An Above Average Haiku Tuesday ~ "Pinch Me, I Must be Dreaming" Edition

 

Weaver Fever

Luke Weaver
Can be a deceiver
Young, bright, even cleaner
Than Beaver Cleaver
Yet kills with his heater
Like dengue fever
Cincinnati weren't believers
DFA'd him, pulled the lever
New York thought him keener
Not as a starter, neither
Now the late-game Caesar
Star reliever
Overachiever
From kids to geezers
The Yankeeverse is flying in the ether
Heavy breathers
With Weaver Fever

Last night was an anomaly; the Guardians will not go down so easily again

Big night for maligned Yankee contracts. 

Carlos Rodon, into year two of a $162 million deal, threw a solid six. Giancarlo Stanton, at $32 million per gulp into 2028, hit another HR. Anthony Rizzo, halfway through a $40 million dream, hit a broken finger single. And Aaron Judge, still a toddler in a $40 million deal that might outlast the democracy, had a walk and a sac fly. The Yankees soared, Cleveland clanked, and somewhere out there, the gods of money celebrated a victory for the status quo. 

Walks, wild pitches, failures to drive in runners - you name it, the Guardians performed their best Saturday Night Live impersonations of the KC Royals. With Jose Ramirez as Bobby Witt Jr. 

I hate to be a colonoscopy prep. Last night, I was as drunken with hope as anyone. But don't expect a repeat. The Canyon of Heroes remains a long, perilous Uber from the Bronx. This series will go seven games. A lot of shit is going to come down.

How can I speak such blaspheme?

1. Their best starter, Tanner Bibee, goes tonight. 

2. Last night, they didn't use any of their four lockdown relievers, the best bullpen in baseball. If they get an early lead, they'll unleash the dogs.

3. Ramirez went 0-for-4 last night. Every year, this guy kills us. No reason to think he won't continue.

4. Judge still isn't on the beam. You keep waiting for the burst, but the fly dies at the warning track. Until he's hitting, the Yankees are weak in the middle. (Especially with Austin Wells in his increasingly troubling slump.)

5. Beginning in July, the Yankees commonly would win the first game of a series, then fall apart. It continued through September. 

Of course, tonight we'll have Gerrit Cole, our best pitcher, according to status quo. But which version will show up? The Cole who shut down KC to win the ALDS, or the one who got cuffed around in game one?

Last night, as Cleveland catchers put on a salute to Gary Sanchez, the game looked deceptively easy. It won't happen again. 

I cannot escape the feeling that this series will go seven. If so, that's a lotta shit coming down.  

Time to MAN-UP, Carlos!

"Channel.  Your.  Inner - Spock!"

                                                   

                                                    - James Tiberius Kirk -

This Team Is Weird

Baseball is my favorite sport in part because it is the most individual of all the team sports. You do your job (hit, field, run) pretty much on your own. No one blocks for you, no one passes you the ball or puck or fails to pass it to you when you're open, or sets a screen. Your job is to execute.

As a result of this, the sport allows for personalities and even inter team rivalries that couldn't survive a different type of game. It allows for a Bronx Zoo, but ideally you have a team that meshes into a no drama unstoppable force. The late 90's Yankees are a great example of the latter.

The 2024 Yankees are neither of these. They are straight off the Island of Misfit Toys. The team is comprised of head cases, showboats, and far too many players with one foot out the door. 

The all seem to like each other, which is good,but you get the feeling that as soon as school is out they won't be seeing each other again. 

Look at the line up

1B Rizzo (Probably gone - team option) 

He's on the ACLS roster broken fingers and all. But don't worry we have two back ups who, despite not being 1st basemen, can get by. 

2B - Gleyber (Better be gone - Free Agent)

A total head case with attention span issues. Worst baseball IQ in recent memory plus a slow internal clock that makes it hard for him to make the turn on double plays.

