The Crappy Division Theory

I know I'm going to regret this. Anytime I put anything up that's critical of some Yankee mediocrity, they go on a tear and hit twelve grand slams in three games or pitch back-to-back no-hitters. So I realize I'm playing with powerful JuJu here (is that the Cambridge dictionary spelling?), or reverse JuJu, or simply pissing off some nutjob with a John Sterling voodoo doll who's going to stick a pin where the sun don't shine so the Master has to use that inflatable donut for the next week of broadcasts.

One quick thing out of the way: Adam Warren is a starter, and a pretty good one, and he is not a very effective relief pitcher. So can Michael Kay stop pumping the corporate love handle by talking about Warren's fastball being a whole--gasp!-- 1 mph faster since he's moved to the bullpen? What a dumb fucking...

But I digress. Aside from the myth of the great Yankee bullpen earlier this year, which I tried to speak out against early and often (Bettances and Miller and stumblebums, which has become better in more recent days), the other Great Myth of 2015 is that the American League East is a very weak division, and that the Yankees could win it by virtue of sucking just less enough than everyone else.

Well, look around. Practically every division in baseball sucks just as bad as the American League East. We don't have five or six powerhouses slugging it out anywhere at all. There are a small handful...and I mean Lollipop Kid hands...of pretty dominant teams, and everyone else is a mirror of the AL East that supposedly is soooooo weak. Martha, bring me my smelling salts.

First up, the AL. What do you see here? 'Cause I see Bud Selig's parity, and that's being charitable.











































Only the Royals have anything approaching a championship record. The Twins, the Angels, the *surprising!* Astros--on a par with us. Everyone else, rampant mediocrity and worse. What division ISN'T lame? You have the Royals. Then you have shoulder shrugging on a massive scale.

Think the NL is any better? Horse twinkies.

Cardinals and Pirates, marginally the Dodgers. That's it. Everyone else, Palookaville. And we know the Cardinals only have such a great record because they're better hackers off the field than maybe on it.

So can everyone shut the fork up about how the Yankees are winning the division by default? With the exception of the Central division leaders in both leagues EVERYONE is winning their division by default. This is the state of baseball in 2015. There are a few really good teams, a Didi's worth of fairly mediocre teams, and some outright piles of Phanatic manure. That's it. That's all we got.

Whatever Cosmo or Vogue or WWD or GQ says this season, .500 is the new black.

Drunk Blog nearing end on sour note

OK, I blew it. My bad. It was my rippy of Robbie, a day too soon. I should have waited, held my fire, turned inward, used my rage for the sake of good. Instead, I got trigger-happy, went out for a joy ride, said some things, lashed out against the world... cost us a big Yankee game. And every Yankee game is a big Yankee game.

It won't happen again. I've learned my lesson.

But, well, jeeaz, come on, here, folks, it only goes to show how much Cano misses Yankee Stadium, and as far as I'm concerned, Robbie Runaway can spend the rest of his life in Seattle, hitting moon shots that land in outfielders' gloves, because they play on airport runaways instead of ballparks, and good riddance, YOU HEAR ME, GOOD DAY, SIR, I HOPE THE LEGAL WEED IS WORTH IT, MY FRIEND, BECAUSE YOU'LL ALWAYS BE BOOED IN YANKEE STADIUM, ALWAYS, EXCEPT FOR ONE TIME. YES, THERE IS ONE TIME YOU WILL NOT BE BOOED IN YANKEE STADIUM: YANKEE OLD-TIMERS DAY... BECAUSE YOU WON'T BE INVITED!!! GET IT? YOU'LL BE IN THE SEATTLE OLD-TIMERS DAY WITH HAWTHORNE WINGO AND MARSHAWN LYNCH AND WHOEVER THE HELL ELSE IS BIG OUT THERE, and I couldn't care less what he'll be doing, not a whit, not a whimble, not nothing, because it's another time zone, it's another planet, it might as well happen on Pluto. And my head hurts, no thanks to Robby Cano, whom I will never think about ever again. Dead to me. Gone. Robby Cano? Who's that?

ADB (continued): uuuuuuuuuuh... playahs

Not all Yankee players are "Playahs."

There's A-Rod, Tex, CC, a few others. Garrett Jones is not a PLAYAH. He just isn't.

That's it. That's all I got. WTF? What do you expect? Been drinking since noon.

Robbie Cano, don'cha know what could a been?

Dear Robbie,

First off, screw you and your freedom beard, and wipe that warm, Hey-It's -Me,-Robbie smile off your face, because it's a lie, a subterfuge, a mask of deceit: You pitched us overboard to chase an extra sack of dimes. No, wait... actually, you crapped all over us in pursuit of meaningless numbers on a conceptual spreadsheet, because you'll never see that extra money, it's just there, digitally, in some banker's mind, and you betrayed the most loving and loyal fan base in baseball. OK, yeah, we're a bunch of drunken shitheads, but we drink because we care... as opposed to the twirly, chin-stroking geekwads who attend Mariner games for the Costa Rican coffee and the baked squab.

You coulda beena lifelongYankee. You coulda beena Jeet. You coulda hadda CF plaque. You coulda had your own day, your own number, a TV gig, maybe even a ring. Geez, I hope you're happy.

Yeah, OK, I know what some readers are thinking. They're saying, "Ease up, Duque. You're in the fourth day of your drunk blog, you're hallucinating, and you shouldn't blame Robbie for chasing the money; he's just a poor boy from a poor family, spare him his life from this monstrocity..." Well, I say, humpity humph harumph! I'm drinking Scotch, folks, not electric Kool-Aid. This ingrate walked away from NY so Jay-Z, his fledgling "manager," could unveil to the world his beach ball testicles and put the biggest number on a contract, regardless of its actual impact on the player. But I'm not blaming Jay-Z. Playahs gonna play. You wanted a 10 year deal because it meant more money - nine years wasn't enough - and only the money mattered.

Well, good luck with all those Yankee Stadium home runs that die at the warning track in Seattle. And good luck playing in Seattle in that 10th year. I'm sure the hipsters are going to love you. I hope you like being doused with Costa Rican coffee. Go Rob Refsnyder.

Annual drunk blog (continued): I was once the youngest man on the face of the earth

Fukinay. It lasted a microsecond, but I was a hot prospect.

Should it be "news" that Refsnyder is staying?

Good grief, the guy comes up, hits a home run, fields well, and he's replacing a guy who hasn't hit more than .200 over the last calendar year, and we've been waiting a year now... and the "news" is that the Yankees are going to keep him?

Have we gotten that downcast about the Yankees' willingness to try rookies?

