Satan is real

Read all about it. 

Gee willikers! Mr. Cohen let us have a pitcher!

 

In between telling all who would listen that he had "no regrets" about trading four good young pitchers for a one-year rental of Juan Soto, our Brian Cashman—the Edith Piaf of baseball—actually managed to sign a good southpaw! 

This could only have happened with the forbearance of Steve Cohen, for as the internet has been assuring us for weeks, Mr. Cohen had already pledged to go $50 million beyond whatever the Yankees' highest offer was.  If this is true—and of course it must be, it was on the internet—then I guess he must have a permanent veto on whoever any other team (and particularly the Yankees) decide to sign as a free agent.

I, for one, welcome our new Mets overlords, and just hope they let us sign an outfielder sometime, or maybe even an infielder.

All snark aside, this turn of events really does confirm what the Estimable Keefe has been saying, which is that the Yankees are operating with their very own salary cap, in what is not a salary-cap sport. Figuring out deferred salaries, handing over prized luxury boxes to those peon players...fuhgeddaboutit! All that might interfere with Cashie's charity rappelling work, dressed as an elf.

It is, in some ways, exactly the opposite of what Mad George (mostly) tried to do, chomping at the bit to sign free agents, even as MLB was trying to collude against the players (Of course, for all his supposed, rugged individualism, George did end up going along with the other owners.).  

Seems like it's a brave new world, though, for the Pride of Tampa and Edith. Me? Je ne regrette rien...

The Cashman Ponzi Scheme

Lots of rumors about getting Kyle Tucker from the Astros.

I'm seeing the pattern!!!! 

1) Identify a "generational superstar" who is in his walk year. Last year Soto. This year Tucker.

2) Trade a solid to very good young starting pitcher from our major league staff (Last year King. This year Gil or Schmidt.) And three ranked minor leaguers. Two pitchers and a position player. Or two position players and a pitcher. Jones? Arias? The Martian? 

No one will miss who we trade because we have a "generational superstar" who we MIGHT sign long term.

3) Bat in front of Judge.

4) Deep playoff run.

5) Come in second in FA bidding war for player.

6) Replace traded starter with a top free agent pitcher using SOME of the money not spent on superstar.

7) Re-sign the pitcher you traded in two to three years. (King)

Repeat.

Eventually the Yankees run out of minor league talent or "generational superstars in walk years" to sign but, until then or until people catch on... it just might work.

The chattering skulls of Bluesky remain awe-filled and furious about the Soto snub

 The Yankiverse is troubled... 

Agree. In fact, I believe this is a dream. We shall awaken, it will be 2009, and the last 15 years were computer simulations, devised to generate stressful electricity to fuel our A.I. overlords. 

Everyone knows the Yankees have all the money and are willing to spend it. 

Disagree. MLB is not in trouble, because it maintains a powerful presence in NYC.  It's the Yankees who are in trouble.

This is the second time in Hal Steinbrenner's sad ownership that the Yankees were unwilling to keep a genuine superstar. The fall of the Yankee brand will be a daily media narrative in 2025. It will be part of the national conversation. A once-great franchise, struggling for relevancy. 

Agree. God bless the Redsock fans. They still inhabit that dream world where the Yankees v Boston is the NBC Game of the Week, with Joe Garigiola and Curt Gowdy, and Pete Rose doing Aqua Velva commercials. It's nice to know that they still measure their insignificance by beating their chests about the Yankees. Stay hateful, old chums! 

Honestly, I whiffed on linking the Soto snub to:  

1. Al-Assad's collapse in Syria.

2. Cries among Yank fans for a salary cap.

It will be a long, cold winter of discontent. But count me in on all these conspiracies. I view myself a Yankee fan agent of chaos.

Agree. But for Soto, now comes the hard part. He's viewed as the ultimate hired gun. He better produce. Next year, he will be operating under unfathomable pressure, without the benefit of Aaron Judge, and though he mentally might be up to the challenge, I wonder if his hamstrings are?

Meanwhile, the Death Barge successfully undercut another day of mass fury by signing Max Fried. The current rotation:

Gerrit Cole

Max Fried

Carlos Rodon

Clarke Schmidt

Luis Gil

Nestor Cortes

Marcus Stroman

assorted Scrantonians

Seven arms for five slots. Unfortunately, that means one thing: 

Brian Cashman will make trades. Considering all that has happened over the last three days, the notion that our future is in Cashman's hands, via trades, is the most distressing of all. 

Instead of dealing for some 2018 all-star, I say the Yankees should sign another pitcher, and continue to grow the staff. Why not a six-man? Considering that none of the above pitchers lasted all of 2024 without a stint on the IL, shouldn't the Yankees try something new? 

There are rumors of a trade with Houston for Kyle Tucker, who - dear God - will be a free agent next winter. A Soto II.

Honestly, will we have learned nothing? Sign more pitchers, Mr. Steinbrenner. Buy yourself some relevancy. You'll need it next summer.

Max Fried is a Yankee.

 It's a start, I suppose.

"The Alex Verdugo sweepstakes?"

 I guess that sums it up.