He has been hitting well as a leadoff but disappears as the game goes on. Perhaps what ever he takes in the locker room before the game (Big Cup of Coffee!) wears off by his third at bat. 

SS Volpe 

Should be the second baseman but is playing shortstop. Has not yet delivered. Unsteady at best. Also, some really bad throws. Made a great catch the other day but overall...

3B Chazz 

Another second baseman playing out of position. Flamboyant. Is he a yutz? Is he Kevin Hart? He hasn't hit yet in the playoffs that's for sure.

RF Soto (Probably gone)

A 500 million dollar ballplayer who has everyone holding their breath when the ball is hit in his direction. The guy can hit though and has the "Clutch Gene" so there's that.

CF Judge  

The quiet man, and by quiet I mean he hasn't hit. Needs to deliver to cement his legacy.

LF Verdugo  (Gone)

Is HE a yutz?  Ground ball machine.

DJ and Stanton (They will never leave.)

No comment needed but between them they have one leg.  Stanton does come up big though... until he doesn't. DJ was an All- Star at second base so, of course he never got to play there. I know he's hurt but he's a misfit toy none the less.

Cole  (Could opt out.)

Head case

Rodon 

Bigger head case. 

Stroman 

Another head case.

Dominguez 

His nickname is THE MARTIAN for g-d's sake!

I'm not saying they can't win. I'm just saying that the team is weird.

Starting tonight: It's the Carlos Rodon redemption series

Soon - like, hours from now - we shall know once and for all whether signing Carlos Rodon was a masterful idea.

Seemed cool at the time. He shaved. He wore a tie. All was groovy. Twenty eight million bucks per season, through 2028. Just for scraping his whiskers.

But after two years, everything remains unresolved.

And tonight, we'll know.

This is Rodon's chance to flick the last two seasons into the memory hole and launch a new Yankee reality. We'll forget the $28 million for each of the next four years. We'll ignore the ERA close to 4.00, the angry exchanges with fans. We'll even throw in his Game Two debacle against KC last week, when in a four-inning span he went from Sandy Koufax to Sandy Duncan. We'll forget everything. We'll move forward, figuring that he's a two-time All Star who could start three games in a seven-game series, if need be. Three solid outings from now, he could be a Yankee hero, the lynchpin of a world series team, something we haven't seen in 15 years. 

Sending Rodon out tonight is like that ad in the newspaper personals: "Come back, Carlos. You didn't fracture my skull, you merely broke my jaw. All is forgiven." We'll forget the DL lists. We'll forget Salvador Perez. We'll forget everything. All shall be forgiven.  

Tonight, Carlos Rodon can wipe clean his unfortunate Yankee slate. All we need are six zeros. Six scoreless innings, and we forget all the other crapola. Seems like a good deal, doesn't it? Almost as good as the one two winters ago. 

And tonight, we'll know.

Coming up in the ALCS: The same old Yankee media narratives

Shortly after Gleyber Torres homered in game one of the ALDS, the comedy team of Cost & Darl made one point clear: Had it not been in Yankee Stadium, the ball would have been caught. 

And, of course, in game four, when Juan Soto snagged a long fly at the wall in Cleveland, it didn't take long for the analysis to agree: Had that ball been hit in Yankee Stadium, it would have gone out, and the game would be tied.

So go the media narratives that undermine the Yankees, be it June or October: 

The Yankees... 

a: Play in a shrunken bandbox specially contoured for their advantage. 

b. Spend more money than opponents, even when they don't.

c. Are always debating future contracts, even when they're not.

The last point - c - pertains to the constant bellowing over the future of Juan Soto. No matter what he does, every Sotonian ppearance conjures up the question of whether he will return to the Yankees next year. Here's a fun fact: Other teams have looming free agents, as well. Pete Alonzo. Corbin Byrnes. Gary Sanchez. 

