Will the return of Trent Grisham be the last defining Yankee event of 2026 - and beyond?

According to my A.I. "co-pilot" - who is brilliant, sexy, and never wrong - the Yankees are backing away from Cody Bellinger, as if he just tested positive for scurvy. How do we know this? 

Ironclad circumstantial evidence, which flows through the Internet like grease through a goose. I hereby submit that...

1. They've now made two (2) offers to Bellinger. In other words, they made their pitch. Twice. It didn't fly. 

2. If they were gonna re-sign Bellinger, they'd have done it by now.

3. Others are signing. See BOSTON: ALEX DOESN'T LIVE HERE ANY MORE. 

Keep in mind, this is content crapola, the sorriest slop of winter. Aside from Bellinger, super-demon Scott Boras and Cooperstown Cashman, nobody knows WTF is really happening. It's possible that they don't, either.

Still, who among you can dispel that infectious - and rising - suspicion that the Yankees - 2009 world champions! - will wind up with nothing to show this winter but Trent Grisham, whose breakout 2025 - he hit .235! - was a mirage? 

Whatever happens with Bellinger, the Death Barge has yet to address the 899-pound gorilla in the sandwich board that says, "WHO'S GONNA PITCH?"  

Every news story, every speculative trade rumor, it just reminds us that the Yankees are no longer the apex predators of winter, the AL East, or even their home town. There's a new reality in baseball. It goes this way: 

The owners are all multi-billionaires, unable to even fathom how much money they have. To keep from overspending, they need payroll caps. The war over financing will explode baseball in 2027, and we can already see the asteroid approaching in the distant night sky. 

So, cherish your A.I. companion, your manic, pixie dream girl. Isn't she sweet?Isn't she hot? We're about to invade Greenland. She'll keep us warm, eh?

Boone is a nice guy, still an idiot. Or is that nice idiot, still a guy?

 On KTZZ, channel 22 in Seattle, you'll find a collection of truly vintage vintage TV. The Kate Smith Show just wrapped up, sponsored by Norge. Now another tale from The Whistler is just beginning.

True, there are 2025 commercials between the shows, all of them low-rent and crappy, for products available through an 800 number (though the URL does appear, it's always in smaller type).

Yeseterday, I was in a great mood, heightened by four consecutive episodes of Superman on the Heroes & Icons channel. All black and white, and the first even featured the original TV Lois Lane, Phyllis Coates. Flintier and not as cuddly as her successor, but pretty darned good. Those oldest black and white shows are actually serious, as opposed to the more kiddie-friendly fare later on. I still love the cruelty Supie showed when confronting the Mole Men. That trait got taken out pretty damn fast in subsequent scripts.

When these shows were popular on network TV, the Yankees were indisputably the greatest team in baseball. Yogi, the Scooter, Whitey, Mickey, Moose...rarely did they miss a shot at a ring, and when they got one, they rarely missed bringing a ring home.

Casey was a comedian, a sage, a purveyor of some truly strange platoon and defensive lineup moves, a tough competitor who had Rizzuto pushed off the team to make room for Enos Slaughter when the Yanks had a raft of outfielders on the injured list. (Stengel famously told the Scooter to get a shoeshine box and change careers when Phil tried out for Casey's Dodgers in the 1930s.)

I'm an old guy who should lose 30 pounds, find a good hair growth supplement and stop thinking I can carry multiple heavy bags of groceries a mile and a half to our apartment. Yesterday, I smoked too many cigarettes and liked it, but today woke up with a slight smoker's cough and that wheezy chest feeling when I was hacking. I haven't had a drink since last Sunday because my iron is kind of high and booze suppresses the liver enzyme that keeps it under control. I've been getting a lot of headaches, mostly in and around the eyes, thanks to the constantly damp, gloomy weather in this corner of the current Reich (the Third having resurrected in the USA).

But even if I wasn't born yet and then not old enough to appreciate the 1950s Yanks, I wish some of their ashes would drift down onto today's sadly mediocre team, from the front office to the dugout to the broadcast booth.

Obviously, that ain't happening. However, the $64,000 Question just started, sponsored by Revlon, in a Christmassy-decorated episode. Sure, that show became the most prominent of crooked quiz shows, eventually. Scooter also got pushed out of short into the broadcast booth. But before those events, we had some team.

The contestent is in the Isolation Booth and can win a 1956 Caddy. I gotta go.

The Redsocks whiff on Bregman. Is the logjam about to break?

Yesterday, the Conniving Cubs abruptly signed Alex Bregman to a five-year deal, bombing the current MLB chess board, and infuriating Boston fans, who now must turn to the legendary Marcelo Mayer. 