Moving On

 Let's fact it, folks, those of us who grew up in communities where your teams were the Yankees, the Knicks, the Giants ( NFL ) and the Rangers, are pretty much " old soup" now.

We have had " our day in the barrel ", as they say, and now it is the turn of others.   Younger, richer, more woke folks. 

The suits and ties are at the goodwill store, the lace-up shoes had their last shine at Grand Central station a decade ago( or so ) ago, and we no longer have the train schedule memorized. 

Long nights in a rowdy bar have transitioned to warm tea and blood thinners with breakfast. 

There is no joy in Mudville.  The Cohen money machine now owns NYC baseball, and Hal can retreat to his island and say, " I did my best." 

Whatever patchwork quilt of a Yankee team that operates in the Bronx this season, and for the foreseeable future, is already irrelevant.  Like the NFL Giants whose season is over before it starts. 

I don't know if we should even bother to pay attention.  

John Sterling is gone. Suzyn will soon be gone. The stadium we grew up with is long gone.  The Championship seasons are gone.  The Yankee " aura" is gone. 

We had it pretty good, for a long time.  And we won't forget. 

But it really may be time to move on. 

Pride of the Yankees.

 

"Hal Steinbrenner really stepped up to find a way to retain Juan Soto, and I'm certainly proud of his efforts. Certainly went well beyond what I would have expected.

    —Brian Cashman

Once upon a time, the Pride of the Yankees was a man who, struck down in his prime by a cruel disease, still told the world that he was the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

Once upon a time, the Pride of the Yankees was Babe Ruth who, nearing the end of his own life at just 53, devoted himself to teaching the game to kids, and told a Stadium full of fans, through the rasping whisper of his own, cancer-filled throat, that it was the best game ever invented for boys.

Once upon a time, the Pride of the Yankees was Joe DiMaggio, who after being hung out to dry by another rich and callous man for the fans' consumption, nonetheless played the rest of his career with a rare fury.

Once upon a time, the Pride of the Yankees was Mickey Mantle, who may have played almost his entire career with an improperly repaired, torn ACL, and who used to twirl his kneecap around for the amusement of his teammates. Who nonetheless, when he was dying, shamefacedly told the kids not to be like him.

Once upon a time, the Pride of the Yankees was Derek Jeter, who stayed a Yankee despite having to put up with the public insults of as vacuous and insipid a character as Brian Cashman. Once it was Mariano Rivera, coming out of the bullpen night after night, with everything riding on his shoulders, stoic in defeat, grateful in victory.

Once upon a time, the Pride of the Yankees was Thurman Munson, and Reggie Jackson, and Bobby Murcer, and Yogi Berra, and Roger Maris, and Bernie Williams, and Dave Winfield, and the one-handed pitcher, Jim Abbott, who despite throwing a no-hitter still had to put up with the ridicule of another awful Steinbrenner.

The Pride of the Yankees has been many people, and many who cheered them on, right down to Freddie the Guy with the Frying Pan, who was at every game, and all the Bleacher Creatures calling out the roll call every night.

The Pride of the Yankees is not now and never has been an inheritance billionaire who did NOT spend a dime to bring back the greatest young player of his generation. 

"I'm certainly proud of him..."

WTF? As James, my Yankee fanatic Hollywood director friend said, "What, is Hal his three-year-old daughter who just finished second in a swimming contest?"

Indeed. And what the hell is wrong with a 58-year-old, multimillionaire executive, who still feels the need to publicly kiss his boss's ass at every opportunity?

Maybe it has something to do with how Cashman, yet again, had no idea of where the negotiations were as they came down to the wire—the same way he had no clue at the end of the Judge negotiations. Or maybe that was yet another Yankees farce, played out to hide the fact that Proud Hal never had the least intention of bringing Juan Soto back.

We may never know. But there is nothing, nothing at all to be "proud of" in how these two, self-involved jackasses have managed to wreck what was once the proudest franchise in all sports.

 

An Above Average Haiku Tuesday ~ Flushing Opportunities Away ~ Edition

MIDDLING MEDIOCRITY

Et tu, Soto? Ten takeaways from the Clankees and the new Mister Met

Day One of the new world larder. Ten ruminations... 

1. For the next decade, MLB's marquee rivalry will be Dodgers v Mets. (Regionally, it will be Dodgers v  SD and Mets v Boston.) Each summer, the two teams will field a cavalcade of stars, as regulars on national TV broadcasts. Each October, they will collide in the NLCS. Come winter, they will add the biggest free agents. In all of this, the Yankees will sit on the periphery. 

2. Soto's money-grub isn't the most painful in our history. That distinction still goes to Joggy Cano, who was a homegrown Yankee - a potential lifetime New Yorker - when he left to chase accused rapist Jay-Z's vision of a sports agent empire. Cano's betrayal led to a lengthy Yankee world series drought. This could, as well.  

3. Whatever Cashman summons forth as Plan B, it will not equal the loss of Soto. Frankly, the names currently being whispered - Bregman, Bellinger, Alonzo - make me yearn for a toilet. I'd almost prefer they tank and overhaul their farm system, though that would go against Hal's incredibly low bar for claiming success: That each year, the Yankees contend. In an era of expanded playoffs, that is not much of an accomplishment.  

