New York Yankees
Boston Redsocks
In the booth: Red Barber, Mel Allen, Phil Rizzuto
It's turned out to be another serviceable season for the Jersey Giants.
Last night, the evil Dallas Cowboys were stuffed, broiled, carved and served.
Today, as the good people of Texas freeze their frostbitten butts onto icy toilet seats, we welcome them to Hell.
Today, we are all Giant fans.
Hopefully, tonight, the Eagles - another carbunkle on my personal vendetta list - will join the Grease Stains of Gotham. There's a certain joy to watching a rival team and fan base simultaneously implode, nullifying all their hopes and victories from the past six months. But Philly gets to celebrate when the Yankees collapse. This would be karma, folks.
As for the Buffalo Bills? Any diehard Yank fan knows that Buffalo doesn't qualify as a proxy for NYC sports. It's too far away, geographically and culturally.
That said, the Bills have never hurt me, and blizzard football is always fun to watch from a warm couch. On that note, go Bills! And hello Cowboys fans. Feeling a bit cold, are we? Get used to it. I believe NFL camps open in late July.
Winter Blunderland
(To the tune of Winter Wonderland)
Death knells ring,
are you listening?
Our GM’s… head is
glistning.
His moves won’t
work out.
A title we doubt.
Witnessing his winter
blunderland.
Started strong- we got Soto.
Hal implied – we could
blow dough.
But bupkis since
then.
Hader for the pen?
Not in Brian’s winter
blunderland.
Instead of Yamamato we
got Stroman.
He was always signing
with LA.
We need another
starter
But it’s, “No man”
Maybe we can trade
for Sonny Gray.
In Left Field, there’s a new low.
Malcontent, named Verdugo.
Told Yank fans, ”go
to hell.”
Yeah, this will
end well.
Witnessing our winter blunderland.
Our minor leaguers never
seem to grow, man.
When they do they never
let them play.
Or send them up and down until they blow, man.
Then we pack them up, and
then trade them away.
As Yank fans we get tired.
But no one will get fired.
We’re the ones who are played
By the plans that they’ve made,
Living in their winter blunderland.
Living in their winter blunderland.
Living in their winter blunderland.
According to the Internet, Blake Snell and his evil manager, Scott Boras, recently rebuffed your 5-year, $150 million contract offer, demanding at least one more year... the bastards.
We both know what this would mean: You'd be paying Snell top dollar at age 37 or beyond, when he'll be a certified "Stinker" by Rotten Tomatoes, another Carl Pavano or Javier Vasquez, or any of the late-life zombies who washed ashore in the Bronx and shat the bed.
I get it. Overpay for Snell, you are pissing away good Bitcoin for a 31-year-old, five-inning starter, who issues too many walks, who is ripe for elbow surgery, and who - between his Cy Young seasons - has been J.A. Happ with a Van Dyke.
You and me, we can remember when a $30 million pitcher was something to behold - a 6'11" Big Unit or steroidal Rocket Clemens - a freak of nature who cast fear not only in opposing dugouts, but throughout entire ballparks. Nowadays, $30 mill? That's chump change. That barely buys you a congressman, or gets your name on a thruway rest stop. Elon Musk wouldn't wipe his butt for $30 million, so let's not insult God by offering less.
The thing is, Blake Snell may not be what we want. But he's what we can get.
With Snell, the Yankees would open spring training next month with six starters, the minimum for any contending team in the Age of Tommy John.
Sign Blake Snell, and the Yankees have a puncher's chance in '24. He's not Koufax, but that 2.25 ERA last year? It didn't pitch itself.
Let him go, and in the end, you'll end up pissing away $30 million in salary dumps and bad trades, desperately seeking to fill 150 innings.
Sign Blake Snell, and you'll have done your job as Yankee owner. Whatever happens, you'll have tried. We won't call you cheap. We won't call the Steinbrenners "the Sackler family of baseball."
Let him go, and just watch: He'll sign with a rival. We'll face him in June, the Subway Series, or early October, if we're still playing. And he'll hate us. You know why? Because you dissed him this winter. They all do. That's the burden of being the Yankees. We no longer generate the love and respect that we once did. But we still bring the resentment.
Sign Blake Snell - it's only money! - and, at least for another year, you will bestride New York City as a colossus, as King Tit! Sir, the barbarians are at the gate. The Mets are rising, and Stevie Cohen lurks everywhere. If the Yankees lose NYC, it will be a decade, maybe longer, and cost far more than $30 million before you win it back.