The signing leaves three major positional free agents - Kyle Tucker, Bo Bichette and Cody Bellinger - still sashaying on the catwalk before 10 potential suitors. The salivating teams are: 

1. The Dodgers, always hot for another star. Maybe sign all three?

2. The Mets, still seated on their blue balls, cramped by unspent money.

3. The Blue Jays, ready to stick it to Trump, if some honky USA team poaches Bichette.

4. The Phillies, always one star away from the brass ring.

5. The Angels. Wait. Are they still a team? (Which is why they must do something.)

6. The Redsocks, who - in theory, anyway - still have that Bregman money.

7. The Mariners, who are way too quiet, considering how close they came.

8. The Padres, San Diego's last pro sports hope, (unless you follow the Wave, Seals, Strike Force and Legion. Ten quatlooms to anyone who can identify what sports those teams represent.)

9. The Rangers, classic lurkers with Texas oil money, soon to be bolstered by free Venezuela tankers. Never turn your back. 

10. And, well, us... the Bombers, the Death Barge, the 2009 World Champions! - who have spent this winter recreating last year's second-place team.

In past winters, the Yankee 40-man roster always looked tight. The franchise usually lost a player or two in the Rule 5 draft, due to the overflow of young arms. 

Today, the roster holds Kervin Castro, Chase Hampton, Brent Headrick, Kaleb Ort, Jayvien Sandridge and Cade Winquest - their first Rule 5 pick in 14 years. Of this group, only Hampton was born in this millennium; he's coming off surgery. 

Without a significant injection of pitching, 2026 looks like a suicide run. Considering Hal Steinbrenner's increased frugality, it's rational to think signing Bellinger would be the Yankees' only splurge. From then on, they'll be trading young players.  

That sure doesn't inspire hope, eh? 

Words of terror: "The New York Yankees are one spring training injury away from Paul Blackburn being in the Opening Day rotation."

Sez today's Athletic (Paraphrasing): Abandon hope. Unsecure the life boats. Open the beer taps. Light one up. Yankee doomsday is here.

(Direct quote): "Every year since the shortened 2020 season, the Yankees have suffered at least one spring training injury to their rotation... now, the Yankees’ starting depth is in worse shape than it was a year ago."

It's true. Dear God, it's so horribly, sickeningly true... 

Last year, after Gerrit Cole, Luis Gil, and Clarke Schmidt went poof in spring training, the Yankees reassured us of their depth. To fill the void, they would let the Olympian foursome of JT Brubaker, Carlos Carrasco, Marcus Stroman and Will Warren compete for the final rotation spot. No problem, they said. Just jiggle the handle, and all would be okay.

By opening day, Carrasco, Stroman and Warren were all in the rotation. 

Somehow, incredibly, the current Yankees have entered 2026 with less pitching depth than last year, around now. Every possible trade for a starter will require an avalanche of young talent - The Martian would almost surely go - and, frankly, the Yankees don't have enough butter in their larder to put together a competitive package. Nor are there any relevant free agent arms the market.

These days, here's how the Yankees define hope: Max Fried, Cam Schlittler, Ryan Yarbrough, Gil, and the population of Wilkes-Barre.

Carlos Rodon might return in May. 

Cole might return in June. 

Schmidt might return. 

Yesterday, the Yankees signed Kaleb Ort. 

Have a nice day.

The music is about to stop, and nine MLB teams are about to start scrambling for four chairs. It's time to ask: How badly do the Yankees want this?

Unless a bomb goes off this weekend, the tremors will happen Monday. 

That day, the Phillies have set up a Zoom call with Bo Bichette, the first B in MLB's current ice jam. This teleconference could answer an ancient Internet question: Can a blowjob be successfully delivered through Zoom? The Phillies will try. And the notion of them sweet-talking Bichette - the Jays infield linchpin - should rouse the fruited circuitry of Edwin S. Rogers III, the nepo head of Rogers Communications and Canadian Chamber of Commerce 2025 Business Leader of the Year - (I'm not making this up) - who owns 98 percent of the zillion dollar media goliath that runs not just the Blue Jays, but a large chunk of Canada, Trump's would-be 51st state, which seems a bit ornery lately over how it's been treated by its southern neighbor.  

However Philly courts Bichette, and whatever they offer, their presence will drop a grenade into the bidding war for one Cody Bellinger - the second B in our gridlock. This will tweak the wires of "Food Stamps" Hal Steinbrenner and Mets owner Stevie Cohen - Juan Soto's skybox lover - who has done nothing this winter but let popular "Amazins" walk out the door. One of these days, Mt. Cohen will erupt, blowing plumes of money across the landscape. It's hard to imagine him sitting this out.