Holy Kapertooli

I know, I know. It's wrong to put up a post just to flog a post on ESPN. But this is epic. Mindbending. Cynic busting. It has me quaking in my boots, and I'm not even wearing boots. That's how crazy it is.

Will the Yankees Win the World Series? You Never Know

Be still my mezcal soaked heart.

A sample:

"I’m thinking the Yankees have a very good chance to win the AL East.

"And if they do that, they have a very good chance to go to the World Series, and maybe even to a parade up Broadway.

"...as long as the Yankees' bullpen holds up, they appear to be uniquely designed for playoff baseball."

ADB continued: The $62 million mistake

Siri... write this down.

On Feb. 23, Hal "i'm Not Cheap" Steinbrenner's buttery fingers pulled tight the drawstring on his silken "Hello Kitty" purse, and let the best available international prospect on the market, Yoan Moncada, go to the Redsocks for a measly $31 million - which meant Boston would have to pay another measly $31 million in luxury tax penaties.

Hal told us he isn't cheap. He is just thrifty. Got it, Siri. He's prudent. Money doesn't grow on trees, you know. It has to be moved carefully, via trust funds and dynastic investment strategies. Just because the Yankees are the richest franchise in sports doesn't mean they should fritter away the most money on players.

Well, Siri, Yoan the Moan got off to a terrible start, didn't hit a lick, which prompted the YES men to cackle and lift their brown noses high into the air, telling us how smart Hal is. We might have Boston's number this year - but nothing is for sure right now. But here's one thing you can count on: Boston will have this Moncada guy for the next eight years, while Hal is jingling the coins in his pocket. Woopie.

Siri get me a drink.

Annual drunk blog (continued): If he stayed a Yankee, David Robertson wouldn't be called Houdinii any more

We'd call him El Chapo, because he always escapes.

If we teamed him with Andrew Miller, we would have had "Matt and Sweat."

Baseball via Hollywood

Drunk Blog (continued): Uber drivers - the next battlefield

Siri, take a note...

Ooh, ooh. Jumpin' Jehosiphat, exclamation point.

Idea for humanity:

Uber should have an option that allows you to check "Yankee Fan Driver" or "Yankee Hater Driver."

That way, after a Yankee victory, you can ride around a city and decide whether to celebrate or rub it in.

We Wuz Robbed!!

Colter Bean and Goober Zuber are the sole Yankee representatives on the MLB All-Grain-Tuber-and-Legume Team!

DBC: Aw, crap, the Yankees signed the first round pick, and I'll never learn how to spell his name

Siri,

Take a letter, Maria, address it to my wife, say I won't be coming home, gotta start a new life...

SIRI: Ready to post.

No. That's a song, Siri. You're too young. Take this down: The Yankees signed James - not Jimmy - Caprollean, Capronalin, Caproteen...Kapriellan... Karpielan... I dunno. Guy from UCLA. Pitcher. The next Phil Hughes. I gotta learn his name.

Damn, whatever happened to Cot Deal?

The Yankees signed this Kapertooli to a bigger contract than MLB allows - why? Because Kaporoski had Scott Boras as his agent, and it was the fricking Yankees. Everybody expects the Yankees to pay more, because they're the fricking Yankees, and they crap $500 gold dubloons. But the league has installed spending limits - hey, do the owners ever limit how much they pay themselves? - and the Yankees almost had to forfeit next year's first round pick, because of this guy, Kapovelli, Kapmeister, Karpediem...

That stinking dirty dog, Bud Selig - he paid himself a crisp $25 million per year, I bet he never once paid for his own gas - and the communist damn near killed every financial advantage the Yankees have.

Hey, Siri. Answer me a question:

Why didn't they they bring in Bug Selig on a gold chariot at the All-Star game?

SIRI: Researching Bug Selig. Do you mean Bud Selig?

Screw it. Go away, Siri. Be gone. My head hurts. Siri, where's the aspirin?

SIRI: Resarching, aspirin...

NO, WHERE'S THE FRICKING ASPIRIN, GODAMMOT, THE ASPIRIN.

SIRI: Aspirin is a popular over-the-counter-

NO, NO, YOU'RE NOT LISTENING, SIRI. WHERE IS THE ASPIRIN? WHERE DID I PUT IT?

SIRI: The aspirin is where you put it.

You're a hard woman, Siri. A hard, hard woman.

SIRI: Is there anything else?

Blow me.

SIRI: I do not recognize that function.

Annual Drunk Blog (continued) Why is Pluto a "dwarf planet?"

Siri, pour me another...

Dwarf planet? Question Mark. That's what they're calling it. WTF? Maybe it's better than "Midget Plan It." But "dwarf?" Caps lock:

C'MON, NASA PENCIL-SHARPENERS, GET THE SLIDE RULES OUT OF YOUR BUTTS, AND GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER.

post it and then kiss my bu-

Drunk blog (continued): I could drive to Pluto

Holy crap. We're 7,000 miles from Pluto? My frickin' Volkswagen has 80,000 miles on it.

The pre-All Star Game Show was like watching the GOP convention, except it was for baseball

Siri, take this down...

Burp.

What a load a crap last night, the pre-game show. Some Fox dooface was blathering about the Home Run Derby - the most exciting Home Run Derby in Home Run Derby history! - as if matters to anybody who isn't floating on the MLB payroll. And everywhere you turned, there was Pete Rose, in his white golfing loafers, looking like he still wants to fight Bud Harrelson. They should have given him a tiara and flower arrangement. I half-expected to see the Bud Selig lizard alien clone address Earth from his moon base on Pluto.

Burp. Unexplained noise.

Joe Buck never announces harder than in trash game situations. He overcompensates for the fact that nobody cares what is happening - least of all the players - and he's terrified that everybody will switch to John Sterling's Kitten Bowl on some gooey Hallmark reality network.

Burp.

So begins my annual, four-days of drinking - the summer meetings - which include a nasty contingent of Redsock fans. I will go undercover and learn Boston's secrets, and then expose them for the villains that they are. How do the fratbros really feel about Papi? What would they like to see done with Napoli? Who is the real "Dusty" Pedroia? Stay tuned. Burp.

Yanks have home field advantage in World Series, exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point!!!

So Tanaka pitches game one. We win, of course, exclamation point. Then, figuring Yankee Stadium as a southpaw's paradise, Clipboard Joe goes with Carsten Cooperstown in game two. We win, of course, exclamation point. That leaves Pineda for game three - St. Louis? - and the sketch comedy team of Evaldi/Nova/Warren for game four. We win, of course, exclamation point.