So, summarizing...
Sign Blake Snell, sign Blake Snell, for your own sake... sign Blake Snell!
Somehow, heading into the holidays, the Yankees - with their analytics and algorithms - managed to completely misread the pitching market. What a fuckup: It's as if the city of Syracuse forgot to buy road salt. (Fun fact: The 'Cuse still leads in this winter's Golden Snowball contest, with 22 inches of snow thus far, three up on Binghamton.)
The Yankee strategic plan seems to have collapsed after the big domino, Yoshi Yamamoto, toppled last month.
After spending an entire year courting Yamamoto, the Yankees' offer came in $25 million below his final price. They weren't close, didn't even finish second. Apparently, they didn't imagine the Dodgers - after signing Shohei Ohtani - cooking the books and remaining in the bidding. The master plan went kaput, and the dominos began to drop.
They let Luis Severino walk to the Mets on a one-year deal for $13 million. Sevy may have outlived his Yankee preferred parking slot, but the Mets got a steal.
They misperceived Frankie Montas' one-year price tag of $16 million. Apparently, they thought Montas would show loyalty to a team that nursed him back to health last season. Yeah, right.
Not wanting to throw in with aging pitchers, they watched Lucas Giolito, 29, go to Boston for $38.6 over two years. Then they shelled out almost the same amount, $37 million for two seasons, for Marcus Stroman, who is pushing 33.
Apparently, they thought rotational lug nuts like Dylan Cease could be obtained in trades, only to find the asking prices outlandish.
And all this after giving up nine viable pitching prospects in trades or the Rule 5 draft.
Right now, both their rotation and bullpen look paper thin. And the first wave of injuries - the tweaks and tears that arrive every March - has yet to hit.
Look, I get it that nobody in the history of baseball ever figured out pitching. And the Yankees, in their trades for Juan Soto and Alex Verdugo, certainly needed lefty bats. But every day, another free agent pitcher signs for a price the Yankees are unwilling to pay, because they muffed their homework. Whomever they sign - if anybody - it's going to be at a price that causes Hal Steinbrenner to concentrate on soccer.
The music has stopped, the Yankees can't find an empty chair, and we might be watching the Bills-Steelers without beer. Stock up. Could be a long weekend.
Okay, let's breathe. It's barely been three weeks since the Dodgers cooked their books and purchased the 2024 NL West, and the first winter storms are only now buffeting North America - yet this offseason seems to have lasted 10 years. Now and then, it feels as if time has stopped, and we're sitting here, frozen in Hell, watching a 4-D Chinese Checkers match between Brian Cashman, Scott Boras, Aaron Rodgers, Travis Kelce and Death.
If the lords of MLB want us to yearn for spring training, the strategy is working: I cannot perform Godot much longer, especially when the wait turns out to be for Marcus Stroman and Luke Weaver.
Listen: Whenever Hal Steinbrenner spends money, we should cheer. That's what the Yankees are supposed to do. Still, in recent winters, Hal's spending splurges have seemed reactionary, unfocused, and aimed at contending, rather than actually winning something.
And so we now have Stroman, the latest door prize, once a prominent name on the franchise shit list.
Honestly, I'm not sure how Stroman rankled the Yankees. Apparently, Cashman once belittled the pitcher, prompting Stroman - then a Met - to do what all Mets do, which was to whine like a creaky door hinge. Or maybe I got it backwards. Whatever. Either way, $37 million will spackle over most disagreements. All animosities will disappear, if Stroman pitches well. And if he doesn't, God help us.
The problem is so obvious, it's like with Voldemort: I don't want to speak it aloud.
But Stroman looks incredibly like the pitching equivalent of Josh Donaldson, even down to his Toronto roots. Ten years ago, he was a future Hall of Famer. Now, he's barely a serviceable eater of innings. Over his last two years, he's never reached 140 innings (which is exactly where the Yankees drew their option clause for a third year.) That's below what Clarke Schmidt delivered. And the ERA...
Aw, fukkit: Let's not do stats. They can make the numbers jump through hoops. Soon, Stroman will turn 33, Jesus' age. He's 5'7" with attitude, but he's no Pedro. It's hard to see him staying fresh in October, unless he's missed a couple months. And October seems a million years from now, anyway.