Any movement on Bellinger will instantly rouse the Cubs, Redsocks and the mythical "mystery team" - (San Diego? Texas? Seattle?) - that always haunts free agent bidding wars. The Dodgers might also join the chat. Boston would seem most locked on Alex Bregman - the third B - while the Cubs hone in on Kyle Tucker, (the honorary 4th B.) 

Close your eyes, and nine teams could be chasing four free agents, which is why Scott Boras feels no urgency to make a deal. Considering the looming 2027 labor crisis, which could shut down baseball for much of the season, this could be the last blowout contract negotiations of this decade. 

Tick, tick, tick... 

IT IS THURSDAY - SO HERE'S YOUR MOMENT OF BØØNE

ALTHOUGH WE LAUGH AND ACT LIKE WE'RE CLOWNS

BENEATH OUR MASKS WE'RE ALL WEARING FROWNS

OUR TEARS ARE FALLING LIKE RAIN FROM THE SKY

IS IT FOR HIM OR OURSELVES THAT WE CRY

HE'S A LOSER

AND HE'S LOST SO MUCH FOR YOU AND ME

HE'S A LOSER

AND HE'S NOT WHAT HE PRETENDS TO BE

The Yankees should pass on any long-term deal for Cody Bellinger. Prove me wrong.

Before starting, please allow me to reiterate one central tenet of this blog: 

Hal Steinbrenner has more money than each of us will spend in 20 lifetimes, and when it comes to payrolls and salaries, his incessant poor-mouthing deserves a midnight visit from Trump's Delta Force commandos. If there is such a thing as karma, Hal will spend eternity pushing a shopping cart full of bottle deposits through some upstate backwater that registers 200 inches of snow per winter. Around here, we've no soft spots for whiny, dime-pinching, nepo billionaires. The Yankees can sign any player, at any time. The problem is Hal. He doesn't want to spend his money.

That said, the notion of bestowing a seven-year contract upon Cody Bellinger is lunacy, a surefire way to continue the Great Yankee Malaise: 18 years without a ring... and counting.  

If Bellinger was ever going to warrant a seven-year deal, it should have happened in 2019, in Los Angeles. He was coming off an MVP year - 47 HRs and a .306 BA. But the Dodgers wisely blinked, and by 2022, he was barely topping the Mendoza Line. He bounced to the Cubs on a three-season deal that let him restore his name and win Comeback Player of the Year. Still, Chicago wound up dumping him to the Yankees in exchange for the great pitcher, Cody Poteet. And now he wants a seven-year deal? Sorry, but... nope.  

Listen: Everybody likes Bellinger. Guy plays hard and smart. Chokes up with two strikes, a lost art for undisciplined Yankee sluggers. Still... seven years? Gimme a break. In seven years, he'll be a china doll DH, back in the .210s, far beyond his sell-by date. And his would be replacements could be shining in other cities. 

I'm talking about Jasson Dominguez and Spencer Jones. Can't say if either will ever become a star: The Martian can't field, and Jones strikes out too often. But in baseball, at some point, you have to go with your farm system. There comes a time when the Yankees must call the question on their vaunted prospects, and that time is here. 

If the Yankees sign Bellinger, they might as well start shopping The Martian tomorrow. On that note, I'd like to point out that - for age 22 - he didn't do that badly last year: 10 HR, 23 SB, .257. He's fast as hell. In fact, Dominguez hit rather well (.274) from the left side. If, say, the Yanks signed Austin Hayes, (.319 last year from the right side) and platooned the pair, how much more from Bellinger could they realistically expect? 

Listen: I get it that Bellinger is a fine human being: flushes the toilet, remembers birthdays, etc. Apparently, he loves NYC, which is important, because many players do not. New York is full of lifetime opportunities. But if a seven-year deal is the hill on which Bellinger wants to die, I say, let him go. 

Sorry, folks. Hal has too much money for his own good. But players ought to show at least some allegiance to the fan bases that embrace them. (That's why there will always be a special dung heap in hell for Juan Soto.) Demanding a seven-year deal is to drop a future bomb on your team. If that's what Bellinger wants, fuck'm. 

Yank fans prep for 2026: The Year of Interesting Times.

Interesting times, eh? We're "running "Venezuela, home to Miguel Cabrera, Jose Altuve and Omar Visquel - a threesome that tortured Yankees over the years. Our best Venezuelan was Bobby Abreu, who never met a warning track that didn't terrify him. There was Davey Concepcion... Luis Aparicio... Johan Santana... all from Venezuela, which we're running. 

And then there is... Greenland? That's a bingo square I didn't have. I had Epstein files, measles, polar vortexes and our inexcusable unwillingness to dress nicely for plane rides. Interesting times. 

And, right now, baseball isn't giving us any escape. 