Unless we've traded 2017-19 for Cole Hamel. If so, he pitches game one. We win, of course, exclamation point. That knocks back CC - though, aww, c'mon - we're fantasizing here. Why limit ourselves? CC is the team mensch. So he pitches. And we win, of course.

Wow, exclamation point. We just won the 2015 World Series, exclamation point. I haven't felt this gooey since Andrew Cuomo personally tracked down David Sweat. (Should he now go after El Chapo, question mark?) Let's just hope the pix from Pluto don't show a Romulan base - (wait, they'd use the cloaking device, so we'll miss them) - and Trump can build his 50 foot wall around Mexico, and then a 400 foot cage reef to keep out the sharks, and America can win the Miss Universe pageant, which - let's face it - we should dominate, exclamation point.

Top 100 things to root for in the All-Star Game, ranked

1. No Yankees get hurt.

2. Brett Gardner wins MVP.

3. Mark Teixeira wins MVP.

4. Dellin Betances wins MVP.

5-50: Various players on my shitlist get injured.

51-99: Various players on my shitlist do poorly, embarrass themselves.

100: AL wins home field advantage in World Series.

The Yankees penchant for retiring numbers extends through their farm system... except when it doesn't

Last night, my posse navigated historic Route 5 and its walking dead deer herds to watch the Staten Island Baby Yankees play the Doubledays of Auburn - aka Attica East. I noticed three things:

1. Recent Yankee 7th round draft pick Jhalan Jackson, a free-swinging RF, looks like an NFL running back in a Google programmers' ping pong tournament. He went 0 for 5. Didn't matter. Looks good coming off the bus. He has 4 HR. He's 22. Nobody is going to start a brawl with Staten Island, not with this guy coming off the bench.

2. Kyle Holder - our recent supplemental first-round pick, and a pipsqueak, compared to Jhalan - excels both at fielding... and hitting... grounders.

3. Nobody on Staten Island wore any of the Yankees' 18 retired uniform numbers. (Actually, I found later that a pitcher named Bret Marks wears Bernie Williams' No. 51. Why would they hold out other numbers, then give out Bernie's uniform? Weird.)

But this is policy: When the Yankees retire a number, they ban it from their entire farm system... almost. Frankly, I don't understand why the Scranton Railriders shouldn't use the first 10 uniform digit, considering that none of the Yankee immortals ever played there. Then again, what's weirder is that some players do wear the sacred numbers. Go figure.

Here's a breakdown of the royally knighted numbers that are still in use on top Yankee farm teams, according to the franchises' web sites. (Keep in mind that No. 2, Derek Jeter's number, has not yet been formally retired.) 

Scranton:

Kyle Roller 23 (Don Mattingly) Roller plays first... symmetry?
Ben Gamel 6 (Joe Torre) I don't get this at all.
Austin Romine 7 (Mickey Mantle) Romine has been at Scranton now 4 years, long enough to run for Congress. He's hitting and will probably soon be traded. But Number Seven? My guess is that he received this number before they started phasing them out.

Trenton:

Cito Culver 6 (Torre) A former first-round pick, once touted as Jeter's replacement, floundering.
Tony Renda 9 (Roger Maris) Recently acquired in the horror deal for David Carpenter (perhaps to be known in the future as the "Manny Banuelos Giveaway.") So they gave him Number 9? Wow.
Jake Cave 8 (Yogi Berra) A rising CF prospect. But... gulp... Yogi?
Al Pedrique 23 (Mattingly) He's a coach. Strange how they seem to think nobody will notice 23.

(By the way, Aaron Judge is listed as wearing number 99, and Luis Severino, 19. Do they really want Judge - the most touted hitting prospect in years - to wear 99? Ugh.)

Tampa:
Nobody. No sacred numbers. This must be because the Junior Boss, Hal Steinbrenner, hangs around Tampa, and he would notice. Right? What else makes sense?

Charleston:
Travis Chapman 23 (Mattingly) He's listed as a Defensive Coach. Evidently, 23 is semi-retired... or the ban doesn't apply to coaches.
Angel Aguilar 7 (Mickey) He's a 20 year old IF with power, though currently hitting .202. Still, you have to wonder: Who is this Angel Aguilar? Is he not the Chosen One? Who wears Number 7 for the Yankees?
Jorge Mateo 2 (Jeter) Like I said upstairs, he's not yet wearing an official retired number. But this guy is our top SS prospect, a base-stealing machine, maybe the fastest kid in baseball. By giving him No. 2, are they not trying to anoint him for greatness?
Chris Breen 8 (Yogi) A power-hitting 1B... not necessarily a stand out. Yogi?
Derek Toadvine 5 (Joe Dimaggio) A light-hitting infielder. He ought to get his picture taken in that jersey, whenever possible. Someday, we might sing: Where have you gone, Derek Toadvine, our nation turns its lonely eyes to you...

Weird, eh? As I said upstairs, I can't see why the Trenton Thunder shouldn't use all the numbers at their disposal. Wouldn't it be exciting to see Yankee prospects wearing 1, 2, 3, 4... etc.? Seriously, don't you want to know more about Angel Aguilar... Number 7?

My guess: Like many aspects of Yankee management, this is simply a half-baked policy. (Consider mustaches and the ban on facial hair.) It reminds me of Hal's vow a few years ago to reach the sacred payroll limit of $187 million - and how he banished AJ Burnett and refused to re-sign Russell Martin - and then later did his Emily Litella routine and meowed, "Never minnnnnd." This looks like one of those.

Oh, well. It doesn't really matter. Just keep your eyes on Jhalan Jackson. He wears 43. Cool number, eh?

Suggestion for Refsnyder homer howl

IT'S A RBI FOR ROBBIE!  ROBBIE REFSNO... A DONCHA KNOW!

Dare we believe in the 2015 Yankees?

In my lifetime, three Yankee teams of destiny rose above all others:

1961: Mantle & Maris, Yogi & Whitey, Ellie & Bobby; greatest team ever... I was 9 years old; this is why I became a nut-cake Yankee fan.

1978: Reggie & Billy, Catfish & Thurman, Bucky Dent's HR... the season that reclaimed my lost and wandering Yankee soul.

1996: Jeter & Joe, Bernie & Mariano, Jim Leyritz' HR... saved me from a mid-life Yankee crisis.

These teams arrived almost exactly 17 years apart, like a comet passing Earth. As a result, every generation in this modern era, the Yankees have rendered unto humankind a team for the ages, a reason to believe.

Until recently, of course. It is now 19 years since the last great Yankee resurgence. It's like the scientists in California who study earthquakes and claim a big shakeup is overdue. (Note: The greatest Yankee team should have happened in 2001, after the WTC attack, with Tino's and Scott Brosius' amazing HRs on successive nights. But he juju gods cruelly turned their backs on us, suggesting that everything changed... and three years later, it did.)

