The "Stuck Ball"

 For those of you who enjoy pure baseball( obviously that excludes Yankee fans ), last night's game 6 was historic. 

The game was tight  and runs were hard to come by.  The Dodgers scored three runs on four hits. pretty much all in one early inning (4th?).  Toronto had one run because Dodger pitcher Yamamoto was again brilliant. 

But he ran out of fuel after 6 innings of 1 run ball.  Toronto bats awakened.

With a runner on first, a Toronto dude laced a shot to deep left center... a certain double but, given the batter's speed, a likely triple.  Which meant the score would be 3-2 with a runner on third and no outs. 

But the ball ( much like the one pictured above )  lodged itself between the bottom of the left field wall and the turf.  Unmoving and stuck like chewing gum under a desk.  While Toronto teammates kept waving the runners home, the Dodger players froze and waved their hands in the air.  

Finally, an umpire held up two fingers and the " stuck ball" was ruled a ground rule double.  Just of note, it had never happened before.  This is not like a ball lost in the ivy in  Chicago, or a rebound off the roof in the old Tampa Bay Ray stadium.  

Never before, as in not once. I don't think anyone thought it possible.

In any event, Toronto had to return their runners to second and third ( still no outs ) and from there the gods dinged them badly.  And infield pop up, and then a sinking liner to left that the Toronto baserunner on second ( the hitter of the stuck ball ) misread, and which became a quick, game ending DP. 

Wow.  But you had to stay up late on the east coast. 

Watch game seven if you want to see real baseball. 

Sorry, everybody. I failed you.

 

Turns out that Aaron Boone was right under my nose, hiding in plain sight, and I did nothing. NOTHING. 

I could have talked with him. I might have been able to straighten things out. A piece of my mind...

But I did nothing. NOTHING. 

New York Yankees manager Aaron Boone was in attendance for Syracuse’s football game against North Carolina on Friday night in the JMA Wireless Dome. Boone was spotted after dining at a steakhouse in downtown Syracuse earlier in the week. Boone, who slipped on a Tar Heels hat while taking in the game from a lower-level end zone seat, has been popping up at North Carolina football games throughout the fall.

After tonight, the annual Cashman makeover begins anew

After tonight, we'll close the book on the torture chamber known as 2025. 

The exploding bullpen. Three LH catchers. The rise of Grisham. The fall of Volpe. The voice of the Yankees, David Sims. Another great - but wasted? - season for Aaron Judge. Another lost year for The Martian... 

We could go on. Let's not. Life is too short. That's Chinatown, Jake. That's baseball, Suzyn.

After tonight, it's the season of whatabouts. 

Whatabout Jazz? Whatabout Stanton? Whatabout Cole, Trump's ballroom, Katy Perry, the oceanic UAPs, the looming storms... whataboutchermama? 

After tonight, baseball belongs to the Dodgers' checkbook or Canadian pride. 

After tonight, the looming question of NYC becomes whether Trump will invade or just cut the food supplies - where's Snake Plisken? - if Mamdani, a Mets fan, wins.  

After tonight, we return to the sad, tiresome continuum of watching Brian Cashman remake the roster, via an algorithm. 

After tonight No... wait... today... it's November, the month of bacon fat skies and cold rain. Never does opening day feel farther away.

To celebrate Halloween, 10 great baseball nicknames that should have been for serial killers

 

(Originally run May 23, 2008)

Dr. K
Mr. October
The Barber
Captain Hook
The Vacuum Cleaner
Bonehead
Three Fingers
Nails
The Mad Hungarian
Blue Moon
The Yankee Clipper
No Neck

AN IIHIIFIIC HALLOWEEN WISH . . . .

 

REPEATEDLY TRICKED

AND

RARELY TREATED

THE

JOKES ON US

SO

OFTEN CHEATED

THE

IMP MUST GO

HE

MUST BE UNSEATED

.

.

.

BOØOØOØOØOØOØO !

After 20 years, Yanks/YES are cutting John Flaherty from the Booth of Sooth.

