For the Yankees, everything revolves around one player, and he is not getting better

 

For an all-powerful, godlike, global elite, three years is a lifetime. 

Look at Donald Trump. Elon Musk. Xi Jinping. To them, three years is an eternity. 

Zuckerberg. Taylor Swift. Her football player. His brother. Don't make me link to them. You know who they are. For intellectual pigmies like us, it takes three years to tie our shoes. But for the giants, three years represents an infinite existential totality.  

Trump went from felon to the White House. Jeff Bezos got married. Andrew Cuomo - well - dunno. 

And then there is Anthony Volpe.

But in this case, three years is enough time to render a judgement. 

Three years... wow. A Gold Glove. A huge world series home run. A terror on the bases. An iron man at SS. The heir to Jeter. The declining BA. The succession of errors. The world series botched throw. The failing defense. 

At age 24 - his best seasons still ahead of him - the question of what he really is.

Well... 

It's time to shop him. 

Note: I am not saying, TRADE VOLPE. Just kick the tire. As with every July deal, Satan - or Putin - is in the fine print. You can bundle prospects for Joey Gallo - the huge bummer in LF - and still not get entirely burned. Or you can send a few for Juan Soto - the generational star - and give away Michael King. In late July, there are no certainties, aside from the One Rule of August One: The Yankees will remake their team. And the best and worst deals look perilously alike. 

Today, we look like also-rans in the AL East. Last night's loss puts us closer to Boston (who also lost) than to the Jays. 

We have an assortment of young players who could go. Ben Rice. Spencer Jones. Cam Schlittler. Jasson Dominguez - plus those whose names have been carefully hidden from the Prospect Ranking jackals. A package of prospects could bring us a 3B or closer - items we desperately need. It's time to consider the big splash - Volpe. Here's why. 

1. I hate to say it, but he's not getting better. Three nights ago, when he homered twice, we dreamed the dream. Last night, there he was, botching an essential ground ball, a play that had to be made. We just keep replaying excuses. 

2. He'll bring a meaningful player. At 24, he's run the NYC gauntlet. Some GM out there would love to be known as "the guy who coaxed Anthony Volpe from the Yankees." That's a lifetime resume point. Somewhere out there is a young player who has run his course in another city. Think Jazz. 

3. Soon, NYC might not be an option. Fans are getting feisty. They can be cruel - read the comments. When Volpe strikes out, or botches a grounder, he will hear  boos. There are feedback loops: The boos bring pressure. The pressure brings errors. The errors bring more boos. Eventually, the guy goes to Detroit and starts for the AL in the all-star game.  

Look, if the deal doesn't wow us, don't make it. I'm not suggesting we sell the team for parts, like Paramount and CBS. Truth is, we'll root for him. Local boy. Bleeds blue. Plays hurt. Always hustles. 

But this team is stumbling. Trading Volpe would be a hand-grenade in the scrum. Maybe that's what this organization needs.

The luckiest vs. the unluckiest for the AL East

The Athletic has an article today with the chart below, along with their explanation.

I'm not sure I can agree with what they're calling "luck." "Effectiveness," "Consistency Rating," "Just Plain Good" might be better. But according to them, we're the unluckiest team in MLB. And the Jays are the luckiest.

Another meaningless stat in a meaningless universe? Maybe. But whatever they call it, we're getting our asses kicked by the Great White North. And too many other teams, as well. 

But at least they say we're "fascinating."

Unluckiest Teams:

30. New York Yankees, -7.9 wins

Luck ranks (more = luckier): Close games 30th | Offense 16th | Defense 27th

"The Aaron Boone-era Yankees are a fascinating, ongoing test case in whether luck-based stats like these can ever truly regress back to where we’d expect them to be. 

"On the one hand, I (and others) have been complaining about New York’s lack of fundamentals for years, citing them as a primary reason the team doesn’t always have the record its talent and underlying stats would predict. 

"However, this year’s splits are so pronounced that some kind of positive regression seems inevitable. (An eight-win luck shortfall in 96 games is truly enormous.) The Yankees were just 13-18 in one-run games in the first half, and 18-26 in those decided by two runs or fewer, while they were a league-best 35-17 in games with a margin of three runs or more. 

"Performance in blowouts is a strong predictor of future success, and New York’s improvement potential is further bolstered by the fact that pinstriped pitchers have allowed 17.3 more runs than expected via BaseRuns. While some of New York’s bad luck may be unfixable, a differential like this is extreme."

c a r l o s s g a m e t h r e a d m o n d a y w e e k t h r e e j u l y

 

In the upcoming trade war, the Yankees should forget 3B and chase pitching, pitching, pitching...

Lately, there is nothing more predictably unpredictable than the final three innings of a Yankee game.

It doesn't matter who's ahead, or who has homered, or how long the starting pitchers lasted. The Yankees might be scoreless - or even hitless. It. Doesn't. Matter. Because Pandemonium is coming, and the last three innings will be wild. 

What matters is a nifty graphic that the YES wonks call "The Bullpen Budget." It tells who pitched yesterday and the night before and - thus - who can get raked tonight. 

Used to be that every game was defined by its starting pitchers. Not anymore. These days, all you need is The Bullpen Budget. If it's empty, the last three innings are gonna be Hell.    

Right now, the Yankees have three sorta dependable bullpen lug nuts: Devin Williams, Luke Weaver and Tim Hill. After that, it's stems and seeds. They cannot count on Jonathan Loaisiga. They cannot count on Ian Hamilton. They cannot count on - well - anybody who carries the pleasant scent of Scranton. It's a cupboard of Scott Proctors and Tanyon Sturtzes. And if tonight's budget is bare - (last night, we used Williams and Hill) - then all Aaron Boone can do is squirm, because no lead is safe; that's Chinatown, Jake, and this call to the bullpen is brought to you by the Babadook. 