4. The Mets are about to rule NYC - culturally, financially and spiritually - subjecting Hal to something new: Secondary status in his home city. From his broom closet office at Steinbrenner Field, Home of the Rays, let's hope it is a deeply demeaning experience. Everything about Soto joining the Mets revolves around the floundering franchise, a mountain of wastefulness, that Hal has built. 

5. The world series game 5 meltdown still haunts us. I will go to my grave believing that if the Yankees had beaten LA, if they had enjoyed a trip down the Canyon of Heroes, Soto would have stayed. It would have changed him, like Eb Scrooge yelling at the gutter snipe on Christmas morn. Instead, the way it ended - the way we were so humiliated, so crushed, so flattened - well, it cut a lot of psychic tethers that could have kept Soto a Yankee. I mean, seriously, what an awful taste it left.

6. The saddest moment in this pageant of pain will come this summer, in the Subway Series, when Soto marches to the plate in Yankee Stadium and is... cheered!  That's right. He won't hear booing, and you know why? Because Met fans will outnumber their Yankee counterparts in our own stands. Wait and see...

7. Yank fans can't even rage over the obscene amount of money Soto will make. Whatever free agents we sign - our so called Plan B - rest assured that they will be way, way, waaaay overpaid, because Soto just set new salary parameters. The price of playing? It just went up.

8. Here's a happy thought: Steve Cohen probably isn't done. Having invested so much in Soto, why wouldn't he go for the knockout punch with, say, Alex Bregman? Guy's worth $21.5 billion. A hundred million dollars is barely a bed bug, especially when his manhood is on display. After decades of whining about Yankee spending, Met fans sure have grown comfortable with Cohen's infinite checkbook, which, by comparison, makes Hal look like a chiseling pool boy.

9. We do have one hope: That the Mets flounder under their insane hubris. It happened long ago, 1992, when they signed Bobby Bonilla to a legendary bad deal, planting him into a lineup that included 37-year-old Willie Randolph, 36-year-old Eddie Murray and the future icon, Daryl Boston. (Co-starring Dwight Gooden, David Cone and Brett Saberhagen, who sprayed caustic sportswriters with ever-more-caustic bleach. O! those were the days...) 

10. Soto's signing sorta takes the edge off of Wednesday's Rule 5 draft, eh? Who knows, maybe the Yankees can protect the next Mitch Spence! 

Soto Won't Matter....Syria is free

 It took 13 years of civil war for the Syrians to rid themselves of Russia's key ally and despot, but they got it done.  The same is in store for the NY Mets. 

There will be strife and horror. Money isn't enough.  It takes an idea and it takes courage.  Neither are characteristics of the Mets endlessly wealthy owner. 

As for our weakened franchise, we just have to be clever.  And Cashman and Boone are not that. So now their mistakes that become really lucky.  We must count on good breaks from now on.  NO more 

player " busts."  Just record seasons of excellence. 

We had a key player last season, on whom we could rely.  Juan Soporific. Now he is gone.  You don't think $750 million will affect him?  He can pull a hammy just as well as Giancarlo can.  And what if everyone walks him? 

The yankees can get the Duke back, and the Duke can pinch run for us. The Yankees will win with speed , defense and middle relief excellence. 

Maybe the Martian will be better than Soto.  

And if we can add a gold glove, hard hitting Left Fielder, add a new Don Mattingly for first base, locate a hope and a prayer for second base, and keep Chissolm healthy at third, plus find three new starters and five new relievers, we'll have a shot at the wild card. 

There is no end to my optimism.  I am a NFL giants fan, too. So we believe everything buried under the manure is a gold chalice. 

Hal has $750 million to work with.  

Albeit an empty farm system ( he gave most of our talent up in the one year Soto rental ).

So we have to go rogue. 

Or go home. 

Or go to a bar.

Three Bittersweet Juan Soto Jokes

Knock. Knock.

Who’s there?

Juan Soto.

Thank G-d! Come on in! Can I get you a drink or something?

Uh… I just came by to get a few things. I thought you were at work.

---

Hal Steinbrenner, Steve Cohen, and Scott Boras walk into a bar…

Cohen says, “I will convince Juan Soto to sign with whichever one of you convinces me that you have the best deal."

Hal goes first. He pulls out an IBM Think Pad and, after spending a minute and a half getting it turned on, shows Scott Boras a Power Point presentation that begins with slides of Ruth and Gehrig, Mantle and Maris and Judge and Soto. 

The subsequent slides show rises in merch sales, attendance figures, and the percentage of Dominicans that live in the Bronx. 

The presentation continues with a rendering of Juan Soto’s retired number and plaque in Monument Park 

The final slide reads “$760 million dollars! The highest contract ever offered to a baseball player!”

While this is happening Steve Cohen talks quietly into his IPhone21, a product that has not yet hit the market. When Scott Boras turns to him and says, “You’re up”, Cohen says to his phone, “Siri. What will it take to make Juan Soto a Met for life?”  Siri replies “$765 million dollars.” 

