Insider report from Tampa: Yesterday in alt-reality

Tampa _  Clint Frazier belted three home runs, and Gerrit Cole twirled four shutout innings, as the Yankees clobbered Boston 14-2 in Monday's Grapefruit League tune-up to next week's regular season opener.

Frazier, whose past arrogance generated the nickname "Red Thunder," has impressed reporters and coaches this spring with a nonstop, humble, bow-and-scrape persona, and is now known as "the Scarlet Cabana Boy." Aside from his three home runs, Frazier made three incredible defensive plays in right field, forestalling Redsock threats. He is hitting .444 this spring and leads the team in all offensive categories.

After the game, he was out-righted to Scranton. 

"He acts differently," manager Aaron Boone told reporters. "But still, when I see the guy, I still think of that time he grabbed the last Cheetos in the bowl, even though several players hadn't had any. We hope he gets the message."

In other spring news...

Getting healthy. Giancarlo Stanton occupied the team Jacuzzi for a record 132 minutes Monday, using full-blast jets and burning an estimated 240 calories. "One day at a time," Stanton told reporters, toweling off and heading for the massage. President Donald Trump told reporters he expected Stanton to return by July-August. 

Won't stop believin'. Observers have noticed that Miguel "Miggy" Andujar is not giving the Sign of the Cross gesture before stepping to the plate this spring. Andujar denied rumors that he's fed up with God and the church, saying he's simply saving his blessings for games that count. "If this were the regular season, I'd be out there praying," he said. 

Cold Hand Luke. Nobody has to tell earnest-but-Hulkian, human armored Humvee Luke Voit that he's having a crappy spring. It's been one setback after another for the linebackerish, Fred Flintstonian lug nut, who is wondering when it will end? Not only is Luke hitting a meager, nerdish .173, but Monday brought the news that his dog, Sadie, has ringworm. Get well, girl.

Siss-boom-bah. During Monday's brief rain delay, all-purpose bullpen pipe wrench Chad Green abruptly dazzled teammates in the clubhouse with an impromptu, semi-naked flag dance to the tune of Starship's "We Built This City on Rock'n Roll." The performance was so spirited that several players were said to pass out, while watching. "Chad continually takes it to a new level," manager Boone said. "But this... who knew?" 

Near miss. The Yanks dodged a bullet yesterday when lunch-pail iron man and de facto captain Brett Gardner was carted off the field, following an apparent bone-snapping slide into third base. The loud, resounding crack, which seemed to emanate from Gardy's femur, caused fans to break into tears. Entering the ambulance, the veteran centerfielder could be heard shrieking in pain. Good news, though, the Yankees say Gardy should miss only a day or two! 

“Let me tell you, in my bedroom I have two big screens against the wall and generally, I might watch one of my movies or mysteries with the sound on one set and then I always have sports on the other set with the sound turned down. Well, now I have no sports to put on. Nothing.”

For The Master, these are trying times.

John Sterling, in a happier moment.

Plague Theater: The Chevy Chase Show

The Yankee team decision to stay intact in Florida might backfire

"Self-quarantine." Now, there's a word you don't hear everyday, eh, Chauncy? 

(Note: A friend of mine argues that, somewhere in history, our definitions of "masturbate" and "floss" got flipped. For what it describes, "masturbation" is too technical, too clinical, too long a word. Instead, we should be... "flossing!" And for my money, "self-quarantining" should mean "experimenting with hallucinatory drugs.")

So, you ask, what does this have to do with the Death Star? (Hmmm, should we drop that name?) Well, yesterday, the work-from-home Gammonites reported that a low-level Yankee farmhand - a young Cuban pitcher destined for Single A - became the first pro ball player to be diagnosed with corona virus. Yes, he's the Jackie Robinson of COVID-19.

The Yankees say this pitcher was working at the team's minor league facilities - next door to the Tampa mother ship - thus, he wouldn't have shared soap with Gleyber and Gardy, so all is well, don't worry, no cause for alarm...

Well, if we know anything as Yankee fans, it is that there is always cause for alarm.