But let's be thankful that one regular narrative appears to be dead. The Cinderella Tigers are no longer in the chase. Make no mistake: If the Yankees played Detroit, we would have spent the next week being characterized as evil, big spending fat cats, while every move by the young and hungry Tigers would be celebrated as a gain for humanity.

In fact, the Miracle Mets will spend $30 million more on their team than the Yankees this year, and the Dodgers are using voodoo math to defer payments to their Japanese stars, thus appearing to be frugal when, in fact, they are the worst of all. As for Cleveland, they play in a division full of small market teams who have been more than willing to tank - aka the Royals, in drafting Bobby Witt Jr. 

But when Gerrit Cole pitches, the media sees not only a pitcher, but a contract. And if he gives up a Yankee Stadium HR, don't expect anybody to note that it would have been an out in Cleveland.  

An Attempt at Relevance

 
Why we climb the walls:

Nice, eh?

Uh-oh. It's a Sportsnado!

 

With all due respect to the many people suffering in Florida—including some of my many cousins—we here in New York are about to endure...a Sportsnado! Or maybe, "Sportsageddon"?

Anyway. Look at the schedule for Sunday and Monday:

Sunday

3 PM—New York Liberty continues its fight for the WNBA crown, down one game to nothing, after blowing a record lead in a WNBA championship series. That's got to stop. Hey, Liberty, there are already plenty of male teams around here that could pull off a record choke!

8:15 PM—New York Mets at Los Angeles. Let's go, Mets. No way, no how can we ever not root for any team over the treasonous Bums.

8:20 PM—New York Giants host the Cincinnati Bengals, on Sunday Night Football. The Giants: no worse than the Jets!

Monday

4:08 PM (what's with these weird starting times?)—Mets take on the Dodgers in Game Two. Mets need to take one of two in L.A. We want the NLCS to go a full seven, preferably all in extra innings, and finishing with many sore arms, battered hammies, shattered egos, etc.

7:37 PM (what did I just say?)—Our boys swing back into action, against the Guardians of Traffic or the Tigers. Let's hope they still remember the rules.

8:15 PM—New York Jets host the Buffalo Bills. Time to see if the refurbished Jets can get back on the road to their first Super Bowl in 55 years. (I'm guessing no.)

There it is. I hope we (and our teams) can survive it. The National Sports Health Administration strongly advises participants to hydrate between beers, stock up on eyedrops, and keeping the remote away from anyone else in your household.

 

 

Boone made the right decision in left, could Luke Weaver someday be a great Yankee, and other esoteric matters

Off day. Grrrrr. I feel like Martin Sheen, holed up in a hotel, drinking and pacing, waiting for the assignment to take out massive Marlon. Considering how we missed the postseason last year, one of the darkest autumns in memory, I'd blissfully forgotten all that downtime in October. Every bullpen piece rested. Every bat, dormant. Every fear, triggered. Excuse me while I punch the mirror...

1. Say what you will about Aaron Boone, the man, the myth (Bob Costas comparing him to the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon), the manager... His decision to play Alex Verdugo in LF was the right one. It says something about the state of the Yankee farm system that The Martian, Jasson Dominguez, was not ready to play the outfield at a major league level. (The idea that he was being groomed for CF is particularly troubling.) Maybe next year. Doogie made every play, every throw, and the game outcomes balanced on the thin thread of his defense. If he can get a few more hits, who knows? Maybe he could even return next year!

Wait, nah. He's gone. The Yankees' Project 2025 includes The Martian, somewhere. But that's for November.

2. Luke Weaver has been magnificent. I don't want to jinx him, but unlike so many other MLB closers, who are massive, hairy, lumberjack brutes, a few chromosomes from the Mad Hungarian, or Bigfoot, the slender Weaver looks almost David Cone-ish out there. Almost, gulp, Mariano-ish? No. It's a total hex to make such a comparison. But he's been great, and if he pitches the Yankees to a world championship, his legacy will be enduring. 

