The definition of indifference.

 

With many thanks to AboveAverage for his link to the article in question!

Still have any doubts as to just how oblivious Brian Cashman is?

Check out Dan Martin's NY Post piece today, in which he interviews The Great Brain about how it is that NOBODY in the Yankees' lineup is able to hit besides the late, lamented Judge.

https://nypost.com/2023/06/20/yankees-lineup-is-more-than-aaron-judge-brian-cashman/

"I understand the question," Cashman starts off.

Um, what's that now? I had to go back and look at the lede. Was Dan Martin asking him for an in-depth analysis of climate change, or perhaps how computers translated the recent telescopic discoveries of distant galaxies into all those amazing shapes and colors?

No.

YOU UNDERSTAND THE !#@& QUESTION???

Okay, breathe, breathe. 

Then there's this:

"There's nothing in our approach that's causing it. I think over the course of time, there will be a market correction, and then we'll return to our norm."

A market correction. Right, because we're analyzing Wall Street here. And there's nothing in their approach that's causing it? A child could see that there is.

"I'm happy with their commitment. I'm happy with how they prepare and ultimately, I know I'll be happy with the end results. We've got a really good team when we're flying high and playing the way we're capable of, and right now we haven't been doing that, so it looks bad...No one likes losing, so I understand why fans are upset with how it's playing out. There's a long way to go, and we intend to make sure we do what's necessary to where we need to be."

Blather, blather, fumfah, and ramble.

Turns out, Cashman misspoke when he said that he understood the question. The question was, why does your team suck so bad? Why can it never win the whole enchilada?

The answer is, as always: "Oh, you fans!"

The NY Post is right about Anthony Volpe

Strange times, when you write these words:

The NY Post is right...

Wow. Have I lost it? Is this about Bigfoot? Whacko Jacko? Elliot Spitzer? Wait... are we posting on Anthony Volpe... or Anthony Weiner? 

Hard to say. In today's print version of Fox News, veteran Post sports columnist Jon Heyman - (pride of Cedarhurst!) - says two unnamed scouts are worried about Anthony Volpe's ever-expanding strike zone. 

Volpe - the Yankee IT Girl of April - has now fanned 84 times, the 12th highest total in all of MLB. He's hitting a ruinous .191 with an on base percentage of - gulp - .265. It's time to contemplate the fear that, after all the hype and hubbub, Volpe could be a new version of Tyler Wade. As John Sterling would say, "OW! OW! OW!"

Optimists can point to Volpe's recent micro-streak: He's 5 for 21 in his last five games, a Stantonian .238. That comes after adjusting his stance at the suggestion of old minor league teammates. (Which raises another question: Who exactly is guiding this kid?) Trouble is, the strikeouts keep coming. (Over those five games, 8 Ks.) 

Heyman quotes two anonymous scouts who say what everybody sorta knows: Volpe should be a pesky gnat, a Pedroia who grinds out walks, steals bases and drives pitchers crazy. Instead, he's trying to hit each pitch to White Plains. It's not working.

Heyman shrouds his story with an avalanche of praise for both Volpe and the Yankees. It's a given that, in this age of access, any media critique must be made with hat in hand, amid great gushing gobs of slobber. Even the unnamed scouts go out of their way to praise Volpe - you suspect the Yankees know their identity - while gently suggesting a trip to Scranton would help him "relearn" his swing.

Are the Yankees playing Good Scout/Bad Scout? Heyman's column follows recent pronouncements from Hal Steinbrenner and Brian Cashman that treat any suggestion of demoting Volpe as fighting words. Both have reaffirmed their support. Still, the all-star break is near, strikeouts are starting to pinch, and Oswald Peraza continues to hit in Triple A. (Oz didn't play last night for Scranton; donno why.) 

The mere appearance of Heyman's column suggests Volpe's introduction might be running out. Used to be, the last thing you wanted to hear was a Steinbrenner expressing confidence in you, am I right? 

Well, a final thought: If Giancarlo Stanton or Jackie Donaldson started hitting, maybe Volpe wouldn't find himself on the skewer. With a lineup of Triple A retreads and big contract disappointments, he's not the only batter who hauls embarrassing stats to the Jumbotron. The Yankees score in the first inning, then hibernate. It's supposed to be that batters gain an advantage in their 2nd and 3rd at-bats against a pitcher. Not this lineup. I wonder: What does that tell us about the general direction of this team?

Either way, a shoe may have just dropped. The NY Post is right... Volpe might be the future of this team, but the Yankees cannot carry him in this incarnation forever. He needs help, he needs a fresh start, and I'm not sure either will come from unnamed scouts.

City of Stars

 

"This is New York City. Fans want the stars."

So pronounced our Maximum Leader, HAL, the other day. 

This isn't true, of course. Mostly, it's just another salvo in Yankees management's endless propaganda barrage, designed to establish that we the fans are the real problem, never allowing the crack Bronx braintrust to scrape this sinking ship to the gunwales, and embark on the stem-to-stern rebuilding program they have just been dying to get started on.

Bologna.

As one of us pointed out, New Yorkers don't care so much about stars as they do winning. (And I suspect that we have this in common with, oh...all fans everywhere.)

One of the most delightful seasons in my memory was 1976, when the Yanks swept to a pennant with a minimum of actual stars (Munson, Hunter, and maybe Nettles or Randolph? Sparky?) and our mercurial manager sucking up most of the oxygen. This would later prove to be a problem but oh, it was fun while it lasted!

Another great year was 1996—again, with a team mostly devoid of guys who were considered stars yet—and one in which we went all the way, with what was also one of the most likable Yankees teams ever assembled.

But as the estimable Neil Keefe, author of the keefetothecity blog that is the only Yankees blog approaching (or even exceeding!) ours in pith and wisdom points out, the only "stars" on the 2023 Yanks are Aaron Judge and (maybe) Gerrit Cole (Though I have my doubts as to whether a No. 1 starter who can never get past the 6th inning is really a "star.").

