The "Stuck Ball"

 For those of you who enjoy pure baseball( obviously that excludes Yankee fans ), last night's game 6 was historic. 

The game was tight  and runs were hard to come by.  The Dodgers scored three runs on four hits. pretty much all in one early inning (4th?).  Toronto had one run because Dodger pitcher Yamamoto was again brilliant. 

But he ran out of fuel after 6 innings of 1 run ball.  Toronto bats awakened.

With a runner on first, a Toronto dude laced a shot to deep left center... a certain double but, given the batter's speed, a likely triple.  Which meant the score would be 3-2 with a runner on third and no outs. 

But the ball ( much like the one pictured above )  lodged itself between the bottom of the left field wall and the turf.  Unmoving and stuck like chewing gum under a desk.  While Toronto teammates kept waving the runners home, the Dodger players froze and waved their hands in the air.  

Finally, an umpire held up two fingers and the " stuck ball" was ruled a ground rule double.  Just of note, it had never happened before.  This is not like a ball lost in the ivy in  Chicago, or a rebound off the roof in the old Tampa Bay Ray stadium.  

Never before, as in not once. I don't think anyone thought it possible.

In any event, Toronto had to return their runners to second and third ( still no outs ) and from there the gods dinged them badly.  And infield pop up, and then a sinking liner to left that the Toronto baserunner on second ( the hitter of the stuck ball ) misread, and which became a quick, game ending DP. 

Wow.  But you had to stay up late on the east coast. 

Watch game seven if you want to see real baseball. 

Sorry, everybody. I failed you.

 

Turns out that Aaron Boone was right under my nose, hiding in plain sight, and I did nothing. NOTHING. 

I could have talked with him. I might have been able to straighten things out. A piece of my mind...

But I did nothing. NOTHING. 

New York Yankees manager Aaron Boone was in attendance for Syracuse’s football game against North Carolina on Friday night in the JMA Wireless Dome. Boone was spotted after dining at a steakhouse in downtown Syracuse earlier in the week. Boone, who slipped on a Tar Heels hat while taking in the game from a lower-level end zone seat, has been popping up at North Carolina football games throughout the fall.

After tonight, the annual Cashman makeover begins anew

After tonight, we'll close the book on the torture chamber known as 2025. 

The exploding bullpen. Three LH catchers. The rise of Grisham. The fall of Volpe. The voice of the Yankees, David Sims. Another great - but wasted? - season for Aaron Judge. Another lost year for The Martian... 

We could go on. Let's not. Life is too short. That's Chinatown, Jake. That's baseball, Suzyn.

After tonight, it's the season of whatabouts. 

Whatabout Jazz? Whatabout Stanton? Whatabout Cole, Trump's ballroom, Katy Perry, the oceanic UAPs, the looming storms... whataboutchermama? 

After tonight, baseball belongs to the Dodgers' checkbook or Canadian pride. 

After tonight, the looming question of NYC becomes whether Trump will invade or just cut the food supplies - where's Snake Plisken? - if Mamdani, a Mets fan, wins.  

After tonight, we return to the sad, tiresome continuum of watching Brian Cashman remake the roster, via an algorithm. 

After tonight No... wait... today... it's November, the month of bacon fat skies and cold rain. Never does opening day feel farther away.

To celebrate Halloween, 10 great baseball nicknames that should have been for serial killers

 

(Originally run May 23, 2008)

Dr. K
Mr. October
The Barber
Captain Hook
The Vacuum Cleaner
Bonehead
Three Fingers
Nails
The Mad Hungarian
Blue Moon
The Yankee Clipper
No Neck

AN IIHIIFIIC HALLOWEEN WISH . . . .

 

REPEATEDLY TRICKED

AND

RARELY TREATED

THE

JOKES ON US

SO

OFTEN CHEATED

THE

IMP MUST GO

HE

MUST BE UNSEATED

.

.

.

BOØOØOØOØOØOØO !

After 20 years, Yanks/YES are cutting John Flaherty from the Booth of Sooth.

This week, Yankee/YES announcer John Flaherty got a pink slip and - perhaps - a new lease on life. 

After 20 years of lip-service within the Yankee/YES propaganda factory, Flaherty will go silent in 2026. His contract ran out, and the franchise will go with the younger Ryan Ruocco as utility back-up - sorta the Oswaldo Cabrera of the booth. 

The 2026 YES lineup will feature the Four Horsemen of the Pocked Lips: 

1. Michael Kay, the relentless, ever-churning, fake-outrage, word machine. 

2. Paul O'Neill, the jolly ex-jock and lover of the team.

3. David Coen, the celebrity everyman, who actually remembers the Violent Femmes.

4. Joe Girardi, the professor and master strategist.

Overall, the YES announcers are affable, experienced and always appreciative of the Steinbrenner family for paying them to talk. 

In retiring Flaherty, it's not as if the Yankees just disappeared Alexie Navalny. "Flash," as he was known, provided a kindly, self-depreciating voice of experience, similar to that of Ken Singleton, (who was retired in 2021.) Flaherty was a rarity - the ex-jock who mastered the art of play-by-play announcing - which in the modern Yankee era includes the art of gushing about a product that viewers have become increasingly sour of. 