So, let me state the question that all of us are privately, quietly, secretively - maybe even fearfully - asking:

Is this the long-awaited Yankee team of destiny? 

Obviously, I wouldn't be thinking this if Andrew Miller had blown yesterday's save. And there is ample time for even Boston to run away with the AL East, a bastion of mediocrity. Still, the Yankees seriously wounded the Fenway frat bros this weekend, and barring a wave of injuries, we should be in this race to the end. If we make the playoffs, who knows?

Could this team become a historical bellwether?

As The Master says, you can't predict baseball. But this team does have several potentially epic story lines.

1. A-Rod's redemptive triumph, much akin to Billy Martin's salvation. Even if you claim everything Alex Rodriguez has done thus far should be scrapped due to the drug allegations, this is still the year when critics must accept his place among the greats. Moreover, he seems at peace for the first time in his career. Maybe it's all p.r. Either way, a helluva story emerging.

2. Tex staying healthy and reclaiming his status as a great Yankee. Most people had written him off.

3. We need a comeback from CC Sabathia (a la Catfish in '78.) It might be brief, or even come in relief. He is clearly on his last legs. But he remains a leader on the team. He needs to win a few huge games.

4. The emergence of Brett Gardner as a great Yankee. He could take his place in the hard-nosed pantheon that extends back to Tommy Henrich - (Lou Pinella, Roy White, Paul O'Neill.) He won't make Cooperstown, but he could actually end up with a CF plaque.

5. The unveiling of a future Yankee fixture. Right now, that's Rob Refsnyder - but let's not put more pressure on him. He's got enough. Would it be Luis Severino, the pitcher? Aaron Judge in RF?

6. Finally, some incredibly unlikely hero - a Gregorio Pettit or Austin Romine - must emerge in the wars of October. Alphonso will say I'm jinxing us merely by mentioning these things. (I'm trusting him to maintain the negativity full bore through the All-Star break.) 

Listen: It's way too early to think of this as a team of destiny. Still, it's been 19 years since the last upheaval. If I'm lucky, I'll see get one more team in my lifetime.

And yesterday... damn, I'd swear that I felt some tremors.

Do The Math; 0-3 = .000, right?

I have said this before;  true baseball superstars to be ( like Bryce Harper, like Cano; like Mantle; like Miguel Cabrerra ) " shine" when they debut in the major leagues.  They crush the ball, get big hits from day one and help their teams win ballgames.  And they wind up on all star teams and in the Hall.

The next level down is, " everybody else," from which manure heap a few decent players do emerge.  And then there will be 1000 Stephen Drews, Chase Headleys,  and Ryan whatshisnames. 
These guys  hit .170-.240, sometimes are really good defensively, and play for about 6 teams in their careers, on average.

Our farm system hope for the season, Bob Refsnyder, last night did exactly what gets people assigned to the manure heap;  he didn't toatally fuck-up in the field, but he was a non factor where it mattered more.  His strength is hitting and he didn't hit.

We have had kids before him who have opened with homers and doubles at the MLB level.  Some of these were never slotted for greatness and returned, eventually, to the slag pile of, " utility player, also ran, etc ).  But Refsnyder has topped our list of, " high tier prospects," for a few years now.  He has performed to that accolade at all levels of the minor leagues.  He regularly distinguished himself as a hitter , albeit with great concern over his talent with the leather.  But his defensive qualities were improving, it is said.  And you can teach defense.  But you can't teach hitting.

True, Boston is a tough opening ( or used to be ), but he went 0-3.  He is batting nothing as he piles into his breakfast this morning.

Potential super-star or slag heap?  It hangs in the balance. And the clock is ticking.  It doesn't take long to realize you have just another player.

 If we see more zeros today, I think we can slot him in with all the rest.

Show us something .!

And don't have that be that Cashman's farm system sucks as bad as we think it does.  And that we have no reason for hope.

Every now and then, God winks at the Yankees

This from Reddit:

We will be first... and Boston last... at the break. But will it matter?

Next weekend, the Yankees will host Robbie Cano, (doncha know?) and the Second Coming of Jesus Montero, welcoming the pair to Gotham as the reigning leaders in the AL East. They will do this irregardless of what happens today in the glaring sunlight of Boston.

By then, the Yankees will be three games into the Rob Refsnyder Project, which ends the Age of Drew at the bottom of the order. But a new time will begin: The annual Cashman Makeover.

Cashman will be overturning tin cans in the scrap yard and poking GMs on Facebook, looking to hook up and deal Yankee prospects for - well - who knows?

Lately, it's become a parlor game across the Yankiverse to speculate on who will join the team - Paplebon, or Hamel, or one of the Reds pitchers - and who we will surrender: Gary Sanchez, Ramon Flores, Aaron Judge, or all of the above. The only encouraging thing about this is that it never happens exactly as projected. You can love or hate Cashman - I do both - but one thing you cannot say is that he is predicable in trades.

But he's not infallible either. The YES propaganda mill can endlessly spin the virtues of Chasen Shreve, but if Manny Banuelos keeps pitching as he has for the Braves, last winter's trade of the two (with David Carpenter, whose name won't turn up in YES blovations) will go down as a full-blown disaster.

If we were in second, a full makeover might look wise. But we will be in first when Cashman starts the plastic surgery. Three weeks to the trading deadline. Will the Refsnyder Project still be in effect?

It's Refsnyder Night in the Yankiverse

Ooh! Ooh! Jumpin' Jehosiphat!


A 24-year-old Yankee rookie at 2B!



What the...!

Did somebody slip something into my Metamucil?

Imagine it: A guy who, over the next year, could actually improve... instead of just staggering onward to wring out one last big contract payday.

OMG! Think about it: A guy who, if he tweaks something, won't necessarily take six months to heal.

Wait: I just had another thought: He's a homegrown Yankee, like Gardy... If he can play in NYC, he can play anywhere.

Ooo! Ooo! Our farm system actually developed somebody! 

Wait! We don't even have a concrete ceiling for this guy. Who knows? We might even get his best year, playing for the Yankees... instead of signing him for the last five, at age 38!

What is the world coming to?

Suggested activities for Robbie Cano over the All-Star break

1. Practice celibacy with Russell Wilson.

2. Stay in game shape by going for jog.

3. Watch old, VHS Melky Cabrera sex tapes.

4. Leave long, drunken messages on Beyonce's cell.

5. Space Needle! (Need we say more?)

6. Fill out application to Dancing With the Stars.

7. Ponder new strategy for bringing "winning ways" to Mariners.

8. Three-day Game of Thrones marathon!

9. Sit around like everybody else on the Internet and adore Jennifer Lawrence.

10. Stay near phone, in case someone needs advice in All-Star home run derby.

(Hap tit to Buhner's Ghost)

One.

