Wake me up when it's over.

 

Game Three – American League Division Series – Yankees √s Toronto – Rodon √s Bieber

SEE the BRAIN at WORK

CONTROLLING our HOPES and DREAMS

STINKY! WRETCHED! TURD!

Crapshoot? Part Two.

 

All right, so this one I came up with all on my lonesome, after the Yankees’ two latest, postseason blowouts.

 

For the sake of argument, let’s call a blowout any loss by five or more runs. By that criterion, how often have your New York Yankees been “blown out” in their playoff history?

 

By my count, a total of 38 times, on all levels of the postseason. (And yes, I’m counting the 1978 Yankees-Red Sox Armageddon Time as a playoff game, even if the insipid corporate entity known as MLB does not. So there!)  Just 38 times, out of the entire, 432 postseason games they have played in their history.

 

Let’s break that down. Back when men were men and sheep were frightened, your New York Yankees suffered only 7 “blowout” losses in the 165 World Series games they played—4.2 percent—between 1921 and 1964, in running the all-time greatest dynasty in North American sports history.

 

From 1976-1997, they suffered 9 more, out of 73 games, up to some 12.3 percent.

 

From 1998-the other day, with our second blowout of the Toronto series, under Brian Cashman’s direction, the Yanks got skunked in 22 out of 198 games, or 11.1 percent. 

 

Not so bad, right?

 

Let’s look a little closer.

 

From 1921 through the 2001 ALCS vs. Seattle, the Yankees WON 12 of the 20 playoff series in which they suffered blowouts, or .600 ball.

 

Ever since, from the 2001 World Series on, they have gone 1-11 in playoff series where they have suffered a blowout—and are about to go 1-12, which is .077 ball. The only exception was the 2009 World Series.

 

In other words, for most of their history, on those rare occasions when they Yankees suffered a blowout in a big game, it was usually because they were “recalculating” as Siri likes to say. Strategizing, saving pitching, what have you.

 

Under Brian Cashman, when they get blown out, they are usually hopelessly overmatched.

 

Is it unfair to just start his count from the 2001 World Series? 

 

Yes, it is. If you throw in the other series during which he was officially GM, his record goes up to 5-11, or .313.

 

For years and years, the Yankees calmly dispatched great teams in October, many of which they had not played against all season. John McGraw’s Giants, Branch Rickey’s Cardinals, Jackie Robinson’s Dodgers, Greg Maddux’s Braves—the New York Yankees beat them all. 

 

Under Brian Cashman, they are routinely crushed in the playoffs, and by teams they have almost always played against that same season. They lose because they don’t have enough starting pitching, or enough relief pitching—or both—or because they do not have players with the sufficient skills or savvy or character to win big games. 

 

They do not adjust, period. They have one way to play, and one way only. And I suppose that, some year, the dice might in fact somehow roll their way and they will eke out a miraculous win. 

 

But I doubt if we’ll be around to see it.

Crapshoot? Part One.

 

Just to riff, for a moment, on Doug K.'s telling stats about how well the Blue Jays play in the Rogers Centre—and also Hammer's observations about how the Yankees never adjust (at least, not in Brian Cashman's reign of terror):

So, knowing that we—or at least, Doug—knew about the Blue Jays at home...shouldn't the Yanks have gone all out to avoid giving the Jays the home field advantage?

I mean, it was bad enough that we gave the Red Sox almost their best possible chance to beat us in two—something we avoided by a hairsbreadth.

But to not go all out for first, when we knew that the Blue Jays were monsters there?

What's worse, this is far from the first time during Cashie's House of Horror that the Yankees have played it too cute by half.

—Think back, back to the halcyon days of 2007. The Yanks pretty much openly let Boston crawl to the division championship. Our Brian, who can never, ever, resist letting everyone know when he thinks he's being especially clever—great trait in a GM—put it about everywhere that this move was pure genius.

That way, our first series would be against Cleveland, and not the Angels of Ventura Highway, who always beat us. You know, because the Angels had some kind of magic juju thing going, not because they were a team of mortals we could try stacking up better against.

Oh, we fooled them! That way, like Predator v. Alien, the Angels and Hose would spend the ALDS just ripping each other apart, and we could come in and shoot the survivor.

Well, as you'll recall, the Angels went into October badly banged up that year, and got swept by the Sox with barely a murmur. What awaited us in Cleveland was MidgeFest '07! The rest is history—and not pretty history!

—Of course, Cashman's reaction was...to fire his manager, Hall of Famer Joe Torre.  

Fast forward now, three years to the stretch run of the 2010 season. I stuck around through what must have been at least an hour-long rain delay in what I had THOUGHT was vital, pennant race game against Tampa Bay, a whole game-and-a-half ahead of us, with just 9 left to play. 

Yanks were up 3-1 after 5, when the rains came.  They returned...with a decidedly different attitude.  Soon, most of the starters were out of the game.  TB cruised, 10-3.  Yanks dropped 8 of their last 11.  BUT WAIT!  Brian Cashman had a plan!

Of course he did. We were all set up to play Minnesota in the ALDS. All right, so hard to lose with that. But Texas snuck past Tampa Bay...and then, with home field, proceeded to pummel us in the ALCS.