Lemme say what everyone knows: Stroman is a starter, not a finisher. The '24 Yankees need pitching, and the signing looks like an act of desperation rather than planning. Yesterday, they also added Weaver, age 30, who bounced around all summer before reaching the Yankees, when nothing mattered. Come June, if Weaver is in the rotation, it probably means our main horses are in the ice bath.
So, where to now? Apparently, Jordan Montgomery remains enough of a competitor to still hate the franchise that traded him. And Blake Snell remains a mirage, a way to make the MLB Rumors and make the Yankees look like big time spenders at the flea market.
I don't know how Cashman fixes this rotation, but this we do know:
Yankees, as currently built, will miss the wild card by just two or three games, which might just be good enough for Hal.
And that, my friends, is the real problem facing the Yankees.
Last week, we were bypassing Jordan Montgomery because of his history with the Yanks. Now, it's our longtime critic, Marcus - gulp - Stroman...?
Make it two gulps. Let's ignore Stroman's shrinking output: Last year's 3.95 ERA, his highest since 2018. Forget that he's a decade past his winningest season, 2014, when he went 11-6.
This is our big gift under the tree? This is the answer to our pitching woes? This is the glorious opening of Hal Steinbrenner's purse? This is the pride of the Yankees?
Say it aint so.
This is Domingo German without the cracked clubhouse TV. This is Luis Severino four years from now. This is Carlos Rodon surgically spliced into Jhony Brito. This would be worth celebrating if the Yankees were acquiring their 5th starter. The problem? Stroman will slot in at No. 2, just above Clarke Schmidt.
Seriously, is it just me? Does no one else see a looming disaster?
What happened to all that big-ass Yankee money, which was going to exorcise the sorry 2023 and resurrect the Steinbrenner family name? We went all in on Yoshi Yamamoto - offering cash and 90 years of tradition - and finished third. Third.
The Los Angeles Dodgers are now baseball's marquee franchise, by far. The Mets are positioned to take New York. And we're dickering over nickels and dimes... with Marcus - gulp - Stroman?
The ranks of free agent pitchers keeps thinning. The trade market for pitching is a minefield. Everybody wants young arms, and we've managed to shed nine of them. We have no more prospects to deal, and in our hearts, we live in fear of what a desperate Brian Cashman might do to stave off a 2024 meltdown that would likely end his Yankee career.
Two months ago, when the team acquired Juan Soto, the Yankiverse foresaw a rebound in 2024 - maybe even a tussle with still-improving Baltimore.
Now, it's stems and seeds. Marcus Stroman? Pardon my gulp.
The curtain opens on a confident smiling Brian Cashman giving a press conference...
----
Reporter One: Brian, the Yankees barely finished over .500 and didn't make the playoffs.
Reporter Two: Yeah, what's the plan?
Cashman: What's the plan? Why, I can tell you the plan in one word! Yamamoto.
Yamamoto (To the Tune of Oklahoma)
YAAAH -ma-mo-to is the guy the fans will come to see.
We will pay big cash from our secret stash.
And we’ll sign him till twenty-thirty-three!
--
YAAAAAA-Ma-moto will be ours in just a couple days.
Because Hal's not cheap. We will take the leap and …
Oh shit, he just signed with LA.
We know now we have to change the plan.
Since we just lost the ace from Japan.
--
But we don’t laaaack.
Cause Rodon’s coming baaaack.
And we traded for Juan Soto.
That’s Juan Soto...
Y-A-N-S-O-T-O
Juan Soto!
No plan B.
According to the Internet, Oswald Peraza has an extra MLB option!
That's right. Option No. 4. Don't ask how. Don't ask why. Nobody knows. It's like a time travel movie: Don't think about the plot, just go with the flow. We had believed the Yankee infield prospect was out of options. He's not. He has unearthed a newfound artifact, like on Curse of Oak Island. Option No. 4. Okay, put the Luger back in your month. Breathe...
This means the Yankee deep state can once more kick Peraza back and forth, like a rusted Schlitz beer can, to and from Scranton, where he's now played 170 games and, in terms of residency, can probably run for city council.