The world braces for another mega-clash between baseball's super titans: the Yankees and Redsocks!

Stand back, everybody! Stop everything, Earth!

It's Godzilla v. The Smog Monster!

It's Ali v. Frazier... Trump v. Oprah... Peanut Butter v. Jelly!

The two gargantuans of the game - New York and Boston - are ready to collide in an old-time death match, the kind of epic duel that America hasn't seen since the last days of dial-up. The Yankees - beasts of always-tough AL East - head to the Fenway deathyard to take on the blistering redhot Redsocks, winners of four in a row! That's right, kiddies... four!

Close your eyes, and you can feel the poltergeist vibes of Pedro and Zim, Torre and Terry, Bernie and Manny. At this very minute, Curt Schilling is slathering memorial ketchup into his penny loafters, and somewhere, Aaron Boone is staring into a camera... remembering.

Tonight we're gonna party like it's 1999.

That was sarcasm. OK? Sarcasm... "the use of irony to mock or convey contempt." Got that?

This is a three-game series between two teams whose records - if merged - would amount to two games above .500. If the Yankees lose all three, they will still head to the All-Star break tied for first and three up on Boston in - as The Master would say - "the all-important loss column."

If you're looking for screamer analogies, this is a clash between Ringworm and Chamydia. (The Yankees are itchy but treatable by a visit to CVS; the Redsocks are burning and desperate to see a doctor.) This is not a chess duel between Bobby Fischer and Watson. This is a chance for the Yankees to pull the trowsers off Boston's season and show the world what a shriveled cocktail weenie looks like. A three-game Yankee sweep would send their fan base on a torch-carrying rampage to John Henry's yacht. But it won't ensure anything for us. Two weeks from now, we can suffer a few injuries - (imagine A-Rod, or Gardy, or Tex going down; it aint hard) - and watch Lord Valtimore's Orioles run away with the Division, like last year. It's not September. It's not even August.

Don't mistake Boston's desperation tonight with October tension.

A month from now, we will look back on this series and laugh at the notion that the season ended for anybody. After this weekend, the two teams play each other nine more times - nine - including a four-game series in NYC that starts on Sept. 28. That one could well be Godzilla v. The Smog Monster... if old Smoggy gets his shit together.

That said, buckle up. It's been a while since a Yankee-Redsock series actually warranted the Fox Sports cameras. Here's hoping that we put the frat boys away... so the KCs and San Diegos can go at least another full spin without being forgotten in September. Let Schilling buy another bottle of ketchup. A Yankee triumph - or collapse - won't mean a damn thing. But when your choice is laughing or crying, I've come to prefer laughter. That's not sarcasm. That's truth.

The Yankee captain, Brett Gardner, is going to the All-Star Game

Shh. Don't tell anybody. But the Yankees have a captain, and his name is Brett Gardner.

We're not supposed to have a captain. It's too soon. It's like dating your secretary, six months after Matilda dies. It's like going to the kennel for a replacement, without even moving Spotty's water dish. You're supposed to grieve. We're still getting over the fact that, after 20 years, Derek Jeter retired. Every day, we walk the beach and ask, where hath our captain gone? All we see is Didi Gregorious, and Hannah and her talking horse. It's not quite the same.

Last week, when Dellin Betances and Mark Teixiera were named to the All-Star game, we didn't know how to deal with Gardner's snub, other than to assume it was just another anti-Yankee move. He's been our best player all season. Without him, we'd be in fourth, maybe below .500. He's thet guy with the bucket after a walkoff. He's the guy who grew the mustaches of May. He's the guy who let us lose Jacoby Ellsbury and never skip a beat. He's the guy the AL will want coming to bat with critical runs on base. He's the frickin' captain of the frickin' Yankees. Just don't tell anybody.

Yankees shut out of "Cub-Worthy All-Stars" by dragon lady voters of CougarLife.com

Hard to imagine, but Brian McCann, CC Sabathia and Carlos Beltran have been snubbed by the fish-netted, turkey-necked, cyber-crones at CougarLIfe.com, in voting for the 2015 stud-buddy All-Star Jigolo Team. 

Leading the pack is the 22-year-old Chippendale-worthy super cub, Bryce Harper, who - as a result - now gets his pick from both the Sarasota Seniors Happy Kazoo Team or the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader Class of 1970.

The Yankees were shut out, although Robbie Cano - nearly a cougar contemporary - made the Super-Cub team at 2B. 

The All-Cub MLB team: 

C: Buster Posey, Giants (44%)

1B: Paul Goldschmidt, Diamondbacks (36%)

2B: Robinson Cano, Mariners (51%)

3B: Brett Lawrie, Athletics (68%)

SS: Jose Reyes, Blue Jays (36%)

OF: Bryce Harper, Nationals (77%)

OF: Giancarlo Stanton, Marlins (63%)

OF: Matt Kemp, Padres (57%)

DH: Joe Mauer, Twins (39%)

SP (Tie): Cole Hamels, Phillies and Matt Harvey, Mets (34%)

RP: Huston Street, Angels (41%)

Greece Financial Meltdown? What would A-Rod say?

"Well, certainly nobody has made more mistakes than I have. I mean, you're talking to the last person who should pass judgement on anyone. And if people feel as though Greece has overspent, I can relate to that. I would just say that the Greek people should do their best, the way I'm trying to do for Joe Girardi and this Yankee team. And I thank the Steinbrenner family for giving me the chance. Did I mention Commissioner Manfred? He's been great. I'd say more, but I have to go hug my daughters. The Greeks have daughters, too. If they're like me, their daughters mean everything."

Going on up to Boston: Iceberg, dead ahead?

In another universe, (you know, the one where Spock wears a Van Dyke beard and orders Checkov, the spy, into the "agonizer"), the Yankiverse loved what it saw last night in C.C. Sabathia - 5.2 innings, 2 runs - because he did it for the Marlins. Instead, he's ours for two more long seasons - our version of the agonizer - while we ponder what kind of sexual acts Adam Warren must perform to ever make the Yankee rotation.

In an alternative earth, (you know, the one where Kim Kardashian wears a mustache and puts Kanye into the agonizer - wait! isn't that this one?), we loved Stephen Drew's pivotal HR last night. Instead, we're left to wonder if it means we now must watch him bat .170 for another agonizing month. It's the modern Yankee tradition - to be so tired of a certain player that you almost root against him - (See Andruw Jones, Travis Hafner, Vernon Wells, Alfonso Soriano, et al) - and we're well past Drew's sell-by date. Still... that HR won the game.