But surely Brian Cashman learned something after that.  Didn't he, Grandfather?

'Oh, hush up, little Heidi! As all of us in the Alps know, Brian Cashman never, ever learns anything from experience!' 

And he hasn't yet!

Should we start planning next year's lineup? Or should we wait until the Yankees have lost?

 Oh, hell... why wait? 

2B Jazz Chisholm
RF Aaron Judge
LF Kyle Tucker
1B Ben Rice
DH Giancarlo Stanton
3B Eugenio Suarez 
SS Anthony Volpe
C Austin Wells
CF Jasson Dominguez 

Gerrit Cole
Max Fried
Carlos Rodon
Cam Schlittler
Clarke Schmidt 

An Above Average Haiku Tuesday – And Now - The End is Clear, Edition !

Cashman Day Today

Show your love, share well wishes

Toxic Little Imp

As the end draws near, Judge faces yet another judgement

You wonder what Aaron Judge ponders in private moments, if he knows any. 

Here he is - greatest slugger of his generation, perhaps its greatest athlete, a perennial MVP, a future Hall of Famer, rich beyond measure, famous beyond doubt, with a future career on ESPN or YES, whatever - set for life. He's 33. He could have three big years left before the balls shrink into pellets. After that, he can do anything: Run for office, host a game show, buy a hockey team, or take up pickleball. He could retire tomorrow and never again face the absolute pandemonium of an October in the Big Apple. 

What a world he must experience, nothing we will ever know. It must be a wild, perpetual swirl of faces - smiles, grimaces, lipstick, horror masks - always raging, always pleading for his attention, never ceasing. What happens when he needs to piss? Does his security detail plow a path? Every trip must be a motorcade, every movement a military strike. At 6'7," he cannot wear a shawl and pretend to be an old lady. Wherever he goes, the chaos, the adulation, it follows. 

Maybe Bruce Springsteen knows this feeling. Maybe Tom Cruise, or Taylor Swift, or Elon Musk, or Trump. It must be intense. How does anyone stay sane. (Should we assume they do?)

Reason I ask: Tonight, the cacophony could end. Somewhere, around 3 a.m., when the TV crews are gone, and the limos are lined up, and the $100 handshakes have been delivered to the clubhouse porters, the swirl could be over for Judge. The roaring will go silent, the locker will clang shut, and the crowd at the gate will have dwindled to family, cops and stalkers. He'll still be Aaron Judge - the 6'7" tower, the face of the Yankees - and he'll never again know regular life, but another season will have ended, perhaps miserably. 

This week, Judge has faced an impossible task. He had to outdo not just Vlad Jr., or Ohtani, or Cal Raleigh... but himself.   

In this postseason, he is 8 for 18, with a BA of .444. On a winning team, those could be series MVP numbers. Most players (looking at you Giancarlo, at .150) - would take them happily. But if the Yankees lose tonight, all anybody will remember is Game One, with the bases loaded and everything on the line, when he lunged for a pitch in the dirt and fanned on what should have been ball four. A colossal failure. 

It's not fair, but unless Judge delivers over the next few days, that's what the world will remember. 

Last year, around now, the Yankees returned home after losing two in LA. Neither Gerrit Cole nor Carlos Rodon could stop the Dodgers, but the team remained defiant. They were home, and everybody knew that Judge would soon heat up.

Well, they never returned to LA. In the 2024 postseason, Judge went 9 for 49 with 20 strikeouts. And along with a fly ball that bounced off his glove, the strikeouts are what I remember: Judge marching to the dugout, glancing back at the pitcher, before gently setting his bat into the rack. 

It's not fair, the burden we've placed on Judge. But it is what it is. And if the season ends tonight, it will be 12 months before he gets a chance to change the narrative, and on the Yankees, 12 months is a million lifetimes. Every year, the stone just gets heavier. Either he has a couple big games, or maybe he should start thinking about pickleball.

The Last Day Of Pompeii

 I have no hope left. 

We have been pummeled helpless.

The memories of summer beatings have resurfaced.

There is one more day of baseball for this Yankee team. 

Next man up.  All hands on deck.  It matters not.  Give Jesse a game. 

The ash clouds are visible. 

Time to get out of town. 

We'll always have Boston. 

Nos morituri te salutamus. 

13-7

 Not as close as the score implies. 

A poem celebrating the state of professional sports in New York

NEW YORK SPORTS

The Poem

Canker sores
Facial warts.
Bloody wars.
New York sports.

Rectal oozing.
Nightmare dreams.
Always losing
New York teams.

Mets and Yankees

Giants, Jets.

Grab your hankies

Place your bets.

Rigged, unlawful
Criminal courts.
Forever awful
New York sports. 

So that's why we didn't use Warren in Game 1, which does not explain why he was left in in Game 2

Boone is an idiot.

 

Game Two – American League Division Series – Yankees √s Toronto – Fried √s Yesavage

 NORTH of the BORDER

YES, a WIN is in ORDER

PLEASE don't BOONE it UP !

Where's Hoss?