Two days ago, the Yankee players "unanimously" decided to remain in Tampa. (I use quotes because I suspect at least a few players ditched private fears for team unity.) It seemed a refreshing bolt of confidence. The Yankees were showing their commitment to winning our first world championship in - God, must I say it? - eleven effing years. And - look - I'm not complaining. It gave me a reason to think games would soon resume, and these days, I'll happily devour any hope the world flings my way. 

But now, we see the dark side of that decision: It could backfire. If the Yankees return home to their families, wherever they may be, they can each self-quarantine - (and, of course, floss!) When the coast is clear, maybe around May 1, they could start again. 

But if the Yankees confine themselves to one complex, no matter how well they wash their hands, they run the risk of an outbreak that could take down this roster. There is a safety in being dispersed. 

Of course, these are young, vigorous athletes - perfect specimens of health, right? Each should be able to shrug off this virus, no sweat, right? 

Well, obviously, I dunno WTF to do. Maybe we should sign Anthony Fauci as first-base coach? 

What I do know is that the Yankees just finished the most irrelevant month of spring training in the history of irrelevance. Certainly, all Grapefruit League outings are meaningless. But this pandemic added a special layer of pointlessness, beyond the magnificent meaninglessness of anything we've encountered in the past. We've lapped ourselves. We just swam in the ocean for an hour, and now realize we didn't know which direction we were going.

I've been hoping MLB could actually play games in the month of April, maybe for TV audiences. (The YES Classics only remind me of what I'm missing.) It would raise spirits across not only the Yankiverse, but America. Now, I'm not so sure that can happen. The games will place the teams, and their families, in jeopardy.

I'm old. I thought I'd lived long enough to see everything. I was wrong. Self-quarantining... now there's a word.

Del Shofner

A brief aside, in this somber moment, to mourn and pay tribute to a great from another sport, Del Shofner, one of my father's favorite Giants, dead at 85.  Here he is, catching another touchdown pass, with a wonderful glimpse of the old Stadium, as well.

Those were names to conjure with once, Y.A. Tittle and Del Shofner.  They called Shofner "Slim," and "The Blade," and he was fast and tough and elusive, cutting past one cornerback after another, a ghost on the gridiron.

Hail and farewell.

Plague Theater: Norm MacDonald does standup about coronavirus

Rather than fruitlessly searching for toilet paper, it's time to ponder the patsy April-March schedule that the Yankees could lose

True story: Yesterday, my wife went out in search of toilet paper. She found the grocery aisles empty, with lines of zombies contemplating Bounty and Brawny. After a while, she needed to use the restroom. 

It had no toilet paper.

On that note, let us return to the critical business of America: blathering about the New York effing Yankees.

Right now, somewhere within the MLB bureaucracy - working from his/her bedroom, I suspect - some clinically obese hipster-nerd is crunching the 2020 baseball schedule. My guess - hey, it's as good as anyone's - is that March and April will simply vanish like a truckload of Charmin two-ply, and time will be relaunched at a new opening day. The season will shrink, but it cannot be extended into November, because nobody hits in snow. 

Unless the Tom Hanks Virus - (I'm paying tribute here, along the lines of "Lou Gehrig's Disease") - turns us all into Mad Max in Thunder Road, I believe the Great Toilet Paper Famine of 2020 will end, and the owners will soon sniff the money that is being burned. That means they will start playing real games in empty parks, perhaps in Florida and Arizona, catering to the most captive TV audience in history. 

Much has been said about the Yankees' unanimous team decision to continue practices in Tampa. I believe the players are sending the owners a message: They can play the games, and TV revenues will not be lost. In fact, games could be played in far-flung, exotic, made-for-TV venues, such as the famous "Field of Dreams" or that woods-shrouded sandlot near your home. It's all about logistics, folks. It can happen, if we want it.

But let's say the first two weeks of the 2020 season go the way of President Mike Bloomberg. If so, that could heal Giancarlo Stanton and Gary Sanchez, but not Aaron Judge and James Paxton. (Once again, the fates will have pissed on Red Thunder, aka Clint Frazier, though at least he won't have to return to Scranton.) 