The YES team will sternly criticize any player who fails to hustle, and it will directly challenge any backfiring move by manager Aaron Boone. But that's where the vinegar stops. Whatever Brian Cashman says or does is considered the final word on any matter. And the team verbally genuflects in the direction of anybody with the last name of Steinbrenner. 

That won't change. YES is the OAN of baseball. The Steinbrenners own the main media that covers them, and we will never again know a Red Barber or Joe Garigiola - (or even a John Sterling sometimes) - anybody with the clout to say what needs to be said. The closest we'll get - Jack Curry - is 15 years out from his days of actual journalism. Now and then, Kay climbs his soapbox to grandstand on an issue - but it's always safe, and it never touches the owner's box.    

I'll miss Flaherty. Over 20 years, he never disgraced himself, or for that matter, the Yankees. A 20-year run is longer than most announcers ever see. Dunno who will catch  the Old Timers Game, but since Mariano blew out his knee this summer, I doubt anybody cares. 

As for Flash, his reaction was the sorta classy nothing-burger you'd expect. He told The Athletic: 

“I was kind of prepared for it so I think that helped. It quickly went from, the reality that you are not going to be back to what a great run for 20 years to go right from retiring as a player to right into the booth in 2006 and stay with the same network for 20 years. I just became very grateful for what a long and great run it has been at YES and being connected with the Yankees all those years.”

Let's wish him the best. And maybe, next August, when everything is dull and tired... they bring him back for a series? 

Before the Yankees think of signing anybody, one question looms: What about The Martian?

Today's Athletic conjures up a thumb-sucker that argues the Yankees this winter should chase free agent OF Kyle Tucker, first and foremost, at the expense of Cory Bellinger, son of Clay. 

The article harkens back to the gilded era of Old George, when Trump was a harpy and the Bombers always signed their main free agent target. The modern reality: In modern bidding wars, the Yankees finish second. 

Still, the piece makes some points. The stats generally favor Tucker over Bellinger, and - at 28 - he's two years younger. Over a long-term deal, that could save us from a LeMahieu Redux. (And, by the way, isn't it sad that we remember DJ in such a manner?) 

Still, looming over any OF decision is a simpler question: 

Wither goeth Jasson Dominguez?

The Martian turns 23 in February. Last year, in 381 ABs, he hit .257 with 10 HRs and 23 SBs. (A nice surprise, he is really fast.) Unfortunately, he played left field like a sheet metal worker with a Peyronie's erection, so awkwardly that every pop fly became a terrorist plot. He looked so troubled, so worrisome, that it became reasonable, if not fashionable, to wonder if Dominguez is a Ron Bloomberg - a botched asset and career DH?

It's been eight years since he became the most expensive 16-year-old on the planet, so blessed with potential that he was nicknamed after a planet. 

In the next two months, the Yankees must decide whether The Martian has a future in the Bronx. 

Listen: His numbers for last year weren't puke-in-the-bucket horrible. (You want horrible: Anthony Volpe.) And Dominguez can spend the winter replaying his last plate appearance - a double to right center, as he pinch hit for the clinically depressed Volpe. But here's the rub:

Tucker is a corner outfielder. So is Aaron Judge. If they do sign Tucker, the Yankees would probably need a defense-first CF - (I believe Trent Grisham is gone to greener pastures) - and that's not Dominguez. It could be Bellinger, who can play CF. But what about The Martian? Do they sit on him for another year? Or do they trade their most hyped prospect for the 2020s? 

(At this point, we should mention Spencer Jones, the 24-year-old, 6'7" outfielder at Scranton. He looks like the Second Coming of Joey Gallo - the three true outcomes, most of which are Ks. Last year, at Double and Triple A, Jones hit .274 with 35 HRs. He led all Yankee farmhands in HRs. A hot spring would create havoc. The Yankees claim Jones is a fine fielding CF. Then again, they said Dominguez could play LF. We won't know until we see him.)

So, before anything happens, the Yankees must decide if The Martian is in their future. 

Should we have confidence in those who will make that decision? 

Yank fans love their captain, but the days for arguing he's better than Ohtani are over.

Little known factoid: When you pledge allegiance to the Yankees, you take a secret, sacred vow to argue to your death that Aaron Judge is the game's greatest player. 

Better than Vlad Jr. More valuable than Raleigh. Far superior to Juan Soso. The Best. By... um... far... (cough)... and don't get me wrong... (cough)... he's best... aside from... um, (cough)... maybe that other guy... 

Ohtani.

Sorry, folks. Fell on my sword. The haunted month of October has robbed my git-go, stolen the starch from the piss of my vinegar over any upcoming rants on the game's No. 1 slugger, its top hitter, its greatest star, its Hummungus, its Kahuna... its, um...  Babe.  

What Shohei Ohtani has done in the last two weeks has overwhelmed a quietly great month for Judge, who hit .500 in seven games, while his teammates melted into bongwater nothingness. In seven games, Judge hit one HR and drove in a seven runs. Meh. It wasn't his fault that the Yankees went knock-kneed. Nobody protected him. Bullpens pitched around him and paid no price. And I'll fight anybody who claims Vlad Jr. belongs in an MVP discussion. 

Among the game's premier hitters, here are the Triple Crown numbers for 2025.