Who imagined Luke Weaver - age 31, on his sixth team, with a career ERA of 4.85 - could be our salvation?

3. I cannot decide who to root for today between the Tigers and Indians Commanders Guardians. Whomever wins will be hungry and hot. I wish we could play the losers.

But I think it will be Cleveland, and if so, we should expect a long, hard seven-game series. The benches and bullpens will be emptying multiple times. And everything will revolve around Aaron Judge. 

I'll take the Bengals.

 

Since it seems to be all the rage, I'll deliver myself of a few thoughts on our postseason adventure so far, what we've done and what we could do.

1—I'll have Detroit, please. I know, I know. The Tigers have already mauled us three times in this century come October, while the Cleveland Indians have really given us no trouble since...1954. Well, there was that awful loss in the 1997 ALDS. But as a certain Yankees third sacker might say, they got lucky. 

Statistically, this year the Bengals and the Guardians of Traffic look almost identical. But in truth, Those Who Keep Us Safe on the Road have a slightly better lineup—Detroit barely has any full-time starters—and a great bullpen. 

Fortunately, the Tribe Traffic Cones were able to force the Tigers to a fifth game, so that they will have to use their one, terrifying starter, Tarik Skubal. We want Skubal to demonstrate his greatness here. We want him to go all Jack Morris, ten shutout innings on their Cone asses, in a one-run nail-biter. We don't want him ready to go again until Game 3 or 4 of the ALCS.

2—Aaron Boone did all right. For the first time since 2003 against Boston, I'm ready to give the man his props. Somehow, he has been able to transform Clay Holmes into a useful set-up man again, and there were no egregious mistakes. Let's hope this lasts.

3—One thing I wish Boone would consider...I get the advantage of going righty-lefty-righty. But not when the lefty has to be Austin Wells, a .229-slumping rookie. Why, why, why not bat Judge and Stanton back-to-back and belly-to-belly when we have Stanton back and in form for what will no doubt be another 30 seconds? (I'm expecting reports of his next injury any moment now.)

Or...even Judge-Soto-Stanton, if they're so eager to stick to that righty-lefty-right thang. Huh? "I look at things that never were, and ask, 'why not'?"

4—Someone was getting on Joe Torre. Stop it. No, Joe Torre was generally not a good field manager. But no, Joe Torre was not simply "lucky."

We forget: Joe took over the team after the horrendous firing of Buck Showalter. Joe took over the Yankees when Old King George was at the nadir of his madness, making the Bronx so toxic that leading free agents didn't want to come here, even for more money; the Mets were running the town, and the Yanks kept slipping lower and lower.

Joe changed all that. He was the one Yankees manager who proved able to handle George for any length of time, and he was a great manager when it came to the press and the clubhouse, which in New York baseball is at least two-thirds of the job.

Joe saved us. Without him, the Yankees probably would have continued melting down, and George likely sells the team to James Dolan, famous rock-'n'-roll front man, which he almost did anyway in 1998. Yes, it can always be worse.

5—We must not look past the ALCS. As they have demonstrated all season, these New York Yankees could drop a playoff series to anyone, even the White Sox or the PCH A's. But if they should make the World Series...

The Mets, I fear, would kill us. Though their one weak spot—the pen—might do them in. In any event, a Subway Series would probably kill me. The Dodgers and the Padres both seem to have more weaknesses—though an entire World Series of the hired commentariat telling us how much better Shohei Ohtani is than Babe Ruth would be nauseating. Don't think they'd do that? I would bet on it (get it?).

6—Props where props are due. This Yankees team still looks like it can't hit to save its life. But at least everybody now seems to be alert. They are playing outstanding ball in the field—Jon Berti, what a play!—taking the extra base when possible—incredible, Mr. Stanton—and usually pitching with their heads as well as their arms. 

Even the hitting has been better than it sometimes looks. Last night, Volpe and Gleyber were scorching balls right at guys, and Judge seems to have emerged at last. All this is good. Will it last? Consult the Oracle at Delphi, or at least the Magic 8-Ball.