Mark Leiter Jr. has a broken leg. God knows when he'll return. Fernando Cruz? Not this month. There's talk of the Yankees chasing a bigtime 3B at the trade deadline. Fuk dat. We might not love the "OJ" comedy team of Oswald and Jorbit, but if Abbott and Costello were alive today, playing third would be "It Don't Matter." 

Like all of you, I shudder to think what Brian Cashman will do over at the trade deadline. His strategy will surely depend on how the Yankees fare this week in Hateful Toronto, facing Vladimir "I'll-never-be-a-Yankee-wait-I-didn't-mean-that-I'd-play-for-them-if-the-money-was-right-wait-I'll-never-play-for-them-tra-la-la" Guererro Jr. If we sweep the Jays, we'll be back in first. If we get swept, Boston could bypass us. It's a huge difference. And if we flop, you'd have to wonder why Cashman would trade anyone under age 25 for what, at best, would be a salary dump. 

Forget 3B. We need bullpen arms - preferably ones who haven't thrown 40 innings already this season. (Remember Scott Effross?) The Yankees have baseball's most intriguing prospect - see below, regarding Spencer Jones - but it's a gaping sinkhole mystery as to what they should do with him. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Pandemonium is coming. You see it every night... in The Bullpen Budget.

The Yankees have to do something about Spencer Jones

He is hurting the players at Triple A.

 Two home runs and a double today for Scranton. 

Iiiiiiiiittttttt's baseball!!!

 Whatever that means. I'm no AA.

The Yankees just had their breakout victory of 2025. So... will it matter?

Honest to God: For much of this weirdly disappointing, blankety-blank season, I've wanted Trent Grisham to disappear. 

No disrespect, but I saw no reason for the Yankees to keep playing him in centerfield.

I mean, his ceiling was spackled into concrete. He's a career .218 hitter, who last year finished below the Mendoza, at .190. He's never hit more than 17 HRs in a season. (Until now; he's at 17.)  If he got hot, a market correction was coming. His presence in the OF took ABs away from Jasson Dominguez and Spencer Jones, fulcrum points in the Yankee future. If they flop, we're sorta dead. Grisham was the odd-man out.

Thus, every week, ,every series, every game, he needed to stave off irate fans clamoring to see Dominguez and/or Jones, rather than a 28-year-old with municipal bus speed - (Grisham has not one stolen base this year.) Grisham was the bog we must cross to get somewhere.  

That said, to quote George, there's something in the way he moves. Grisham plays CF like a human computer. When a long drive heads to the gap, he instantly calculates where and when the ball will land, and then assumes a jogging trajectory to said location. He and the ball arrive simultaneously. It's weirdly calming. In 60 years of following the Yankees, I don't think I've ever seen a centerfielder lope so casually on deep and dangerous flies. He drifts. You'd think he's listening to a book on tape.  

Well, as you already know, Grisham's grand slam last night spearheaded a comeback that the Yankees desperately needed. In their first game following the all-star break, they were mocked. In game two, they found themselves down 5-0. Another laugher would signal a lost series and the chance to be swept by a team nine games below .500. With two weeks before the trade deadline, the Yankees would be tanking. How could anyone not fear a total meltdown?

So, last night, Grisham played the hero. Good for him. He deserves every cheer. But the question remains: Will his presence in CF matter? Or is he simply a heartwarming back story in an otherwise crapola season, and one we might regret, if the Yankees keep playing him.  

For the record, The Martian didn't see a pitch last night. And down in Scranton, Jones went 4-for-5 with a double and three RBIs. (He's now at .397.) Come July 31, could either or both disappear in the Cashmanic trade winds? Or will it matter? Last night, Trent Grisham came through. How hard should we celebrate?

Sorta rhymes with Wood Shed - July 19th – Can we PLEASE send BOONE to ELLSBURY FIELDS, FOREVER ?

 

Ubu Hal.

 

Of course! How did I not understand? 

For years, I've foolishly believed that Hal, Cashie, and Boonie were, respectively, greedy, arrogant, and dumb. Or some combination thereof.

Rubbish.

Obviously, they are great artists—doubtless the greatest satirical artists of the 21st century. 

These three brilliant minds have spent years performing the greatest Dada epic of all time. How could I not see it earlier?

Obviously obsessed with the absurdist, "anti-art" movement from 130 years ago that gave us the play, Ubu Roi (depicted here), they have labored long and hard to make us see the meaninglessness of our existence—or at least, our sports.

I, for one, am truly mortified that it took me so long to understand this. How else to account for the team's senseless meanderings over the past 16 years? What was the notorious Fifth Inning in last year's World Series, save for an ingenious satire of how baseball is actually played?

I fear that we are in danger of spoiling their entire, scintillating project by taking so long to understand it, and thereby forcing them to become more and more obvious in their satire.

How else, for instance, to understand this past week?

—A major-league team, favored above all others to make the World Series that cannot, after four days off, come up with any starting pitcher other than a tired, mediocre middle reliever? 

You don't call that parody?

—A team on whom a player with the obviously absurdist name of Jorbit Vivas, batting a ridiculous .167, cannot figure out how to slide into third?

—A team that produces a new phenom, a spectacular starting pitcher with the moniker of, I think, Iamacamera Schickimicki. 

That should have been the tip-off right there. Who is possibly named anything like that? 

And of course, the Yankees reported that Cammy Schleswigholstein was throwing 100 or 103 or maybe 250 miles an hour. Side Finch had nothing on this guy. 

After which, of course, Caftan Pfeffernusse had to be shut down for an injury to his forearm, or perhaps it was his neck, due to whiplash.