This week, Yankee/YES announcer John Flaherty got a pink slip and - perhaps - a new lease on life. 

After 20 years of lip-service within the Yankee/YES propaganda factory, Flaherty will go silent in 2026. His contract ran out, and the franchise will go with the younger Ryan Ruocco as utility back-up - sorta the Oswaldo Cabrera of the booth. 

The 2026 YES lineup will feature the Four Horsemen of the Pocked Lips: 

1. Michael Kay, the relentless, ever-churning, fake-outrage, word machine. 

2. Paul O'Neill, the jolly ex-jock and lover of the team.

3. David Coen, the celebrity everyman, who actually remembers the Violent Femmes.

4. Joe Girardi, the professor and master strategist.

Overall, the YES announcers are affable, experienced and always appreciative of the Steinbrenner family for paying them to talk. 

In retiring Flaherty, it's not as if the Yankees just disappeared Alexie Navalny. "Flash," as he was known, provided a kindly, self-depreciating voice of experience, similar to that of Ken Singleton, (who was retired in 2021.) Flaherty was a rarity - the ex-jock who mastered the art of play-by-play announcing - which in the modern Yankee era includes the art of gushing about a product that viewers have become increasingly sour of. 

The YES team will sternly criticize any player who fails to hustle, and it will directly challenge any backfiring move by manager Aaron Boone. But that's where the vinegar stops. Whatever Brian Cashman says or does is considered the final word on any matter. And the team verbally genuflects in the direction of anybody with the last name of Steinbrenner. 

That won't change. YES is the OAN of baseball. The Steinbrenners own the main media that covers them, and we will never again know a Red Barber or Joe Garigiola - (or even a John Sterling sometimes) - anybody with the clout to say what needs to be said. The closest we'll get - Jack Curry - is 15 years out from his days of actual journalism. Now and then, Kay climbs his soapbox to grandstand on an issue - but it's always safe, and it never touches the owner's box.    

I'll miss Flaherty. Over 20 years, he never disgraced himself, or for that matter, the Yankees. A 20-year run is longer than most announcers ever see. Dunno who will catch  the Old Timers Game, but since Mariano blew out his knee this summer, I doubt anybody cares. 

As for Flash, his reaction was the sorta classy nothing-burger you'd expect. He told The Athletic: 

“I was kind of prepared for it so I think that helped. It quickly went from, the reality that you are not going to be back to what a great run for 20 years to go right from retiring as a player to right into the booth in 2006 and stay with the same network for 20 years. I just became very grateful for what a long and great run it has been at YES and being connected with the Yankees all those years.”

Let's wish him the best. And maybe, next August, when everything is dull and tired... they bring him back for a series? 

Before the Yankees think of signing anybody, one question looms: What about The Martian?

Today's Athletic conjures up a thumb-sucker that argues the Yankees this winter should chase free agent OF Kyle Tucker, first and foremost, at the expense of Cory Bellinger, son of Clay. 

The article harkens back to the gilded era of Old George, when Trump was a harpy and the Bombers always signed their main free agent target. The modern reality: In modern bidding wars, the Yankees finish second. 

Still, the piece makes some points. The stats generally favor Tucker over Bellinger, and - at 28 - he's two years younger. Over a long-term deal, that could save us from a LeMahieu Redux. (And, by the way, isn't it sad that we remember DJ in such a manner?) 

Still, looming over any OF decision is a simpler question: 

Wither goeth Jasson Dominguez?

The Martian turns 23 in February. Last year, in 381 ABs, he hit .257 with 10 HRs and 23 SBs. (A nice surprise, he is really fast.) Unfortunately, he played left field like a sheet metal worker with a Peyronie's erection, so awkwardly that every pop fly became a terrorist plot. He looked so troubled, so worrisome, that it became reasonable, if not fashionable, to wonder if Dominguez is a Ron Bloomberg - a botched asset and career DH?

It's been eight years since he became the most expensive 16-year-old on the planet, so blessed with potential that he was nicknamed after a planet. 

In the next two months, the Yankees must decide whether The Martian has a future in the Bronx. 