7—It's harder than it looks. I was amazed, last night, noticing the difference between the slowest and fastest of Lucas Ercegs's pitches, which seemed to be about 82-100. And he's not even one of the best closers in the game. And the Yanks were hitting him!

Playoff ball, an even more extreme version of regular-season-baseball, with the starters always pulled early and countless relievers coming in to throw any number of pitches, is, I fear, killing the game. It's as if you substituted for the quarterback on every series of downs in football. But it sure must make it hard to hit.

Two remaining questions on Erceg: why couldn't Cashman get him instead of Lou Trevino-Trivino? And does KC have the greatest names, or what? Cole Ragans? Michael Wacha? Seth Lugo, Angel Zerpa! Vinnie Pasquantino—wasn't he a character on Welcome Back, Kotter? 

Ah, they were a plucky little team that deserved better. But fuck 'em, they're dead. Their fans can turn back to their fabulous football team, and its rock-star groupie. 

I'll leave this list at "7" for obvious reasons. But a World Series by Mickmas? Wouldn't that be nice? We can always dream...

Life is good - for now, anyway - in an otherwise foggy Yankiverse

The trouble with living and dying over a team is that - sometimes - we don't realize when life is good. 

Listen: Life is good. 

For now, anyway. 

It won't mean a thing, if we don't get that ring. And it's been 15 lost years, worst Yankee drought in history. On top of that, our batters could not drive in runners, Aaron Judge seemed in a fog, and the Gammonites are already measuring Juan Soto's Mets jersey... but but BUT... no matter how you slice it: Life. Is. Good. (And nothing drives home a point... Like. Excessive. Periods.)

We just beat a hot, hungry, rising, fast, and increasingly hateful KC team - which had beaten a young, hungry, increasingly disappointing arch-rival, Baltimore. We did this despite the following stats over four games:  

Yankee scores: 6, 4, 3, 3. 

Team BA: .220

Team OPS: .693

Notables: Aaron Judge (.154), Austin Wells (.125) Jazz Chisolm (.133). 

The positives? Well, we didn't get flattened by a hurricane. Nobody broke his fingers. It's not like we wasted a 12-run night. The bottom of the order grinded out walks. Stealin' Giancarlo looked great. We know Judge eventually will hit. (Wells? not so sure.) And the bullpen, holy shit! How did that happen? Regrets? I have a few. I wanted someone to punch Garcia in his big fat mouff - (what's with  KC 3B?) - but let's sign Mickey Rourke this winter and let him handle it.

Not sure who to root for Saturday, aside from extra innings and a few tweaked gonads. The Tigers will start Cy Young, Tarik Skubal, who'd be unavailable until game three of the ALCS, so there's that. Still, this are the new, spaced out and restful postseason schedule. Dunno... 

I hesitate to write this, but here goes: 

Life is good. 

For now...

That was a big Yankee win.

 Big. Yankee. Win. 

Mature and contemplative George Brett Game 4 Thread

 

When Stanton steals..

When dolphins fly,

When nuns wear heels,

When lakes go dry…

Then Stanton steals!

When box scores lie,

When kings cut deals,

When fans ask, “Why?”

Then Stanton steals!

 

When Royals cry,

“He has no wheels.”

It’s time to try…

And Stanton steals!

Game Face . . . .

Pumped up and Ready to Go . . . .

Giancarlo "Stealin" Stanton has a chance to make complaints about his contract forever disappear

Excuse me a moment, because last night, the world changed. 

I'm referring to Florida, home to family and friends - (candles lit) - where an unfolding catastrophe made a ballgame seem rather inconsequential. Last night should have been a time of joking phone texts, and TV moments shared from a distance. Instead, it was horror. Today, the Tropicana Dome is torn to shreds, thousands are homeless, millions without power - and, honestly, I'm embarrassed to assign a ballgame so much importance when, in fact, it doesn't matter. 

