Judge is gone. Good.

 

I don't mean it's a good thing that we won't get to see Aaron Judge until...who knows when, if ever. 

Last season, he gave us the greatest single year that I have ever witnessed, and—almost unbelievably—this year he upped his game. Before crashing through that Dodger Stadium fence, he had been playing like something out of boys' storybooks, smashing home runs and doubles seemingly at will, leaping high over—or through!—any fence to take away another sure hit.

On the field and off, Aaron Judge has been a delight, a rare pro athlete who seems to love what he does, and throws himself at the game with full abandon.  

And what happened to him is yet another in an endless line of moronic club owners letting their players get folded, spindled, and mutilated because they will not take the same care with their fields of dreams that your average playground director does with the see-saws and merry-go-rounds.  

Wee Willie Keeler getting hung up on some barbed wire used to separate a bleacher, Earl Combs and Pistol Pete Reiser shortening brilliant careers by hitting walls before the owners could figure out to lay down warning tracks, Joe DiMaggio AND Mickey Mantle AND Elliot Maddox injuring themselves by stepping on outfield sprinkler heads, Dustin Fowler leaving his future on a Chicago utility box thoughtfully strapped to the outside of a wall on the playing field...on and on it goes, and stupider and stupider ,the more money the owners shell out to have these wonderful athletes clipping coupons on their dime.

Money, it has often been said, is wasted on the rich. Given to a major-league club owner, it might as well be ripped up and flushed down a toilet.

But I digress.

It is good, at least, that we finally have an answer (of sorts) to what has happened to Judge, and what the future holds. Time to stop pretending that this awful Yankees team only has to squeak into the Manfred Mann All-You-Can-Eat Breakfast Playoffs and then who knows what can happen???

Time to stop pretending that we fans are forcing you to sign up great stars, of which the Yankees now have exactly none. Time to use the rest of this wretched season to at least find out who can do what going forward.

Start by sending Josh "Gepetto" Donaldson back to his home woodworking shop. No need to watch Mr. Fun Times spend the rest of the year fanning the breeze and bobbling easy grounders. I would say the same about Big G, but we know that's not going to happen. Instead, play him. Play him in the field, every day, until his swing comes around or—much, much more likely—he pulls something.

For goodness sakes, get rid of Gleyber Torres already! If he doesn't really want to get up for games, there's no reason we should make him. There must be some playoff contender we can con into taking him.

Then see what we got. Move Volpe to second or third, tell him to stop swinging for the fences and try to hit line drives, and let the little dog loose to steal whenever he makes base. Bring up Peraza, for cryin' out loud, and plant him at shortstop. I suspect Cabrera is already a lost cause, but play him—somewhere—everyday for the rest of the season, then make a decision. I'm sure by now he can make the drive to Scranton and back blindfolded.

Trade both Trevino and Higgy for what you can get, and bring up Biceptvedt and Austin Wells, the part-time parmigiana coach, from the minors. Past time to see if we have a catcher in the damned system. Put Billy McKinney in right field until he absolutely falls apart.  And for the love of God, bring up Estevan Florial!!!

Anybody and everybody else who might help, the same. See what we have. Then make a plan to improve. Make two plans to improve, in the immediate and long-term futures.

This is how successful businesses work. Time for the Yanks to try it, instead of yanking us around.