Listen: His numbers for last year weren't puke-in-the-bucket horrible. (You want horrible: Anthony Volpe.) And Dominguez can spend the winter replaying his last plate appearance - a double to right center, as he pinch hit for the clinically depressed Volpe. But here's the rub:

Tucker is a corner outfielder. So is Aaron Judge. If they do sign Tucker, the Yankees would probably need a defense-first CF - (I believe Trent Grisham is gone to greener pastures) - and that's not Dominguez. It could be Bellinger, who can play CF. But what about The Martian? Do they sit on him for another year? Or do they trade their most hyped prospect for the 2020s? 

(At this point, we should mention Spencer Jones, the 24-year-old, 6'7" outfielder at Scranton. He looks like the Second Coming of Joey Gallo - the three true outcomes, most of which are Ks. Last year, at Double and Triple A, Jones hit .274 with 35 HRs. He led all Yankee farmhands in HRs. A hot spring would create havoc. The Yankees claim Jones is a fine fielding CF. Then again, they said Dominguez could play LF. We won't know until we see him.)

So, before anything happens, the Yankees must decide if The Martian is in their future. 

Should we have confidence in those who will make that decision? 

Yank fans love their captain, but the days for arguing he's better than Ohtani are over.

Little known factoid: When you pledge allegiance to the Yankees, you take a secret, sacred vow to argue to your death that Aaron Judge is the game's greatest player. 

Better than Vlad Jr. More valuable than Raleigh. Far superior to Juan Soso. The Best. By... um... far... (cough)... and don't get me wrong... (cough)... he's best... aside from... um, (cough)... maybe that other guy... 

Ohtani.

Sorry, folks. Fell on my sword. The haunted month of October has robbed my git-go, stolen the starch from the piss of my vinegar over any upcoming rants on the game's No. 1 slugger, its top hitter, its greatest star, its Hummungus, its Kahuna... its, um...  Babe.  

What Shohei Ohtani has done in the last two weeks has overwhelmed a quietly great month for Judge, who hit .500 in seven games, while his teammates melted into bongwater nothingness. In seven games, Judge hit one HR and drove in a seven runs. Meh. It wasn't his fault that the Yankees went knock-kneed. Nobody protected him. Bullpens pitched around him and paid no price. And I'll fight anybody who claims Vlad Jr. belongs in an MVP discussion. 

Among the game's premier hitters, here are the Triple Crown numbers for 2025.

Aaron Judge  53 119 .331* 
Shohei Ohtani 55 102 .282
Cal Raleigh 60* 125 .247
Vladimir Guerrero 23 84 .292
Kyle Schwarber 56 132*.240
Pete Alonso 38 126 .272 
George Springer 32 84 .309
Eugenio Suarez 49 18 .228

Listen: Judge had the best season. Period. (Though let's steal ourselves for Raleigh to win the AL MVP.) But MLB assumes the ridiculous notion that postseasons should not affect annual awards. That's like saying, "Sorry about that, Mrs. Kennedy, but how'd you like the view of Dealey Plaza?" Seriously, who can ignore the last three weeks? 

And in them, Ohtani has been otherworldly. (He should have been named the Martian.)  He has 8 HRs in 14 games, plus several quality pitching starts. When he steps up to the plate, you see the confidence. He KNOWS what he's done. Three HRs, while pitching, arguably the greatest single game in history. Nine times on base in an 18 inning game. I'm sorry, folks. The debates are over. 

Throughout this coming winter, one player will be regularly feted as the greatest of his generation. It won't be fair. But it won't be Judge. 

An Above Average Special Edition Post–Season–World Series–Limeric-Ku Tuesday Thingy

 There once was a, uh

Like, you know, oh, well FØCK IT!

Nothing to see there

So lets, uh, be of good cheer

And Pray for . . . Next Year

Dear Redsock fans: Enjoy watching Mookie Betts? He will enter the Hall in a Dodgers cap.