If the first two weeks of the regular season disappear, the Yankees will lose:

3 games at Baltimore

3 at Tampa

3 at home against Toronto

4 at home against Baltimore
3 at Oakland
3 at Texas

The Yankees will miss seven games against their favorite tomato can, the perpetually rebuilding O's. They'll also lose miss three at home against Toronto, which gives the Jays a home field advantage for the season. Meanwhile, the Rays - our biggest threat - will miss three against Boston and three against Houston, tough opponents. 

If the virus wipes out the whole month of April, the Yankees will lose:

3 at home against Cincinnati
4 in Detroit
3 at home against Cleveland
3 at home against Detroit

They miss seven games against the Tigers, another patsy. Tampa, on the other hand, misses a rough, four-game series in Houston. 

If the season starts May 1, the Yankees will miss 14 games against Baltimore/Detroit, and Tampa will excise 10 against Boston/Houston.

So... the Yankees have a solid reason to stay in Tampa. If they - and the rest of baseball - are going to self-quarantine, they might as well play the games. (Plus, wouldn't it be galling for Tampa to have to play an away game at George Steinbrenner Field?)

Play ball, dammit. And you groceries: Show a little respect, and stock your restrooms!

Letters to the Editor: The Yankees shouldn't throw stones

NJ.Com
March 8

Dear Editors,

Of late, Yankees sluggers Aaron Judge and Giancarlo Stanton have been waxing self-righteous about the Astros’ sign-stealing scandal, implying (quite rightly) that cheating undermines the integrity of the game. But this is coming from a team that gleefully welcomed Alex Rodriguez back to the fold after his drug enhancement suspension.

During baseball’s steroid era, 26 Yankees — 14 pitchers and 12 position players — were implicated in the use of performance-enhancing drugs, more than any other team. Included were Andy Pettitte, Roger Clemens, Jason Giambi, Francisco Cervelli and a host of others. Such sanctimonious balderdash emanating from the Bronx calls to mind the adage: “People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

William Keller, South Amboy

Letter to the Editor: Why the 1960 World Series is like the Electoral College

Richmond Times-Dispatch
Feb. 22

Dear Editor,

The New York Yankees outscored the Pittsburgh Pirates 55 runs to 27 (more than 2 to 1) in the 1960 World Series. But the championship banner hangs in Pittsburgh. Why is that? It is because the Pirates won more games, 4 to 3. The Yankees didn't demand that the rules be changed so that they could carry their run total over to the next game.

As far as presidential elections go, contenders should learn some things from sports. Know the rules. More importantly, play by the rules. They should broaden their support and try to win more states. They know what the rules are. A contender should need to win more than 11 states (the most populous of which total 270 electoral votes), potentially negating the other 78% (39 states). Oppose House Bill 177 and stop the National Popular Vote Interstate Compact.

Tom Redfern. Petersboro

Plague Theater: Dragnet 1967. Episode: The LSD Story

Okay, Yankee fans, now comes the hard part...

A week ago, I tried to fathom how the world might look today. The last seven days now seem like a fever dream. 

We knew the virus would be expanding, but didn't we all expect nationwide test kits by now? We knew there'd be concerns about opening day, but who imagined that the debate would be over, that the plug would be pulled? We knew dark changes were coming, but who imagined this?

And do we dare think of what the next week will bring?

Well, so much for all my concerns about our No. 5 starter. No more worrying about Gleyber's fielding, or Mike Tauchman's spring slump. We have just witnessed the most irrelevant three weeks in baseball history - exhibition games that led to - um - nothing. The juju gods no longer hold our hopes in their hands. They have been laid off. 

Ah, yes, the juju gods - those immortal, middle-management deity flunkies whose lone supernatural power lies in the fixing of sporting events. They don't get to run hurricanes or earthquakes, or even celebrity break-ups. They just do balls and strikes. 

As eternal existences go, they got a crappy deal. (Obviously, no union.) They work nights and weekends, hunched over aging Commodore PC screens in cramped cubicles. They wear Velcro wrist-guards and dingy green visors, and shirts that do not fit. They fuel up on microwave popcorn and vending machine tuna sandwiches, always a day beyond their sell-by dates. Six times a night, they go outside to smoke and think about opening a mall kiosk. They need to lose 40 pounds. They need a colonoscopy. Back inside, the phones are always blaring, and it's always somebody like me, screaming about something they did to the Yankees. In this predestined universe, they have one role: To decide who wins a stupid game that none of them any longer cares about. And now, even that job has been taken from them.

