And so T(oby) J(oseph) Rumfield departs for Rocky Mountain high, Colorado, as the song has it. We can only wish him well—and only speculate upon how the 2024 World Series—or indeed, even the whole 2025 season might have turned out had Brian Cashman decided to give a lefty, .290 Triple-A hitter with some pop and a terrific glove, a chance.
Any chance. Even a cup of coffee.
But no. Rumfield was left to cool his heels in Scranton for two long years, without getting so much as a swing at that sweet Stadium porch.
Instead, Brain Cashman, The Man Who Bested Scott Boras, Mano-a-Mano—as his press courtiers are now proclaiming him—decided instead to squeeze the last dregs from two, once-great pros, Anthony Rizzo and Paul Goldschmidt, at first base.
It sez here that the 2024 World Series, at least, would've been up for grabs if Cashie had Rumfield out a first. Even had Rummy proved that he couldn't hit a lick, no doubt he charges Mookie Betts' groundball and makes the play that keeps the Fifth Inning Fiasco from being anything but a footnote.
That happens, and the Yanks go back to L.A. with Judge now hitting and a Dodgers team bleeding so badly that Shohei Ohtani is playing with his sleeve pinned to his jersey.
Oh, well—who knows?
Here one is tempted to make assorted Rummy jokes about known knowns and unknown knowns. But it's just too damned annoying.
What we DO know is that Brian Cashman simply wasted two years of Rumfield's life and two years of the Judge Window. All gone now. The question that remains is WHY? Why not give the kid so much as an at-bat at the Big House?
The answer is the predictable one: like most poseurs in positions they are not qualified to hold, Cashman clings to credentials above all else.
T.J. Rumfield was drafted in the lowly 12th round by the Phillies, a 21-year-old who looked like a big tall geek and had only begun to start in his senior year in college. He wasn't expected to do much, and for his first three years in pro ball, he didn't.
Then he did, suddenly starting to hit and hit well, and field well, in 2024.
In Brian Cashman's world, this is the equivalent of the moment in the 1960s sci-fi shows when someone asks the evil, omniscient robot the question, "Why?" It just did not compute. But rather than letting his head explode, Cashie did what he usually does when some minor leaguer or another shows unexpected skill: he buried him.
Don Mattingly had a pretty similar resumé, a-way back in the early 1980s. He was younger when he started in the minors, to be sure, and he always hit—for average. In 4 minor-league seasons, though, Donnie Baseball never hit more than 10 home runs.
He was a singles and doubles guy, who didn't walk all that much, and had no speed. The Yankees didn't really know what to do with him, and as they were just moving into "King George: The Mad Years," it's almost miraculous that they didn't deal him for one of the nonentities they did deal away the future for back then—another Ken Phelps or Bob Sykes or Dale Murray.
Instead, even after The Hit Man batted a meh .283 with only 4 homers in 91 games in his rookie year, they traded his main rival for the job, Steve "Bye-Bye" Balboni, to Kansas City, for a mediocre middle reliever named Mike Armstrong.
This was foolish enough. Armstrong was nothing of the kind, turning in one so-so season before fading into permanent hambone woes.
Balboni proved to be nothing to write home about, but he had a nice little career for himself, hitting 36 homers to help KC win the World Series in 1985. (The Yanks, of course, signed him back on when he was near the end. Some organizational bad habits precede even Cashman.)
Mattingly, meanwhile, somehow, almost overnight, turned himself into one of the best hitters in the American League, winning a batting title, and an MVP, and lining shot after shot into the right field stands and all over the big ballpark.
"You made the right call," as that baseball ad used to say.
In retrospect, it's easy enough to see why. Mattingly was a lefthanded hitter in Yankee Stadium, Balboni a righty. Donnie hit for a much higher average, was a Gold Glove fielder at his position, and could play left field.
If the Balboni trade was a poor one, the Yankees, at least, had cleared a spot for a true superstar to emerge.
Neevvver woulda happened with Cashman.
Why? Because Balboni was drafted in the second round. Mattingly? Just the 19th round of the 1979 June amateur draft.
In the mind of Brian Cashman, a credential is forever. It's why he picks up so many of those former, high-draft picks who have since proven to be busts, or broken down from injury. Somebody else once thought they were can't-miss, right?
If Cashman were in charge then—and sometimes it feels like he was—Mattingly stays in Columbus until he's rusted away. Or he's the one who would've gone to Kansas City, for the great Mike Armstrong.
What Cashie has picked up for Rumfield, of course, is Angel Chivilli, a guy who wasn't drafted at all...which to Cashman lends him only a greater aura and mystique. Plus he comes loaded with all sorts of "what-if" scouting assessments and sabremetrics.
He "avoids bats" (always a good idea). He throws hard (97, which is pretty normal these days). He has all kinds of potential. All unrealized.
Hey, I wish the guy well. Who wouldn't, with a name like Angel Chivilli? But essentially, he's a great big string bean, who in six years of pro ball has an 8-20 record in the minors, and 3-8 in the NL. Plus an ERA of 7.60. (But wait! Only 5.03 out of the Rockies! Woo-hoo!)
I hope he becomes our bullpen ace. I hope he's the successor to Mariano we've all been waiting for. I hope he is everything Brian Cashman wishes for and more. But there's no indication that he will be—just more wishin' an' hopin' an' prayin'. While yet another perfectly good ballplayer is sent on his way.