---

Juan Soto is sitting in his penthouse in Manhattan when the phone rings. It’s his good buddy Gleyber Torres.  

Soto: “Gleebs! Que pasada me amigo grande?.” 

(The rest of the conversation is translated mostly into English because ALM Spanish Level One only covered where the library was and that papas fritas meant French Fries. Sorry Senora Rothburger. I guess I should have stayed with it.)

Gleyber: I heard you are going to sign with the Mets.  Muy bien! Were you able to pull off that thing we discussed? You know where you tell them you’ll only sign with them if they sign me to play second.

Soto: Lo siento. He said, “No. We’re trying to win.”

Hal Steinbrenner plays the long game.

 

The temptation is to say that Hal just doesn't get it. That he doesn't understand the Yankees' legacy of sustained excellence. The need not just to win but to dominate, year after year. To raise up or bring in the biggest and the brightest stars.

But I don't believe that's true. I think that Hal Steinbrenner knows all about the Yankees' history. He could hardly not, growing up under George. He just doesn't care.

There is, in fact, a whole brand of sportswear saying just that: Hal doesn't care. But that's not completely right, either. Hal cares all right. He just doesn't care about us.

The hard truth is we're exactly who Hal wants to get rid of, as he continues to convert the Yankees from a traditional sports team to a luxury lifestyle destination.

For years now, the Yankees have done everything they could to spurn passionate fans like us, who are obsessed with silly things like winning and quality baseball, in favor of the high rollers who come to the Stadium to impress clients with the free lobster tails and seat waitresses. Under this business model, it makes no sense for the Yankees to do things like risk signing high-priced free agents, or to construct a championship-level from within, which they will simply have to pay for later.

Take a look at how the Yankees have operated under the reign of Hal. Every single strategy they've pursued has been about making their business more exclusive and expensive, and not about widening the fan base or making the team better. 

While the Yanks took their "pursuit" of Juan Soto to sadistic lengths this fall, over the past few years they have consistently failed to sign or even seriously consider going after any number of free agents—Max Scherzer, Justin Verlander, Manny Machado, Bryce Harper, J.T. Realmuto, Francisco Lindor, Corey Seager, Freddie Freeman, Cody Bellinger, and Yoshinobue Yamamoto, to name a few—who could easily have taken them over the top to win repeated, world championships.

While the Steinbrenners spent decades lobbying for a second new stadium heavily subsidized at the taxpayers' expense, they hiked prices to extortionate levels, banned cash in the ballpark, and lopped off some 10,000 seats available to the general public, in favor of more luxury suites and accommodations.

While Hal Steinbrenner has called the team's existing payroll—far from the highest in baseball now—"unsustainable," he has still refused to replace general manager Brian Cashman, despite the fact that Cashman, in his record, 27 seasons as GM, has proven himself abjectly unable to construct a championship team of his own.

Could this be because Hal understands that, down the road, getting rid of a homegrown, championship team could be even more difficult and expensive than discarding passing stars such as Juan Soto? Could he have understood this witnessing Cashman's efforts to dump the "Core of Four"? (Or "Hive of Five"?)

All indications are that the Yankees never intended Juan Soto to be more than a rental. That, like some small-market club desperate to keep the fans coming, they threw away four highly promising, young pitchers for that one-and-done opportunity. It seems clear that they always intended to let Juan walk, and placate the fans with their next, ultra-cheap superstar, "The Martian"—much in the same way that Soto's team of origin, the Washington Nationals, brought him up to distract the fans from the departure of Bryce Harper.

But even so—even with a potential world championship on the line—the Yanks let Jasson Dominguez molder in Triple-A for much of this season, while Verdugo flopped about the outfield. The reason? They were concerned that, five years down the line, Dominguez might be able to file for free agency a season earlier.

He may look like an idiot and sound like an idiot. But the truth is that Hal Steinbrenner always has his eye on the long game. 

He has no intention of running the Yankees like a big-market franchise—even if he is in the biggest market of all—and he has no intention of running it like many small-market franchises, relying on smart baseball men to keep fielding young, dynamic teams. 

The Yankees, under Hal, are not interested in winning a championship, and they are not interested in rebuilding. What they want to do is exactly what they have been doing, which is "contending"—not for a ring, but for the 40-percent of the majors that now makes the playoffs.

This accounts for so much of what the team does, such as putting more and more of the team's games on streaming services instead of its YES channel. Hal and the Yankees understand that traditional television—even cable television—will soon be gone, and they're happier than ever to fill up YES with infomercials on things such as golfing and tennis (more sports of the well-off!), rather than providing great Yankees game for the fans.

It is also tempting—I know, I've fallen for that temptation!—to think that, somewhere down the line, the Yankees will surely pay for this callous, soulless strategy. That they have now "handed the town over" to the Mets. That servicing only the rich and famous will come back to bite them in the bottom line. 

When, exactly?

In 2008, the Yankees drew the second-highest attendance in major-league history, with nearly 4.3 million fans. The following season, they opened their new, smaller ballpark. They have never drawn as many as 3.8 million since. 

This is a team quite willing and able to kick a good half-million fans to the curb. They don't care because they don't have to. Because they have remade themselves into the very essence of modern, publicly subsidized, corporate sports mediocrity.

