Time to Resolve the Toe.

 

Readers of a certain age will recognize the kicker to the left as Lou "The Toe" Groza, the last original Cleveland Brown.

A left tackle, at 6-3, 240 pounds, Groza was only a little smaller than Aaron Judge's troublesome digit. But he was most famous for being the team's placekicker until he was 44 years old, setting league records for most points scored, and longest field goals.

Which brings us to our own Toe.

Last night's loss to a floundering Mets team (Is there any other kind?) can hardly be attributed to the lack of a toe alone. 

All the usual devils were there: a down night for another woefully inconsistent starter, appalling play in the field, and—most disturbing of all—a strange flatness and lack of urgency in such a big game. Truly, this is not only one of the most disappointing Yankees teams of the past 60 years, but also one of the most unlikable.

Worst of all was the hitting—perhaps understandable against a veteran great like Justin Verlander; inexplicable against the Mets' ragged bullpen corps, right down to old friend Adam "They don't call him zero for nothing" Ottavino.  

Your New York Yankees are now batting .230, sinking slowly toward the 1968 Yanks' (non-pitcher) mark of .224. Incredibly, this Yankees team is now below that of the 1968 team in (non-pitcher) on-base percentage, .302 to .303.

There are many reasons for this, of course, all of which start with "Brian Cashman." But one thing it's far past time for the Yankees to resolve is the Case of the Missing Toe. 

This is, again, not to cast any aspersions on Aaron Judge's gameness. I am sure he is dutifully following every recommendation by the Yankees' crack(ed) medical staff. 

To which I have to say...C'mon!

I will not bore you with more stories about how The Mick, or The Great DiMaggio limped back on the field with suppurating wounds and hit game-winning home runs...although they kinda sorta did.

In 1963, a year when he was Judge's age of 31, Mantle was off to a great start when he broke his left foot trying to climb a seven-foot-high, wire fence in Baltimore's dreary old Memorial Stadium, on June 5th. (Idiotic fences are a long MLB tradition.) 

He reportedly cried with frustration, knowing that it would ruin his season. And sure enough, The Mick did not get back into it until 61 games later, on August 4th...when he literally hobbled to the plate, and pinch-hit a three-run, line-drive, game-tying home run against the Orioles in the Bronx, a blow that also left him in tears.

Reportedly, Mantle "wasn't sure how he made it around the bases." The game was later won in the 12th by Yogi, part of the Yankees' catching tandem that year with MVP Elston Howard. (Not quite Higgy and Trevino.)

But I digress.

What do I know from toes? I will leave such medical expertise to The Warbler (sadly un-heard-from of late).  For all I know, the toe is a mangled mess, gangrenous and painful just to gaze upon.  

Sure, I have the sneaking feeling that everyone of those linemen trying to block or protect Groza's kick, above—and probably The Toe himself—had two or three such toes simply taped together. But that's not the point.

It's time to resolve this, so that this Yankees team is no longer caught in a toe jam (sorry). Tape it, cushion it, and get Judge back out there, at least as a DH—or cut call the whole thing off. Really. 

If he's not going to play, end the suspense. Send him in, now, for whatever dire surgery he needs and let him start resting up for 2024. Finally call up the long-suffering Florial.  

But of course, this won't get done. Like the subjects of some magical realist writer from South America, the main purpose of Brian Cashman is never TO get things done. In that sense, Aaron Judge must be his favorite player:  always providing him with a ready-made excuse, always on "a timeline to return."