A 4th option. This is big. Without it, they would have been forced to keep Peraza at the MLB level. We might have started calling him "Oswald Florial," honoring the poor soul who led Scranton last season in almost all offensive categories. Without an option, the Yankees kept Estevan Florial at Triple A through August, rather than waive him. For months they tried out the Four Yanketeers - Willie Calhoun, Billy McKinney, Jake Bauers and Franchy Cordero - searching for the lefty bat that never materialized. Could Florial have done better? Moot point. We'll never know...
Now, if Peraza gets sent to Scranton, it might not be forever. Will it matter? Who knows? But the Yankees might suddenly need Peraza if/when DJ LeMahieu tweaks something, and/or if Anthony Volpe fails to hit. The 4th option! Not necessarily good news for Peralza. But good for the Yankees.
Also, Peraza's trade value probably increases by - say - .0004 percent. The Yankees need pitching. With another option, Oswald could be part of that package. Woo-woo!
Also, get this: Relief pitcher Yoendrys Gomez also has a fourth. But apparently, Ben Rortvedt does not.
Yes, it's the high-stakes, daily orgasmic, nip and tuck, up and down, higgety-piggety, world of being a Yank fan! Used to be, we awaited massive free agent headlines. Today, we celebrate the agate. Onward and upward, with Option No. 4!
While Hoss' “The New York Game ” is clearly THE must have baseball
book of the year, this spring will also see the release of another noteworthy tome that is worthy of attention.
Metamorphassistant – Franz Kafka
A classic reimagining of Brian Cashman’s meteoric rise from intern to chief cause of the destruction of one of sports greatest franchises.
An excerpt:
“As Brian C. awoke one
morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a
gigantic insect. He was lying on his hard, as it were armor-plated, back and
when he lifted his head a little he could see his dome-like brown belly divided
into stiff arched segments on top of which the bed quilt could hardly keep in
position and was about to slide off completely. His numerous legs, which were
pitifully thin compared to the rest of his bulk, waved helplessly before his
eyes.
“Garbage! I must have
garbage with which to sustain myself.”
He crawled over to the
black housephone sitting atop a small table strewn with advertisements for
Rogaine, old Sporting News magazines, and a strangly soiled copy of Boys Life. “Get
me Rodon’s agent. I’m ready to make a deal…”
“Finally, an author who can make sense of the last fifteen
years of Yankees decision making.”
- - Publishers Weekly
“Long and needlessly
expensive... and that’s just the chapter on Giancarlo Stanton's contract.”
- - The New York Book Review of Books
“It is high! It is far! It is gone! This book is no Czech
Swing!
- - John Sterling
The reasons Smith has remained un-inked for so long remain unclear, but sources tell us that many MLB front offices were concerned about the impresario's recent health problems, his lack of any major-league experience, and the fact that he is now 53.
But Yankees front-office buffoon Lonn "Nol" Trost pooh-poohed those concerns, pointing to Smith's dramatic weight loss, and the fact that he was still able to best Giancarlo Stanton in windsprints this winter, down at the Yankees' Starr Field of Legendary Insurers training complex in Tampa.
"The Yankees sign anyone and everyone, regardless of their health—Scott Effross, Frankie Montas, Harrison Bader—and the results speak for themselves," Trost insisted.
In terms of positives, Trost noted that Smith is a New Jersey native with a long track record of comic success. While some have pointed to the release of Clerks III or Zack and Miri Make a Porno as evidence of a mid-career slough for the once-promising filmmaker, Trost expressed confidence that the Yankees' coaches and script doctors would be able to get him back on track.
"Smith was considered an up-and-coming director with unlimited potential in 1994," Trost pointed out, "and the Yankees have signed plenty of players whose peak was realized thirty years ago."
"Also, Smith will have to learn to wear his baseball cap face forward," Trost told reporters. "That's just the Yankee way. Unless, of course, he agrees to put a 'Starr' logo on the back of his cap."
Last year, they traded it to the Bears for Dopey Dildox and a pack of matches - thereby qualifying for the Rich Kotite Meltdown Bullhorn, awarded to that extraordinary sports franchise that craps the bed for the current past and future.
It's a rule of sports: Somebody must finish last. Still, it's a rare abomination that does this after dealing its number one pick in the entire draft. It usually brings about front office firings. But it's always due to one disastrous doctrine of ownership:
The need to win now... right now!
Which - fun fact! - happens to be the mentality of the New York Yankees.