But this is the world we built, right? We cannot change now. Baseball is our diversion from the demons, our escape hatch from the things that go bump in the night. The Yankees are a concept that lets us briefly forget the roof that leaks, the car that does not run, the sciatica that ever worsens - the knowledge that we're getting older. 

Well, last night, the diversion came through. 

I will always remember Giancarlo Stanton's HR, which happened between channel-hops to cable news outlets that conveyed images far more disturbing than the Halloween horror promotions between innings. 

Today, as the world assesses the damage, I want to thank Stanton for coming through. Because of him, I somehow went to bed with a sense of hope. Is that nuts, or what? 

Without Stanton - who has drawn his share of complaints - I have absolutely no doubt the Yankees would have lost that game and would be heading into tonight on a railcar to elimination. 

For six years now, we have lamented Stanton's massive contract, which the Yankee front office neatly blamed whenever it passed on a free agent. (Thinking Bryce Harper and Manny Machado here.) As I always try to remind myself, Stanton's deal was never Stanton's fault. Nevertheless, there he stood, in the eye of a financial hurricane, to be judged more by spreadsheets rather than box scores. 

In fact, in 2018, when he came in a trade, Stanton embodied baseball's new reality: That every great star - be a slugger or an ace - will be, at the end of his career, a massive drain upon the team's finances. If a contract runs for 10 years, it's a given that the player will play his final seasons as a pariah. So it's been with Stanton, who we have through 2028, and he's already hobbling. 

But not last night. Nope. Last night, Stanton lifted the Yankees onto his shoulders and carried them past KC. And now, the Yankees can return the favor: If they can reach the world series, they can forever staunch Stanton's critics, as A-Rod nearly did in 2009 (A-Rod was too famous, too controversial, to silence everyone. By comparison, Stanton is much less polarizing.)  Can you imagine Stanton appearing at the 2035 Old-Timers Day and receiving gales of applause?

If the Yankees rally behind Stanton - (this means you, Mr. Captain) - we will never have to whine about his contract again. And when bad times converge, maybe we can still think about 2024 and smile - though that might not be easy. 

As the Wicked Witch of the West once said, while melting, "What a world, what a world!" Yep. What a world...

That was a big Yankee win.

 Yes it was.

Game three thread: Are we Sylvia Plath or Dylan Thomas?

 I think that I shall never see...

A first round ejection will not go over well in New York City or across the Yankiverse

You could decipher the handwriting: The Phillies and Dodgers - our fellow first-round bye partners - sit one loss from elimination and, like the Yankees, face younger, hungrier and hotter teams. That week off, the first-round bye that is supposed to help teams, looks more and more like a perpetual curse. Win the summer, lose the fall.

Our two top pitchers, signed to lead us from this 15-year malaise, have utterly failed. Our big bats have gone silent. And though it's hard to process, Yank fans see far more on the line than just 2024.

Let's explore the terrors of a first-round elimination...

1. A quick knockout would turn NYC into a Mets town. For nearly 30 years - since Darryl Strawberry and Dwight Gooden switched genders - New York has been a Yankee encampment. The Bombers have owned the back pages, talk radio, the zeitgeist of America's greatest continuing sports show. 

That can change.  

If the Yankees fall, while the Mets beat Philly, it would flick a cultural switch as profound as the one flipped by Boston in 2004, ending the Yankee domination. 

For 15 years at the helm, Hal Steinbrenner has never experienced the Yankees as NY's second team. I wonder what it will do to him. My guess: He'll grow disillusioned, depressed - angry at how he is characterized - and then pour more personal resources into supporting Westchester Republicans and winning the Kentucky Derby. 