In a mirror plane, or maybe after several bottles of cleaning fluids, we would not fear this weekend trip to Boston. The 2015 Redsocks would have folded by now, and nothing entertains like a Boston free-fall, with the bearded Shaughnessy hosting a daily necktie party. Trouble is, we couldn't reach a measly 10 games over .500, while Boston stewed, and now they lie in wait with frat-boy smirks, knowing that since 2004, the two franchises flipped Dominatrix roles: We became the team that wins in May and hits the August agonizer... as we come to grips with the reality of players like Sabathia and Drew.

So... here we go. A week ago, I dreamed of a sweep, a knockout blow that would send Ben Cherrington into garage sale mode. Now, I fear the worst: The kind of Yankee meltdown that pushes Cashman to gut the system for next year's Drew, next year's Ichiro, next year's Capuano, next year's Youkilis or Granderson... hoarding more old veterans before we even discarded the ones we have.

Will we ever get back to the universe where Kirk is clean-shaven? What happened to those mustaches we were growing? Hold on. We're heading into a photon storm. Or maybe an iceberg.

A great Yankee statesman... but Ichiro is fading fast

O for 28.

O for last 33 plate appearances.

Last month, batting .154.

11 RBIs this season.

Batting .246.

Tick tock, tick tock... Stephen Drew is on the clock

Last night, by 2015 standards, Stephen Oris Drew had a solid game: 0-3 with a walk. He got on base via an error - then got doubled up on a liner (not entirely his fault.) At 2B, he didn't Yangervis or Nunez any grounders. Yep, a big night, all around.

That's how miserable our 2B situation has become. A walk = big night.

Watching Drew - uniform dirty, teeth perpetually gritted - you could see his contents under pressure. He's 32 and hasn't hit since 30. When he bats, the Yankiverse taps its toes. The 24-second clock has run out. Unless he - say - starts regularly hiting for the cycle, he'll soon disappear. He's like a pitcher who's given up 10 runs, but Skip won't pull him. It's nearly an impossible situation. You feel sorry for the guy, almost as much as you want him to go away.

Then, when you look at a Scranton box score, you feel the anger building - like a fracking well that's about to blow. Last night, secondbaseman Rob Refsnyder homered - again - second game in a row. It was his fourth two-hit game over the last 10. He has made one error since June 9 - only two since May 22. (Drew has made three at 2B all season, his last on May 15.) Refsnyder is hitting .286 and rising. (OBP: .384.) He has cut the strikeouts. Good grief, what else must the guy do? Should he wash the dishes in the clubhouse buffet?

It's sooooo time to see what Refsnyder can do. This "wait-another-week" mentality isn't helping Drew. (By the way, I don't think the Yankees should release Drew. He's insurance at SS and 2B.) And when the Yankees lose a 10-inning horror fest like last night, how can you justify a guy batting under .200 for the last calendar year? How long do you ride a horse that is clearly struggling?

Year after year, the Yankees - rooted in self-generated pageantry (though "mired" might be the better word) - have problems pulling the plug on players. Considering the number of oldsters they burn through, you'd think they'd develop an easy protocol. Last year, they stuck with Alfonso Soriano until the season was in jeopardy - waited way too long. And they abruptly cut ties with 2B Brian Roberts, just to save a few dimes. It's as if they fear giving up on a player before the last ounce of testosterone has been wrung out. Boston, on the other hand, seems to have no problems exiling players, cold-bloodedly, when the right deal comes about.

Speaking of Boston, we play them Friday. Someone might argue that Rob Refsnyder shouldn't start his career in such a cauldron. Hell with that. We need a base hit. A big night being a walk? That won't cut it.

Fan Cam

Loss

MLB denies the All-Star Game its most watchable moment: A-Rod at bat

Next Tuesday, 8 p.m.

All of Cincinnati would stand and boo.

And all across America, guys in suspenders would yell, "Hey Martha, get in here; it's that goddamm A-Rod!"

And the ratings would jump...

And the pitcher would bear down...

And, oh well... JASON KIPNIS!

Robbie Cano has a rum bum tummy.

"Mr. Mariner" Robbie Cano has a Cat-5 Burper Stink Belly.

Nothing worse. You're always bloated. You read entire books on the crapper. Nobody sits next to you on the plane. No more linguine with clams. They accuse you of eating cabbage stew, when all you did was try a dab of yogurt.

Worst of all, you hit .248.


They say its a "common parasite," but antibiotics cause acid reflux, the dreaded killer of major league careers. (See Jason Giambi.)

Says Robbie:

“Sometimes I play without any strength or energy, but you have to play, give the best of yourself. Some people may say, ‘Cano, he’s listless.’ But (the energy) is not the same.”.

It's now or never on Rob Refsnyder... (and it might be never)

Baseball, like strip poker, is a game of covering your middle.

The Yankees have baseball's worst hitting 2B, but Stephen Drew's glove deftly hides the team jewels, and the data-mining, front office MBAs keep expecting his weenie bat to improve.

The team has a 24-year-old line-drive machine playing 2B at Scranton, but Rob Refsnyder is still learning which foot goes where on the DP, and the Moneyball gurus don't want to expose the team's weakness.

Thus, the golden question: When do you lay down your cards?

Or, in trucker terms: At one point does the increment outweigh the excrement?

It is one of life's trick questions. Did Bill Buckner's bat justify the one that rolled through his Holland Tunnel? Was Carlos Beltran - hitting .300 in the month of June - outweigh his waddling attempts to patrol RF? What the hell did Britney see in Kevin Federline? Cheese - it's dairy and it's mold - WTF?

But the Yankees, historically, have an answer.

They happily play expensive, old, defensively-challenged vets.

Cheap young rookies, they are a different story.

Refsyder, a converted OF, is in his third year of playing 2B. He is hitting .294 at Scranton - he homered last night - and over his last 10 games, he is batting .375. He won't hit .375 in NYC, but he'd certainly beat Drew's .175 - if he ever gets a shot.

In three weeks, the trade deadline hits. Lately, it's been whispered that the Yankees will trade Refsnyder - through God's knows for what: There is no more festering open sore than at 2B. What would it mean, trading your best 2B prospect? Of course, for five years, the Yankees touted Jesus Montero as their future catcher - then traded him, deftly - when he came of age. Is Refsnyder the second coming of Jesus? Has it all been an illusion?

Soon, we will know. This weekend, we play three games at Fenway. We can spiritually kick Boston in the balls, toppling them from the 2015 race... or we can play "Theme from Rocky," while they run up our stairs and dance around. It looks as though we will go to Boston with Stephen Drew at 2B, the man who hasn't hit now for an entire Earth rotation around the sun.