Today, we have bigger gods and scarier fates to consider. And we will no longer have the daily stream of Yankee news detritus - the latest thing that Aaron Boone said - to digest.

For some of us, the next great challenge will be riding out this storm - waiting for the virus to peak and subside. Please, stay safe, and stay in touch. Nothing here will change. We have many psycho rants and raves left inside us - (have we even discussed Mike Ford's at-bats lately?) - waiting to be splattered into thoughtful ether. Last week may seem like a dream, but next week will probably be crazier. Still, there will be a baseball season. There will be a world series. We still have the best pitcher in the AL, and the Redsocks still suck. And as long as we are checking in with each other, even if only to piss and moan about Food Stamps Hal or Cooperstown Cashman, the world will at least seem normal. And if you find yourself worrying too much, watching cable news and pacing the floor, think about our batting order until the loneliness subsides. Sometime this summer, we'll gather to drink to our sanity, even if it's long gone. There will be a next week, and one after that. From now on, we just take them, one at a time.

Oh, and wash your hands.   

Plague Theater: Mickey Mantle vs Willie Mays on Home Run Derby

Let us sing now, and praise the JuJu gods!

So, Yanks lose an entire starting outfield and 40 percent of their starting rotation—plus maybe half of their closers—in the first couple weeks of spring training?

The JuJu gods promptly send a plague to sweep the land, allowing our wounded to heal and grow stronger.

Mysterious are the ways of the JuJu!  Let us praise these dark gods, and sacrifice a rat dog in their honor!

So Now What?

Our president has banned all travel from Europe to the US. 

What, exactly, is Europe?

Do we at IIHIIF have to ban comments from Europe?

Our president exempted his golf resorts in the UK, but we have no participants from these locations in our data base.

On tv, will we be subjected to Astros game re-runs from last season?  To learn lessons about honesty and fair play?

With Duke withdrawing from the now fan-less NCAA basketball tournament, will others soon follow?

If all withdrawn but Robert Morris, will RM win the trophy by default?

The NHL and NBA have shut down.  And Broadway just went dark.

So, why is Netflix down 18 points today?

Germany and Japan ( and other intelligent countries ) all have "drive-up" test facilities for the coronavirus, whereas we can't get a good hamburger anymore.

How does one like without baseball?

MLB suspends everything

The virus got us.

Heal, Judge.

A Modest Proposal

When I was a kid, I always loved watching the old, black-and-white version of Beau Geste (we only had an old, black-and-white TV, so it was perfect).

As some of you may remember the story, for rather obscure reasons having to do with honor, adventure, and the need of La France to maintain its rule over vast desert wastes, our heroes all join the French Foreign Legion.  Together with their fellow European criminals and mercenaries, they set out to fight the bad fight for white supremacy in the Sahara.

Well, I didn't understand the wider, horrible, real-world implications.

All I knew was that our boys were defending a doomed fort—What was it with doomed forts back then?  Various versions of the Alamo story were incredibly popular, and there was that Zulu thing.  Must have been some growing alarm over Red China going commie and the fear that we were all going to be surrounded in Fortress America by unreasonable people of color.  But I digress!—at the end, against an enormous number of Arabs who, as those darned nonwhite people will, were trying to take said fort by riding around and around it on camels and horses and picking off assorted Legionnaires (diseased or not).

Spoiler alert:  near the end, it just got down to a couple or even one of our heroes, who had the brilliant idea to prop up his dead mates on the parapets around the fort while shouting and firing guns, so the Bedouins would think there were still plenty of Euros (now banned from America) still up and firing.

Here is the fort, though of course it looked a lot bigger than this Hollywood model:



Now, my proposal is this: we, here at IIHIIFIIC, volunteer to go to every game at Yankee Stadium.