—And then, of course there was the "Yankees" ace pitcher, who has not been able to recover, in the space of a week, from a blister.

What, we demand to know, was blistered?

His brain lobes, by the racing absurdity of the greater, 21st-century world outside the Stadium's walls? Is this what Hal and his Pal, Cashie the Sad-Eyed Clown, are ultimately trying to tell us?

We must try to listen better.

The one thing, I think we can conclude, is that this is not a ball club.

And if we STILL fail to comprehend what this wizardly trio of artists are trying to tell us?

Well, I think they have already started to head to their ultimate destination, a tribute to the father of all absurdities, the unrivaled Marcel Duchamp.

Gentlemen, we should feel privileged to be in the presence of such genius.

 

 

Send Boone to Tennessee

When Bobby Meecham committed a lazy baseball play years ago, George Steinbrenner sent him to Tennessee that night.  I don't think the Yankees even had a team there.  But the message was clear.

AAron Boone is the one we should send to Tennessee now.  When a rookie doesn't hustle his ass off it is on the damn manager.  Slovenly, arrogant, baseball. Losing baseball. 

But Boone just mumbles " that can't happen,"  and sends him a soda.   

It did happen, and it has happened far too often for the world to look the other way,  The manager is reflected in the team.  And he is worn out, impotent and not paying attention. 

He thinks he is doing his job when he gets thrown out for arguing a strike. 

His team is dumb and lazy.  

Time to back up the bus and send the manager to you know where.

Could the Yankees fumble themselves out of the Aug. 1 trade deadline? Last night, they showcased the Five Tenets of Yankee Collapse

Between now and August - the deadline for swapping hamburgers for meatballs - the ever-collapsing Yankees play 12 games, including seven with hateful intra-division rivals Toronto and Tampa Bay. 

It's foolish to fear a 12-game losing streak; remember what they say about stopped clocks. But over the last six weeks, only the White Sox have played worse, leaving Yank fans respectful of this team's capability for mediocrity. 

This week, they should have been nominated for an EMMY: Best Comedy Ensemble.  

Last night's loss reminds us of how utterly rancid this team can be, when it comes to celebrating its own hubris. The 7-3 loss to Atlanta showcased THE FIVE TENETS OF YANKEE FAILURE. 

1. An injury. In this case, our newest phenom, Cam Schlittler, was pulled from his second start due to "upper arm soreness." They say he'll miss a week.

Yeahp, that's Chinatown, Jake. Because d we all appreciate the Yankee front office's unyielding quest for truth-telling, especially when it comes to injuries.

Fuckme. This is nuts. In one start, Schlitter had already become our great hope. Now, wtf? It's worth noting that, in his debut, Schlittler was recorded as throwing nine of the 10 fastest pitches from a Yankee hurler this season. In other words, he hurt himself, trying to make an impression. I know that coaching pitchers is a complicated science. But how could the Yankees let this happen?

2. A key strikeout by a star. In the seventh, the Yankees rallied to cut the lead to 7-3 and bring up Aaron Judge with two runners on. You could dare to dream but - sadly, everyone knew better. Judge fanned, and that was that. 

Look, we all love the Captain. He's great. He's wonderful. Cooperstown, yatta yatta. But the dirty little secret, whispered across the Yankiverse, is that he's not the guy you want coming to the plate with two men on, late in a 7-3 game. I'm sorry to say this, but with a outcome on the line, Judge's already Godzillian strike zone grows an extra two sizes. 

3. A baserunning blunder. Gleyber is gone, but his legacy remains, and let's face it: There will always be a Bobby Meachem. Last night, we could celebrate Jorbit Vivas, thrown out at third on a fly ball tag up, because - of course! - he didn't slide.

The thing is, here's a guy struggling to make this roster. He's a step away from Scranton. He should be running through walls. Instead, he dogs it running to third? It was a blunder - he got deked - but these are the little things that little guys are supposed to do well. 

What does that tell you about the coaching of the Yankees?

4. An imponderable early deficit. Atlanta scored three in the first, and - damn - everybody knew what was inevitable. We've seen this movie too many times.

Even the mini-rally in the 7th. By then, up 7-0, Atlanta unloaded its biggest bullpen tomato cans, looking to save arms for tonight. So the Yankees scored a few. It didn't matter. Just three pointless hours of struggle.  

5. Another drop in the standings.  For months now, we've been telling ourselves, "It can't happen here! It can't happen here!" Well, take a look around, buckos. It IS happening, every day. We are sinking fast, and our greatest fear - Boston - could soon bypass us. Every other team in the AL East has a younger and hungrier lineup, and we just keep flailing. 

No trade deadline deal can save this team. And the next 12 games might just make that apparent to everyone with eyes. Will the Yankee front office open theirs?  

We've been worrying about what Cashman will do at the deadline. Maybe this team is sending him a message: Don't do anything, because this is a lost cause. 

game thread - july 18th, 2025 - back in to the exciting second half of the season !

 

Twelve shopping days left until Cashmas. Dear God, we have been here many times before...

Excuse me, but do I know you? Have we met? I'm thinking Woodstock '99 maybe? No? It's just - your face seems... familiar. I can't shake the feeling that we've been here before, many times, here, in this bus station, almost as if in a dream.

Yeah, wait... I do know you. We were here last year, when the Yankees obtained Jazz Chisholm. And we were here years earlier for the Joey Gallo trade, and - gulp - going way back - for Pete Incaviglia, for Daryl Strawberry, for Jay Buhner - dear God, I remember now! -for J.A. Happ, for Andrew Benintendi, for countless August 1 midnight deals. You and I, we've been meeting in this Wilkes Barre transfer station every July since the dawn of baseball, waiting for something to change our lives, waiting for a chance to transform, waiting to go somewhere, anywhere.