The concept is simple. With that draft pick - or in baseball, top prospect - burning a hole in your toreador pants, you jettison the future. You trade for somebody, anybody - from Herschel Walker to Carmelo Anthony to Danny Tartabull - hoping to spawn a ticker tape parade in Gotham, or Mudville, or Cleveland - wherever. And everything goes south.
Okay, maybe sometimes it doesn't totally backfire. Maybe the traded-away No. 1 pick turns into Joe Don Looney ("football's most aptly named player," George Sauer said.) Or maybe you bundle prospects for Chris Sale, who wins you a 2017 world series. Does it matter that he also brings a five-year shit show? Your call...
This winter, despite serious roster issues, the Yankees are embracing a "Win Now" mentality. Their plans balance on the idea that several former stars - Carlos Rodon, Nestor Cortes, Giancarlo Stanton, Anthony Rizzo - will return to form. And maybe they will. Trouble is, that word... "maybe."
An injury to Gerrit Cole or Aaron Judge, and - kaboom! - we could be in the bowels of the AL East, with an aging lineup, a dearth of pitching and frustrated players in their walk years. We didn't trade a draft pick - (that's not allowed by MLB) - but, for the record, we will draft 26th next summer, knocked down 10 slots for signing - gulp - Rodon. In trades and the recent Rule 5 draft, we recently jettisoned nine young pitching prospects. Nine.
Few staffs can survive such a mass evacuation.
It's been a while since the Yankees completely collapsed. (Thinking 1990, though they suffered a mini-meltdown in 2016.) But let's not kid ourselves. It can happen here. Ask the 2023 Mets. Ask Rich Kotite. A Yankapocalypse? Who knows? The worst could be yet to come.
(Final note: Come on, you knew that optimism wasn't going to last!)
—John L. Lewis
My Dear Fellow Lunatics:
Reports of my demise in 2020 have been greatly exaggerated. Contrary to what you may have read, I did not pass away on my beloved St. Croix, but have been secreted in an undisclosed Bronx location, working away at my major opus on the history of New York City baseball.
At last, it is done! It is entitled, The New York Game: Baseball and the Rise of a New City. It is being published by Knopf, and will be out in March. You can buy it online, or at most any friendly local bookshop or lunatic asylum—though publishers always like copious pre-orders.
https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/7503/the-new-york-game-by-kevin-baker/
As you can see, I wrote it under the name of some passing schlemiel, whose birthright I purchased for a mess o’pottage, i.e., a bunch of certified, Yankee Stadium rat dogs.
It only goes through 1945, but that’s long enough to get plenty of Yankees stuff in, and if you’ll notice there’s a Yankee on the cover. It’s also before a certain other team in Queens ever existed.
And don’t worry, the second volume, already written, will be out in the spring of 2026—just as the Yanks prepare to win their third straight ring! HAHAHAHAHAHA.
Countless thanks to El Duque, Stang, Alphonso, and everybody else who runs this blessed escape from sanity. Now I can truly echo their elegant admonition:
“Buy my book, you hockey pucks!”
Please.
Horace Clarke
As were Carlos Rodon, Nestor Cortez, Johnathan Loaisiga, Frankie Montas, Wander Franco, the Mets, Wink Martindale, Daniel Jones, the Uncut Gems lady who hooked up with Kanye West, Prince Harry, Dr. Oz, Machine Gun Kelly, Beanie Feldstein, Samuel Bankman-Fried, the My Pillow guy and the driverless-car industry.
Unfortunately, last year, Cease went 7-9 with a 4.58 ERA - the baseball equivalent of being thrown out of an off-Broadway Beetlejuice show for grabbing genitalia.
For some reason - (I suspect it involves supply and demand) - the baseball world has identified Cease as a grand and glorious chess piece in the 2024 race. The Yankees are one of several suitors drunk-dialing the Chicago White Sox, slobbering for a chance to land this gleaming, golden trout, who was good in 2022.
I believe I speak for the Yankiverse in saying to our competition in this trade war:
God speed you, God bless you, God protect you. May you bundle prospects in the way that Flo does her car and home insurance with Progressive, and may you bag the ultimate door prize, known as Dylan Cease. Go forth, o, snail and climb Mt. Everest! Make the deal! Dream the Impossible Dream!