Aaron Judge  53 119 .331* 
Shohei Ohtani 55 102 .282
Cal Raleigh 60* 125 .247
Vladimir Guerrero 23 84 .292
Kyle Schwarber 56 132*.240
Pete Alonso 38 126 .272 
George Springer 32 84 .309
Eugenio Suarez 49 18 .228

Listen: Judge had the best season. Period. (Though let's steal ourselves for Raleigh to win the AL MVP.) But MLB assumes the ridiculous notion that postseasons should not affect annual awards. That's like saying, "Sorry about that, Mrs. Kennedy, but how'd you like the view of Dealey Plaza?" Seriously, who can ignore the last three weeks? 

And in them, Ohtani has been otherworldly. (He should have been named the Martian.)  He has 8 HRs in 14 games, plus several quality pitching starts. When he steps up to the plate, you see the confidence. He KNOWS what he's done. Three HRs, while pitching, arguably the greatest single game in history. Nine times on base in an 18 inning game. I'm sorry, folks. The debates are over. 

Throughout this coming winter, one player will be regularly feted as the greatest of his generation. It won't be fair. But it won't be Judge. 

An Above Average Special Edition Post–Season–World Series–Limeric-Ku Tuesday Thingy

 There once was a, uh

Like, you know, oh, well FØCK IT!

Nothing to see there

So lets, uh, be of good cheer

And Pray for . . . Next Year

Dear Redsock fans: Enjoy watching Mookie Betts? He will enter the Hall in a Dodgers cap.

CLASSIFIED MEMO (FOR BOSTONIAN EYES ONLY)
To: Fenway Nation
From: Yankiverse
Re: Mookie  

Last night, - in a game I suspect you didn't watch, in a world series I suspect you haven't followed - a 5'10" fellow named Markus Betts - aka "Mookie" - went 1-for-8 with a walk and strikeout. Not a great night, as nights go. On the postseason, he's hitting .250, batting behind Shohei Ohtani and anchoring the Dodgers infield, playing shortstop. He sorta serves as the Dodgers' manic pixie dream girl, except, of course, that he is a guy.

Why am I telling you this? Honestly, I dunno. Remember that creepy villain in the 1979 movie, THE WARRIORS, where a handful of NYC street-bangers must fight their way home to Coney Island? And when they finally catch the bad guy, and they ask why he killed Cyrus, the respected gang leader, his response is, "REASON? NO-O REASON."

Yeahp, that sums it up. No-o reason. I just woke up this morning and thought, "Maybe the fine people of The Hub are wondering whatever happened to that guy, Mookie Somethingorother, and I should let them know." Aside from that, no reason.

Anyway... when the world series concludes - two games from now, I suspect - Mookie Betts will likely receive his third world series ring, including one that came with you folks, back in Boston,  back in 2018. A lifetime ago.

Mookie has played 12 years in the Majors - six with Boston and six with LA.  He has one MVP award, six Gold Gloves, seven Silver Sluggers and a batting title. He's 33 and nearing the middle of a 12-year contract, which he signed with the Dodgers in 2020. That year, Boston traded him to LA (with pitcher David Price) for Alex Verdugo, Jeter Downs and Connor "What Can Go" Wong. 

So, what's my point? No reason. I just wanted you to know that, now and then, we Yank fans think of you and - yes, this is crazy, but it's true - we smile.

Yeahp. Back in 2020, if your owner had simply coughed up some dough, done the right thing - the smart thing - and kept Mookie Betts, you would not be - like us - sitting at home, watching Tracker.  Your shortstop would not be Trevor Story. And from there, who knows? Maybe no Mickey Gasper, no Franchy Cordero, not even a Bobby Dalbec. Who knows? You might have kept Kiki Hernandez and Kyle Schwarber. Anything is possible, in your dreams.

And on that note, let me lead the chorus: 

(Clang-clang, clang-clang) 

REDSOCK FANNNS, COME OUT AND PLAY-YAYYYYY! 

And the Horse You Rode in on....

What makes Señor Flop Sweat think the Yankees would ever trade for him?

If he pitches in Boston the way he pitched in New York, they'll send him off somewhere to play with Rafael Devers.

Mercy.

The Steinbrenners love their money and see no reason to lavish it on the hired help

Yesterday, this chart popped up on the Al and Leslie Gore Information Superhighway, giving Yank fans another reason to believe the current generational ownership is bleeding the franchise into irrelevance.

It shows, once again, that Hal Steinbrenner is a barely committed-to-win competitor within MLB's billionaire ownership gene pool.

When it comes to spending revenues on payrolls, the Yankees fall into the middle of the pact, percentagewise, below such renowned cheapskates as KC and Baltimore.

When it comes to revenues, the chart shows the Dodgers and Yankees far ahead of the mottled masses. The Dodgers raked in $752 million, a mere $26 million more than the Yanks. But LA spent 73 percent of that money on payroll. The Yankees spent less than half. 

Basically, the Dodgers and Yankees grab their fans by the ankles, hoist them upside-down into the air, and vigorously shake them. 

But LA's ownership then uses the money to buy players. The Steinbrenners add lake houses.  