Think they can't get away with this indefinitely? I have three words for you: New. York. Knicks.

 

Money talks, and Soto walks - a greedy betrayal that shall define him for the rest of his life.

So much for that Juan Soto plaque in Monument Park. Or next summer's Bobblehead Day. Or a lengthy career of hitting in front of Aaron Judge - the Second Comings of Ruth/Gehrig and Mantle/Maris. Or the retirement pageant, Juan Soto Day at Yankee Stadium. Or the golden years in the YES booth. Or the midnight blue cap he'd wear into Cooperstown.

All those enticements, those future moments...

Turns out, they didn't matter. 

Nope. What matters is the Almighty Dollar -in this case, $765 million, an obscene amount that Soto will squeeze from the Mets - our crosstown rival - a knife in the back that shall define and confine him for the rest of his life. Et tu, Soto? 

In the end, he chose the money. Every last, thin dime. 

And here's the weird part: 

For some reason, I didn't think he would. 

Yes, I'm a fool. Whatever made me think otherwise? Soto warned us, all year, from the day he arrived: Come winter, he'd declare free agency and - under the guidance of Scott Boras - sell himself to the highest bidder. What was I thinking? That this is a Hallmark movie? That he'd be affected by the rollcalls, the bleacher creatures, the loving fans, the people of the Bronx, the history of the franchise, the teammates, John & Suzyn, the Uber drivers, the old guys who scrape gum off the dugout floors - that, in the end, little things would carry the day? 

How could I be so naive! Of course, they didn't matter. What mattered was the difference between - say - $751, 000,000.00 and $751,000,000.01.

Good day for capitalism. Sad day for the Yankees, for baseball, and - though I doubt he realizes it, eventually, a sad day for Soto. 

Mister Met.

Look, I'm not letting Food Stamps Hal off the hook. He should have kept going. But I can't shake the feeling that one reality was becoming clear: Steve Cohen would pay whatever it took, because that's his thing, and we live in a world where some guys have infinite resources. This was always gonna end with Soto as a Met. From the looks of things, Hal bid higher than he rightfully should have. But it didn't matter. Only the dollars mattered. 

Listen: With enough money, you can spackle-over whole a lotta graffiti on a bathroom wall. Soto will be baseball's richest player - enough money to buy a smiling reputation from everyone in his entourage. But beginning April 1 - April Fools Day - half the fans in NYC will snicker over each 0-for-4, each impending hamstring pull, with the tears of a croc. 

Damn, I shouldn't let this affect me. Why did I think otherwise? In the end, Soto was always just a mercenary, a hired hand, a guy who would come and go. 

It's too soon to start hating. 

But I'll get there.

"Would you believe...Thairo Estrada?"

 

That's right. That's what the Yankees' "Plan B" now seems to come down to."

Juan Soto? Corbin Burnes? Willy Adames? Nope. We're now down to Thairo—and word is, Colorado is also interested in him. Would you believe...three American Legion ball pitchers, one of whom can throw a curve?

Hey, I got nuthin' against Thairo, some years ago a gutsy Yankees prospect, who came back even after being shot in the thigh during a stick-up.

Noting his devotion to the game and his versatility, the Yanks...promptly sold him to San Francisco. Sold him—not even a magic bean or two—because, you know, HAL so desperately needs the extra cash. 

Out by the bay, Thairo upped his game, becoming a glove man almost anywhere on the field, hitting 14 homers two years in a row. He was, in short, very much the kind of back-up we really could have used during the IKF years.

Of course, now that he's had a bad 2024, and at 28 is probably nearing the end of his useful stay in the majors...we want to bring him back. Can you say, "Brian Roberts"?  Or "Javier Vazquez"? Or "Nick Johnson"? Or...

Oh, never mind. And this has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO with all those pharaoh headdresses I still have moldering in a Bronx warehouse in anticipation of the "Thairo the Pharaoh" days I was sure would come. (And, of course, because a certain "Murray the Torch" proved to be more, "Murray the Wet Blanket." But never mind.)

                            It's called a "nemes." And the attachable goatee piece is extra.

So here we are. Waiting the inevitable signing of Juan Soto with the Mets. He really is a "generational" player—he's now going to spark the generational shift of New York from the Yankees to the team in Flushing. We won't be around to see it switch back—if it ever does.

                        Hal & Pal take to the Cone of Silence to figure out the Yankees' next move.

Never mind. There are so many other great sports options in this town. Are you ready for some football?  (I hear there is some up in Buffalo...)

As the Soto wait grinds on, another potential Yankee Plan B disappears

According to the Internet, IF Willy Adames - the theoretical replacement signee to salve our rage if/when Juan Soto went elsewhere - is headed to Frisco. 

So much for that. Now, if/when Food Stamps Hal loses the Boras-Soto Stare Down, the Death Barge faces an updated list of Plan B's:

Willy Adames
Anthony Santander
Teoscar Hernandez
Christian Walker
Tanner Scott
Corbin Burnes
Max Fried
Clay Holmes
Luis Severino
Gary Sanchez   (Hey, just keeeeding.) 