 

A quick note before the game thread. Just to say that I have not been participating as much as I would have liked because, for some reason—demonic possession? hypnotic suggestion from Brian Cashman?—I agreed to teach a course this fall on sports and politics, up at Cornell University.

It's proven to be quite a trip. Literally. Four-to-five hours, every Tuesday and Thursday, up and back, on the Cornell campus-to-campus bus. With a driver who goes like hell. Nicer than your average bus, though I could do without the chemical toilet in the back. (Or, maybe I couldn't.)

Incredibly scenic route. Up and down the foggy hills of Pennsylvania and upstate New York. Past beautiful, downtown Scranton, now shrouded in mourning crepe after their man, Cashman, let them down in the Triple-A championships. (I hear that his statue has already been vandalized.)

It gets old, fast, but it's not so bad. Except...on my very first day, going to catch said bus at 5:30 in the morning, I managed to face-plant in the middle of Times Square. It all turned out to be a rather nice story about how New Yorkers help one out in a pinch, but it did mean five hours in an emergency ward (If you visit just ONE New York City emergency room this year, make it NYU/Langone! Really, they were great!)

But initially, I looked kind of like this:

Now, with the stitches out of my upper lip, and my cracked front teeth all but fully repaired (not cheap!), I look semi-human again.

But between my own bumbling (Hey, I've lost a bunch of weight. I'm thinking of writing the "Smash Your Own Teeth In!" diet guide.) and getting up two lectures a week, I've not been the fan I should be.

Sorry about that. I was so looking forward to continuing my "Yankees Circle of Immortals" series—and to writing a great juju-dissolving device for Aaron Judge.

No could do. But I hope to make up for it all in the Hot Stove League. In the meantime, go Yankees! And JM, can't wait to see you back in the USA.

If their bubble bursts in Toronto, the Yankees will have nowhere to hide.

Lately, Luke Allen "Dream" Weaver has been horrible. 

Two outings, two bombings, two trips to the woodshed, two losses, two Nabokovian felicities 

Horrible. 

Frankly, he's been sorta awful since July, when he tweaked a hammy. A few Gammonites, summoning scenes from the old Astros, have suggested Luke is tipping pitches. Dunno. Either way, Weaver sure picked the wrong time and national platform to be screwing up. 

Last night, one batter into the catastrophe, with Fernando Cruz warming in the pen, everybody knew the three-hitter minimum would kill us. A walk, a single, a double. Horrible. Weaver shouldn't appear in a close game for the rest of this series. Mop-up duty, at best. In fact, his Yankee run might be done. Come Nov. 1, he's a free agent. NYC can be cruel. 

But here's the good news: Aaron Boone can "rest" Weaver. Yes, it cuts a divot from the "Circle of Trust." But there are other bullpen arms, other alternatives. Is Mark Leiter still alive? 

Which brings us to Aaron Judge. You know where we're going. Against Boston, the Captain produced four singles, one that clanked off an outfielder's glove much like the one that Judge mishandled in the 2024 world series. And later last night, with the game out of reach, Judge hustled a single into a double. Nice gesture. Dully noted. Trouble is, by then, it didn't matter. 

Everybody loves a gentle giant with a high beam smile. Judge is bound for Cooperstown. Maybe Hollywood. (Look out, Rock! He's the real Smashing Machine.) Game's greatest hitter. Maybe, the greatest RH hitter in history. (Though, considering Hank Aaron and Babe Ruth, I'd call that a stretch.) We love him. We'd have his baby. But why do we all now cringe when Judge steps to the plate? 

Yesterday, it happened again. Bases loaded, game on the line, full count, God in heaven, me - covered in ashes and cowering behind the couch. As Judge stepped in, the Fox announcers started blathering on how he no longer chases pitches low and away, how he's made adjustments, how he's on the verge of bre - STRIKE THREE, swinging.  Low and away. 

Damn. That was ball four, if he doesn't swing. The Yankees ended up scoring just one run that inning. Considering the final tally - 10-1 - you could say it didn't matter. But at that moment, the game was balancing on a thread, and neither Judge nor Giancarlo Stanton, (still being heralded as an October hero), put a bat on the ball. Horrible.

And here's why it's so scary: Like so many other HR hitters, Judge and Stanton are complete captives to the tides of streakiness. They go hot, they go cold, then repeat the cycle - and a month of playoffs is a long time to carry a team back. Hot or cold. And right now, cold. 

A long long time ago, (2012), in a postseason far far away, Joe Girardi pinch hit for Alex Rodriguez - who had been the greatest hitter of his generation. At one point, in a cruel playoff series against Detroit, A-Rod was reduced to batting ninth. With good reason. Against RH pitchers that October, he went 0-18 with 10 Ks. Horrible. 

That was then. Toronto is now. It might be over, if you're Luke Weaver. But Judge is too big to disappear. Unless he gets hot - and God knows how that happens - we are finished. 

Being the greatest sports star in NYC can be wondrous, or utterly cruel. For Weaver, it's next year. For Judge, the jury is still out. 

(Note: Check out JM's 10-takeways from yesterday. Below.)