And to the Yankees, I would say:
Hello-o, fuckwads? Hey, (snap fingers), look at me. If you don't intend to shell out for a major free agent, why not do everyone a favor and put Carlos Rodon, with a chunk of salary paid, out for bids? See what he'll bring. Because if you think you can trade your way to a 2024 title - that is, just keep draining the farm system for players past their shelf life - well, you can delude yourselves, but you're not fooling the fan base.
With Juan Soto, Alex Verdugo and Gleyber Torres reaching their contract seasons, there is a talk about the Yankees "going for broke" in 2024.
Unless Hal Steinbrenner opens his wallet and springs for a key free agent pitcher, this whole exercise is a joke. If the Yankees sign a solid pitcher - Blake Snell, Jordan Montgomery, et al - they'll have a puncher's chance.
If we're supposed to think our future hinges on trading for Dylan Cease, folks... we are screwed.
Gene "Stick" Michael walks into the Yankees' front office—only to find George Steinbrenner and Clyde King waiting for him. He tries to stifle a groan. Fails.
GEORGE: Stick, after consulting with my baseball people here, I've made a decision: Derek Jeter is not ready to play shortstop in the major leagues. We're sending him down to Columbus.
STICK: Very funny, George. Happy April Fool's Day to you, too.
GEORGE: This is no joke! Clyde here and I have been talking, and—
STICK: Yeah, yeah. Like last April first, when you told me you were leaving your wife for Jennifer Aniston.
GEORGE: Hey, you shoulda seen your face! Fished-in! Like the kids say.
STICK: I thought you were having a psychotic break. C'mon, George, don't fuck with me, I've had a rough day, trying to finalize the roster. Why exactly did you think Kenny Rogers could help us? You know he's not the singer, right?
GEORGE: I'm perfectly serious, Stick! Clyde has convinced me: that young Mr. Jeter is not ready! Down he goes!
STICK: Oh, yeah? So who's going to play short? Andy Fox? Jesus, George, how many games do we have to waste before you realize—
CLYDE: Félix Fermín.
STICK (incredulous): What?
CLYDE: Félix Fermín. He was Seattle's utility man last year—
CLYDE: Well, Félix gives us a lot, Gene. I mean, he was hitting .317 before the strike in '94—
STICK: He's a lifetime .259 hitter, with 4 home runs in almost 900 at-bats.
GEORGE: But don't forget his fielding! Clyde here tells me he's a great glove.
STICK: No he isn't, not especially. He also can't steal bases: 27 in 48 attempts. Last year, he couldn't beat out Joey Cora or Luis Sojo over there.
GEORGE: Well, he showed us a lot in the division series—
STICK: No he didn't. He had one at-bat, and struck out swinging on three pitches. Why do you think the Mariners released him?
CLYDE: Um, actually, they didn't release him, Gene.
STICK: What? What have you done now, George? Did you actually trade someone for that piece of gornisht?
GEORGE: Clyde thinks we oughta give 'em that kid from Panama. Mariano something—
STICK (incredulous again): Mariano Rivera? Now I know this must be an April Fool's joke.
CLYDE: It's no joke, Gene. We got enough pitching. What we need is a veteran, stabilizing influence in the infield—
STICK: Holy shit. Woody Woodward must be laughing his ass off in Seattle. I wonder if the Tino trade was all a set-up for this.
GEORGE: Stick, we're serious! We have to make this deal today—
Stick Michael nods, gets up, goes over to his desk. He pull a Glock out of his top drawer and puts it on the desk top. Steinbrenner and King stare at it, their eyes wide.
GEORGE: Now, just a minute, Stick! Maybe we're being too hasty—
STICK: You're serious, I'm serious. You make this deal, and a bullet goes through both your foreheads. Then, I'm taking the first flight back to Florida. I have an AR-15 there, in a storage locker, and I will use it to shoot every single Steinbrenner family I can run down. What's more, I had a small nuclear device installed under Yankee Stadium. When I trigger it, there will be nothing but a giant, sucking hole left in the middle of the Bronx.
CLYDE: He's bluffing! He doesn't have a nuclear device here! Not one of that magnitude, leastways!
STICK: Try me, Clyde. Just try me. And in case anything happens to me, Bob Watson has the code to it as well.
CLYDE: But don't you see how good this deal is, Gener?
STICK: Shove it, you broken down old Bum. You haven't managed a team in 15 years—
CLYDE: 14!
