Mad Men.

 

Thanks to some friends and my amazing mensch of a brother-in-law, I was at the game yesterday, ensconced in the obscene, eve-of-the-Revolution Legends Suite. 

(Note on this: it is IMPOSSIBLE to order just one(1) lobster tail here. When I tried, they swept 4 on my plate. Hey, I tried, all right? And I have nothing to say about the sliced steak. Except: delicious.)

In attendance was Jon Hamm, who was incredibly friendly and obliging when it came to the continuous requests for pix and handshakes. He just seemed to be having fun hanging out, drinking beer—and rooting for the Yankees.

To our delight, he went back into the lounge when the section was cleared for "lightning warnings" during the rain delay...and waited it out, going back out when the game resumed, and staying right through DJ's walk-off.  He acted, at least, like a regular guy throughout. (Here he is taking a pic with a couple of my friends.)

The real Mad Men, as usual, were your New York Yankees.

Hey, I can't kick. It was a very entertaining game, even with the rain delay—and not even taking into account the Wall of Candy in the Legends Suite. But the whole contest was also a microcosm of everything we've gnashed our teeth and rent our garments about all season—and beyond.

It was true, as Hammer noted, that the Blue Jays played this contest as if it were the seventh game of the World Series. Yes, I would have preferred to see Judge get a few whacks at the ball. But that is their right, and in the past, we would have considered it an homage to our greatness.

The really weird part is that your New York Yankees—currently tied for first in the AL East and, at 14.2 percent, considered the second most-likely team in the majors to win the World Series, according to baseball reference (yesterday they were at 15.8 percent and the most likely, but after winning another game those computer odds dropped. Don't ask.)—did not play with any such agency or concern.

Again and again, our Napoleon of the Dugout played as if he had a 10-game lead, and the Yanks' July of Horrors was just a distant memory.

A few highlights: 

—"Seems like old times..."

Ah, it took me back to the halcyon days of 2018, watching Giancarlo fail again and again and again and again with runners on base. 

The Yanks left 13 men on base yesterday—and Cantrun personally stranded 9 of them. Through just 7 innings! A perverse part of me was hoping he would get into double digits. But no, he led off the 9th...and grounded meekly to shortstop.

Bases loaded, one out bottom of the first:  fouled out to the first baseman.

Men on second and third, two out, bottom of the third: weak groundout to first.

Bases loaded, two out, bottom of the fifth: struck out. 

Judge on second, one out, bottom of the seventh: grounded to second.

I agree with our Peerless Leader, now on leave. If Stanton can not manage so much as a flyball or a single against pitchers with ERAs in the fours and fives, he shoulda stayed in Scranton. 

—"Leave it to Gleyber."

Again, the perversity of the Yankees: acquiring a guy who actually has a lot of experience playing second...and placing him on third. Jazz actually made some nice stops on hard-hit balls and stole a key base. But he is rapidly reverting to (mediocre) form at the plate. And why penalize poor Oswaldo, who did seem to be coming around?

But no, nothing can stand in the way of playing one of Cashman pet projects—Torres—until he drags us all the way down to hell.

—Grisham.

The back-up outfielder, not the novelist. First, of course, if you're a defensive outfield replacement, you cannot make one of the worst, most inexcusable errors of the year (on the Yankees, now a growing list—and one that is once again due mostly to inexcusable inattention). 

Yet, even after that, Grishie was sent up twice, in crucial situations late in the game. No, he didn't have a bad day at the plate—for Trent Grisham: a run-scoring ground-out, a lead-off single, and a good bunt. And I don't want to see Flopsie Vertigo out there anymore than the rest of you.

But how bizarre is it that your New York Yankees are not only starting a centerfielder who is hitting .184, but don't have anyone on the bench they feel confident in pinch-hitting for him with the game on the line? This is the perfect, Cashman-Boone gold medal in Synchronized Sucking.

—Holmes.

Not his worst outing of the season—that would take some doing—but the man was about one foot and one excellent Judge catch from giving up a game-losing grand-slam to the Jays' fire plug of a catcher,  the wonderfully monikered, Alejandro Kirk. As it was, it brought in the tying run.

I'm sorry to say, Sherlock is not even dependable as a set-up man. Yes, Mark Leiter, Jr., looked terrific, and the rest of our pen performed above expectations—against Toronto's scrubeenie lineup. 

Once again, Cashie has failed to address this team's real needs, in either the off-season or down the stretch. Don't get fooled by our bashing of tomato cans this month. This is not a Yankees team with even a 14.2-percent chance of winning the World Series.