We're fiddling into January, waiting. Eventually, presumably, something will happen. Winter began in November with a spasm of player movements - Pete Alonso, Kyle Schwarber, Sonny Gray, Dylan Cease - while Food Stamps Hal moped about paying the rent.

December came and went. Hal moped. Here we are, waiting for Cody Bellinger to pick a team, while our modern Babadooks - the Mets, Phillies, Cubs, Jays, Redsocks and Dodgers - lurk in the money piles, keenly aware of our owner's moping. 

Any day now, something will happen. Suddenly, markets for Kyle Tucker and Bo Bichette will explode, unleashing chaos. At that point, the Yankees will address their needs - SS, RH bat, bullpen, rotation, maybe 3B? - while we sit back and wait... waiting for the real waiting to begin. 

Through April/May, we'll wait for Anthony Volpe, though I honestly don't know why.  

Through May/June, we'll wait for Carlos Rodon. (He'll be 33.)  

Through June/July, we'll wait for Gerrit Cole, at 35.

Through August/September, we'll wait for Clarke Schmidt, who might have to wait until 2027, when the season becomes a wait.   

So, everybody... wait. 

Maybe today, something will happen. Interesting times, eh?

The Walter Winchell Show, 1953, ABC Network. Yankee scoop at 1:06.

While we await something, anything, here are 10 (relatively) fun facts about new Yankee Paul DeJong.

In case you missed it, due to the delightful global events or the seemingly endless, two-hour Stranger Things finale, the Yanks on Friday signed veteran infielder Paul DeJong.

Ten fun - (sorta fun, anyway) - facts:

1. His middle name is Sterling!

2. In 2015, he graduated from Illinois State University with a degree in biochemistry.

3. In 2017, in his first-ever MLB at bat, on his first-ever MLB swing, he homered. 

4. Later that year, he became the first-ever rookie in MLB history to record seven extra-base hits in a three-game series.

5. That season, for St. Louis, he hit 25 HRs and batted .285.

6. It's all downhill from there.

7. He's played for the Cards, Blue Jays, Giants, White Sox, Royals and Nationals.

8. His highest BA with any team was .233. In several cases, he hit below .200.

9. Tough injuries - a broken hand, a broken rib, a broken cheekbone - derailed his career. 

10. At 32, he'll compete at SS with Jose Caballero, 29, until Anthony Volpe returns, sometime around May. (Pardon me if I weep. They are not tears of joy.)

If the Marquis de Sade came back as a football team, he could not torture fans more than the Giants have done

Let us tip our hats to the finalists in this year's IT IS HIGH Worst Organization on Earth award: 

1. Association for the Advancement of Industrial Microplastics.

2. Guns for Toddlers LLC

3. Save the Roaches!

4. The New York Football Giants.

Of course, we're here to honor the Giants, whose win yesterday eliminated their shot at the 2nd pick in next spring's NFL draft. The Giants beat fellow tomato can Dallas, who sat their starting QB, Dak Prescott, in the second half. This came one week after Las Vegas mysteriously deactivated its best player, Maxx Crosby, ensuring a loss to the Giants. 

After going 2-13 through the first 16 weeks - staking their claim as the NFL's worst team - the Giants won their final two, achieving nothing. 

I'm sorry, people, but this is Nobel Prize for Incontinence territory. We can rail against the Yankees and ridicule the Mets. We can chuckle at the Jets and await the looming Knicks' self-demolition. But nothing compares to the humiliation that the Giants regularly inflict upon fans, a loyalty that is best explained via the Stockholm Syndrome.  

Folks, this is genius. The '25 Giants have been a disaster since Week III, when they went 0-3. They won two - inexplicably beating Philadelphia - then rattled off nine straight losses, including five games where they led in the 4th quarter. Entering the season's final weeks, they held the 1st draft pick, allowing their fans to imagine a new front office with a bundle of young players. Nope. They won their final two, beating cupcakes who were determined to tank, while the network TV announcers bloviated about the momentum of a two-game winning streak, entering next season. What bullshit! What unbelievable, uncompromising, bullshit. 

Let's hope that, instead of invading Greenland, Donald Trump sends his Delta Force to the Meadowlands and extracts Giants owner John Mara to a rightful perch in Riker's Island. I'm sorry if that sounds cruel - the guy has cancer, which we can agree is a tough ride - but that's sorta what the NFL did long ago, replacing the Maras with GM George Young. Back then, it saved the team from another generation of disgrace.

So, hats off to the Gints! They have destroyed a once-great name brand. They have gifted NYC to the Jets. They have become irrelevant. Are you watching, Hal Steinbrenner? Do you think it cannot happen in the Bronx? Do you think the fan base will automatically follow whatever you do, wherever you lead?