To lessen the impending cataclysmic blow, I'm assuming that Soto will go elsewhere. 

Let's face it: If loyalty to a team meant anything, beyond the nickel-dime bottom line, Soto and Boras would have already made their announcement, instead of their DELAY/DEPOSE/DENY wheedling over the color of the shower room urinal cakes. There's a point where Hal wilts and settles for another silver medal - adding to his collection of Machado, Harper, Freeman, Ohtani, et al - happily finishing second in another free agent auction. 

It could be the Dodgers, who can somehow defer payments beyond Armageddon. It might be the Redsocks or Blue Jays, seeking to restore relevancy in a world that has forgotten them. It will probably be the Mets, because Steve Cohen swings NYC's biggest dick stick, and let's face it: This was always boiling down to the biggest number on a check. What we've seen this winter was an orchestrated pageant to give the illusion of a Mets/Yankee duel, and simply name us as the first-runner-up. 

If/when Soto goes elsewhere, here's the plan.

1. We wish him the best. We watch his heartfelt video, where he thanks us for taking him into our hearts, and we magnanimously express gratitude for his year of service. We say that we understand the need to feed his family. We vow to cheer him upon his return to the stadium, whenever that may be. We wish it could have been different, but he'll always be a Yankee, and we're just happy to have enjoyed his year in Pinstripes. 

2. Immediately, we train all juju cannons and lasers upon his exposed hamstrings and wrists, wishing him the Giancarlo virus, which means tweaking a gonad while moving the tree. We take our Soto jerseys into the back yard, sprinkle them with lighter fluid and piss, and light the wintery night sky, while chanting curses in a language that only the juju gods know. Remember: hamstrings and wrists.

3. We sign three players from the above list. Why three? Well, it aligns with 2009, when we signed CC, AJ and Tex. Not sure which three. But three is a start. Maybe four. Oh, hell, five? 

4. We go back to eating and savoring the ever-spewing crapola about The Martian and Caleb Durbin coming to save this team. They will be rookies of the year. They will be impact players. We won't miss Verdugo. We won't miss Gleyber. We'll simply chase another wild card. We will be right where we always are, under the Hal second place regime. We will be waiting for somebody, anybody, to save what was once the premier sports franchise in America, the team we grew up loving, but no longer recognize.  

Here it comes, everybody. Brace for impact. 

Naturally good-hearted Yank fans should want only the best for Clay Holmes

Clay Holmes is a Met. Deal with it.

Usually, when a Yank crosses town, it's time for hot tar and rooster plumage. This time, though, I cannot summon the bile. 

Swallow your spit, people. We should only wish him well.

Yes, this is a break with the venomous, rage-filled indignation that is a proud trademark of IT IS HIGH. How can I say anything nice about a Yankee who so traitorously moves to the Mets? It's complicated, but I have reasons.

1. He's probably done. In terms of Holmes' career, this is "Break Glass" moment. The Yankees squeezed all the man-juice they could get from the guy. At age 31, he's suffered the emotional abuse of a 50-year old. But he never quit. Even at the end, tanking against the Dodgers, Holmes gave his all. Unlike Aroldis Chapman, who quit on his team and embarrassed God - (he's all yours, Boston) - Holmes answered the bells, even when they tolled for thee. I hated to see him getting crushed. But I can't hate him. 

2. Let's face it: The Yankees are no longer the Yankees - that is, the team that sets the pace in every bidding war. Let's not pretend otherwise. Soon, we will probably lose Juan Soto, a generational star, who might join Holmes, making the Yankees, in essence, a minor league feeder team for the Mets. Don't take it out on Holmes. He just wants to play for the Yankees. In a way, he's getting his wish.

On that note, it needs to be said - once again, loudly - that Hal Steinbrenner cannot gaslight us. He wants us to think this is a painful auction, that he's digging deep into his fanny pack, that he has no coins to spend. This is crapola. The Steinbrenner family, if they live 200 years, will never suffer one iota of financial discomfort, regardless of what they pay the help. The Yankees remain one of the biggest cash machines on the planet, and they own a majority share - and that's not even counting the insane value of YES. Hal seems to want us to believe he is looking in the couch cushions for extra cash. We must never let him off the hook. He has more money than his grandchildren will live to count. He must like rubbing his privates with coinage. Never forget: In these negotiations, Soto isn't the greediest one.    

3. The Mets are offering an intriguing plan, converting Holmes into a starter. It will be fun to watch. Last year, they resurrected Luis Severino, after the Yankees quit. This year, it could be Holmes. And if their plan succeeds, as Michael King did in San Diego, let's celebrate another oozing puss turd in Brian Cashman's A.I. Moneyball algorithms punch bowl. Will it matter? Probably not. But barely five weeks after embarrassing themselves in Game 5, the Yankees look like a floundering franchise, obsessed with Plan B's. If they lose NYC - and this might be the year it happens - I wonder if Cashman can keep running the Yankees. (And, to be honest, who might be worse in succeeding him.) 