Basically, this chart confirms Yank fan suspicions for a last decade: The Steinbrenners hoover money and pretend to cheer. It does not calculate their true wealth. As owners of YGE - Yankee Global Enterprises - the family not only possesses a majority of the Yankees, but 25 percent of the YES Network, 20 percent of the New York City Football Club of Major League Soccer and 10 percent of AC Milan, an Italian soccer club. They have more money than we shall ever imagine. No matter what happens, no matter how badly the Yankees play, the owners cannot lose. What we write here, it doesn't matter. The team can win and lose. The Steinbrenners can only win. 

I say this with the pathetic confession of someone who has rooted for the Yankees for 70 years - from Mickey to Horace to Thurman to Mel Hall to Jeet and now, gulp - The Martian. From the beard ban to Devin Williams. From "Holy Cow!" to "That's baseball, Suzyn." I have given up. I do not expect to ever see another Yankee world championship. But I do have a fallback hope.

It's all gonna crash. 

Next winter, around now, a hard rain is coming. The owners and the players - the billionaires and the millionaires - are headed to nuclear war. And to fans like me, both sides long ago became gluttonous and miserable. 

Historically, I've favored the players. But last winter, something happened. For me, it was the greed and lack of loyalty shown by Mr. Juan Soto. It still stings. Yankee fans spent a year giving Soto unrequited love and loyalty. The Yankees offered him $750 million. And he jumped for a dollar more, then blamed a security guard for pissing  him off.  

Nah, I'm starting not to care anymore.  

Next year, it's all coming down. Let it.

Our prayers have been answered: The world series has a halftime show.

For years now, I've yearned for MLB to halt action in the middle of postseason games, confine both teams to their dugouts, cut away for a news update and two lengthy commercial breaks, have Big Papi recount the night thus far, and then trowel-up a rock band from 2005. 

Yep, at long last, the lords of baseball have answered our prayers - a 13-minute, fifth inning cigarette break so Toronto's own New Jersey's own Jonas Brothers could "sing" a song - (it had the disturbing feel of a lip-synch) - and raise money for a cause.

Look, I got nothing against the Jonas boys (Yank fans, by the way.) It's exposure, if not a paying gig. If they didn't do it, the Backstreet Boys would have. It was part of MLB's "Stand Up to Cancer" campaign, which baseball has run since 2008. 

In the war on cancer, it's hard not to be righteous. I hate being cynical, but how can we not think that, somehow, somewhere in the fine print, Rob Manfred has conjured up a sweet tax write-off, while preening his bona fides as a good Samaritan. That's what Bond villains do. In this case, they stop the game for still shots of Lou Gehrig and Jackie Robinson, and bask in their willingness to fight a forever battle. 

Next fall (after the Dodgers win their third straight?) MLB will need all the good ink it can summon - as the owners and players kill the 2027 season in a labor dispute. 

So... no Bad Bunny? No Bruce? Where was Taylor Swift? Does she like cancer? I mean, come on... the Jonas Brothers? And where's the marching band? If Cleveland made the series, maybe the Buckeyes could have performed March Ohio, with Manfred as the final dot on the i?

Finally, by adding a halftime, didn't MLB undermine the rhythm of the game? 

They created a first half and a second half. It probably didn't affect the outcome. (Toronto couldn't hit Yamamoto with tennis rackets.) But once again, it shows that the lords of the game don't really believe in their product. The world series needs a rock band. It needs a showboat cause. It needs a halftime show to sells more soda, more smart phones - (Jeez, did Jeff Bridges need another lake house?) and more betting parlays.

We should be glad - GLAD! - that the Yankees aren't lending their pristine brand name to this disgrace.

The Omen, Part Two ?

Following up on yesterday's Omen post, here is another

view of that fallen Blue (California Scrub) Jay.  Whilst 

disposing of this poor little critter, I pondered it's greater

meaning.  Honestly, I believed that it's passing wasn't a

great sign for Toronto and was straight forward about it.

However, given the surprising results of last night's

Game One, I'm not quite sure what to believe anymore.

Perhaps the passing of this beautiful warbler portends a 

deeper meaning.  Maybe, just maybe it sacrificed itself

to give Toronto a better chance at beating the odds.

Tonight's game appears to be all about the starting

pitching.  As WE all know, great pitching tends to beat

great hitting.  It could turn out to be real squeaker.

Which team is going to leg it out ?

Team USA beats the Dodgers

 

All the money in the world, and the Dodgers skimped on middle inning relievers.

Maybe they could have used Jake Bird?

Could this be an Omen . . . ?

Came outside this morning to drive my daughter

to work and discovered this dead blue jay at the

center of the end of the driveway.  No noticeable

injuries and it's neck wasn't broken. It just looked

as though it had landed, peacefully laid down and

gave up it's ghost.  Had no choice but to document

the poor bird by photographing it from a variety of

different angles.  Things REALLY aren't looking good

for Toronto . . . .

World Series rooting guide: The frenemy of my frenemy is my... um... frenemy.

So... who do we root for? 

LA or Toronto? Hollywood or Greater Buffalo? 

You'd think it'd be easy. Didn't rabid Rudy Giuliani, supporting Boston in the curse-lifting 2004 world series, claim you're supposed to root your division? That sure clanked.