How Boone is my valley

1) Boone started Gil instead of Warren because...some reason or other. Warren has been lit up sometimes, true, but Gil hasn't been able to regain his velocity this year, and he doesn't have the control to really pitch instead of throw. If you can't throw hard and you can't locate the pitches you can throw, you can't expect a great outcome.

2) Warren is on the roster, in the bullpen, to be used in tight games and/or for long relief. Last night, when Boone pulled Gil, he brought in Hill because there were lefties coming up. Okay. And Hill did his job. And Warren remained unused in favor of Doval (okay), and Weaver, who's basically sucked since returning from the IL, and Cruz, and fucking Blackburn? No Warren, ever.

3) After Game 1 of the Red Sox series, Boone got stung by criticism because he didn't play Chisholm and Rice. He started them in Games 2 and 3, and we won. Last night was, however, tailor made for a Goldie start. Better matchup all the way around, but did I mention Boone was stung by criticism for not playing Rice in Game 1 of the Sox series? Like a child, Boone is now a-feared of not starting Rice, who sucked. Goldie didn't even get in to pinch hit, which probably didn't make any difference considering Boone's pitching choices late in the game.

4) Aaron Judge is likely the most talented hitter ever to consistently suck when he's needed most. It's become mythic. In the postseason and late in close regular season games, he disappears. The greatest hitter of his generation, possibly the greatest right-handed hitter of all time, is worthless when it really would count. Head case? Hard to see any other cause. His season numbers are incredible, but he will not reach Mantle, Ruth, Gehrig, Yogi, Reggie or even Tino status. Hell, Aaron Boone at least hit that one home run way back when. Judge has done nothing. Over and over and over.

5) Stanton has been ice cold. That's not good, especially with Judge sucking his usual postseason wind.

6) Let's look for some good things amidst yeseterday's debacle. The Yankees' defense in this postseason has been pretty damn good. They're also not running the bases like a bunch of drunks (of course, last night, they weren't running the bases much, period). And Volpe has not sucked. Huzzah. 

7) All year long, the Yankees have had to contend with a problematic roster. First, the hole at third and the highly questionable decision to keep playing Volpe while he has sucked, which was most of the time. Then, the terrible deal making to improve the bullpen, which didn't really improve the bullpen very much. Bednar turned into a nice acquisition. Doval seems to have found his footing. But they can't pitch every day in every tight situation.

8) All year long, as usual, the Yankees have had to beat the competition along with the terrible managing of Aaron Boone, the idiot. He improved in Game 3 of the Red Sox series. We shouldn't expect any other sudden outbursts of competency.

9) Toronto is not a better team. But with Boone and the bullpen and Judge choking all on their side, they look like one.

10) This post is way too long, but I'm frustrated. Last night was certifiably ugly. It made me wish we had four or five Bellingers on the team. He seems like he knows how to play baseball.

Game One – American League Division Series – Yankees √s Toronto – Gil √s Gausman

 TIME TO GIL

Boston has only itself to blame for last week. Has America gotten the message?

I hate, hate HATE! when somebody on TV is driving - often in LA traffic - and swivels his or her head sideways for a lengthy speech. They'll prattle on for 15 seconds - (Emmy nominations need close-ups) - and as they mumble and moo, all I can think is, WATCH THE EFFING ROAD, YOU IDIOT!

Today, that's sorta how I feel about Redsock fans. 

Turns out, their blinding anti-Yankee hatred - and refusal to STFU - furnished the secret sauce Thursday night in Cam Schlittler's masterpiece. Instead of watching the road ahead, Boston fans raged on social media and the flophouse internet, talking trash about Schlitter's family, royally pissing him off, and running the Redsock car smack into a ditch.

Years ago, I recall the same thing happening to Roger Clemens, when his wife attended a Yankee game at Fenway. The things they shouted so enraged The Rocket that he shut the Redsocks down, sinking without a bubble. Thank you, asshole fans.

Which brings me to the meat of this post. 

I don't like like Vlad Jr. That's okay. He doesn't like me, doesn't like any of us. Long ago, he made that clear. And, honestly?, that's fine. Frankly, I don't like any of the Blue Jays (aside from Max Scherzer; I mean, who can hate Scherzer? First ballot, Coopersville.) You know what they are? Sideway drivers. 

We at IIHIIFIIc recognize the limits to a well-crafted, artistic, literary, well sourced, thermonuclear, personal hatchet job. 

For example, take Vlad Jr. Whenever I see this finely rounded, trust-funded, fully-entitled nepo baby, I think of how he once vowed - and you could quote him! - to never, ever, EVER - not in this life or the next - allow his perfect rump  to be soiled by Yankee pinstripes. He would never play for us. NEVAH! But then, when he realized there could be Yankee money on the table in free agency, well, he took it back. He would play for the Yankees, after all. And now, with $500 million over 14 years in his pocket, he's returned to bad-mouthing the Yankees, the team he most wants to beat. And you know what he's doing? 

He's talking sideways while driving. 

This week, the Yankees didn't take their eyes off the road. They channeled their emotions. They stayed in their lane. Over the next few days, the Blue Jays will try to capture and harness the indignation of Canada, a great nation and our greatest friend, which - and there's no other way to say this - has been ill-treated by our President.  