Well, here's one strip poker prediction: If we lose in Boston, Drew will become the next garment that we shed. He'll be on the floor before the team bus hits Connecticut. And Refsnyder will either get his chance - or we will never see him in a Yankee uniform. Never.

By this time next week, both might be afterthoughts.

And as for what Britney saw in K-Fed? Only pro strip poker players know. The rest of us don't want to find out.

YANKS STAND BY TRUMP

Yankees Owner Hank Steinbrenner, who co-hosted the [Hank’s Yanks Golf Classic at the new Trump golf course] stood by Trump... saying that he's been 'a loyal friend. And I'm loyal to my friends.'

Ugh.

By the way, doesn't Hank look terrible?

TV guide for Tuesday July 14, if Brett Gardner isn't on the AL All-Star team

And I'm talking about the team, not as some crummy injury replacement.

Meet the new Nova. Same as the old Nova.

I have sketchy recollections of the old Ivan "Super" Nova - the Nova of Christmas past. I can picture him standing out there - those lips, those eyes, aye carummmmbah! - in hi-def, 3-D glare. What I can't remember is whether we could ever count on him.

Before his TJ time-out, Nova always showed potential, always stood on the verge, always prepared to break out - except for when he sucked, which was whenever you thought he was truly, finally, authentically here. Because then, instead of pressing the red button with your nose and receiving a tasty food pellet, you nosed the button and experienced a harsh electric shock - thank you Dr. Skinner - which made you want to chew your long gray tail, if not the hand of your keeper.

It was as if some secret quality thermostat inside Ivan said, "OK, no more shutouts, Ima gotta get shelled!"

Which brings me to yesterday.

I figured we could give Tampa an old-fashion three-game whupping, because the new and improved Ivan was on the mound. Silly me. Maybe he was bummed about missing the Grateful Dead show in Chicago. Or maybe he was consumed by the Greece financial meltdown.

Doesn't matter. He's just back to form - ready to break out, except for when he doesn't.

Listen: I'm not saying we throw the guy a Scranton Intervention. He may still be more viable than either of the CCs - Sabathia and Capuano. But - hey - he's Ivan Nova! You order a tuna sub, and you get a tuna sub. Not the worst pitcher. Not the future ace. He's back. Now what? 

First place, baby, first: A good weekend to be a Yankee fan

Reasons to believe in humanity, America, goodness, God, hope, faith, technology, capitalism, communism and the gold standard:

1. First place, baby, first place.

2. Differences patched up with A-Rod over stupid milestone payments.

3. Ellsbury will be back soon.

4. Andrew Miller will be back soon.

5. Tanaka and Pineda rebounded from tough outings.

6. Wave of talent (Judge, Severino) at Scranton. (Bird promoted yesterday)

7. Should be able to improve at 2B via trades. (Anything = Better.)

8. Rest of division remains crappy.

9. It stopped snowing.

Happy Birthday, America... Let's party with John Sterling and Aerosmith

First on the Fourth: Let's party with John and Barbra

1st on the 4th: Let's party hardy with John Sterling and AC/DC

First on the Fourth: Let the party begin... with John Sterling and Kid Rock!!

Boom

(PS. If we lost that game, the headline was going to say, "Knee high by the Fourth of July.")

(Addenda to PS: I hereby take back everything I ever said about the Yankees letting Russell Martin and Francisco Cervelli go. We have the best catcher of the three.)

(Secondary Addenda to PS: Check out the standings.)

When the Yankees get Bryce Harper, he won't look like this

Bryce Harper says his body is "unbelievable." But he loves his mom's cookies.

Ten thousand cookies later, he'll end up in NYC.

It's Brian Roberts time, posing to the Yankiverse the ultimate question: Just how bad is Rob Refsnyder's fielding?

Last July, the Yankees expressed absoute, 150 percent, smell-the-glove confidence in the esteemed 2B statesman, Brian Roberts... right up to the moment when they dumped him like a plate of bad clams. One minute he was a pillar of the franchise. The next, he never happened. Joe Stalin would have been proud.

Surely, Stephen Drew these days cannot turn on the radio without hearing Bob Dylan.

Any day now,
Any way now... 
I shall be released... 

Poor Drew. He's gotta be the most screwed man in history by the MLB-Players Union rules. In 2014, Drew was classified as Type A free agent. Thus, any team that signed him lost their first-round draft pick. As a result, nobody touched him, until Boston cut him a deal, and then dealt him to the Yankees for Kelly Somebody (I've blocked out the memory.) By then, Roberts was disappeared, and Drew had forgotten how to hit.

Last year, Drew hit .176 for Boston, and then .150 for us. This year, he's batting .183. He makes Brian Roberts look like Joggin' Robbie Cano. I hate to say this about a guy who seems to be liked and respected in the Yankee clubhouse. But the end is near. Whether he deserves it or not, fans will hold parades when he's gone.

Which makes the debate about Triple A 2B Rob Refsnyder so angry... and strange.

At Scranton, Ref is hitting .280 with 5 HRs. Last month, he was hitting over .300, fell into a slump, and now he's somewhat hot again. The question is his fielding: How unbelievably bad is it?

Refsnyer has 13 errors on the season. Last year, he made 12. But most of the errors this year came early - the first two weeks - when the Yankees were said to be "tinkering" with his footwork. (He's a converted OF.) To hear fans on website peanut galleries - mostly among people who have never seen him play - Refsnyder is a human version of the Holland Tunnel. Or not.

An example from today's River Ave Blue echo chamber:

So how much longer do we have to wait for a real major league audition for Refs? HIs OBP is over ,370 now and climbing. Drew is at .250. I remember reading somewhere back in the 1980s that not making outs was a good thing. Oh and defense? Check out Drew's metrics. ESPN has him at the very bottom in range factor. BR has with a dWAR at -0.1. FG Def has him near the bottom at -.05. So lets finally discard the notion that Drew is a superior defensive 2b. He most certainly is not. And now that Refs has overcome the Yanks pre-season tinkering with his fielding mechanics, he appears to be doing just fine with the glove.

To which another replies...

You've lost it. A minus 0.1 on metrics? He's so bad!!! Maybe Refs isn't getting any serious thought because he's not very good. Just like pirela his defense is crap. Crap is worse than minus 0.1.

I've seen Refsnyder play twice this season. Both times, nothing happened. He made routine plays. So what does it mean? Damned if I know. The Yankees tracked through Didi Gregorius' early season miseries, and he's become serviceable. They let Carlos Beltran stand in RF all year and pretend he's an outfielder. Soon, they must make a decision on Drew.