2. A first-round barf could push Juan Soto out the door. It's already a given that some billionaire owner, looking to become MLB's newest swinging dick, will offer Soto more money than Hal wants to pay. Of course, the Yankees will bid competitively - as they did with Joggie Cano! - but money doesn't grow on trees, people! And Hal is a loyal country clubber, his name surely inscribed on some gold-plated golf locker in some Northeastern spliced version of Mar-a-Lago with the Bohemian Grove. 

There is also the razor-edged NY sports media, which won't be kind to a first-round kaboom. There will be calls for human sacrifices. Boone is as close to a virgin as we will find. But our looming free agents - Verdugo, Gleyber, Holmes, Soto - are playing well. They would all go, leaving Yank fans with the unshakeable October memory of Giancarlo Stanton running to first while pulling an invisible slab of concrete. 

3. Here's a fun thought: Soto could cross town. That's already a Mets thing, featuring Severino, Bader and Ottavino (Gooden/Strawberry in reverse.) Mets owner Steve Cohen might want to put a cherry on his postseason by adding Soto over the winter. 

Of course, Hal would simmer over such an indignity. It wouldn't be cricket! But like the 2004 Redsocks, Cohen wants to seize NY and hold it. The two men are not alike.    

4. In KC, Aaron Judge won't hear distracting chants of "MVP." Unless he breaks out of his 1-7 slump, another failed October will breed whispers. He is starting to remind me of A-Rod, a postseason pariah until 2009, late in his career. Remember his 1-for-14 against Detroit in the 2006 ALDS? Fans booed as he marched back to the dugout after striking out. He hit 35 HRs that year, batting .292. And he was booed. Incredible. 

Nobody will boo Judge. Yank fans love him. I sure do. But damn, it hurts to watch him flail at pitches that should be landing in the cheap seats. If the Yankees can just beat KC - that is, get Judge into the next round - he can silence the critics, the criers, the doomsday seers. But right now, Austin Wells and Giancarlo do not strike fear in opponents. I doubt Judge will see a hittable pitch in KC - or until March 27, 2025, opening day. Something to look forward to, eh?

5. Damn, 2024 has been one long, hard, unforgiving slog. We sat in first most of the year, yet we've been a stumbling, bumbling disappointment for three brutal months. In many ways, an early self-immolation always seemed our destiny. Now, it's here, and the immensity of such a defeat is hard to fathom.

 If we go out in the first-round, get ready for one long, painful drought, which will surely outlast my time on this planet. It would to be hard to ever again feel hope about the Yankees. What am I supposed to write about? Pickleball? 

Twilight of the Gods

 

El Tiante 1940-2024

An Above Average Haiku Tuesday ~ No Hicks, No Bob, No Lange Edition, part 2

 

Just got off the F train...

 

So, had to go out and watch a friend's Off-Broadway play with Mrs. Calabash last night. Rushed home, turned on the set in the sixth inning...and heard the all-too-familiar, October Sounds of Silence emanating from the Stadium. The noise made by 47,000 people who realize they have just forked over next year's vacation money to see their beloved New York Yankees fail to show up when it counts. Again.

I immediately started patting down my pockets, then looking frantically through my jacket. 

"Nope, none left," I said.

"WTF are you talking about?" my wife asked.

"I'm all out of F's," I told her. 

"I thought you were going to stop at the F store."

"No, I forgot. And anyway, last time I checked, they were out, too. No F's remaining anywhere."

And so it was. 

This century has been so dismal for your New York Yankees come playoff time, that I am clean out of F's. I want to give an F...but I got no more.

These Silent Octobers have been going on so long that the Yankee Avatars of Failure have become indistinguishable in my head. They all swim together.

The great star who simply cannot hit in big games: am I watching Alex Rodriguez or Aaron Judge?

The Hall-of-Fame pitcher who simply cannot bring it in big games: Mike Mussina or Gerrit Cole?

The National League ring-winner who looks great over here—until suddenly he doesn't: Garry Sheffield or Anthony Rizzo?

The alleged superstar who is in fact so eaten up by his regimen of 'roids and reps that he's an old man by 30: Jason Giambi or Giancarlo Stanton?