I'm sorry, but the Blue Jays cannot carry the Maple Leaf of Canada any more than I can. Kevin Gausman is from Colorado, George Springer from Connecticut, and Mad Max, he's from St. Louis, and - damn - he's been everywhere. 

To beat Toronto, the Yankees simply must keep their mouths shut and watch the road ahead. It's been 16 years. No more speeches. It's drive time.

À la recherche des Yankees perdue.

 

So, earlier someone was wondering if that was the best playoff outing by a Yankees starter NOT on PEDs since Whitey Ford in the 1961 World Series.

Could be—though here are some other standouts:

Ralph Terry—Redeeming himself from allowing the 1960 walk-off, Bill Mazeroski home run in Pittsburgh, Terry had a career year in 1962, going 23-12, 3.19, with 14 complete games, 3 shutouts, and 2 saves, as he threw almost 300 innings.  

He capped that performance with a 2-1, 1.80 World Series, that won him the Series MVP award.  In a brilliant Game 7, he bested the Giants, 1-0, giving up only 4 hits and 0 walks. This was against a lineup, mind you, that included Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Orlando Cepeda, and Felipe Alou. Future batting champ—and future Yankee—Matty Alou, pinch-hit and reached on a bunt in what was almost a disastrous 9th inning.  

Instead, McCovey' line drive was right at Bobby Richardson, above. Immediately afterward, Richardson tossed his hat away. Anyone know why?

Jim Beattie—Game 5, 1978 World Series. Beattie, after falling behind, 2-0, delivers a 12-2, complete game win that sucks the soul out of the Dodgers. Beattie—another New Englander—allows 9 hits and 4 walks, but strikes out 8, for his first major-league complete game. 

The Dartmouth grad had almost achieved that milestone with a shutout of the Sox during The Boston Massacre, but catcher Mike Heath dropped a pop foul, leading to Beattie being pulled and the Sox scoring twice.  

Afterward, Yanks never really gave him a chance, and traded him to Seattle. There, for a bad Mariners' team, he compiled ERAs of 3.41, 3.84, and 3.41, in 1982-1984—years when the Yanks were desperate for pitching. But hey: we got Ruppert Jones in return.

Dave Righetti—The hard-throwing rookie was tapped to finish off Billy Martin's annoying A's team in the 1981 ALCS, after going 8-4, 2.05 during the interrupted regular season, and 2-0, 1.00, in a start and a relief appearance against the fierce-hitting Milwaukee Brewers in the ALDS that year. 

Righetti threw six shutout innings against Oakland, striking out 4, walking 2 and allow 2 hits, before flamethrowers Ron Davis and Goose Gossage picked him up to finish the shutout. Rickey Henderson actually injured himself, swinging at—and failing to connect-with Righetti's heater. 

I was sure that, with those three plus Ron Guidry, Tommy John, Rudy May, and Rick Reuschel, there was no way the Yanks could NOT beat L.A. in the World Series. Hmm...

Andy Pettitte—After being clobbered by the Braves in Game 1 of the 1996 World Series, Pettitte somehow threw 8 shutout innings in Game 5, turning the tide for the Yankees.

Sure, Paul O'Neill's limping, stumbling run into centerfield from right helped secure that final out. But a 1-0 win over John Smoltz, who had looked—and was dominant against the Yanks?  Not bad.

Back to back, belly to belly—Starting off the 1999 World Series, both El Duque (the other El Duque!) and Dave Cone came within one batter of laying down seven, no-hit innings against a formidable Braves team. 

Game 1, Hernandez allowed only a home run to Chipper Jones that barely snuck in around the foul pole, while striking out 10 and walking only 2. Yanks finally got to Greg Maddux (and John Rocker!) in the 8th, for a 4-1 win.

Game 2, Conie gave up five walks, but only a bingle to back-up receiver Greg Meyers, as Yanks got out fast against Kevin Millwood, en route to a 7-2 win.

Two wins like that—in Atlanta!—and the Series was pretty much over.

Those were the days, my friends.

Everything is going EXACTLY as I planned. Mwahahahahaha.

Houston.

Altuve.

Mets.

Soto.

Redsocks.

Chapman.

Bregman.

Bleu Jays.

Junior.

Dodgers.

Yamamoto. 

Ohtani. 

Children across the Yankiverse finally know what it's like to beat Boston, and a dozen other takeaways from the Schlittler "A Star Is Born" series.

Ladies and gentlemen, at last... our long national nightmare is - (knock on wood) - over. 

The Yankee-Redsock rivalry was starting to resemble the war on drugs. Considering that our last victory over Boston came in 2003, our annual malaise was now 22, old enough to drink.

But here we are, at last, having shed the monkey. Personal kudos to several classy Redsock fans, who texted their in-game appreciation for the miracle that might be Cam Schlittler. As Coney said, "A star is born..."

A dozen takeaways...

1. From now on, considering Schlittler and Ben Rice, the Yankees should ONLY draft youngsters from Massachusetts.

2. It took ESPN six innings to finally address the elephant in the stadium - Schlittler's "challenging" name. It's actually the first thing everybody thinks. 

3. Having Bucky F****n Dent throw out the ceremonial first pitch was genius. Give the unpaid internet who thought of it a raise.

