and their potential looked eliminated.

But in that game, too, you could practically call the pitch when Sevvy's career went from gold to dross, unlimited to marginal. 

In the 7th inning, with the Yanks up 9-0, Sevvy was cruising. He'd allowed only 3 walks and 2 bangles, and struck out 6. He got the first two outs of the 7th, too, inducing Rafael Devers and Brock Holt to bounce into routine groundouts. He'd only thrown 99 pitches, and Christian Vazquez, the Sox' right-handed, light-hitting catcher was up.

But all of a sudden, Sevvy was out of the game and Dave Robertson was in. No explanation, and the Yanks were mum about it the next day. But it soon became obvious that Luis was hurt.

Before that game, Sevvy was 13-2, with a 1.98 ERA. The rest of the way, he was 6-6, 6.19, and in the playoffs he was obliterated by Boston.

The Yanks said that he was tipping his pitches. The Yanks said that he inexplicably showed up late for that playoff game in Boston. 

They lied about this, of course. They lied about it just as Brian Cashman's front office lies about everything, all the time, and especially the injuries that his incompetent staff constantly allows to happen and constantly fails to fix. 

Persisting in that lie, the Yanks—Cashman—gave Sevvy a huge new contract after the 2018 season, which with the option year has now amounted to almost $56 million. A contract like that, for a guy who supposedly can't hide his pitches and shows up late for a key playoff game?

Obviously, he was hurt. But Brian Cashman, who hopes for good things to happen like a desperate child, thought coughing up the big bucks would change reality.

Well, reality is a stubborn thing. For all that money, Sevvy's won exactly 9 regular-season games, and gone 0-2 in the postseason. And now he's hurt again.

For all of the other things that have gone wrong since that July night at the Stadium—for all of Andujars and the Hickses, and the Gleybers and the Giancarlos, and the almost endless horror flick that was Chappie the Sweat Meister—obviously, Luis Severino was the heart of the Yankees, and they've never been the same since.

I don't blame Sevvy for this. I blame Brian Cashman. And as Dr. T. asked in a previous post comment—like Zola thundering "J'accuse!" during the Dreyfus Affair—when are Cashie and his minions EVER going to be held accountable?

The answer, of course, is the same for the question of, "When will the Yankees win again in our lifetimes?" 

Never.