CLASSIFIED MEMO (FOR BOSTONIAN EYES ONLY)
To: Fenway Nation
From: Yankiverse
Re: Mookie  

Last night, - in a game I suspect you didn't watch, in a world series I suspect you haven't followed - a 5'10" fellow named Markus Betts - aka "Mookie" - went 1-for-8 with a walk and strikeout. Not a great night, as nights go. On the postseason, he's hitting .250, batting behind Shohei Ohtani and anchoring the Dodgers infield, playing shortstop. He sorta serves as the Dodgers' manic pixie dream girl, except, of course, that he is a guy.

Why am I telling you this? Honestly, I dunno. Remember that creepy villain in the 1979 movie, THE WARRIORS, where a handful of NYC street-bangers must fight their way home to Coney Island? And when they finally catch the bad guy, and they ask why he killed Cyrus, the respected gang leader, his response is, "REASON? NO-O REASON."

Yeahp, that sums it up. No-o reason. I just woke up this morning and thought, "Maybe the fine people of The Hub are wondering whatever happened to that guy, Mookie Somethingorother, and I should let them know." Aside from that, no reason.

Anyway... when the world series concludes - two games from now, I suspect - Mookie Betts will likely receive his third world series ring, including one that came with you folks, back in Boston,  back in 2018. A lifetime ago.

Mookie has played 12 years in the Majors - six with Boston and six with LA.  He has one MVP award, six Gold Gloves, seven Silver Sluggers and a batting title. He's 33 and nearing the middle of a 12-year contract, which he signed with the Dodgers in 2020. That year, Boston traded him to LA (with pitcher David Price) for Alex Verdugo, Jeter Downs and Connor "What Can Go" Wong. 

So, what's my point? No reason. I just wanted you to know that, now and then, we Yank fans think of you and - yes, this is crazy, but it's true - we smile.

Yeahp. Back in 2020, if your owner had simply coughed up some dough, done the right thing - the smart thing - and kept Mookie Betts, you would not be - like us - sitting at home, watching Tracker.  Your shortstop would not be Trevor Story. And from there, who knows? Maybe no Mickey Gasper, no Franchy Cordero, not even a Bobby Dalbec. Who knows? You might have kept Kiki Hernandez and Kyle Schwarber. Anything is possible, in your dreams.

And on that note, let me lead the chorus: 

(Clang-clang, clang-clang) 

REDSOCK FANNNS, COME OUT AND PLAY-YAYYYYY! 

And the Horse You Rode in on....

What makes Señor Flop Sweat think the Yankees would ever trade for him?

If he pitches in Boston the way he pitched in New York, they'll send him off somewhere to play with Rafael Devers.

Mercy.

The Steinbrenners love their money and see no reason to lavish it on the hired help

Yesterday, this chart popped up on the Al and Leslie Gore Information Superhighway, giving Yank fans another reason to believe the current generational ownership is bleeding the franchise into irrelevance.

It shows, once again, that Hal Steinbrenner is a barely committed-to-win competitor within MLB's billionaire ownership gene pool.

When it comes to spending revenues on payrolls, the Yankees fall into the middle of the pact, percentagewise, below such renowned cheapskates as KC and Baltimore.

When it comes to revenues, the chart shows the Dodgers and Yankees far ahead of the mottled masses. The Dodgers raked in $752 million, a mere $26 million more than the Yanks. But LA spent 73 percent of that money on payroll. The Yankees spent less than half. 

Basically, the Dodgers and Yankees grab their fans by the ankles, hoist them upside-down into the air, and vigorously shake them. 

But LA's ownership then uses the money to buy players. The Steinbrenners add lake houses.  

Basically, this chart confirms Yank fan suspicions for a last decade: The Steinbrenners hoover money and pretend to cheer. It does not calculate their true wealth. As owners of YGE - Yankee Global Enterprises - the family not only possesses a majority of the Yankees, but 25 percent of the YES Network, 20 percent of the New York City Football Club of Major League Soccer and 10 percent of AC Milan, an Italian soccer club. They have more money than we shall ever imagine. No matter what happens, no matter how badly the Yankees play, the owners cannot lose. What we write here, it doesn't matter. The team can win and lose. The Steinbrenners can only win. 