Yeah, I know you. We celebrated the arrival of Harrison Bader, thinking this guy had to be great, because  the Yankees surely would never traded Jordan Montgomery for an injured schlub. We couldn't wait to see Mark Leiter Jr, and Glenallen Hill, and Raul Mondesi, and John Olerud, and all the others who would come and go, come and go, come and go...

The players leave, but we stay, like ghosts, rattling our chains in the hope that Brian Cashman will hear. 

Yeah, I remember you. We stood here, watching in horror, when the Yankees traded Al Leiter for Jesse Barfield. This is July, the doggiest days of summer, that unsettled period of dread, full of trade rumors and proposals, as the Yankees pursue some aging, underachieving veteran for a run at what will eventually be the wild card.

Take a look at the pitching stats on the above right. As far as I can see, no matter who we trade for or what we do, several arms hold the fate of the 2025 Yankees. Luke Weaver must somehow regain his fastball. Marcus Stroman must stay healthy. Jonathan Loaisiga must return to form. Max Fried's blister must heal, and Cam Schlittler must be for real. If those things happen, we'll be all right. If they don't...

Well, we will be here next year, like all the others. As far as I can tell, there are no busses leaving this place. 

Who's on catcher? Wells or Rice? Comparisons from the Poet and the Wonk

Heading into the dog days, the Yankee roster holds three LH catchers. Somebody's gotta go. 

So, who decides? The poet, or the wonk? Let's see...

FIRE OR RICE?  (Apologies to Robert Frost) 

Some say the year will end with Wells,
Some say Ben Rice.
With all his deepest slumps and spells,
I'm sorta done with Austin Wells.
But if, in trades, he'll bring no price,
I think we'll find J.C. Escarra
Is hardly our next Yogi Berra,
Thus, for now, let's go with Rice,
And hope his defense
Will suffice.

Okay, pretty bad. But at least it's not "Yummy yummy yummy I got trades in my tummy..." 

So, let's hear from the Wonk. The numbers are close, and there's something troubling about the difference in RBIs, but Ben Rice looks more productive. The second half should be his.   

Cultural Regression

 

The corporate entity known as MLB has now had 23 years to fix the possibility that its all-star game could end in a tie, ever since Bud "Mr. Comb-over" Selig stood around like a lox in his own ballpark, shrugging helplessly as both teams ran out of pitchers and walked off the field.

The potential fixes were not difficult. The teams could have been ordered to bring along one or two or three or four "extra" pitchers, duly compensated for their time, and to be used only in case of extra innings. 

Or they could have had on hand three or four of the most promising minor-league pitchers in the game, or college pitchers, or "guest pitchers" from leagues around the world...all of whom, we can surmise, would have been delighted to appear.

Or the managers of both squads could have been ordered not to run out of pitchers, something they had managed to not do in all-star games for nearly 70 years before the Miller Park Meltdown.

But none of this was done, of course.

Instead, it was left to that elegant corporate suit, Rob Manfred, to come up with yet another "solution" that mangles the fundamental nature of the game. This was the Home Run Swing Off or Jerk Off, or whatever it was called, reducing what used to be the best all-star game in sports to the batting-practice whacks of Kyle Schwarber, a tubby little sultan of blubber—three inches shorter and 15 pounds heavier than Babe Ruth in his playing days—with 314 home runs and 1,442 strikeouts to his name.

Schwarber, without opposition, put three balls over the fence, and the National League went home a winner, ludicrously washing away the biggest comeback in the game's history by the AL.

This solution is typical of Manfred, in that it:

—Was taken from other sports

—Stinks

Manfred has already given us the Home Run Derby, a gimmick borrowed from the NBA, which made its own all-star game a shadow of the accompanying slam-dunk contest. The Swing Off was borrowed from FIFA, which has managed to reduce the most avidly watched sports spectacle in the world to a "shoot out," the soccer version of the Swing Off. 

Thrilled by France's amazing rally from two goals down against Argentina in 2022? Aching to see what would decide that battle for the most sought-after prize in world sports?

Well, forget it. Time for the equivalent of watching the best golfers in the world take three-foot putts, and seeing who misses one first.

But such ideas are typical of Manfred, who just this year suggested "the golden at-bat" as a late-innings gimmick in ballgames, and who has wrecked extra-inning games with his insipid "Manfred Man" rule.

Bear with me, please, as I note here again that the first, full baseball game I ever watched was the 1967 All-Star Game, which went 15 innings. 

It wasn't a very good game, played at the height of the late '60s pitching dominance. On top of that, the game was in Anaheim, and some idiot in the commissioner's office at the time, decided to maximize the East Coast audience by starting it at 4:15, PCT. The result, a whole game played in the gloaming, was a combined 30 strikeouts, with all the runs scored on three "Schwarbers"—solo home runs.

I loved it. It helped that my father let me stay up to see the whole thing on our fuzzy little, black-and-white TV, moved to the kitchen of our rented half-a-house in Tenafly, New Jersey, so it wouldn't disturb my sleeping, younger sisters. I was thrilled, nonetheless: what would happen? Who would win? How would it happen?

Sure, things didn't turn out the way I wanted them to. The AL lost, and The Mick struck out in his one appearance, and a hated Met—this unknown kid pitcher, one Tom Seaver—saved the win for the NL. But hey, it was fun, it was exhausting, and better luck next time. No Schwarbering around.

It got across to me, at least on some level, that baseball was an amazing, one-on-one game, wrapped inside a team game—and vice versa. There were all sorts of ways to win, all sorts of complications, and who knew what would happen? It was the very complexity of it all that made it so intriguing.

Rob Manfred, by contrast, appears to be interested mostly in boxing up the wonderful sport he runs into neat little media packages.