Fact is, rooting for the 51'st Staters would be a slam dunk, except for the Boston-like hatred of Blue Jay fans, who chanted "F-- the Yankees" when they weren't even playing us. They hate us for the hell of it. Maybe it makes them feel better, as beer-swilling simpletons.

So, who do we support? Baseball's biggest spender? Or its 2nd most hateful (after Boston, of course.) Let's go to the videotape.

WHY ROOT FOR THE DODGERS: 

1. If they win, Food Stamps Hal should feel more pressure to open his fanny pack. LA will have proven that - yes, you can buy championships. I'm tired of Hal poormouthing. The Steinbrenners have the money. They simply choose not to spend it. With the Dodgers as reigning champs, maybe Haligator Arms will feel more compelled to do something. Maybe it will give him a rash. (This is what I've been lowered to: Hoping the owner gets measles.) 

2. Mookie Betts. Despite his Boston heritage, I sorta like the guy. Future Hall of Famer. Great teammate. Plus, his image on a Jumbotron drives Redsock fans into a frenzy. Hey, juju gods: Wanna blow gaskets in Boston? Have Mookie win a game by hitting a grounder through Vladimir's wickets. Buckner Redux. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

3. Baseball needs to address the fairness of one team annually luring the major stars from Japan. Right now, the Dodgers have an open pipeline to the spice islands, spawned by the deferred luxury tax payments somehow baked into Shohei Ohtani's contract. Trump's DOJ should indict Ohtani. Mortgage fraud? Classified docs? Let's go. 

4. Vlad Jr. The guy hates us with the heat of a billion suns. We can return the favor. 

WHY ROOT FOR THE JAYS.

1. Hey, it's Canada, fer kricesake. Nicest neighbors on the planet. How did we get on their shit list? If the Jays win it all, maybe it will spur Americans - and You Know Who - to ditch this ridiculous frost in relations. Dear God, we gotta face these people in hockey. Why rile them up?

2. IKF. Every time I see Isiah Kiner-Falefa, I'm reminded of 2022, when we had him, and what a jollygood fellow he is. Then I ponder where we'd be if he were our SS this year. (He hit .262 over about 431 ABs, stole 15 bases.) An upgrade over Anthony of Joeygalloville.

3. Okay, as long as it's not Boston, maybe you should back your division. Besides, we can sign Bo Bichette and, next year, chant "F--- the Jays."

4. Don Mattingly. Wait. Cancel everything I've said. This is the reason. This is the only reason. Donnie needs a ring. 

The wisdom of baseball, as told in fortune cookies

An insurance run always pays dividends.

The checked swing never homers.

Catch flies, instead of swatting them.

Let your bat do the talking, and each crack shall be heard.

Benches are carved from wooden mitts.

To capture the wild pitch, hide behind its plate.

The warning track never cries wolf.

Someone pays for every stolen base.

Beer in the dugout ensures bad hops.

Paint the corners, and opposing batters must stand in them.

If your arm is sick, doctor the ball.

Big outs come from little ones that slipped away.

To crush a ball, kiss it goodbye.

Manufacture a run, and you’ll appreciate each ingredient.

The rhubarb is always sour.

Send pitchers to the showers, and you’ll clean up.

Juicy curves entice swingers.

Measure a blast by distance, a bunt by damage.

Bases can get loaded on highballs.

The lights-out pitcher brightly shines.

The wheelhouse is no place to hang a curve.

Chin music silences the banjo hitter.

A blown save remains unsatisfied.   

Circus clowns make circus catches.

Ducks on the pond often lay goose eggs.

At some point, everybody chokes up.

The shortest route is always going the distance.

Three up, three down… equals nothing.

The fatter the pitch, the more hide for tattooing.

On the seventh game, God watches.

"No Kings?" This winter, the Yankees ought to make an exception

Should we send an A.I. video of dropping feces on Toronto?

The best free agent starting pitcher this winter could be an old Yankee pal. 

Soon after the Tokyo Dodgers beat Outer Buffalo in the world series - probably ate next week -  Michael King will opt out of his contract with the Padres and head to free agency.  

King, whom the Yankees dealt to San Diego for the one-year blood rental of He Who Shalt Not Be Named, will turn 31 in late May. 

Thus, this upcoming auction represents his best - and maybe final - chance to cash out with the lake house and old folks pontoon. Considering that he's from Rochester - ancient Yankee fan territory, sorta our Donbas - the lone obstacle to King signing with Food Stamps Hal Steinbrenner is - well - Food Stamps. Hal never wants to pay "antique" prices for what he believes should be garage sale furniture.

And if Hal gets into a bidding war with Steve Cohen, I think we all know who will win. 

Nothing puts a gleam in the eye of P.T. Cohen more than stealing popular ex-Yankees. Close your eyes, and it's easy to imagine both King and Luke Weaver pitching for the Mets, while the Yankees counter with some Cashman-found, Freddie Garcia, small market retread, obtained in a disastrous trade. (I fear watching Caleb Durbin play for many years in Milwaukee, while Devin Williams - whom the Gammonites viewed as a Louvre-like steal - disappears into the NL or AL Central.)