Everyone else on the roster is a wannabe-star or a supernova, exploded long, long ago, in a galaxy far away—though only now does our management pick up traces of their demise on their franchise Hubbell telescope (named, of course, for King Carl Hubbell).

My friend James, who is far and away the most fervent Yankees fan on the West Coast, sends these statistics for our "stars" since the one real star has been occluded:

Anthony Rizzo:  .038/.167/.038

"Big G" Stanton: .091/.231/.227

Donaldson:          .091/.222/.364

The Gleyber:       .200/.310/.440

DJ:                       .217/.250.391

Various excuses can be offered for this. LeMahieu and Rizzo are obviously injured (Somehow, our cracking training staff, which cannot figure out how to get a player back on the field with a sprained toe ligament, has yet to figure out that Rizzo was obviously concussed, or is suffering from some even worse neck/head problem.).  

But Donaldson and "Big G," as noted here yesterday, are likely washed-up. The Estimable Keefe pointed out that—even before his 1 (single)-for-12, 1 walk, 6 strikeout performance in Boston, that Stanton is at .213/.295/.468 for his last 132 games.  

These guys are not stars. They are more like red dwarves—sorry, red little stars. Which are dead—than anything else, and it's time to sweep them into the Black Hole of baseball oblivion. New York fans, who are not idiots, recognize this.

The trouble is, as Keefe also points out—Maureen Dowd-style, I have decided to let others do most of the work on this post—our Five Caballeros are being paid $95.7 million between them this season, or more than the payrolls of the TB Rays, Orioles, Reds, Guardians, Royals, Nationals, and Athletics (a depressing number of which have better records than our slugabeds.).

This is not going to change anytime soon. If ever. But remember: it's all your fault. HAL has told us so.

 

It's too early to start rooting for a Yankee meltdown. Soon, though, that could change...

Lemme be clear: It would be awful to watch the '23 Yankees - the Edmund Fitzgerald of baseball teams - collapse. All that talent, all that potential, all that - um - inherited money - pitched overboard, while the orcas celebrate. (They hate us; who can blame them?) No matter how jaded we've become, we cannot want such an outcome. 

Not yet, anyway. 

Thus far, if these Yankees were a movie, they would rank on Rotten Tomatoes between the Children of the Corn remake and Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey, the river of plasma slasher fest. We crapped the mattress in Boston, and we are not contenders for the AL East, where Tampa and Baltimore might dominate for years. 

Of course, if Aaron Judge returns and hits 50 HRs, the Yankees could snag a wild card slot and, from there, who knows? Ted Lasso, right? 

It is too early to root for an orchestrated Yankee collapse, the kind Boston and Houston have used to build championship teams, while the Death Barge has maintained its also-ran status.

But July 4 is two weeks away, and the MLB trade deadline just six. It's time to ponder what could happen if the Yanks continue their sorry slide, and if the front office finally faces reality. (Big "if" there.) Would we not be better served by trading valuable veterans for youngsters who might someday win something?

In particular, let's consider three players.

1. Gleyber Torres. It feels like he's 30, but he's 26 - younger than Jake Bauers, Willie Calhoun and IKF - and his .256 batting average seems almost Ruthian in this banjo lineup. He's on course to hit 25 HRs, and you know what? He's not the next Jeter, or even the next Robbie, but he's not that bad. He's eligible for arbitration next winter. He could bring a few decent prospects, and Anthony Volpe - if he ever hits - might move to 2B anyway.

2. DJ LeMahieu. A respected veteran, a utility gold glove, a fine clutch hitter - he'd be perfect for a young team like Baltimore. The O's have a lush farm system, thanks to their 10-year institutional barf, and the Yankees could get younger. Any decent team should love to have LeMahieu. We have him for three more years. Where is he going to play?  

3. Luis Severino. He runs hot and cold. If by late July, he's on a roll, maybe the Yanks should drink some ice water and move him. He'll be a free agent this winter. Put him on the block and see what happens. Bidding war, maybe? It sure would be nice to get something before Setback Sevy's next tweak. And if we miss the guy, re-sign him in December!

Okay, before you get angry, let's mention the unmentionables: Jackie and Giancarlo. 

First, we'll get nuthin for neither. That's the reality. But but BUT... if a contender suddenly faced a hole at 3B, we might find a taker for Donaldson. It's obvious that he needs to get out of NY. A couple 18-year-olds, maybe? 

As for Stanton, you need hallucinogens to imagine anyone taking his contract, unless Hal Steinbrenner eats five years. But why not? Do the Yankees seriously expect him to be their everyday DH until 2031? Yikes. He already looks done. (He'll probably get hot soon; he can't be this bad, right?) At some point, Hal will be wolfing down Giancarlo's salary like Joey Chestnut at the Nathan's contest. Sooner the better.

But right now, it's too soon to root for a swoon. Save it for July.

"Unforgivable"

 

I remember that my parents had a coffee-table book of some kind about the Sistine Chapel. It included all of these great, close-up reproductions of Michelangelo's masterwork. 

The one to the right used to fascinate me. It's a depiction of a sinner at the Last Judgement, and I used to stare and stare at it as a kid, mesmerized by the idea that everything in your life could be too late—that no repentance could matter. Believe or don't believe: it speaks to a primal fear adult in all of us, that we have squandered our lives with nothing to show for it. 

Many years later, when I finally got there, I found the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel every bit as amazing as I had thought it would be. There are all sorts of strict warnings posted, in language after language, telling you to be quiet as you stare at it. But they never take. The crowds are so overawed that a buzz of amazed commentary inevitably builds until finally the guards, who are clearly expecting this, make a collective shushing sound.

The crowd goes silent. But within a few seconds, the noise begins to build again.