Gone are the old minor leagues, with their histories, and individual names and stories. Gone are extra innings that—never very often—might go on who-knows-how-far into the night. Gone is all strategy and individuality, sold off for advanced algorithms (It is no coincidence that this year's all-star game featured an experiment with automatic strike zones for the first time). 

Here is power over grace, corporate flim-flam over any real emotions. 

This all-star game also featured a tribute to Henry Aaron's record-breaking, 715th home run—complete with computerized, laser depictions of where that shot landed. Unmentioned by the MLB flacks posing as broadcasters was the fact that the Braves' current field, "Truist Park," is not one but two heavily subsidized stadiums removed from the one where "Hammerin' Hank" actually did hit that home run, Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium—a name that, if not exactly one to conjure with, at least gave credit to the people who built it. 

(Also, unmentioned, of course, was how Aaron's mark was long ago surpassed in the fraudulent record books by a cheating juicer—another scandal that Rob Manfred managed to bury, not to fix.)

Here, too, is corporate posturing over even human decency, with everyone in attendance bullied into writing down and displaying in public the names of those cancer victims they cherish the most. Our culture has become so depraved that we don't even recognize how nauseating this is, a show of caring that will do absolutely nothing to help those it is supposedly for; a "taking a stand" against a biological entity which our ballpark courage will in no way ameliorate.

(You'll remember that we just chucked out on his ass the president who so wanted an actual, well-funded, national campaign against cancer, because our eggs cost a little more.)

We've all heard the term, "technological regression," about societies that, through disaster, neglect, and indifference, lose the ability to do those things they once did routinely. I can't remember who it was who said, "Show me the games you play, and I will show you the society you have"—or something like that—but here we are. Our cultural regression is all but complete.

 

With Yankee trade expectations straight outa fantasy land, let's ponder what coulda been

Today, as I happily doom-scrolled on the Cal Raleigh, I stumbled onto a clickbait site that said the Yankees should trade for closer Emmanuel Clase and 3B Eugenio Suarez. What a delightful thought! Clase and Suarez! Hooray!

One thing, though: As long as we're self-indulging our Calgon fantasies, why stop there? Let's throw in Chris Sale, George Kirby and some bullpen lug nuts. We'll simply trade Spencer Jones, Cam Schlitter, George Lombardi Jr., Ben Rice, the Martian and whatever prospects are flying under Yankee Doppler hype radar, and - come next July - we'll occupy this same magical commode, swallowing the same insane dollops of crapola that come with being a Yankee fan. It'll be 2026, and - between the wildfires and floods - we'll face the usual dilemma:

We're good enough for Hal... but not to win. 

Sherman, set the Wayback for early March 2025: The Yankees have lost Juan Soto, but Hal Steinbrenner has signed Max Fried, Paul Goldschmidt and Cody Bellinger - convincing the Gammonites to stop writing Yankee obits.  

One problem, though: Third base. 

They have nobody. There's talk of Oswaldo/Oswald, and maybe a scrap heaper. Pablo Reyes? Basically, Yankee fans are fed one constant line: 

Hal is done spending... for now.  By holding the line in March, our crafty owner will have money to score somebody at the July 31 trade deadline.

That said, last March, there are two solutions out there, awaiting a call.

1. Alex Bregman, our long-term Astros nemesis, coming off a lousy year and looking for a short-team contract.

2. Gleyber Torres, who reportedly wants to stay a Yankee. (He'd play 2B, keeping Jazz Chisholm at 3B.) 

Both are a phone call away. If Hal dials their number, he writes a check, and the Yankees improve immeasurably. All they need is for Hal to spend beyond his comfort zone - as the Mets, Cubs, Dodgers, Phillies, Padres, Angels and other competing billionaire owners increasingly do. 

If Hal signs either, the Yankees don't have to drain their system on Aug. 1.  

If Hal signs either, he spares us the first half collapse, which sees the Yankees go from AL East leader to - well - claw sounds on the chalkboard - the wild card race. 

Bregman - hitting .298 with 11 HRs - is supposedly such a valued clubhouse presence that Boston wants to sign him to a long term deal. Or  Gleyber, hitting .281 with 9 HRs, the starting AL all-star, is viewed a leader on the best team in the AL. 

Hal could have signed either and not missed one meal - just as, once upon a time, he could have shelled out for Bryce Harper and/or Manny Machado. As we doom-scroll, if the Yankees had signed either Harper or Machado, imagine how many rings the team might now have? 

Well, it's time to flush. Wanna know the problem with the modern day Yankees? It's simple. 

Generally, Yankee players give everything they've got. 

But the owner never does.

One Question...

Can you fire a manager for 

blowing an All-Star Game?

For those of you who did not watch and may I say, I don't blame you one bit, it was a well played game for the most part with the American League coming back from a 6-0 deficit to tie the game and send it into extra innings.

Except...  

The Lords of Baseball decided that there wouldn't be extra innings. 

The game would be decided by a Mini Home Run Derby.  

Sure why not? They already stopped the game for a long, long, long "Stand Up For Cancer" segment that included a song and music video and then again for a tribute to Hank Aaron with projections and a hologram that was pretty cool, and the game was in Atlanta, so I'm going to give it to them. 

So, Aaron Boone, who never lets an opportunity to look like an idiot slip by, and whose record in extra innings speaks for itself, gets to pick the three players to represent the American League.  

On his team he had the MLB Home Run Leader and guy who won the HOME RUN DERBY YESTERDAY, in the Big Dumper, Cal Raleigh, and the guy who holds the American League Home Run Record and is just killing it this year in Aaron Judge. 

He also had and used, Brent Rooker from The A's. Rooker had homered earlier in the game.

Notice I said he used the A.  

He did not use the other two. He did not use the MLB home run leader or Aaron Judge! 