STICK: —and here you are, wanting to send down the best-looking rookie we've had since Mantle, and trade a pitcher whose potential is unlimited!
GEORGE: I dunno. He seems awful skinny—
STICK: You wanna trade the guy who struck out Fermín on three pitches...for the guy who struck out. Think, George! (Michael releases the safety, aims the Glock at Steinbrenner's forehead). Think or die!
GEORGE: Hey, uh, point that thing at Clyde, willya? Okay, okay, you won your argument! We'll keep Rivera!
STICK: And Jeter is in the starting lineup tomorrow on Opening Day. Right?
CLYDE (sighs): Okay, okay, if you feel that way about it. But I tell ya, you're missing out on a golden opportunity to get Félix Fermín! How often does something like that come about?
GEORGE (musing): Just tell me one thing, fellas: do you really think I wouldn't have a shot with Jennifer Aniston?
*All "great real moments" based on actual events. Dialogue and settings may be invented.
Here's one, to the immediate right.
If the Yankees make this wretched deal, I will drive to Tampa, shave my head, paint myself green, drink five Shamrock Shakes, and puke them on Hal Steinbrenner's windshield. After draining their farm system, they would have traded four prospects for a rag-armed pitcher who went 7-9 last year with an ERA of 4.58 - higher than any of Jhony Brito, Clarke Schmidt and Domingo German. We might as well publicly criticize Vladimir Putin from a 7th story window.
For the record, I doubt Cooperstown Cashman would make this deal. The Yanks have invested too much newsprint into Jasson Dominguez, and hubris will not let them trade him.
Right now, hubris is all they have.
Hubris is what made Cashman believe Yoshi Yamamoto would choose the Yankees, even if other teams offered bigger pots of money.
Hubris is what keeps Hal thinking that every America kid dreams of playing CF for the Yankees, even though that generation is now pushing 70.
Hubris is the last gasp of a dying empire, which is what the Yankees have been for 15 years.
I believe Cashman realizes the precarious seat he occupies. To shore up an anemic batting order - something the Yankees are never supposed to have - he traded off a huge tranche of young arms. Yamamoto jilted them, and now the Yankees must desperately find somebody who can deliver 180 innings. Thus, they're pondering Cease, who peaked two years ago, much like Carlos Rodon and Nestor Cortez.
Here's the rub: In the aftermath of Yamamoto, the value of pitching has suddenly skyrocketed. If it's just a bubble, there could be deals in spring training. But if trade proposals like the one above are real, yikes: We're in deep shit.
GEORGE (entering executive offices): Y'know, Gabe—
GABE PAUL (working the phones): No.
GEORGE (wheedling): You don't even know what I'm going to say—
GABE: Yes, I do.
GEORGE: Oh yeah, smart guy?
GABE: You're going to tell me you want to throw Ron Guidry in on the Bucky Dent deal.
GEORGE: Okay, so you're a mind-reader! What's holding up that deal, anyway?
GABE: Bill Veeck is holding out for more.
GEORGE: See? What I tell ya?
GABE: I am not giving him Guidry.
GEORGE: Gimme that phone! Lemme talk to Veeck, maybe I can give him some of the old Steinbrenner charm—
GABE: No.
GEORGE: Why not?
GEORGE: What??? I never!
GABE: I have sources in Toronto, George. I have sources everywhere. Even among your fucking "baseball people" down in Florida.
GEORGE: You're spying on me?
GABE: I have to keep tabs on you, George, because you're like a goddamned child. First, you wanted to throw Guidry into that stupid trade with Baltimore, where we gave away Rudy May, McGregor, and Dempsey, for a Doyle Alexander rental. I had to literally bite your leg to keep you from doing that. And I have dentures!
GEORGE: Well, sure, all right. But I never would've traded him to Toronto—
GABE: It was a done deal, George! It only didn't happen because Peter Bavasi, bless his little pinhead, wouldn't sign off on it. Another nepo baby, like somebody else I could name.
GEORGE: All right, maybe I did that. But Bill Singer is a helluva pitcher! Twenty-game winner in both leagues—
GABE: He's finished. He's 33 and he's over. Guidry is 26, and he's got a helluva fastball and the best slider I've ever seen.
GEORGE: I dunno, Gabe. I mean, Billy's not so high on him, and you know, he's a maestro of pitching—
GABE: Billy Martin is not a "maestro of pitching." He's a destroyer of pitching staffs, which is something you will find out sooner or later.