Last year, King was one of baseball's best pitchers through his first 10 starts. Then he pinched a nerve, missed a month, and returned for one start, when he hurt his knee. A near total washout. He finished with a 3.44 ERA over 73 innings. The Yankees ought to start with King, and then start stockpiling relievers. This might turn out to be the last winter in which the Yankees can use their money. (Next winter, an excruciating labor work stoppage is almost assured.) 

No Kings? I say, just one. Michael. Wait... is Mel Queen still available? 

 

An Above Average Haiku Tuesday – PAIN ! Oh the PAIN ! Edition

 LOOK INTO MY EYES

KNOW THAT I DON'T REALLY CARE

NOW PLEASE, GO AWAY . . .

The "Hate America" World Series, why Yank fans detest the Dodgers, and other takeaways, as the White House walls come down.

So, here we go: It's Commie Hollywood vs. the 51st State, while the rest of baseball stews and awaits 2027, when MLB's labor strife makes the current government shutdown look like a weekend at Disneyworld. At least for now, we're left with daily occasional leaked classified photos of the East Wing being razed, a metaphor you can do with what you wish. (But didn't Canadians burn down the White House in 1812?)

For better or worse, some takeaways on the current state of Yankeekind. 

1. Seems like a year since the Death Barge crapped out against Toronto. Remember...hope? The government shutdown would be solved, the Middle East would be solved, Katy Perry's quest for love would be solved, and the Jersey Giants beat the Eagles! Now? Well, Katy's still happy. Maybe Meat Loaf should have sang, "One out of four aint bad?"

2. Surely, Yank fans will root against the Dodgers. I certainly will. They are ruining baseball with their absurd spending, their cooking of the books, and their Japanese pipeline - a huge advantage over the rest of the world. But here's the rub: 

It should be the Yankees doing it. 

If any team is going to embody evil, it should be us. To watch Food Stamps Hal pull out his pockets and wave his empty purse at street urchins - we should at least be detested. The Japanese Babe Ruth should have played in New York, in the House That the Japanese Babe Ruth Built. But Hal always has a shiny 25 cent piece to bestow upon his face base, and here we are, once again ,on the outside, looking in. 

3. How 'bout them Jersey Giants! You know, for a moment, for a sliver of a time - maybe two seconds - I thought they might win their third game in a row and actually be headed in the right direction. My bad. I'm too old for this. I drank the Skattaboo tea. 

But the loss in Denver still does not beat The Fumble. 

4. I suppose everyone expects the Dodgers to win. Why wouldn't you? They had so many ace pitchers this year that they literally coasted through the regular season, just planning for October. As for Toronto, I'm sorry, but Kevin Glausman is not Madison Bumgarner. It's hard to imagine they are doing this with arguably their best player - Bo Bichette - in rehab.  

5. If there is any reason to root for Toronto, here's one: Don Mattingly. The only problem is that every time I see Mattingly in a Jays cap, it reminds me that the world is completely out of whack. Yesterday, Hoss wondered if we are in Hell? Damn straight. 

6. I see pix of the White House being bulldozed, and I'm reminded of Yankee Stadium, 18 years ago. I don't care about the disco, the steak house and the self-flushing urinals. You cannot replace history. When I hear Trump talk about the need for a ballroom, I think of how the Yankee ownership talked trash about what was still the greatest venue in sports. Remember how they demeaned it, as they sold off every chunk of concrete? I'm sorta surprised Trump isn't auctioning off the doorknobs. (I'm sure he will, soon.)  

7. One of the saddest elements of the last two weeks has been the Yankee front office congratulating itself on a winning season, and basically saying that nothing needs to change. Mike Harkey was the problem? My God, how can they not read this room? 

8. I do believe the Yankees were one player away. One more measly win, and they would have taken AL East and a first-round bye, with home field advantage. One stinking, measly victory. And it all came down to Hal's refusal to open his purse last spring when, say, an Alex Bregman was politicking for a one-year, prove-himself deal. There were free agents to be had. Hal pinched his fanny pack.  

9. Dodgers in four. 

10. Yankees in 10. Years, that is.

On this darkest of all Mickmas Days, the question must arise: Are we in hell?

The signs are all too obvious.

The Yankees' season come sputtering to an end in the same way it has for most of the past 25 years...and our general manager holds a press conference to cheerfully announce that we will keep doing the exact same thing, in the exact same way.

The Mets were even worse this year. 

The Giants just surrendered 33 points in the fourth quarter after shutting out their opponent for the first three quarters—only the second time anything like that has happened in the history of the NFL.

The Jets have yet to win a game.

The Rangers get shutout every time they play at home, threatening to break an NHL record.

What is it with all these records of futility? It seemed like every time we looked up this season, we were told that the Yankees had performed their worst feat of hitting or scoring since some moment in 1912, or maybe 1908.

And then, of course, there is our manager—the first one in Yankees history to manage for eight seasons without ever taking a ring.

We can only guess what the Knicks, Nets, Devils, and Islanders have in store for us.

Which leads me to one simple conclusion on this Mickmas, holiest of all holy Yankee Days, birthday of the Commerce Comet himself: we have all died and gone to hell.

How else to account not only for the complete collapse of our sports teams here in Loser City—or how the Yankees are openly ridiculed on national television—but also how we ended up with an attorney general who looks like a car hop waitress and will gladly indict anyone alive upon orders?