In return, we promise to race around the otherwise empty Stadium, hold up banners, bang on a frying pan with a spoon (is that Freddie guy still around?), imitate vendor cries, chant, and generally rave as we do anyway.  We will even agree to stage fistfights, an occasionally make a drunken run out onto the field ("Oh, you hate to see that, John!").

In return, we will get in for free, be given all the whiskey we can drink from the New York Yankees Official Jim Beam Bar & Grille after each game, and have a small but tasteful plaque in our honor placed in Memorial Park when this plague has passed.

What say you all?  Ready for our beau geste?

Suddenly, a darkness like none before looms on the Yankees horizon

Every morning, as I have done for the last thirty-some years, I plunk my ass down to write a soulful, heart-felt, blistering, psychotic rant about some new way in which the Yankees - my Yankees - have pissed me the fuck off. 

It might be a pitcher who can't throw strikes, or an outfielder with the flexibility of a Pringle's chip. Often, a certain dumb-as-lice, poor-mouthing, Sonny Drysdale-esque, billionaire owner receives a burning chunk of my lava-laced bile. For me, it's more than therapeutic: It's the only normal I have ever known. On the day I die - hopefully, many years from now - you will know that I am in the ground, because the screeds will cease, and the only howls I make will be the empty winds over my angry stone. 

But lately, a darkness looms like none I've seen before. Lately, I find reason to wonder if there will even be a season, or if it will be played before living, breathing fans. Lately, I've been pondering the possibility that the year 2020 will be remembered not only for its lack of yet another Yankee world championship, but maybe of a season at all.

Today, I am pondering the absolute worst-case scenario.

Of course, I'm referring to the possible injury of Zack Britton. 

Yesterday, a batting practice come-backer glanced off Britton's wrist, causing him to cry out and waddle off the field. The Yankees claim x-rays are negative - no broken bone - and that Britton will not miss major playing time. Trouble is, the Yankees no longer have credibility on the matter of injuries. Over the years, they have squandered all believe-ability, as they constantly assure us that players will return soon, only to have us then wait weeks, if not months, for rehabilitation. We're done believing them. They've become Baghdad Bob.

If Britton is hurt, a huge plank will have broken in our last bastion of defense - the bullpen. Certainly, at age 32, Aroldis Chapman cannot be counted on to last the season. He's hit the Injury List twice in the last two. Though his earned run average dropped last year - to 2.21 - El Chapo looks shakier and shakier, nothing like his glory years between 2012-2016, when his ERA hovered near 1.00. His tendency to walk the lead-off batter is going to send me to an early grave.

If Britton is hurt, the Yankees have no proven closer to buttress Chapman. In each of the past few winters, they fortified the bullpen - last year, it was Adam Ottavino - but this year, nothing, nada, crickets. In fact, they watched Dellin Betances walk out the door, without even a qualifying offer. 

Yankee fans have grown accustomed to the five-inning game, where our starter merely has to hold a lead into the sixth, to be then followed by a train of power pitchers. If Britton is hurt, that train breaks down in Utica, like regular Amtrak service.

A quiet truth about this spring was that the Yankees could always afford to lose outfielders or designated hitters. We'd find replacements either from our ranks or in the vast MLB scrap heap of talent. But if we lose our bullpen - for years, one of the best in the game - it's a long, disastrous call to Scranton. This spring, Yankees touted a bunch of young arms - Deivi Garcia, Mike King, Clarke Schmidt, et al - but one by one, they have proven to not be ready. 

If we lose Britton, it's time to get into the bunker. The end is near. 

What Will MLB Do ???

We are now seeing organizations make sensible decisions, with the public's safety the first priority.

Ivy League schools have cancelled all spring sports, and classes will only occur online.

SXSW has cancelled or postponed its music festival........ the biggest marketing event in Austin , Texas all year.

Schools are closing.

The NCAA has announced that the mens and women's tournaments will be played without fans.....only essential personnel.

Huge, annual music events in Arizona have been postponed ( Cochella, Stagecoach ).

St. Patrick's day parades are cancelled all over the country.

Major international soccer matches  are being played in front of no one.

Even MGM Resorts is eliminating their buffet tables.