Instead it came down to some guy with eleven home runs so far this season. His career high by the way, Jonathan Aranda. He hit one to the fence and the other two would have been easily caught in the outfield. 

Dave Roberts didn't even have to use Pete Alonzo and the American League lost. 

They played hard.

They came back from a huge deficit. 

And Aaron Boone flushed it away. 

No interest in winning at all. Kept the two best HR hitters in baseball on the bench!  

Here's a more important question...

Who would want to play for this guy? 

An Above Average Haiku Tuesday – It is High, It Is Far, It is . . . THREE !

big miss and a swing

jazz, jazz, so full of pizzazz

redefines "tweaked"

 

The Home Run Derby raised one existential question? WTF was Jazz Chisholm thinking?

Last night, the eternally unblinking eyes of the Yankiverse - which have witnessed the grandeur and squalor of countless civilizations - watched the 2025 season dangle over The Precipice.  

There it was, the image of Jazz Chisholm - barely a month out of rehab for a strained oblique - lunging desperately at pitches, doddering like a George Romero zombie, with a Flash Flood Alert issued for his forehead, in the apex predator of Junk Sporting Events: Battle of the Network Stars Celebrity Boxing  the MLB Home Run Derby.  Shades of 2017, when Aaron Judge's torturous appearance tweaked his cabbage patch and nearly ruined his rookie season.

What was Jazz thinking, competing in a contest for leviathans? Was it hubris? Overconfidence? Magic mushrooms? Doesn't matter. The first round HR totals tell everything:

Junior Camiero 21
Oneil Cruz 21
Bryon Buxton 20
Brett Rooker 17
Cal Raleigh 17
James Wood 16
Matt Olson 15
Jazz Chisholm 3

That's no typo. That's a three. Chisholm - a petite 5'11" and (supposedly) 180 - entered the contest on behalf of all who do their adult shopping at Gap For Kids. He exited - not quickly enough - as a future Derby punch line. Most noticeably, at the end of his godforsaken round, he took several pitches, square down the middle. Was he gassed? Was he drained? Or was he feeling something? 

Maybe it's me. But I saw a professional athlete gasping for breath, and - considering the absurdity of his being there - not wanting to acknowledge an injury. Again, maybe I'm just being a sissy, but Chisholm - as his round came to an end - was clearly glad it was over. He seemed to be channeling Roberto "No Mass" Duran in his fight with Sugar Ray Leonard. 

We won't hear anything for days. And if it turns out that he tweaked something, we'll probably read Epstein's diaries before the Yankees come clean about what happened. 

Still, you gotta worry. If Chisholm goes down, dear God, the Yankees would go down with him. He is Aaron Judge's best protection, and he is the key to our infield defense. And today, we have to wonder: WTF was he thinking? 

For the troubled Yankees, the first half ends with these seven questions

 

Half-time.  

If everything ended today, we'd be heading to Houston, behind Blistex Fried, Jazz, Judge, Gio, and the cast of Squid Game. Of course, everything depends on what Cooperstown Cashman does in the looming Aug. 1 Reformation, when the Yankees once again mortgage next year for a shot in October.

Seven questions about the 2025 Yankees. 

1. Is this the real Anthony Volpe? 

He isn't hitting, fielding, stealing bases - yikes. Is this it? The guy bleeds Yankee plasma, no question. But at some point, for his and our sanity, the Yankees must move on. It's starting to pinch. Right now, everyone is quietly waiting for George Lombard Jr. to swoop in take over SS. But moving too quickly could undermine Lombard's development. So the question remains, as offered by the late and great Peggy Lee: Is that all there is to Volpe? 

2. How vulnerable is Aaron Boone?  

Depends. Boston just hit the break on a 10-game win streak. Is this another one of those years? Because Yankee managers don't survive Redsock resurgences.

Right now, here are the Top 5 People Currently Looking Nervously Over Their Shoulders, Ranked. 

1. Pam Bondi
2. The disaster pooh bah in Texas
3. Rosie O'Donnell
4. Elon Musk
5. Aaron Boone

If Boston keeps going, I'm thinking Boone jumps into the Top 3. (Word to the Wise: Don't Sleep on Kristie Noem.)

3. What can we get in a trade for Spencer Jones? 

Not advocating it, as Jones invigorates our fleshy fantasies, with the idea of a bookend giant slugger in LF. But let's face it, Jones might be the Second Coming of Joey Gallo, and who wants that? Also, his trade value may never be higher. (Sports Illustrated calls him "baseball's most intriguing prospect.") 

Look: All trades depend on the details. Let's assume that Cashman is already making calls. What does "intrigue" get you? How intriguing!  

4. Whaddawe do 'bout Boston?

We beat them like a rug, that's what - in a four-game home series that begins Aug. 21.

By then, they may have passed us in the standings, and everybody will be three weeks into the Trade Deadline Facelift. The Yankees are 1-5 against Boston. That cannot stand. The Rays and Jays won't do it. Nor would I put money on the Tigers. Either we beat the Redsocks, or this lopsided millennium will get even darker.

5. Will Aaron Judge leads in HRs only three times? 

Depends on Cal Raleigh, who is NOT a flash-in-the-pan. If Big Dumpster wins the HR race - he currently leads - Judge's universal dominance as Earth's Greatest Slugger could end. He lead in HRs in 2017 (52), 2022 (62), and 2024 (58.) 

Moreover, if Raleigh brakes his HR record - he's one behind Barry Bonds in the books - it would slightly undermine on Judge's Ruthian feats. As Yank fans, we want Judge's HR record to last - well - at least three years, right? 

That, or his 62 HRs would look like a spiked total in a time when slugging records commonly fell. Judge is certifiably great. His our captain. He's a future Hall of Famer. But let's hope he beats the Dumper.