How else to account for the imminent death of newspapers, magazines, motion pictures, and television?

How else to account for the army in our streets, chasing after immigrant delivery boys to see if they have their papers?

How else to account for a president who, in response to a nationwide protest against him, gleefully tweets out a fantasy video of him dumping shit on people from an airplane?

Nope. There is no other explanation. We are in hell.

And look! It's the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse!

 

Rest In Peace, Jesus Montero

Ah, yes, I remember 2011... The Arab Spring. The death of Osama. Gabby Giffords. Charlie Sheen and Tiger Blood. William and Kate. And the ascension of Jesus, our one true savior.

Young, strapping, massive, bloated with potential, the future Pride of the Yankees... Jesus Montero.

That September, 2011, after hitting 18 HRs in 106 games for Scranton, Jesus reached the Promised Land - Yankee Stadium. It was a time of hope, barely two years out from our last world championship. The team was on its way to winning the AL East, and here was this man-child catcher, one of baseball's brightest prospects, knocking on our door. 

I will never forget his fourth game in the majors, an overcast afternoon against Baltimore. Alphonso was visiting, and though we were out in the boondocks of upstate NY, beyond a TV signal, we somehow finagled the game on a laptop. Missing it was not an option, so we hunched over the small screen. We had to see Jesus, this shiny new object... the future.

For five years, since he signed a massive contract at age 16, we had waited. The Yankees had outspent everyone, including all of Venezuela, and Montero had smashed his way through the system, making all the Top 10 prospect lists. He was a generational hitter, and he was here. 

That day, to our drinking delight, Montero hit two home runs. The Yankees beat Baltimore 11-10.

Montero went on to hit .328 with 4 HRs in 18 games. He so impressed the Yankees that he was added to their postseason roster, and he singled twice in two plate appearances against Detroit - which beat us in the ALDS.

We made it through that November imagining the "Baby Bombers," a wave of future stars that included Gary Sánchez, Dellin Betances, Manny Bañuelos, Tyler Austin and Austin Romine. Yeah, we crapped the bed against Detroit, but the future looked rosy.

Then Brian Cashman traded it away. Cash dealt Jesus to Seattle for Michael Pineda and somebody named Jose Campos. And suddenly, the future stopped flirting.

Well, 15 years later, we're still dealing with Cashman and his trades, most notably his eternal quest for what he calls his "Great White Whale," the pitcher who leads the Yankees to a championship. Fifteen years of Captain Ahab.

It's funny when Yankee-haters mock us for criticizing Cashman. But how can we not? He's the single person most behind the Yankees' epic world series drought, and it's the trades of youngsters like Jesus Montero that long ago robbed us of hope and innocence.

And here's the saddest part. Montero crapped the bed in Seattle. He never hit, he got caught using PEDs, he showed up to camp overweight and, at one point, was ridiculed by minor league coaches as the "Ice Cream Sandwich." A colossal failure.

I'll always wonder: If the Yankees hadn't traded him, could it have been different? 

Jesus Montero died last week. Car crash. Venezuela. Not sure if he had any money leftover. Evidently, they were publicly seeing donations for his medical bills. Very sad. He was 35. 

Condolences to the Father and Holy Ghost. 

Toronto's bullpen has collapsed. Yankee fans can relate.

So sorry to hear about the Blue Jays' late-innings bullpen diarrhea.

So, so sad. 

Imagine: Leading in the bottom of the 8th, five outs from victory, then surrendering five runs, punctuated with a grand slam. For Yank fans, such an event falls beyond our capabilities to fathom. 

It's like calling upon Jake Bird, Allan Winans and, finally, a position player, to nail one down. Or bringing out Nestor Cortez for the first time in two months, to face Shohei Ohtani in a World Series. It's as if the ghost of Edwar Ramirez just returned from the Canadian North Pole. Or as if Fernando Cruz and Mark Leiter just gave up nine runs without recording at out. (This happened in September.) If Scott Proctor were here, he'd have burned his mitt at home plate.

So, so sad to watch the Yankees' season-long bullpen collapse happen to our fine friends from the Polite Buffalo, the Evil-Hateful Jays. Something about a bullpen meltdown magnifies the impending PTSD of defeat. Three reasons:

1. It always reflects on the manager. (See BOONE, AARON.) If he'd left in the starter, who knows? Managers aren't supposed to blow games. In It's a Wonderful Life, they say that whenever a Christmas bell rings, an angel gets her wings. In this life, whenever a bullpen collapses, the manager loses a nut.

2. It devastates the afflicted pitcher. Often, especially in October, you're dealing with a hearty bullpen lug nut, a season-long eater of innings. He's a trusted bar of soap, a bracing shot of whiskey, a jolly-good-fellow that nobody can deny. He worked his way into the Circle Of Trust. (Every manager has one.) And look - LOOK! He just got torched. On Star Trek: The Next Generation, the first thing a bad guy used to do was always punch out Worf. By that, he showed everybody that he was tougher than their toughest guy. In this case, Toronto brought in their Worf, and the Gorn just dropped him.