4. As far as I know, Holmes never went Dick Nixon-on-Ron Ziegler in a postgame presser. He led the planet in blown saves but never smart-mouthed to the Gammonites, never flung feces at Meredith, never squirted Chlorox at Suzyn. He endured the boiling spotlight that shines on every Yankee debacle. Good for him. Win or lose, he'll handle himself as a Met. 

5. Face it: He needed to go. There was no place for him on the Yankees. I sorta wanted him out of the AL East, and I'm sorta surprised that Boston didn't make a run (but they're saving it for Soto.) But I'm glad that he can keep his kids in the same school district, keep his family from moving to Kansas City? I wish the Yankees weren't in a mindset that seems to embrace poor-mouthing, but that's where we are. It's not Holmes' fault. 

Seriously, I wish him well. 

Dear Mr. Soto, On the first anniversary of your trade to NY, here are10 reasons why you MUST sign with the Yankees

1. Ten years hitting in front of Aaron Judge.

2. Six world championships. (At least.)

3. Skipper Boone loves your zany hijinks. (He always  falls for the black eye telescope.)

4. Cashman will continue to do laundry on Tuesdays and Fridays. 

5. Host SNL. (Note: Last jock to do it bagged Taylor Swift.)

6. You'll wake up in the city that never sleeps, king of the hill, A-number one, top of the heeeeeeap!

7. RF porch ensures 40 HRs per season. (At least.)

8. Escape the red tape of getting a new library card.

9. Mayor Eric Adams!

10. Um, humina humina humina... did I mention Aaron Judge?

Honorable Mention: You will avoid - um, let's call it criticism - on this site and forever be feted with the love, courtesy and respect for which IT IS HIGH is known. 

Why kid ourselves? There is nothing to say until Juan Soto issues his decision from The Mount. In the meantime, though, there is this...

This unmitigated bullshit about Manfred's "Golden At-Bat" got me thinking about something that is actually real and critical: 

It's time again for the Golden Snowball, the annual battle of upstate NY cities to be christened the Blizzard Backwaters, the citadel of slush. 

Of course, you figure Buffalo has charged out to an impossible lead, right? Nope. For all its ballyhooed Monday Night Football storm, Buffalo has whiffed. Its airport, where the National Weather Service takes its readings, was not in the snow band. 

It's as if they loaded the bases with no outs and didn't score. Remind you of anybody?

As for Soto, I'm not gonna say nuthin.' No locker room quotes. Nothing. But by now, he knows exactly where he's going. It's time to end this auction. It's time he reveals his plans. Now.  

In the meantime, here are the standings...

Time for Calvinball!

 

Rob Manfred is a wimp.

As the Estimable Doug K. explained just now, Manfred is hoping to further transform the game he has all but wrecked already, with yet another sure-fire innovation: the Golden At-Bat.

This is, as Doug noted, the idea that teams would have one at-bat, every game, when they could put their best hitter up, out of lineup order, and let him hit.

As noted, too, this has all sorts of existential implications. If a team decided to intentionally walk Aaron Judge in a late inning, could Aaron Boone still put him up next in a "Golden At-Bat"? Of course he would not, Boone would decide that Alex Verdugo should bat there.

But let's just say he did! What would happen if Judge drove himself in? What would happen if Judge passed himself on the bases? Would that create a rift in the time-space continuum that would hurtle Judge back in time to 1927, when he could hit in the same lineup with the Babe and Lou Gehrig?

Or would he just destroy the entire universe? "We are become meshuga, destroyer of worlds."

                                             Robert Magritte Manfred: "This is not a baseball."

Ah, the agile mind of Rob Manfred, the same genius who gave us the Manfred Man. The same, caring individual who quite willfully wrecked an investigation into people peddling steroids to Florida high-school students, because it gave him the chance to nail A-Rod. Yet another fantastic leader for 21st-century America!

Again, I think he's a wimp.

One measly, golden at-bat? Why not gold, silver, and bronze at-bats? Why not have entirely different teams for offense and defense, the way football does?  And designated runners who will line up next to the batter's box and sprint toward first when the ball is hit?

As Doug astutely points out, this is mainly a treat for gamblers. So why not have a "gamblers' inning," in which they get to vote online as to who should be up?

Or why not just go straight to Calvinball, the brilliant, ever-changing, incomprehensible mash up of rules that Bill Watterson invented for the comic strip, Calvin & Hobbes?

Orrr...

Why not go with an idea I came up with a couple years ago: "Homeball"?

Under Homeball, the home team would get to choose, with no more than an hour's notice, to play the game under the rules of any version of baseball known to have previously existed in this country.

The varieties would be almost endless!

You could play under the rules of the Massachusetts Game, where there was no foul or fair territory and no baselines, hitters could hit the ball behind them, and batters were retired only by hitting them with a thrown, rubber ball. 

You could play the Philadelphia Game, where there were four stakes set around a circle, twenty feet apart, batters hit the ball with a one-handed "delill," and teams played either 11 innings with one out an inning, or a two-inning game in which the entire side of 11 men had to be retired before the inning was over.

Oh, think of the possibilities!

Think something like this won't come about?  

As Bill Watterson said, "Sooner or later, all our games become Calvinball."

Golden At Bat?