I say this with the pathetic confession of someone who has rooted for the Yankees for 70 years - from Mickey to Horace to Thurman to Mel Hall to Jeet and now, gulp - The Martian. From the beard ban to Devin Williams. From "Holy Cow!" to "That's baseball, Suzyn." I have given up. I do not expect to ever see another Yankee world championship. But I do have a fallback hope.

It's all gonna crash. 

Next winter, around now, a hard rain is coming. The owners and the players - the billionaires and the millionaires - are headed to nuclear war. And to fans like me, both sides long ago became gluttonous and miserable. 

Historically, I've favored the players. But last winter, something happened. For me, it was the greed and lack of loyalty shown by Mr. Juan Soto. It still stings. Yankee fans spent a year giving Soto unrequited love and loyalty. The Yankees offered him $750 million. And he jumped for a dollar more, then blamed a security guard for pissing  him off.  

Nah, I'm starting not to care anymore.  

Next year, it's all coming down. Let it.

Our prayers have been answered: The world series has a halftime show.

For years now, I've yearned for MLB to halt action in the middle of postseason games, confine both teams to their dugouts, cut away for a news update and two lengthy commercial breaks, have Big Papi recount the night thus far, and then trowel-up a rock band from 2005. 

Yep, at long last, the lords of baseball have answered our prayers - a 13-minute, fifth inning cigarette break so Toronto's own New Jersey's own Jonas Brothers could "sing" a song - (it had the disturbing feel of a lip-synch) - and raise money for a cause.

Look, I got nothing against the Jonas boys (Yank fans, by the way.) It's exposure, if not a paying gig. If they didn't do it, the Backstreet Boys would have. It was part of MLB's "Stand Up to Cancer" campaign, which baseball has run since 2008. 

In the war on cancer, it's hard not to be righteous. I hate being cynical, but how can we not think that, somehow, somewhere in the fine print, Rob Manfred has conjured up a sweet tax write-off, while preening his bona fides as a good Samaritan. That's what Bond villains do. In this case, they stop the game for still shots of Lou Gehrig and Jackie Robinson, and bask in their willingness to fight a forever battle. 

Next fall (after the Dodgers win their third straight?) MLB will need all the good ink it can summon - as the owners and players kill the 2027 season in a labor dispute. 

So... no Bad Bunny? No Bruce? Where was Taylor Swift? Does she like cancer? I mean, come on... the Jonas Brothers? And where's the marching band? If Cleveland made the series, maybe the Buckeyes could have performed March Ohio, with Manfred as the final dot on the i?

Finally, by adding a halftime, didn't MLB undermine the rhythm of the game? 

They created a first half and a second half. It probably didn't affect the outcome. (Toronto couldn't hit Yamamoto with tennis rackets.) But once again, it shows that the lords of the game don't really believe in their product. The world series needs a rock band. It needs a showboat cause. It needs a halftime show to sells more soda, more smart phones - (Jeez, did Jeff Bridges need another lake house?) and more betting parlays.

We should be glad - GLAD! - that the Yankees aren't lending their pristine brand name to this disgrace.

The Omen, Part Two ?

Following up on yesterday's Omen post, here is another

view of that fallen Blue (California Scrub) Jay.  Whilst 

disposing of this poor little critter, I pondered it's greater

meaning.  Honestly, I believed that it's passing wasn't a

great sign for Toronto and was straight forward about it.

However, given the surprising results of last night's

Game One, I'm not quite sure what to believe anymore.

Perhaps the passing of this beautiful warbler portends a 

deeper meaning.  Maybe, just maybe it sacrificed itself

to give Toronto a better chance at beating the odds.

Tonight's game appears to be all about the starting

pitching.  As WE all know, great pitching tends to beat

great hitting.  It could turn out to be real squeaker.

Which team is going to leg it out ?

Team USA beats the Dodgers

 

All the money in the world, and the Dodgers skimped on middle inning relievers.

Maybe they could have used Jake Bird?