3. It revives the other team. Suddenly, everybody knows: You can't hold a lead. You can't close the deal. You had them, and you botched it. On The Patty Duke Show, this would be the moment when everybody at the sock hop realizes that it's Cathy, who adores a minuet, not Patty, who loves to rock'n'roll, a hot rod makes her lose control. Once they know who's really pitching, it's fukinay over. Tonight, Seattle will be playing on stilts. 

Yank fans know the feeling. Barely two weeks ago, we were suddenly vaulted into a Bizarro universe where Camilo Doval was the ray of hope, and Luke Weaver - honest, trustworthy Luke - was the pariah. 

Nothing burns like a bullpen meltdown. And Toronto just crapped one.

So, so, so sad. 

Let's face it: The Blue Jays did us a favor. There is no way the Yankees could beat the Dodgers

 

Since the Yankees' plug was mercifully pulled two weeks ago, I've channel-hopped the postseason, free-spewing juju at all the players who've made my Personal Life Vendetta Shitlist. 

Listen: You don't wanna make my Personal Life Vendetta Shitlist. 

In fact, in this world, here are the top 7 worst Personal Life Vendetta Shitlists to find yourself on:

10. Taylor Swift. (You'll get a song written about you.)

9. Fox News. (Round the clock coverage of your wart.)

8. Joe Biden. (You'll be forgotten.)

7. Peter Thiel. (You'll be labeled the Antichrist.)

6. ICE (Next stop, Somalia.)

5. Saudi Prince Bin Salman. (Bone saw.)

4. Jeffrey Epstein. (You don't wanna to be on any of his lists.)

3. Donald Trump. (You'll get indicted.)

2. Mine. (You'll get beaned.) 

1. Vladimir Putin. (You'll accidentally fall out of a window.) 

That said, I have one takeaway from watching my enemies this postseason:

We should thank the juju gods for not having to be humiliated again by the Dodgers.

Watching their all-star team steamroll the NL - well - let's celebrate our early exit.

I won't complain about how the Dodgers spent $313 million - $50 million more than the Yankees - on payroll, and how that number actually ignores the deferrals made on Shohei Ohtani's contract, which amounts to a cooking-of-the-books that Old George could only have fantasied. 

I won't whine over how the Dodgers buy pennants, and world championships, or how their pipeline to Japan's greatest stars - three straight years, the best players went to LA - gives them a huge advantage. 

Nope. I won't complain. Not a peep. For 100 years, the Yankees used their money advantage to dominate baseball. Now, it's the Dodgers. Let's just be glad we don't have to get embarrassed.   

Listen: Had we gotten past Toronto, and then Seattle, we'd only have been more humiliated in the end.  

The gap between the Dodgers and Yankees - hell, between the Dodgers and everyone - is long, deep and dark. Be glad we're done. They can't hurt us any more.  

And if I happen to get indicted and sent to Somalia, where I fall out of a window, you know why. 

A Legitimate Question

Why did they play Volpe over Jose Caballero in the playoffs?

Aside from saying that Brian and Boone are incompetent morons. That's a given. I'm trying to get my head around their thinking from a financial standpoint because, as we all know, the bottom line for the Yankees is the Bottom Line. 

Volpe was hurt and they knew it, even if they did not understand the severity of it. That said, clearly he was a lesser version of a player who was already a lesser version of his "potential".  

Despite this they played a hurt guy over his superior replacement during the playoffs. 

Why? 

I get playing him all year if he's your guy but, and I'm talking financially here, doesn't Hal make more money if the team advances?  

Once the Yankees get past the trade deadline that's all the money they are going to spend on players for the year. So, financially, isn't the next goal to maximize their value? 

You know, WIN? 

Advancing in the playoffs means both additional attendance and TV revenue. Beyond that, the Yankees get to live live off of the "Historical Value" of a championship team.  Bobble heads, caps, jerseys, bringing them all back for a "special day" etc. 

So again, this isn't about an owner and a GM not bringing in the pieces to win, that's a separate issue, this is about failing to put your best team on the field from the players you already have. 

It doesn't make sense... financially.  

It doesn't even effect Volpe's value long term because the team could just say the benching was due to injury and the surgery in the off season backs that up. 

So for the last time... why?  What could possibly be the reasoning? 

Cash on Volpe: “I think the injury probably contributed to the performance season that he would end up having more than we would have thought based on our intimate involvement with him and our medical staff and how that played out."

Huh? 

Lemme get this straight, in an A.I. way... 

So, we're told now that Anthony Volpe will probably miss opening day, rehabbing from shoulder surgery on the tweak that wrecked his and the Yankees' 2025 season.

Excuse me, while I process this... 

Apparently, the Yankee Brain Trust will soon gather to plot a course for 2026. The team will consider Jose Caballero and/or Oswaldo Cabrera as SS placeholders, while Cashman prays for the sudden maturity of George Lombard Jr., and combs the scrap yards and recycling bins of The Damned.

Volpe should return in May, raising a question for the storied franchise: 

Now, what?

For three hard years, we've wanted Volpe to become a great Yankee. And - honestly - I think something is in there. The guy is a fighter and a solid teammate. But we're heading into winter with four basic Volpe memories:

1. Strike one.
2. Strike two.
3. Strike three.
4. Return to dugout. 

The Jersey Giants have Cam Skattebo. 

The Yankees have Anthony Scattered Boos.