Imagine having painting something so magnificent that, over 500 years later, people cannot look at it without expressing their adoration. That's what I call a fucking artistic achievement.

But I digress.

This season, when he went out on April 15th with another serious injury, after jogging into second base, Giancarlo Stanton looked at all the games he has missed as a Yankee—now at 307, as opposed to 473 played—and pronounced it "unforgivable."

It wasn't, of course—not in any real sense. 

Not even Dante has a level of hell for squandering a potentially great baseball career. Stanton, by all accounts, seems to be a stand-up guy who has never complained about our disappointment with his performance—or his inability even to stay on the field. It's nice that he finally recognized his shortcomings.

Giancarlo vowed to find ways to stay on the field more. Which is nice. But it's too late.

Stanton is 33, and will be 34 in November. His best years are behind him—well behind him. 

He should have thought about seriously changing the way he trained for and played the game in, say, 2019, when missed 144 games and still had to beg out of the ALCS. Back when he was still 29.

But he didn't. Then he managed to play only about one-third of the Covid season. 

Still no change. 

A pretty good 2021 followed—though nothing like the superstar numbers he was supposed to run up—then came a great start in 2022.

But after May of last season, his monthly batting averages for the rest of 2022 were .176, .156, .130, and .174, followed by a 6-32 postseason, with 2 walks and 9 strikeouts.

This season brought another (lesser) quick start—followed by a month-and-a-half on the DL. Since returning on June 2nd, Giancarlo is 5-41, or .122, with 2 homers, 2 RBI, 4 walks, and 15 Ks—culminating in yesterday's 0-7, 1 walk performance at the Fens.

In short, he has not played well for any sustained period, for over a year now. His .708 OPS would be the worst of his career if it held up—and his 93 OPS+ indicates that he is hitting below the (pathetic) league average. Oh, and all you WAR fans out there: Giancarlo's is 0.0. A perfect nullity.

I won't bore you with more statistics. Suffice it to say that there is every indication that Stanton is done. That he will never again be even an adequate player—on those occasions when he can show up.

I have no idea what the old-timey goals mean to a modern player like this: playing in a World Series, making the Hall of Fame, etc. Probably not much—for a guy who will earn over $200 million in contract money alone. And that is what it is. Hell, there are plenty of people who busy themselves destroying the world for money like that. Giancarlo Stanton isn't a bad guy.

But what a waste. And how sad to wake up and realize it's too late to regain the gift you squandered.

The critics are RAVING about Brian Cashman

 Here's my fave...

Where have you gone, Aaron Judge, our nation turns its lonely eyes to you. (Woo-woo-woo?)

Yesterday - the worst Yankee day of 2023, thus far - the Bombers' batting orders featured:

Three Triple A retreads (Calhoun, Bauers, McKinney)

Two seriously struggling youngsters (Volpe, Cabrera)

Two lumbering, perhaps-done veterans (Donaldson, LeMahieu)

Two defensive catchers (Trevino, Higashioka)

Two slumping former stars (Torres, Rizzo)

And one continuing, generational mistake (Stanton.)

The team is no longer on course to take the final AL wild card slot, a feat that becomes less impressive each year. 

It shows no spark, no flare and little ability to score, beyond the occasional solo HR - the prototype for October failure - if they somehow do make it. 

They have squandered one of the MLB's best bullpens and heaped colossal pressure on two people to salvage this plummeting season. 

1. Aaron Judge surely feels compelled to return ASAP, with or without his toe fully healed. It could be a costly decision. Last year, DJ LeMahieu - suffering from a similar ailment - went from a league batting leader to a mediocre leadoff hitter. He still hasn't returned to his former self.

By collapsing into a leaderless void, the Yankees are pushing Judge to not only heal miraculously soon, but to then perform at a nearly superhuman level. When he hurt himself in LA, he was on fire. What happens when Judge inevitably slumps? Because he will. Without Judge seeming to hit a HR every day, it is flat-out amazing how dead this lineup is.  

2. Brian Cashman, the maligned GM whose string of deals last July tanked the 2022 season. In his career, Cashman came late to Money Ball and now seems unable to move on. He has slumped since the disastrous acquisition of Joey Gallo, which seemed born from some algorithm that should have vanished with Chris Carter. 

But it's his track record with pitchers that frightens us the most. His list of recent failures is terrifying: Sonny Gray, James Paxton, Lance Lynn, Michael Pineda, Javier Vazquez, JA Happ, Javier Vazquez, Franky Montas... and now, gulp, Carlos Rodon? 

These days, each loss pushes the Yankees closer to the doomsday scenario, where Cashman tears up the farm system, trading youngsters for a new bilge of salary dumps. Make no mistake: The Yankees got here by acquiring bad contracts. They are too big to fail, and yet they are failing, miserably. They look in the mirror and see the  Mets, and they think NYC can still be won.

How much deeper will they lash themselves to this sad, tired lineup in order to chase a final wild card slot?

We just experienced the worst Yankee day of 2023. 

Or did we?

YANKS TO DADS: DROP DEAD

 

Yanks pick up half-game on Rays, and other tidbits of Father's Day encouragement

If the season ended today, the Yankee Death Barge would achieve its Prime Directive for 2023: 

It would make the playoffs. 

Not by much. In fact, we would quietly sneak into place - like a silent fart - capturing the final wild card berth. Most importantly, everybody at the top would keep their jobs.

Of course, the Official Yankee Goal is always to win every world series, every game, every year, until the end of time, or Hal Steinbrenner wills the franchise to charity. Every year, that's the given: We strive to win it all! 

That said, to boost revenues and maintain the brand, the franchise must reach the post-season. And right now, despite all our moaning and carping, the brain trust can eyeball the standings and smile. 

Thus far, mission accomplished. They are achieving the Prime Directive.