4. Hate to wheedle, but Boston a) didn't look all that mighty, and b) played a ragged series. Our big blow last night was a two-run error by their 1B in an inning that began with their CF blowing a catchable fly ball. They looked like the Yankees, frozen into last year's Game 5, fifth inning.

5. We root for Philly against the Cook-the-Books Dodgers, am I right? And then the Brewers, overall.

6. Anthony October made another fine defensive play and delivered a seeing-eye single. Is he our SS in 2026? I spent the summer figuring Volpe will be gone. The next three weeks could change that.

7. One of the ESPN talkers said Cam Schlittler will never again pay for a beer in NYC. They should add that he'll get laid a million times. 

8. Imagine a game where Aaron Boone made good decisions. Did I dream it? Letting Schlittler pitch the 8th went against every algorithm Boone has used all season. I feared bringing in Bednar for the 9th: Why open the door, even if just a crack? But give Mr. Hubba Bubba credit: It worked.

9. Defensive play of the series was the pop fly snagged by Ryan McMahon, pinwheeling into Boston's dugout. The lone Redsock to try to break his fall was Greg Weissert, a former Yankee. Not blaming Boston; everything happened too fast. But you like to think that when fellow competitor's head is on the line, you do the right thing.

10. I've never seen Giancarlo Stanton preen and flex at home plate, only to watch his HR die at the wall. (Shades of Jackie Donaldson.) The look on his face when he realized... priceless. Giancarlo is lucky the ball took a weird bounce, allowing him to leg out a double. That could have been a career asterisk. 

11. The difference over the last month? Austin Wells. At times this season, he looked overmatched and outdone. Lately, he's our secret weapon in a circular offense.  

12. Next up, Toronto - hateful Toronto. They'll boo. They'll hiss. They'll beat their chests. Fukkem. But they are second-tier Yankee rivals, villainous wannabees. We just beat Doctor Doom, and next up is Mole Man. They don't represent Canada. They just happen to play in a Canadian city. Fukkem. We can beat these bums.

 

Game Three – AL Wild Card Series Game Thread – NY √s Boston – Schlittler √s (hope our hitters get to him) Early

HERE'S HOPING THAT

ALL THE RIGHT CALLS

ARE MADE TONIGHT !

Unrest boils over as Yankee fans brace for 8 p.m. starting time tonight. Change by MLB could force some to stay up after 11:00.

 How many must die, just so ESPN can grab a few more eyeballs? 

Tonight, someone will become a NY-Boston pariah, and it will haunt and sustain them the rest of their life

If you follow this blog, this lone beacon of truth, you know the one thing we absolutely do not tolerate - ever, ever, ever! - is hyperbole. 

Nothing fries my brussels more than scanning some ludicrous fan's ejaculation of malarkey, claiming that if the Yankees lose tonight, the world will end, the planet will explode, or they won't get their swimsuit edition in the mail - (still waiting, btw.) 

We cannot go through life Chicken Little-ing or Geraldo-ing every diddly-shit crisis, especially when it's something as miniscule as a baseball contest. Get a life. As Sergeant Joe Friday would say, gimme the fax, ma'am, just the fax.

Well, here's a fucking fax, straight from 2004: If we lose tonight, don't bother to leave the house tomorrow. There will be no government, no civil order, no future, and no past. Wildfires will rage, the orcas will attack - (have you seen the videos? they're strategizing!) - and those murder hornets in the Northwest - (remember them?) - will swoop across the nation like one of those suburban Tucson haboobs, not to mention that the toilets won't flush, and the TV won't work, aside from maybe the Doomsday Prophesy Channel, which is run by aliens. If we lose tonight, it's simple: Life as we know it - as it involves the Yankees - won't be worth a hiccupped fart. 

Some will accuse me of fearmongering. Those people are fools. It's taken America 249 years, but we have finally achieved the ultimate confrontation between crapola and pooparama. Not saying we know the difference, but tonight - with both teams sending out untesticled rookies - let's face it: We're heading into the chaos, into the darkness, into somebody's destiny. 

And here's the cosmic punch line: Whoever wins, it probably won't matter. Neither looks like a Team Of Destiny. The first two games were decided by clunky fundamentals. The Yankees let a single become a double. The Redsocks botched a catchable fly ball. It's always something stupid. It won't show up in the box score, but if we lose, it will dog us the rest of our lives. 

Of course, the Steinbrenners will do just fine. Whatever happens, they always win. Ink is ink. Ether is ether. And the carnival barkers will thrive. Jack Curry will be able to afford hair gel. But tonight, some fringe player will inscribe his name permanently into the NY-Boston shit list. He will flub his way onto it. The gaffe will haunt him and his family for years, decades. Then, around 2040, it will become a profitable commodity, monetized in airport hotel card shows across the nation. Anthony Fuckin' Volpe? Catsup Cam Schlittler? Who knows? 

A prophet once said, "You can't predict baseball, Suzyn." 

Well, here's a prediction. Prove me wrong... 