History has shown that isolation and separation of people has made a huge difference in minimizing health risk ( see Spanish Flu...St. Louis actions vs. Philadelphia actions )

So,

I watch the spring training games on TV ( from Florida ),  and the crowds remain huge.

Opening day is 3 weeks off.

They are all sell-outs.

The baseball owners are the most greedy, uncaring people on earth.  So far, they have restricted reporters from the locker rooms.

To maximize profits, will they risk the entire nation?

Has anyone said anything?

Will hand sanitizers on bobble head dolls be their solution?

The silence is terrifying.

Ten games, five errors. But it's not time to panic.

Yesterday, Gleyber Torres botched two grounders but - in a charitable ruling by the scorer - tallied only one error. It was an act of human kindness. Gleyber's throws this spring have been Frisbees. He shows the footwork of Ellen Degeneres. He's made five errors in 10 games - (and keep in mind, he only plays a few innings.) That's five oops-es in 23 total chances, for a fielding percentage of - gulp - .783, which is Sam Horn country. Worst of all, Gleyber's glove may be undermining his bat; he's hitting only .200.

Put simply, the Yankees best and most indispensable player is having a terrible spri-WE INTERRUPT THIS POST WITH A SPECIAL REPORT FROM IIHIIFIIc HEADQUARTERS: THERE IS NO CAUSE FOR PANIC! REPEAT: NO CAUSE FOR PANIC! THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO REASON TO PROMOTE DOOMSDAY FEARS AND/OR CLUBHOUSE CHAOS. WE DO NOT HAVE TO RUN OUT AND TRADE FOR A DEFENSIVE SHORTSTOP. THERE IS NO NEED FOR US TO SIGN A MIDDLE INFIELDER OFF THE SCRAP HEAP. REPEATING: THERE IS NO NEED FOR PANIC! YANKEE FANS ARE INSTRUCTED TO WASH THEIR HANDS, AVOID TOUCHING THEIR FACES, AND STAY HOME. REPEATING: STAY HOME AND DO NOT PANIC! AVOID BARS, OFFICES, STORES, AIRPORTS, LIBRARIES, NURSING HOMES, HOSPITALS, COFFEE SHOPS, LIBRARIES, SCHOOLS, NEIGHBORS, STOP LIGHTS AND LIVING ROOM COUCHES. WATCH GAMES FROM HOME. AND EVEN IF THE ERRORS CONTINUE, DO NOT DRINK THE SANITIZER! WE RETURN NOW TO REGULAR PROGRAMMING... -ich means, holy crap, Gleyber moves back to 2B, bumping DJ to 1B, and sending Luke Voit and Mike Ford to oblivion, if not Scranton. (The Yankees would have a five-man DH rotation: Stanton, Andujar, Frazier, Voit and Ford.) 

And if you're thinking of Kyle Holder - the storied glove man/first round SS pick not named Cito Culver - he's hitting .250 this spring, with one error in 23 chances. 

After that, the Yankees have 1) Tyler Wade, who we have returned to Scranton for the last three years, 2) Thairo Estrada, who is more a utility man than everyday SS, 3) Hoy Jun Park, a 23-year-old slow-riser from Coronaville, Korea, who is ticketed for Double A, and 4) Max Burt, a 2018 draft pick out of Northwestern, who hit .222 in the low minors last year and - I never even heard of the guy before; what's he doing in exhibition games? 

Basically, we're going to go with Gleyber until he cannot do it. Then - well -  panic. Can Gio Urshela play SS?

Yanks Experimented Today

As we all know, due to the Virus, the Yankees have closed their locker room to all non essential people ( this would never have been acceptable to A-rod ).

All pro teams are doing this.

But the Yankees did something for the fans today...at least it appeared so.

The last six batters were randomly selected guys, between 18-28, who were wearing Yankee hats at the game.

They gave them each a uniform and an "at bat. " As expected, everyone struck out.

But it was a cool thing to do.  No one else has ever had a fan promotion quite like this.

I asked Aaron about this experiment in public relations after the game, and he ( predictably ) denied it.

"The liabilities are far too great...what if someone got hit ?  ( I asked for clarification;  " got hit" or " got a hit?").

We shall probably never know the truth...but I saw what I saw.