So, some hopeful observations as the team prepares to honor its eternal, de facto father figure, old George...

1. The Yankees are surviving in MLB's toughest division. Not only that, but everybody in the AL East loathes us with the searing heat of a billion suns. When not glaring daggers at us from opposing dugouts, they're proclaiming that they shall never - ever, under no circumstances, absolutely no way - wear the foul pinstripes, a symbol of all that is wrong with humanity. Yeesh, they're like 6th-graders denying a crush on the red-haired girl. But truly, they do despise us. 

2. We have been decimated by injuries, and - frankly - some has been bad luck. That great catch by Aaron Judge, when he crashed the fence in LA? Shit. A million variants of movement converged (or conspired) to strain his big toe and cost him six weeks. I don't think it means Judge is a china doll - certainly not when compared to, say, Giancarlo, who is a soap bubble. If the Yankees can just get lucky - that is, deal with the regular elbows and hamstrings - but avoid fences and head butts - they can win that final wild card.

3. If they reach the post-season, and Aaron Judge hits two HRs per game, they can win it all. 

4. We must be nearing a decision on Jackie Donaldson and/or Gleyber Torres. Neither is terrible, in the Zolio Almonte sense, but either - or both - could be traded for scrap copper tubing and replaced by Oswald Peraza, and the team would probably improve. Also, DJ LeMahieu - though a respected veteran - is hitting just .236. None of these guys are cutting it. Something must give. Oswald needs a shot. And soon.

5. Estevan Florial homered again last night for Scranton. His 18th on the season. He's tied for the International League lead. Of course, it doesn't matter. Currently having big years at Triple A are Jake Cave (.374 with 10 HRs), Miguel Andujar (.358 with 8) and our own Franchy Cordero (.343 with 5.) Florial is just another name we'll hear now and then, until he's traded. I should stop doing this to myself...

6. In Baltimore, Aaron Hicks is hitting .304 with 2 HRs. But but BUT... he's only played 15 games, (and lately, he's in a 1-for-9 mini-slump.) He's lifted his seasonal average to .235. (His two main Yankee replacements, Willie Calhoun and  Jake Bauers, are hitting .238 and .221, respectively.) You wonder: Have the Yankees somehow become a toxic clubhouse, where players cannot perform to their best capabilities? 

We're the one team in all of professional sports that should never, ever care how much it pays its players, and yet the Gotham media and - yes, us - the fan base - could never stop counting dimes when Hicks' name came up. It's happening with Severino, too. Nobody ever asks how much the Steinbrenners bank, and we scream at the players for wasting money. I dunno. But maybe that's why we haven't won a championship since 2009. 

7. Okay, in San Diego, Gary Sanchez has hit 6 HRs in 17 games. Is he another Snake Plisken? Another case of Escape from New York? I dunno. But but but... the Kraken's batting average is .207. What happens when the homers cool off?

8. Okay, parlor game: Ten years ago, the Yankees failed to make the playoffs for the first time under Mister Hal. Here was the lineup on June 19, 2013, in the second game of a double-header against the Dodgers.

So... essay question: Was that better that what we'll put forth tonight in Boston? 

Reductio ad absurdum

 

Comes word that Aaron Judge is now suffering from a sprained ligament in one or another of his toes, and may or may not be back in time for the All-Star Game, several weeks hence.

In my ignorance, I had no idea that one could sprain a ligament. Perhaps next he will fracture a gene, or pull a blood cell, or maybe tear a body cavity. 

Rumor has it that there is an entire department at Yale's medical school now devoted to annotating and cataloguing the injuries that the Yankees manage to come up with.

What seems obvious, though, is that it's absurd for us to have gone about following the Yankees as if they are a traditional, major-league team: 

Pondering the lineups, debating the new statistics. Assessing whether this player or that should be released, or called up from the minor leagues. Parsing the cryptic statements of the manager, or the opaque strategies of the front office.

The trouble is that these Yankees are nothing like a traditional major-league ball club.

They are more like the Olde Towne Team, some group of mature men who gather, when they can, at the ballpark down by the train yard, to play for their friends and families. Sometimes they perform marvelous feats, and sometimes they seem preoccupied by weightier concerns. But under no circumstances are they to be taken seriously.

 

“There’s a handful of plays, and a couple of them, there’s some nuance to them, but it’s going to happen to you, where you don’t have a clean game. That’s been one of the hallmarks of this team so far, and you never like it, but it also happens, where you’re not gonna make all the plays. And tonight was a game that we didn’t.”

Gosh willikers, Mister Hal, do ya believe it? Another one of them consarned nuances done got us. 

Them buggers are ripeass Filthy McNastys. But doncha worry. I aint gonna wriggle my pelvis into nobody else's tighty-whiteys over this, nosiree. A dirty game does what a dirty game gonna do. 

I mean, yeah, we can sit here and butt-dial the juju gods. But that'd be being a Polly Pillbox, and I aint no Polly Pillbox. Sure, yeah, okay, granted: We lost 15-5. I can't sugar coat it: Someone left the cake out in the rain. 

But, hey, let's not overlook the bright side. 

1. We scored five runs. Who's a big team? WE'RE A BIG TEAM!

2. Take away Boston's 13 runs over the first four, and the Yankees won 4-2! Without using Clay "Sherlock" Holmes. (Elementary, my dear Boone!)

3. Josh Donaldson's towering, 8th inning solo-shot cut the Redsock lead to nine. This guy, he's a solo-shot machine! You better believe that our rivals only want him coming up with runners on base, when he can't hit another solo-bolo.  

4. Domingo German didn't get himself suspended. Way to go, Number O.

5. We unveiled the legendary Dollar General Outfield: Calhoun, McKinney and Bauers! (Oh my!) Shades of 2013: Vernon Wells, Zolio Almonte and Melky Mesa! The things you can find in recycling bins!