GEORGE: Hey, Ron Guidry has never won a game in the major leagues! And when we called him up last year, he spit the bit!
GABE: If you'll recall, we were making him over into a reliever down at Syracuse. He had a 0.68 ERA, a 5-1 record, and 9 saves. Bobby Cox down there—who, if you ask me, should be your manager up here—wrote Billy a note saying the kid had been used a lot recently.
GEORGE: So—
GABE: So what did Billy do? He threw him into a game his first night. And when he got lit up, he let him sit in the pen for 47 straight games. Forty-seven games! Think he was trying to send someone a message, George? You're such a big, tough guy, and you let that runt get away with shit like that!
GEORGE: Well, he certainly wasn't impressive—
GABE: How do we know what he coulda done? HE WAS SITTING ON HIS ASS! Maybe with Guidry out there, we could've won a game in the World Series!
GEORGE: I think—
GABE: I KNOW what you fuckin' think! We all do, all the time! Even Guidry! You went and told him, 'Guidry, you'll never be able to pitch in this league!' THAT must've given him a shot of confidence!
GEORGE: It's called motivation—
GEORGE: Okay, okay!
GABE: He'll take...Bob Polinsky. And be glad to get him. And if you override me on this, I'm back to Cleveland on the next thing smoking!
GEORGE: All right, Gabe. Have it your way. But if Bob Polinsky becomes a big star, you'll have to answer for it!
*All "great real moments" based on actual events. Dialogue and settings may be invented.
Are we getting there?
Honestly, I dunno. Yesterday, three stories pinged on the ticker. Do they matter?
1. Harrison Bader signs with the Mets. Our return in the notorious 2022 Jordan Montgomery giveaway has become Brian Cashman's personal Babadook: No matter how hard Cash tries to throw him away, the Baderdook keeps turning up.
It's not Bader's fault, but everything about him has caused us pain. In September, Cashman ditched him so the super-hyped Jasson Dominguez could come up and wow the world. He promptly threw out his elbow and will miss most of 2024. Now, Bader reappears as a Met, and we all know what's next: He'll kill us in the Subway Series.
Actually, it's not crazy to wonder if Bader won't be New York's best CF this summer. Apparently, the Yankees will stick Aaron Judge in CF, and - yes - he's great. But tell me again the wisdom behind subjecting a 270-pound NBA power forward to gap-to-gap coverage for 150 games? They're going to kill Judge. We have Trent Grisham, a salary dump throw-in from the Juan Soto trade. The Grish has two Golden Gloves, but he hit .198 last year. (Bader batted .232.) So... are we getting anywhere?
2. According to MLB Rumors - the Walter Cronkite of bullshit - Blake Snell has "an interest" in the Yankees. On the Aaron Rodgers News Relevancy Scale, this rates a score of 0.00001 - or absolutely, completely, why-are-we-printing-this? nothingness.
Last I looked, any free agent with a lung has an interest in the Yankees. It's called "working the room."
Thus far, all winter, the Yankees have tiptoed around Snell, a two-time Cy Young winner who just turned 31. I think Hal's fanny pack is pinching, and he doesn't want to spend the incredible money that pitchers now demand (and receive.) As usual, he wants something for nothing, which means... drum roll...
3. Yanks sign Cody Poteet. Technically, they have now broken the 2024 free agency hymen. No one can say Hal hasn't put his wallet on the line.
To visualize Cody Poteet, imagine Frankie Montas' injury record with Albert Abreu's output.
Fun Fact #1: They could have chosen Poteet in the recent Rule 5 draft, but by doing it this way, they have three minor league options, allowing them to ping-pong him to and from Scranton. (Remember: It's not the player, it's his number of options.) Fun Fact #2: Rather than protect Poteet in the Rule 5, the Royals chose Matt Sauer from the Yankees.
Poteet last pitched in 2022 with a 4.45 ERA, then underwent TJ surgery and missed practically all last year.
Honestly, I think the Yankees are just collecting funny names, as part of an elaborate, secret Monty Python skit.
Jeter Downs... Clayton Beeter... Jorbit Vivas... Matt Krook... now Cody Poteet.
Seriously, convince me otherwise.
(One last thing: Monday, we have some incredible news at IT IS HIGH. You and your family won't want to miss this episode.)
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