6. How high can Jazz Chisholm go? 

He's been on a tear since returning from his injury, and he seems happy at 2B. How long can he keep it up? His ceiling is - well - do we have a read? 

For years, he's been touted as a potential star. He almost put it together last fall, but he was playing out of position. Now, at 2B, he's where he belongs. And at 5'11, he is the most unlikely hitter in the Home Run Derby. 

Watch him win it.  

7. Is Jonathan Loaisiga done? 

When he returned, last month, our bullpen looked solid. Now, it's more porous than the national effort against measles. Unfortunately, he's not the pitcher we remember from 2023. He's getting pounded, and it's scarier with each appearance. Forget the Circle of Trust. He's a candidate for Scranton.

Half-time. A lotta questions.     

sunday √s 13 thread cubs (zim) game yankees july . . .

 

For the Yankees, objects in the rear view mirror may appear farther away than they actually are.

 

As we head to the All-Star break, time off from the Great Midsummer Plummet - (aside from the Seattle interlude) - let us take a moment to ponder the emerging, 2025 worst case scenario:

That Boston wins its 5th world championship in this godforsaken millennium.

If we believe in magical thought - and who here doesn't? - we should all be standing naked at the Precipice, screaming madly into the Firmament, eyes open to the vast, bludgeoning Abyss. 

I mean, check out the sequences in play.

Boston won it all...

In 2004. 

In 2007. 

In 2013. 

In 2018. 

Listen: They're overdue, like the Grand Canyon. 

And they are using the same old formula, (as the Yankees are reusing theirs, which has won - hmm, checking the numbers here - Absolutely Nothing since 2009.) 

The Redsocks are young, hungry and ascending, baseball's hottest team, soon to be bolstered by the return of Alex Bregman. They can trade for anyone, thanks to a farm system overflowing with talent, which they nurtured for four years.  

Try not to pee, as you ponder the differences between them and us: 

They get an all-star 3B, while we endure the comedy team of Oswald & Jorbit.

Today, in the kiddie draft, they'll pick 15th, while we wait until #39. Of course, we'll tout whomever we select, but let's face it: The premier talent will be long gone. 

They are harvesting one of MLB's top rated farm systems, an abundance of trade chips. We have three: Cam Schlittler, George Lombard Jr. and the meteoric Spencer Jones. (FYI: Last night, Jones went 0-5 with 2 Ks. In yesterday's Futures Game, Lombard  went 1-2 with a double and a walk.)  

Today, we sit two behind Toronto, three up on Boston. Aaron Judge is second in home runs, second in RBIS and first in Batting Average - still the game's greatest slugger, even as Big Dumpster Raleigh defies gravity. Deals are coming. The Yankees are going to trade for - well - something. A storm is coming. Boston is closing. Be afraid. Be very afraid. 

Historical factoid

Dave "Baby" Cortes died in 2022, although even his own daughter didn't know until three years later. He hit #1 in 1959 with the classic, "The Happy Organ," the title causing at least a couple generations of boys to guffaw and chuckle uncontrollably.

But in his NY Times obit, there was an odd Yankees-related connection. Thought I'd share.

“The Happy Organ” lived on as a cover tune as well, recorded by artists as diverse as the surf band the Ventures, the Jamaican reggae band the Soul Vendors and the longtime Yankee Stadium organist Eddie Layton.

Game Thread – 07/012/25 – R I N G. T H E. B E L L ! ! !

 

A night of HRs - in NY and Scranton

First, let me hereby grovel, like the microscopic flea that I am, in praise of Cody James Bellinger, son of Clay. 

Whatever I ever said bad about him - (in the heat of battle, a general sometimes must berate his lieutenants) - I take it back. Three HRs? That's a grand night! Hip hip! (!!!) Hip hip! (!!!) Hip Hip! (!!!) Forhe'zajollygoodfellow, forhe'zajollygoodfellow, forhe'zajollygoodfelloooo, which nobodycandeny! It's been a while since a Yankee brought felony-grade, Old Testament, Liam Neeson vengeance upon a former team - (I recall a shutout over the cheating Astros by Gerrit Cole) - and it's refreshing to know that other teams piss off players, too. It's not just us. 

So, in case you're scoring at home, a great Yankee night... 

1. Three HRs puts Bellinger at .285, with 16 HRs and 54 RBIs - which stacks up against Mr. Met Money (.265, 22, 54), and with a clear defensive advantage. (Remember the shoestring catch he converted into a DP against the Mets?) The moment that Juan Soto signed his mega-deal, he stepped into an ugly, joyless realm that will forever inspire unfortunate comparisons, and whenever one pops up, I shall lord over the bum and roil the heavens like Betty White after a 30-rack of Labatt's Blue. 

2. Yes, the Cubs were demoralized, but Carlos Rodon - with 8 shutout innings - wins an All-Star designation. Along with whatever bonus money is involved - which is always a thing - this should lessen the publicity burden on Rodon, due to his big contract. After a crapola first season in NY, he has quietly become a crucial cog on the Yankee staff. 

3. The Yankees have now won five in a row. They remain two behind Toronto, but the recent streak has spared them from being bypassed by Boston - which has now won 8 straight. Yank fans should be very, very afraid. The Redsocks are young  and hungry. Cross your fingers that DJ LeMahieu doesn't somehow find his way to Boston. This might be one of their years.

4. Down in Scranton, the emerging titan, Spencer Jones, hit another HR - his sixth since being promoted to Triple A, a three-run shot that broke open the game. (Note: He fanned twice, still a sucker for something.) But with each passing game that he stays above .400, the buzz becomes a roar. We are entering the Jones Conundrum: The more he hits, the more we want to see him in Pinstripes, and the more we'll get for him in a trade.  