6. Around the fifth, David Cone opined that baseball might consider a mercy rule. It's always great when your color man wants to go home.

7. In the eighth, another foul ball almost hit John Sterling in the booth. If The Master yelps in a forest, does anybody hear it?

8. The Death Barge maintained its also-ran pace since last June. They have now gone a full calendar year as a .500 team. Take a bow, front office!

9. They might be irreparably behind the Mets in tabloid back pages, the first time since IT IS HIGH began the count. Take another bow, Mister Hal.

Next up, perhaps a well-deserved rainout, to rest their bones after all these gosh-darned nuances. 

Estevan Florial is now embarrassing the Yankees

Two nights ago, the Death Barge lost when on a drive to right glanced off the bottom of the wall. It wasn't a terrible, awful, horrible miscue by RF Jake Bauers. It just wasn't a game-saving catch. Would Aaron Judge have made it? Maybe. Probably. Hell, why torture ourselves: Nobody knows.

But don't blame Bauers. He plays 1B. In his six-year MLB career, he has roamed the meadow of RF a mere 41 times. What was he even doing out there in the 10th? Filling the void, I suppose - the void that has lasted all season.

Nearby, there stood Isiah Kiner-Falefa, who had never played OF in his MLB career, not once, before making the switch in spring training. He has now played 54 games in CF, most by any Yankee. Two nights ago, when another drive braced the wall, IKF pulled up short. Would Harrison Bader have made it? Maybe. Proba-AW, HELL WITH THIS, WE DONNO, WE DONNO, NO MORE TORTURE, WE DONNO...

Excuse me. I meant to ask another question: 

Would Estevan Florial have made those plays?

We donno and never will. Florial is trapped miner in Scranton, and the Yankees show no interest in his rescue. 

Last night, Florial belted two HRs, giving him 17 for the season. He's hitting .312/.405/.648 - for those of you scoring at home, that's an OPS of 1.053. He's fast, 13 stolen bases and three triples. He's 25, now in his third year at Scranton. 

Let that sink in. Three years at Scranton. He knows the waiters. He can drunk-drive the backstreets to Wilkes Barre. He can go into Pizza Hut and order "the usual." He can vote in local elections.

And if the Yankees were to play him in LF, beside Bader and Judge, they could actually claim the best defensive OF in baseball.  

But they won't. As we've all been told, Florial strikes out too much - 29.6 percent of the time. As we've all been told, this is unacceptable. No Major Leaguer - not even Aaron Judge should strike out so often, right? Wait. Huh? Doing the math here... Judge strikes out... um, well, dang... 36 percent of the time. But he's Aaron Judge, dammit. And Anthony Volpe? Um... 33 percent. 

Doesn't matter. Somebody in the Yankee AI/human brain trust has seen something in Florial's swing, and don't ask any more questions, okay, we don't fucking know and we never will, okay. So, let's just stop being smart-mouth fans and pretending we know the answers, okay? 

The real problem with Florial is that the Mother Ship used up all its options on him, practicing the Scranton Shuttle for three straight years. If they bring him up for a game, or a week, they cannot dispatch him back to Central Pa. for using the wrong fork in a lobster bar. Thus, they would have to play him every day and see what the hell he's got. And they've already decided.

Oh, did I mention that he bats LH, which is what the Yankees need? 

Last year, Oswald Peraza led Scranton in HRs with 19. (He's still there.) In 2021, Chris Gittins led the Railriders with 14. (Florial was 2nd, with 13.) Back in 2019, the famous Ryan McBroom - our poster boy for sweeps - led the Railriders with 26. In 2018, it was Mike Ford (14) and Billy McKinney (13) - yes, THE Billy McKinney. Are we sensing a glitch in The Matrix? Have we stumbled upon a loop within time and space?

Tonight, Harrison Bader might return against Boston. Let's hope he catches that ball off the base of the wall. Because meanwhile, down in forgotten Triple A, Florial will be chasing McBroom, and it just seems as though we're getting nowhere, am I right? 

July 2, 2004

This is not another reminiscence about Derek Jeter diving into the stands to save a game against the Red Sox on July 1, 2004. 

This is a post about what happened the next day. 

Derek Jeter played baseball.

That's right. The day after he was literally taken out of Yankee Stadium in an ambulance with blood on his face, Derek Jeter was back in the lineup, at Shea Stadium. 

The Yanks were running through a ridiculous string of doubleheaders and games without an off-day. The team was battered and bruised. So the battered and bruised captain suited up.

Derek Jeter started the game at shortstop. He stayed in the game even after Mike Mussina—who I realized once-and-for-all that night, would never win a World Series with the Yankees or anyone else—put the team in a 5-0 hole after two innings. Jeets stayed in the game until the 8th inning, with the Yankees trailing 11-2. 

He didn't have a great game. Three plate appearances, two walks and a groundout. A stolen base and a run scored, two assists—including the start of a DP—in the field. Nothing to write home about, by Derek Jeter standards. But he set an example. 

Which brings us to Gleyber Torres, the man Brian Cashman thought would be the Derek Jeter of the 2020s.

Which was not Gleyber's fault. Nor was it Gleyber's fault that he sat against the Mets last night, until a late, pinch-hitting appearance. Ma Boone chooses the lineup, and I'm sure if he had penciled-in Torres, he would've played.

But that's not the way you build the next Derek Jeter. 

After Torres had suffered an inexcusable brain freeze to cost the Yanks a game with Boston two nights earlier—and after another critical error had almost cost them a game with the Mets the night before—the last thing that Gleyber needed was a manager who would hide him on the bench.

What he should have had was a skipper who quietly brought him into his office, put an arm around his shoulder, and explained, "Son, we can't have that."