If the Yankees lose, some rancid decision by Aaron Boone will add his name to a legacy of failure that few NY sports figures - Scott Norwood, Bill Buckner, Javier Vazquez - have ever attained. People will write books about Boone - (Hoss! you're up!) - as the rare human to experience the rivalry as both hero and pariah. It's been 22 years since Boone's HR beat Boston. The guy who threw the pitch, Tim Wakefield, is dead. (R.I.P., sir.) Recently, Mariano Rivera couldn't play one easy inning without tearing his Achilles. Coney, Paulie, they're fixtures in the booth, pals with ol' big head, Michael Kay. 

I have this feeling - can't shake it - that tonight, we will witness the end of Boone's lifetime arc. Love him or hate him, he's been part of Yankee lore for a generation. Tonight, his Yankee career either moves to the next level: Could he finally reach that world championship that has heretofore eluded him? Or will it end amid boos and empty seats, with nothing - nothing - to show? 

Tonight, something's gotta give. And that ain't no hyperbole. 

Well, I didn't expect THAT...

 

...but I'll take it!

Game Two – AL Wild Card Series Game Thread – NY √s Boston – Rodon √s Bello

IS THIS THE END ?

MY FELLOW FANS

THE END

 

Anthony October?

 We need you.

Tonight, America might get its annual glimpse of the foaming, furious, Yankee Stadium crowd. It won't be pretty. It never is.

Testing, one two three. Is this working? Is anybody out there? Can anybody hear? Okay, I'm doing this anyway. Listen... 

I'm sorry. 

I'm sorry for everything. I apologize for putting you through this, for spreading hope - yeah, ridiculous hope, what a joke - when, actually, none existed. 

I think I lost my mind. I drank the Kool-Aid. I believed.

Look... there's no nice way to put this. No soft words, no respectful tone, no rhyme, no reason. Maybe I shouldn't say anything, but the dead silence - the part where John should be saying, "That's baseball, Suzyn," - it hurts too much. I mean, here we are, facing the end of time... again. With nothing to show.  

If the Yankees lose to Boston - our "arch rivals" - at home, it will simply cap another lost season, adding 2025 to the ever-rising monument to incontinence that the shithouse of Steinbrenner has built. 

Once again, what we're seeing is not merely a game between two teams. It's a clash between organizational beliefs - the Yankees being a lineup of millionaires who singularly swing for the fences, hitting solo HRs - against a team that moves runners and builds rallies. (Was there any more vivid illustration of this than last night, when Jose Caballero - leading off the 6th - belted a long, long fly to deep CF, all the way to the warning track. Here's Caballero, a banjo hitter who should thrive on bunt singles and stolen bases, trying to hit one to White Plains. What a joke.) 

It's a battle between a franchise that spends just enough to finish second every year, and one that builds from the bottom up, with waves of young stars. Boston will be better next year. The Yankees? Who knows? Depends on the purges. 

History has shown, quite vividly, what results when HR-happy lineups encounter good pitching. From Koufax to Halladay, from the Big Unit to, gulp, Curt Schilling, it happens again and again, as it likely will tonight. 

The last ugly vestiges of a frustrating season are about to play out, as so many have done in this millennium. Once again, we will witness a packed stadium, sitting in frozen disbelief, booing as Yankees march back to the dugout, having taken their mammoth swings. By then, Boonie will have been ejected - O, what injustices the home plate umpire will have done to us! Instead of cheers, we will hear the background noise of 50,000 fans crumpling their scorecards and heading home, vowing to never again be taken in by the journalists cheerleaders, most of whom work for a media that the team self-owns.

If the Yankees lose to Boston, put it down as another shameful, wasted, demoralizing year. We'll have more time to go hunting and fishing, right? Damn. I got nothing else to say. Is anybody there?

In a nutshell

I don't agree with everything in the latest Bleeding Yankee Blue post, but this seems like a completely accurate observation about last night:

"The Yankees lost. Nobody should be surprised. This is what happens when you let analytics nerds and a dumbass manager run the show."

The only good Yankee

 

Game One – AL Wild Card Series Game Thread – NY √s Boston – Fried √s Crochet

 Fried the Flipper

not

Pouty the Pointer

An Above Average Haiku Tuesday – The 2025 Post Season Begins, Edition

 For Bettor or Worse

THIS is THE MAN that leads US

It IS what IT is

Ten reasons the Yankees will beat Boston

 A while back, before we hit the September gauntlet and then ran the table on the cupcakes, Yank fans lowered their 2025 world series expectations and settled for the door prize: 

Beating Boston.

That's all. Nobody's thinking Canyon of Heroes, or kneecapping Mr. Met, or  a Chris Chambliss walk-off. If we simply beat Boston in front of the world, we can head into Armageddon with smiles on our faces.

Win, and humanity has a chance. 

Lose, and it's Katie, bar the door. 

So, standing at the precipice, why am I hopeful? Ten reasons.

1. Judge and Stanton. Don't show me their October records (which are wildly divergent.) Boston has nothing like them. 

2. Max Fried. He's not Cy Young, but he's sorta Tommy John, (the pitcher, not the operation). Or maybe Jimmy Key. Whatever. I believe he'll hold his own tonight, against their Monbouquette.