Ghost runner. Check. Bigger bases. Check. Time clock. Check.  Limit pickoff throws. Check. Extra playoff rounds. Check.

Ads on uniforms. Check. Ads on the bases. Check. Ads on the mound. Check. 

Playing games in cornfields, stadiums from the Negro Leagues, Mexico City. Check, check, and check. 

Now the Lords of Baseball are “just talking about” the Golden At Bat, where once a game a team can send up their best hitter even if it’s not his turn.

In my former co-ed softball league we used to have a name for that...

We called it cheating.

--

The Golden At Bat. Game on the line. Send up the guy with the highest AGHAB. A made for TV moment in EVERY GAME! The kids will love it!

Well, Commissioner Manfred claims it’s about making the game more exciting for the kids, but we all know who the game is being made more exciting for… the gamblers. 

I'm sure it will come with a commercial break to build the suspense like when they cut away when a relief pitcher is brought in but it will really be about giving extra time for people to get their bets down.

It’s not that big a stretch to imagine a Red Zone like channel called Golden Time that just focusses on “Golden At Bats”. Talking heads building tension about when a manager should use it and then screaming about how they blew it.  

Oh joy. 

--

We won't see it this year, after all it's just in the "discussion phase". 

There are questions, of course, that will need to be worked out such as...

What if the guy you want to use is already on base?

Can the pitcher intentionally walk him?

And, for the purists, also known as people who give a crap about the integrity of the game... 

Do the RBI’s count the same in the stats? Because giving one or two guys on the team an extra 130-140 at bats a year with runners in scoring position is going to skew that fairly heavily. The Home Run record? ERAs?

And... Will they eventually use a larger juiced "Golden Ball" and make the pitcher have to throw underhand? 

--

Why not go all the way? Institute the Diamond Do-Over. The Manfred Mulligan. Once a game a manager can say “That at bat didn’t count.” Combine it with the Golden AB and let Soto get up for a third try.

Don't worry. We won't see these changes for a while. At least until they figure out the most important question of all... 

If Soto has already driven in two runs and it’s the tenth inning and Boone puts Soto in as the Golden At Bat and he drives in the Ghost Runner after using the Manfred Mulligan will Fan Duel still pay on Soto 3+ RBIs for the game?

--

Check please. 

Oh, no! All is lost! Boston has Aroldis Chapman! But the Yankees do have a counter-move...

Oof. Oi! Oww! Consider me flummoxed, befuddled, discombobbered - or as Madden would say, doinked...

Dammit, Boston, you really got me. You got me good. Square in the old cabbage purse. Straight outa Plattsburgh. Never saw it coming. Jollygood show.

El Chapo, the Water Cannon, the Fenway Forehead-Flow., the Redsock River, the Puddle of Pawtucket, the Beantown Bucketeer, the Massachusetts Melter, the man who blew a billion saves... to Boston. Mercy, please, mercy.

Remember: You can't spell "Aroldis" without "old." 

No judgement here. All's fair in a blood feud, right? A master stroke, old sport. Or as they say at the club, Yahtzee!  

I'm trying to think of a juju counter-move, something we can do to offset this ridiculous historical moment in what was once the game's fiercest rivalry. The Yankees vs. the Redsocks. Remember that? Back when those games mattered? Now, we're a notch above Hobo Boxing. Can we arrange another fight with Donnie Osmond? Wait... I got it! Instead of Cashman scaling the wall in Connecticut this month, have him fight Theo Epstein! It'll be Paul v Tyson, all over again. Netflix needs something...

Damn. I can't get over this. Boston has Aroldis. Dear God, spare me the indignity of smirking. Boston has the Chapster. The Chappisimo. The Chap Man.   

Am I dead? Could it be that, in my hospice-drug delirium, the juju gods are rerunning the worst Yankee trades in recent memory: Frankie Montas to the Mets, Aroldis to Boston and - soon - of course, Juan Soto to Toronto, to be replaced by some horrible Cashman trade - any Cashman trade - followed by the even-more terrifying promise from Honest Hal: "We're not done!" 

Yep, Boston, ol' buddy ol' pal... this time, you did it. You got me good. You just signed a month of nightmares - from Rafael Devers, Nelson Cruz, Jose Altuve, Mike Brosseau, the cast of Glee. 

But but BUT... after long and hard consideration, I do have one suggestion for the Yankees, as a counter-move of sorts. No, it has nothing to do with Ben Affleck's latest squeeze, or Big Papi's horrible schmoozing with A-Rod on those Fox postgame panels. It fact, it's rather simple.  

Sign Nathan Eovaldi.

I'm serious. He's a free agent. We had him ten years ago, at age 25. Shoulda kept him. Cashman botched it. (Surprise!) He's exactly what Chapman proved not to be: A gamer. Yeah, he's at a career twilight. Last year, for Texas, he threw 170 innings. Does anyone NOT think he'd have been our world series game 2 starter? Give him a three year deal. He's a Verlander, a Scherzer. He'll go until 40. 

Yep, Boston really got us. And the big gut-punch - Soto - is yet to come. But maybe, just maybe, we can salvage this season. Sign Eovaldi!