 

He needed to tell him to look around, and say, "Gleybs, baby, half the team is hurting or home. We need you to step up. We need you to play like it was 2019 again, and show what you can do. We need you to concentrate on every play, every at-bat out there. We need you to play, well, as if you were Derek Jeter."

But he didn't do that. And it's one more reason why I doubt they will ever get close to being the new Derek Jeter they were hoping for.

Last night's loss was a witch's brew of all the problems we've seen plague the Yankees in recent years. So many overaged and overrated players on this team. The poorly constructed roster. The growing inability of Small Game Cole to pitch effectively past the sixth inning. 

Not to mention the manager. I'm sure this was another example of Aaron Boone's idiotic, "It's not a day off unless you have two days off" philosophy on preventing injuries (One that has failed so signally, as many of us have pointed out, to prevent injuries.) Or maybe it was because Gleyber had never had a hit off Justin Verlander in 10 at-bats. (He was hitting all of .133 against Scherzer, who he faced the night before.)

Whatever. It's inconceivable that, in a key game, Derek Jeter would ever have been benched in favor of a slumping, probably injured, .236 hitter.  

If the Yanks are still serious about Gleyber Torres, he should not have sat, either.

 

Zachary A: "I looked over at the Texas Rangers roster and noticed a familiar name..."

 

From crackerjack commenter Zachary A:

I looked over at the Texas Rangers roster and noticed a familiar name.

Ezequiel Durán, is hitting .295/.343/.500 (.843 OPS) in 178 PA while playing 2B/SS/3B/LF.

Remember when we traded him away for Joey Gallo?

Certainly couldn't use a guy like that right now.

I looked over at the San Francisco Giants roster and noticed a familiar name.

Thairo Estrada is hitting .296/.347/.485 (.832 OPS) in 251 PA, while playing 2B/SS/LF.

Remember when we gave him up for cash considerations?

Certainly couldn't use an athletic, toolsy guy like Thairo around here.

I was on FanGraphs and noticed Estrada was 7th in the National League in WAR among position players.

Seems to me like when your GM gives up a guy like that for nothing but cash it's not a good thing.

But what do I know.

Hal Steinbrenner might be done throwing money at this disappointment

Last night, in the ongoing Great 2023 Battle of Disappointments, the Yankees didn't disappoint. They out-disappointed the always-disappointing Mets - the reigning disappointments in a city that recognizes a flop when it comes knocking. Where the hell is Yahoo Serious, anyway?

And one of the amazing facets of the Yankiverse is how our world views can change after a stunning, out-of-body loss. Last night, for example. 

The bullpen blew another lead, and in the 10th, the Yankees couldn't move a runner from second to third, swinging and missing (as the Mets did the previous night.) A golden harvest of disappointments. 

Once again, we await some magical, unknown changes that will somehow transform the 2023 Yankees into a team that matters. The more we hope, the less likely anything will happen.

Last winter, shortly after signing The Great Carlos Rodon, Hal Steinbrenner gushed to the civilized world that the Yankees were "not done!" improving the team. Considering the then-sinkholes at LF, 3B and SS, Yank fans believed him. We anticipated another deal, or maybe a free agent signing, to show once and for all Hal's determination to elevate the Bombers to the top of MLB, or at least NYC.

Well, it's been four months, and we're still waiting. And we are slowly gleaning the truth: It aint a-gonna happen. 

Reports show the Yank team payroll - realistically, the most important analysis that Hal sees - now sits at about $292.2 million, barely a Willie Calhoun below the $293 million MLB luxury tax threshold. If Hal adds payroll, he'll have to shell out gobs of luxury tax money, which he is loathe to do. 

Thus, come the Aug. 1 trade deadline, whatever the Yankees do - if anything - their moves will revolve around Hal's bedrock desire to not go above that golden ceiling.

That means little leeway in new acquisitions. And it means further depleting a farm system that already looks sickly, when compared to our rivals. 

Last year's crown jewel, Anthony Volpe, remains in an existential struggle for survival. This week, Volpe changed his batting stance. Maybe it'll help. But if it doesn't, it's just another pogo dance in quicksand. When June turns into July, if Volpe is still hitting .190, hope will be hard to sustain. We might even hear scattered boos, which would be awful. 

Meanwhile, this year's jewel, Jasson Dominguez, is struggling to hit .200 in Double A. The official line on "The Martian" is that he's so feared by other teams that their pitchers pitch around him. I dunno. For a new guy, that's an old excuse. 

It's hard to imagine the Yankees trading Volpe. But Oswaldo Cabrera and/or Oswald Peraza are a different story, and Estavan Florial looks like a goner. If all three were packaged together, would it bring a competent left-fielder? (And then, who would play SS, IKF? He can do almost anything, but... yikes.) 

Having watched the Yankees squander leads over the last two weeks - a 5-5 record - this we know:

1. They now sit 9 games behind Tampa in the AL East, and are clinging to the final Wild Card slot in a scrum with Houston and Toronto. Even Baltimore now looks like a bridge too far.

2. The injuries won't stop. We can tell ourselves that all will be okay when Judge returns, but let's be real here: Somebody else will be out. That's China Town, Jake. This hospital ship cruise won't end. 

3.  As we contemplate trades, let's remember that last August, Brian Cashman totally shat the bed. This year, Cashman's best moves were to sign scrap heapers - Calhoun, Jake Bauer and Billy McKinney. They can serve as valuable pieces. But none will salvage the season. (McKinney - hitting .333 - might go when Harrison Bader returns this weekend.)

Unless Volpe improves, I don't know how the Yankees can fix their problems and stay within Hal's payroll limits. The Aug. 1 trade deadline might come and go, and the Yankees will still be mired in a Wild Card race with a one word description: Disappointment. 

Luis Severino is testing the boundaries of Yankee existential hope

What if, after all those nights in the pumpkin patch, it turns out that there is no Great Pumpkin? And there never was...