3. At some point, Aroldis Chapman will emerge to quell Yank unrest. We've waited all year to behold the waterfall from his nose and chin, as he disassembles. It's gotta happen. And when it does, Boston will be skunked.

4. Just as an El Chapo meltdown would erase an otherwise solid year, Devin Williams can claim victory with a few scoreless outings. Lately, he's pitched well. Fingers crossed. If Williams had pitched well in June/July, we wouldn't be having to play this round.

5. But but BUT... I'm glad we're here. A three game series against Boston with home field advantage and a rested bullpen. I'll take it. 

6. In fact, it beats sitting out the week, then facing Boston in a long series, when they're on an emotional surge. MLB should rethink a playoff system that hurts top seeds by having them sit for a week. (Of course, Manford would just add two more teams to the postseason, which would suck.)

7. Anthony Volpe. For some reason, fate has a way of finding him. This year, though, we expect nothing from him offensively. If he and Ryan McMahon show defense - and I think they will - that's huge.

8. Jazz, Trent Grisham and Ben give us a lefty spark. The key is not having them face El Chapo.

9. Cam Schlittler. A legend begins?

10. Luke Weaver. I'm still not sure which Luke will show. But I trust him. If he can give us three scoreless innings this week, we're in.

Yanks in three. There, I said it. 

Predictions, anyone? 

Turning the Page on Mom

 

This post was written by our friend The Hammer of God. 

_____

It's with a very heavy heart that I write this, which is a passage that I've been dreading to write for a few years now. But I hope to ease the heaviness of my burden or perhaps ease the burden for someone else who also carried the same burden.

My Mom passed away recently, early this month. It's hard to believe and sometimes doesn't feel real, even though her death was not entirely unexpected. (She was elderly and had not been in good health for years.) Perhaps her death was more shocking to me because, up until the very last few days of her life, she had been mentally sharp and had never lost her reason or memory. The doctors say the cause of death was heart failure from respiratory complications. So it says on the death certificate. But I know that the real cause of death was complications from osteoporosis. She had thinning of the bones and had lost a lot of weight in her final years. 

I had taken care of her myself and had refused to put her in a nursing home. Let me tell you: it was incredibly difficult. It was a 24 hour a day job, with no vacations and snatching some sleep and rest whenever I could manage. 

I remember the day and even the moment when this ordeal started a couple of years ago. It started with low back pain that progressed to severe levels. The back pain waxed and waned. There were periods when it almost seemed to disappear, but it always came back. Laying in bed all day is really bad for the back and for the entire body, but that's what ultimately caused a total bodily health deterioration. When the body weight reaches a critically low level, the body won't be able to overcome any seemingly minor crisis, like a bout of diarrhea.

In her final days, she was hospitalized because she had been weakened by sudden diarrhea over a few days. The severe pain from osteoporosis was back again. Doctors gave her high level pain medicine to ease her suffering, which seemed to make her sleepy most of the time. I thank God that she passed away in her sleep without feeling any pain. She passed away in the afternoon, so a family member was there and noticed immediately that she was not breathing. If it had happened at night, it might not have been noticed until morning by the nursing staff.

I look back on the years and there are so many things that I wish I'd done with Mom or for Mom but never got around to doing. In the end, you simply run out of time.

My Mom was a Yankee fan. As a matter of fact, I introduced her to baseball myself. No one in my family had been a baseball fan until I started following the Yankees in 1981. I remember watching the 1996 World Series with Mom and seeing the final out when Charlie Hayes caught the pop up in foul territory. Somehow, I don't even remember 1998 or 1999, but I remember we saw the last out of the 2000 World Series when Bernie Williams caught the Mike Piazza long fly ball in left centerfield to end it. And I remember the 2009 World Series, when Chase Utley terrorized Yankee pitching, but for once in the postseason, the Yankee bats were overwhelming and A-Rod, Matsui & Co. were too much for the Phillies. Robbie Cano threw out the last Phillies batter on a grounder to second for the title.

It would have been awesome if the Yankees had won last year in 2024, but there's nothing fans can do, except give psychological support or offer up some mental toughness advice. 

Here's to hoping that this time, the Yankees make it to the Promised Land in 2025. I know Mom would be very happy for me and the Yankees.

I debated in my mind whether to write this or not. In the end, I knew that I had to do it. Mom would've wanted me to write this. 

I know that there are a lot of older people on this website. Without doubt, some will be at risk of developing osteoporosis. The good news is that this is an entirely preventable disease with the right lifestyle choices. I will write more about this in the future, but there's no better time than now to get on your feet and pump some iron. No matter how old you are, weight training can save you from osteoporosis. If you build muscle, your bones will get thicker and stronger. If you haven't been physically active, of course it is recommended that you consult a physician before starting an exercise routine. But even small amounts of exercise can be tremendously beneficial. It's not about extending your time on earth. That is up to God. But it's about improving your quality of life during the time you have on earth. Proper weight training is the answer to maintaining an excellent quality of life. If you're not working out two to three times a week, start very light and small. Get educated by reading (I highly recommend Arnold Schwarzenegger's book "Arnold: The Education of a Bodybuilder") and watching youtube. Get motivated and get moving, soldier!