Today, 1:05 p.m. We're closing in on the break. Last year, we crapped the bed against Baltimore - an omen of the World Series finale. Maybe this year, we stick the landing? 

Happy birthday, Bern!

And may Cody Bellinger continue the celebration Saturday.

Me, I'm going to Cologne to visit friends, so will be deprived of watching the last games before the break. And why is the break seemingly getting later and later in the season? Used to mark the halfway point, but not anymore.

Must have something to do with money. Everything does. Ask Soto.

Maybe I can catch some of the game on the Audacy app. Haven't listened to Suzyn in a while. 

By the way, I started smoking again. I know, I know. But adjusting to this move to Germland ain't easy. Serious Manhattan withdrawal symptoms.

I'm hoping to get back to New York this fall, but can't be sure of when. I'd love to see any of you guys when I'm there.

Six losses, five wins. Streaky.

FLeXeN √s RºDº'N - Fry up da Fish, Slap it on a Dish, Eat it with your Face . . . Last Licks !

                                                                                            SEE YAH!

Nixon vs. Soto

 

All But One...

 ...contributed to the grand plan ( and play ) in the last innings of yesterdays glorious victory. 

It ranged from amazing at bats ( Grisham and others )  to amazing defense ( I'll insert Ben Rice for this one ). Multiple big hits ( Wells gets the carrot, but there were several by others).  A rare game-changing deliverance by GS in a pinch hitting role.  And on it goes.

But our third base position remains a black hole.  Vivas was given a second chance ( he fanned on his first visit to the stadium ).  He had to know he was given this opportunity because Paraza was all glove and no bat.  So what does Vivas do in his first at bat?  He goes down looking at strike three. 

Even I remember that every coach who ever spoke to me said," if it is close...when you are in a two strike count...you swing at it. "  Vivas didn't get that message ( same for too many yankees ).

Vivas also looked lost on that pop up that he called for, and required Dominguez to catch.  Vivas has a glove?

So fast forward now to Paraza.  He finally gets a critical at bat, and his job is to move the runners over to second and third, by laying down a sacrifice bunt.  This is a redemption moment.  A chance to contribute and earn another shot at hitting a pitch one day.

So what does he do?  He blows it.  His bunting technique was like a foreign soccer player getting his first at bat ever in an American baseball game might do.  He stuck out the bat, and stabbed at the ball....thereby assuring a pop up or a foul ball.  Lucky for the yankees it wasn't a double play ( that's why the Yankees had him bunting.....he is a double play magnet when he doesn't strike out looking ).

I keep hoping that Paraza's glove can buy him more time. That some of those hard hit balls will go elsewhere than to a waiting fielder. 

I don't have that hope any longer.   

And Vivas ain't looking like the answer either. 

At the risk of self-luxuriating, let us brazenly bathe in last night's perfect Yankee victory.

If only life could imitate last night...

Hitless through seven. Down by five in the eighth. Facing an all-star closer. With Giancarlo's first career pinch-hit homer. A huge hit by the suddenly revived Austin Wells. An acrobatic, game-winning, Ichiro-style slide by Anthony Volpe. A video replay that, for once, goes our way. A walk-off by the captain, and a postgame shower of ice water.

Pinch me.

Oh, one other thing: Down in Wilkes Barre, Spencer Jones - the Titan of Triple A - continued his (still small sample size) rampage, going 2-4 with 2 RBIs and 2 stolen bases. 

Listenup, people. Quiet in the back. 

If we are going to spit flaming chunks of bile after every unforgivable Yankee defeat - (which, spoiler alert: is exactly what we will do) - then we owe it to ourselves to enjoy the Calgon Bath Oil Beads beauty bath that was delivered last night (at least in our memories) by the strangely hot, tightly-clothed lady who years ago on TV commercials became the human face of diarrhea and - if you remember - was a briefly beloved icon of IT IS HIGH hope. I give you... The Angry Bowel Lady. 

It's been a long time since she went away - and I hope your symptoms went with her - but last night's win conjured memories of the good old days, when our heroine proudly wove her spell of Spandex against the explosions of feces that enflamed us.

In fact, last night's great Yankee victory was tempered by the news that bikini gymnast Livvy Dunne had been rejected in her bid to buy a Manhattan condo formerly owned by Babe Ruth, proving once and for all that rich people have glass tubes in their crotches and secretly hate everything that is young. (Which is, in a convoluted way, why the Yankees are what they are.) 

But back on topic... honestly, at one point last night did you make peace with a loss, as long as we didn't have to stomach a no-hitter? Me? I bailed in the seventh, when Seattle opened a 5-run lead. I was ready for Jorbit Vivas to pitch the ninth. (I should add that I suffered a secondary wave of despair in the 10th, when Oswald Peraza failed to bunt our ghost runner to third. C'mon, man. Peraza is hanging on by a thread. This is a guy who needs to know how to bunt. He looked awful. He's scraping to stay in the majors, and he didn't bother to learn to bunt? WTF?) 

Save your bile, everyone. We'll need it. But last night might have brought the greatest single moment for the 2025 Yankees. A magnificent Yankee win. Savor it. And chin up, Livvy. If the Angry Bowel lady could make it, there's a place for anyone. 

I Hate To Go Public

 ...with this, but that pitcher we brought up to start yesterday looked good. 

I will probably call him Shitlist for a while, just because I am bad with names.  

And because that is a document upon which my name was often included.  Just ask the principal of PS number 8 in Yonkers , NY, or many of the coaches whose team I was trying to make. 

Seriously, the dude looked like he can pitch. It was one of the few times in memory that a touted prospect ( although his touting....minor league pitcher of the year ... was unbeknownst to me) has delivered, so to speak. 

I would pencil him in for a start every fifth day right now.

Praise be to someone.