Not only that, what if Linus and Charlie Brown - two characters alive only in newsprint - suddenly were to achieve sentience? They realize that they are fictional entities, reliving a lost experience - night after night - because their creator has died, and the conduit of their existence - daily newspapers - are steadily disappearing. There shall be no new experiences, no revelations - only past non-events, infinitely relived in a dead, cold, pumpkin patch Hell, where nothing shall ever happen, and the world will never change...

Which brings me to Luis Severino. 

We waited most of the last five years for Sevy to appear unto us on a cold October night and to save all earnest Yank fans from yet another season of despair. In the warmer light of last September, he had nearly thrown a no-hitter, and we knew he would not let us down in the post-season. And he couldn't go six.  

So, here we are... once again, waiting on Sevy. But this time, it's not a flexor or hamstring - but his fastball, the reason for his existence - which seldom touches 95.  

Of course, he went down in spring training: He always does. And five starts ago, he was supposed to bring solidity to the rotation. He was the reason not to fret over Nestor Cortez's shoulder problem. He was our new No. 2, and he would devour innings that otherwise would ruin our bullpen.  

Seems like a long time ago, in Sevy Time, that is. 

What now? Damned if I know. Over his last three starts, Severino has been effectively sliced open, scooped out and carved into a jack-o-lantern. Sixteen earned runs in 13.2 innings. Blown out in the first against LA. Three HRs by the White Sox. And last night, six runs in 4.2 innings, including a pair of balks that would embarrass Joe Shabotnik, or a Little Leaguer. 

All this time, we waited and waited... and for  what? It's interesting that Sevy's statistical doppelganger through age 28 is Noah Syndergaard, the patron saint of unwielded relevance. 

Next winter, Severino becomes a free agent. Right now, there will be no human cry to re-sign him. Not a peep. He has three months to save whatever Yankee legacy he was once meant to have. 

But I can tell you this: It's cold, sitting night after night in that pumpkin patch. We've waited long enough. 

Game Thread: It's 1966 all over again!

You remember 1966... Both teams were bad. 

According to EBay this was a program from the Mayor's Trophy Game from that year.

"You, sir, are no Jogginson Canó!"

 

Ah, bliss! "Forced" to spend a working weekend upstate at the lovely hamlet of Pine Plains, far from the hellish air of NYC. What a wonderful part of the world!

Even better, the airbnb I was at did not have anything resembling news or sports stations, so saw only a few minutes of your New York Yankees, glimpsed on a bar TV near the end of the Saturday night win.

Then it was back home, to watch right off Gleyber Torres waving at a routine throw from the outfield as if he were warming up his swing for a tennis game, thereby allowing the Red Sox to move the eventual tying run into position in what became an(other) exasperating, extra-inning loss.

Folks, from everything I looked at regarding this weekend series—from everything I've seen of the Yankees and that wonderful corporate entity known as MLB of late—this is terrible baseball.

This is Dead Ball era baseball, without the strategy or the speed, all the stealing and hit-and-running. This is 1960s-era baseball without the nightly Dance of the Gods, Bob Gibson decking Henry Aaron with some chin music and Aaron getting back up and hitting the ball out of the park. 

No, this is not that. This is the Worst. Baseball. Ever.

This is baseball presented nightly by men—whether in the front office or on the field—who frankly don't seem to care that much. And at the center of it all is The Original Gangster Next Jeter, the man who was supposed to lead us back to the Series and be the crowning glory of Brian Cashman's career, Gleyber "What Me Worry" Torres.

Remember, it was Torres, NOT Judge who was supposed to be the keystone of the new dynasty that Cashie was so carefully crafting.

There has been a tendency, of late, to compare Gleyber to our own, dearly departed Robinson Canó. We call him things such as "Jogginson Torres." I think it should stop. I don't think Gleyber is even worthy of that insult.

Not to go all Lloyd Bentsen on your asses.  But gentlemen, I watched Jogginson Canó play, don'tcha know. I watched him play in a World Series. I watched him win a World Series. Gleyber Torres, sirs, is no Jogginson Canó.

 —Did Robinson Canó juice? Absolutely, the wonderful cheating bastard. That's what will keep him from getting in the HOF, at least for many years. And I do not approve of any juicing. 

—Was Robinson Canó generally a poor postseason player? Yup. And usually, Torres has been a better one. But not for years. The Gleyber is 6 for his last 38 in October, going back to 2020, with 0 homers and 2 ribbies—yet another indication of his ongoing decline.

—Did Robinson Canó leave us for the wilds of Seattle, under the guidance of that great sports mind, Jay-Z? Yes, he did. But all that meant, in the end, was that we got to miss his worst years and the revelation of the aforementioned cheating.

—Was Robinson Canó known, at times, when not in the heat of battle to, well, JOG a bit toward first base in a less-than-vital game? Yes, he was.

But what I can add is that, for his last 5 years in the Bronx, Robbie Canó played about as brilliant an all-around second base as I've seen this side of Little Joe Morgan. 

In that time, he averaged 76 extra-base hits a year, while batting .314, and probably deserved at least one AL MVP award over his fellow juicers. Winner of 5 Silver Slugger awards and 2 Gold Gloves with us, he would have made the Hall and no doubt replaced Joe "Flash" Gordon as the greatest Yankees second sacker ever (if not, you know, for the cheating).

Give The Gleyber credit for not cheating. That's about all the credit he deserves. 

After Sunday's fateful flub, many of the Knights of the Press Box were willing to praise Torres as a stand-up guy, for owning his egregious miscue. But what he was really doing was constructing a lie, right in front of them, to excuse himself.

"The error is on me. I should've grabbed the ball. It was nothing difficult," Gleyber began.  But then he added that, "I think I looked too fast to [see] the runner and just missed the ball..."