If they trade for another Drew/Roberts, we might as well file Refsnyder in the lost category of Austin Romine. That is, somebody in the Yankee system doesn't like him, and that's that. Whatever he hits, it won't be enough. I get that baseball guys know more than fans. But it sure would be nice to think that the baseball guys were running a productive farm system... not a graveyard for 27 year olds.

At some point, the Yankees have to show faith in young players. Or, seriously, is Ref that horrible?

My All-Star Ballot

You have 'til midnight.

Calgon Beauty Bath, take me away: Let the weekend begin with a new classic: CASEY AT THE SHIFT

CASEY AT THE SHIFT

The Sportsline odds looked awesome for the Mudville ten that night.
The Twitterverse was raging, Google trends were out of sight.
The Fox announcers struggled to express their full regard
For the team FiveThirtyEight had picked to win the Wild Card.

And in the first, Ed Barrow poked a single just past third.
When Cruz followed with a double, not one doubter could be heard.
For up strode mighty Casey, the team’s icon of success,
With a Fangraphs’ WAR of 10.6, and league-best OPS!

“Time out!” the shortstop waved a hand, his smirk quite unconcealed,
As his teammates relocated to the far end of the field.
Now a thicket of defenders on the right side slowly spread,
 “Lay down a bunt!” a young boy cried, but Casey shook his head.

“They won’t fool me,” he muttered, as he sauntered to the plate.
“They want to rob my power stroke, but I won’t take the bait.
“I’m paid to hit home runs, ‘cause bunts won’t make the yokels happy.
“My name is Casey,” Casey said. “Nobody calls me Slappy.”

So hard into the floating orb, he swung with all his weight,
And if he’d undercut that ball, it would have left the state.
A laser shot into the gap; it looked like certain trouble.
The only question: Would he merely settle for a double?

But as the Fates are known to do; they conjured up the worst;
The shortstop caught it on one bounce and threw him out at first.
He kicked the ground, he spat some spit, and huffed some angry air.
“It aint my fault,” said Casey. “Fielders don’t belong out there.”

And then, two innings later, it was Casey up again,
His team down by a couple runs, sacks full of Mudville men.
Again the defense shifted place; to bunt became a dare,
Again, he swung with all his might, and this time hit just air.

In the sixth, he reappeared… a hero, still divine.
Two outs, two on, a two-two tie, the Wild Card on the line.
The fielders moved, and Casey grinned, completely self-aware,
A routine pop to left would drop, with no one standing there.

“Just bunt!” the young boy pleaded. “There’s no need to crush the ball.
“A grounder to the shortstop hole will roll straight to the wall.
“Just check your swing. It’s easy. You won’t suffer mock disgrace.
“You needn’t send each ball deep into interstellar space!”

But Casey grinned with menace, as he leaned into the pitch,
And swung clean through the cowhide, no suggestion of a hitch.
A fearsome drive roared out to right, the ball was soundly hit,
It might have killed the man, had he not caught with his mitt.

And so the game continued, as the final inning loomed,
Down by one, with one last out, the outlook now looked doomed.
But Barrow beat a drag bunt on a replay-challenged call,
And Cruz, splitting a splitter, laced a double off the wall.

Now up stepped mighty Casey, with a chance to clear his name,
With a million thumbs a-tweeting, “OMG! This is the game!”
“Choke up!” they Twittered. “Lay 1 dwn! U’ll never feel regret.
“A walk-off bunt by Casey? That will break the Internet!”

And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow.
And now the Jumbotron explodes with fireworks, on cue,
And half the world erupts with joy; the other half yells, “Boo.”

Oh, somewhere in this favored land, our sluggers show restraint,
And like Wee Willie Keller, batters “hit them where they aint.”
Yes, somewhere, children laugh, and not one soul is cast adrift.
But there is no joy in Mudville: Casey couldn’t beat the shift.

Bobby Bonilla Day in Met World

It could be worse, A-Rod critics.

Every July 1, the Mets send Bobby Bonilla a check for $1.2 million. This will continue until the year 2035... (if man is still aliiiiiive...)

Yankee batting heroes last night

For Yankee fans, the worst thing that can happen... might be happening

Question: To a God-fearing, two-nutted, Stottlemyre-raised Yankee fan, what's the absolute worst thing that can happen?

Answer: We miss the playoffs, and Boston wins the World Series. Pretty horrible, eh? Makes you want to buy some Draino and measure the nearby bridges, right?

Well, how about this for a worse scenario: We fall apart, and Boston comes back from a huge deficit to win it...

Oww. Just typing the words hurts.

Look, I don't want to terrify small children - or myself - but last night, Baltimore, Tampa, Toronto and the Geriatric Ward known as the Yankees all lost - solidifying our grip on the 2015 garbage list. Boston won. Believe it or not, the Redsocks are now a mere six games out. Six. It's as if the last three months didn't matter. Six games out.

This was the going to be a summer when the open wounds of Yankee fans would at least be salved by the supremely sorry state of the Redsocks, who spent a fortune last winter on love handles and bad Cuban cigars. No matter how bad we were, Boston would be worse.

Six games out. So much for snickering. One of the hallmarks of the late nineties was how the Fenway Nation loved to chant "Yankees suck!" one inning too early. Remember how they popped the champagne in the ninth inning of the 2003 Aaron Boone game? Ah, those were the days...

Gone. Long gone.

A month ago, we were drunkenly laughing at Papi's .222 average and Joe Kelly's Cy Young season. But did we start chanting an inning too early?

Once again, we are facing the new Yankee tradition - that sinking feeling that arrives July 1. We are gasping for air like a marathon runner with a carton-per-day habit, and our big hopes are now for Ellsbury's swift return - (How often over the years have teams yearned for that?) - and that Cashman somehow strips another team's roster bare, an increasingly rare event. We aren't chasing the pennant. We are chasing the Trade Deadline, aka: The end of Stephen Drew.

Last night, our bats again turned flaccid - our second 2-hit showing in the last three games. The only wins on this road trip came gift-wrapped by Houston. Also, Carlos Beltran is now down with a rib-cage injury, perhaps the most mysterious affliction that an ancient hitter can face. He could back Tuesday or out until September. It's hard to cry about losing Beltran, who played RF like a zombie, but he was slowly starting to hit. Now, if he does miss time, must we then go through another month of him hitting .220, shaking off the rust that comes with being 38? The only thing worse than injuries are old players who try to play through them. (See Beltran, 2014)

We started this year with a sick feeling that Boston had out-smarted us - that the worst thing that can happen... could happen.

We were wrong. It might be worse than we imagined.