The poormouth 2022 Yankees banked $344.7 million from ticket sales alone.

Last year, the Yankee Death Star took in $344.7 million in ticket sales, according to the team's regulatory filing with the People's Republic of New York, (as reported by Sportico.)  

Mull that number. Three hundred, forty four million, seven hundred thousand dollars and no cents. For starters, it's not some Ouija board estimate from Bleacher Report. It's a legal notation, calculated and filed by Hal Steinbrenner's bean-counters, who are presumably every bit as skilled in hiding money as the reptilian launderers of Silicon Valley and Trump Tower. 

Nearly $350 million... in ticket sales alone.

Chew on that. The number doesn't include income from $30 t-shirts, $15 hot dogs, $10 beers, $12 parking spaces, the untold millions from W.B. Mason and Geico TV ads, all those in-game blurbs that John and Suzyn must read (and God help them with the new ticking time clock) plus whatever rivers of income that can be squeezed from the category known as Miscellaneous.  (Who will sell "the official pot of the Yankees?")

The upshot? All those horrible luxury taxes, those unholy payments, which ruin poor Hal's life every day, that cause him so much grief? Well, he shoulda beaten Brendan Frasier for Best Actor. 

If Hal's dreaded Yankee payroll, in all its bloated magnitude, reaches $270 million, it's still $50 million shy of what the team rakes in on FUCKING TICKET SALES ALONE. 

Now, let's note that the Steinbrenner family owns about half of YES. At this point, the numbers become meaningless. What's "infinity plus one?" They transcend our Neanderthal capabilities of comprehension. Who wants to debate an Excel spreadsheet when the matter at hand is Willie Calhoun?

That said, never kid yourselves when the team pulls out its pockets and rattles the cup. The incomes of Aaron Judge, Gerrit Cole, Carlos Rodon, et al, are dwarfed by an avalanche of money in which every owner wallows, as they squawk about the excessive costs of pitching, pitching, pitching... 

I should note that some of that ticket income was ghost sales: It included $73 million in tickets sold for the entire Yankee postseason. As you may recall, the team did not play an entire Yankee postseason. It sold tickets for 11 home games, but thanks to Houston and Ryan McBroom, the Yankees hosted only five. Thus, they must give back about, what?, um, $35 million? Tough times.

It's tiring, having to remind ourselves, now and then, of what a giant bullshit-grinding machine that MLB has become. They own us, due to heartstrings stemming from our childhoods, bonds we can never break. They control our emotions, and they play us like fiddles. When Brian Cashman trades for -  say - a Harrison Bader, part of his rationale always stems from the player's "team-friendly" contract. The Yankees are always obsessed with control of their payroll, but they are merely playing a parlor game. 

Hal keeps payroll low because - well - it's more challenging! It's more fun! If it turns out that - say - Frankie Montas is damaged goods, maybe that's why his former team traded him, eh? Perhaps it wasn't Cashman's genius in coaxing a great pitcher from dumbass Oakland. Maybe the A's simply saw it as time to shed the hot potato. 

For all their egotistical overspending, owners like the Mets' Steve Cohen and that private equities guy in San Diego - grandson of Walter O'Malley, I should note - they cannot lose, no matter what. 

If every Yankee was Aaron Hicks, the team would still make money. 

Manny Machado and Bryce Harper remain living monuments to Hal's fundamental cheapness. They came to New York, knocking on the door. The Yankees hid from them, even though they couldn't lose. Never forget that. Now, about Willie Calhoun...