The real problem, he continued—the story growing as he spoke, like some school kid expanding on just how that dog ate his homework—was that he "tried to catch it really fast and maybe throw to first base [behind the runner, Kiké Hernández]."

Right. Because that's the kind of savvy, heads-up play you see Gleyber executing all the time at second base, whirling and throwing to catch an errant runner taking too big a turn.

Look, Torres was no more hoping to catch Hernández—a utility player with 15 stolen bases in 10 years—off base than he was the Dalai Lama. He simply fell asleep out in the field, as we have seen him do time and time again over the last four seasons. Fell asleep in a needed, big game, against our leading rivals with 46,000 fans in the seats and the team desperately needing to steal a win.

Only a Brian Cashman—stuck up once again by Theo Epstein—could've ever assumed this guy would be the Yankees shortstop of the future. He was a dismal defensive failure at the position, and let it ruin his hitting.

But Gleyber is also not an especially good-fielding second baseman, and getting worse. 

His Sunday swing at that ball was his 6th error of the season, most in the league; he had 7 in all of 2022. And that's not because he's getting to so many more balls. His range factor is right along the league average. And unlike Robbie, who repeatedly led AL second basemen in putouts, assists, DPs, range, and old-fashioned fielding percentage, Torres has never come close to leading the Junior Circuit in anything.

The fact is, like so many of the Young Gun Yankees of 2017 who were supposed to lead us back to the glory days, The Gleyber, at just 26, is already a player in long-term decline. 

As many of you know, I'm a skeptic when it comes to fielding stats in general, and especially as to WAR. But those stats, too, tell the story of decline. Gleyber's defensive WAR this year is 0.2. It's never been above last year's 1.4. His overall WAR is 12.5—6.6 of which came in his first two, heady seasons, 2018-2019, when we thought we really had something. 

And stats aside, as we have all seen with our own two eyes, Torres just isn't that much into the game of baseball. The Yankees, stupidly, encourage the worst of these tendencies. Check out Ma Boone's bizarre quote after Sunday's debacle:

"One of the things Gleyber does really well defensively is he plays the game with ease. So you've got to strike that balance, you've got to be careful."

PLAYS THE GAME WITH EASE??? Our manager is now handing out style points??? Does anything better exemplify how ancillary the game of baseball is to the Yankees organization, from HAL on down? Expecting an admonitory benching or reaming out? Sorry, my friends. Those days are past. Welcome to the Age of Gleyber.

Ah, Pine Plains! How I long for ye!

 

 

Everybody wanted to believe in Anthony Volpe. Now, they must put that faith to the test

Everybody knows that: 

1. Artificial intelligence is going to destroy us.

2. Vladimir Putin is an asshole.

3. It'll be a year before Philadelphia fixes I-95. 

4. Anthony Volpe is struggling. 

Since this is a Yankee fan blog, let's go directly to No. 4. 

Volpe's BA is now .186 - Joey Gallo Country - a level where it's hard to keep falling, because one lousy bunt single per week will maintain it. He leads the Yankees in Ks with 77 - 14 more than the runner-up (who is Aaron Judge, so we live with it.) He sees nothing but curve balls, up and in, and they might as well be deer ticks, considering how he flails at them. Volpe he hasn't hit since spring training, when the tabloid ink fairies blessed him, and his "once upon a time" began.

We wanted so badly to believe in that old Yankee magic show...

In March, the Yankee brain trust - seduced by the Greek chorus of Gammonites - ruled that Volpe could skip Triple A and vault straight into Cooperstown Monument Park. Some didn't even try to hide their view that he was the Second Coming of Jeter - a terrible weight to hang on any rookie. (Witness the lead noose worn by "The Martian," Jasson Dominguez, since his heralded signing.) Not only did Volpe bypass Scranton, but he leapfrogged Oswald Peraza, who had rightfully earned a shot as Yankee SS, based on his 2022 performance (.259 with 19 HRs in Triple A.) But Peraza started slowly and tweaked a gonad, and Volpe - the local hero - electrified the Gotham publicity machine in a way not seen since Greg Bird, Gary Sanchez, Clint Frazier... um... Estevan Florial?

Everybody wanted to believe.

Now the question is whether the Yankees have irreparably damaged Volpe's confidence, as they did with a lost generation of former future stars. 

Now, their hands hold the plug - ready to pull it at any minute.

We're a month from the all-star break, barely two until the trade deadline, when there is a decent chance that either Volpe or Peraza will be dealt. The Yankees have incredible needs and nothing to trade. Nobody wants Jackie Donaldson. Nobody will take Willie Calhoun. They'll demand Volpe, Peraza and Dominguez, (now hitting a meager .210 at Somerset.) And the Yankees will not do what other teams would consider: Retooling for 2024. Once again, they will go all in on the  final wild card slot, because that's what the Yankees do. 

Truth be told: I dunno WTF to do about Volpe. The other night, in the ninth against Boston, he blasted the game winning HR, though it curved foul at the last-minute. Then he made the final out. If that ball had stayed fair, we'd be still chanting his name. But it didn't. The fairy tale is coming to an end. 

One of these things is not like the other...

Quick, take a look at these statistics:

69 games played, 7 home runs, 45 RBI, 30 walks, 52 strikeouts, .260/.341/.423/.763.

67 games, 9 homers, 26 RBI, 22 walks, 77 strikeouts, .186/.260/.345/.605.

The first are the figures for Mickey Mantle, after he was sent down in his rookie year, following his game on July 13, 1951 with your New York Yankees.

The second set are those for Anthony Volpe, so far this season.

Hey, is it unfair to compare most anyone with The Mick?

Absolutely!

But the fact remains that, if Mick could survive it at 19, after running up what would practically be considered MVP numbers today...Anthony Volpe can take it, too.

 

And again, wishing Volpe nothing but the best. I hope he's a huge star (at second, after we get rid of you-know-who). But the numbers don't lie.