The can't-miss outfield phenom who, it turns out, never really learned to hit or play the field, and is constantly injured: Clint Frazier or Jasson Dominguez?

The newer, better Derek Jeter, who can't actually play shortstop. Or hit:  Gleyber Torres or Anthony Volpe?

The newer, better Jorge Posada:  Gary Sanchez or Austin Wells? Or Jesus Montero?

The terrific, newly acquired, veteran starter who will fill that second or third slot in the rotation: José Contreras or Carl Pavano or Jarret Wright or Kevin Brown or Kei Igawa or Bartolo Colon or Michael Pineda or Sonny Gray or James Paxton or Corey Kluber or Frankie Montas or Carlos Rodón or Marcus Stroman?

Really, I can't tell the difference anymore. It all evaporates into a great smoke cloud of choking mediocrity. Words fail me. I have to bring on Air Supply to sing it:

I'm all out of fucks

I'm so tired of caring

I knew that you sucked

But still I watched...

There. That's a little better.

"But don't you care about the future?" my wife asked. "What about Soto maybe going to the Mets next year?"

"He ought to go. They have a good, up-and-coming team, run by a clever man with a lot of money. Soto will never regret it." 

"You say that?"

"I can't believe how much time I spent worrying about Judge going to San Francisco. He should've gone there. He could've hit all the home runs he liked in front of the ever-mellow home folks, then gone home in October. Obviously, it's the life he was better suited for." 

"What about seeing if The Martian can be a star?"

"He can't. The Yankees have already fucked him in the head enough. Same coming for Spencer Jones. I'd say they should trade them both, but our general manager can't make a trade to save his life. Or develop a great player, or fill the bench or the bullpen or the starting rotation with useful players. Other than that, he's a worldbeater."

"Wow, you really are all out of F's."

"Hey, it usually happens around this time. Although I think now I'm more flat-pocket than ever. Something to do with the accumulated weight of all this fucking around. Or maybe it's the presidential race, or the state of the world, or the state of my city."

"And that makes you care less about..,the Yankees?"

"The Yankees used to be a nice antidote to all that. A purely trivial, meaningless exercise, like any fun game. But that was before they had Jon Berti playing first base in a playoff game. Now that they've become just as neurotic, unimaginative, and uncaring as so much else in American culture...they're no longer a nice escape."

"So you just don't give a F. Now and forever?"

"Who knows? Maybe they'll get a supply of shiny new F's in at the Yankees store tomorrow. But I very much doubt it. Hell, even the New York Jets know enough to eventually give up on constant failure. Not the New York Yankees."

"So you're mad as hell—"

"Nope. Way past mad. Mad was c. 2001-2004. It's more just exhaustion with the stupidity of this team, with its venality. Its insistence on doing the same thing over and over and over again, and expecting different results. Or as Aaron Boone and Brian Cashman say, 'it's the process.' Well, the process sucks. And if they don't recognize that, why should any of us give a flying F?"

An Above Average Haiku Tuesday ~ No Hicks, No Bob, No Lange Edition, part 1

 

MLB's day on/day off playoffs schedule has managed to turn each game into a bullpen tedium

For me, last night boiled down to one amazingly tedious moment. 

With two outs in the 9th, Tim Mayza - the 6th Yankee pitcher -gave up a single. Out popped Aaron Boone, twirling his finger. In came Luke Weaver, the closer. And why not? It just didn't matter. 

In a regular season - or a regular ALDS - managers would need to their preserve bullpens. It's old school: You grind the opposing staff, so tomorrow they'll be gassed. 

Not this year. Not this series. Here, managers pretend it's the All-Star Game, yanking pitchers each inning, or as soon as they finish their mandatory three batters. 

And what an exciting game it delivers!

Last night, NY and KC treated America to 15 different pitchers, replacing them like sticks of Juicy Fruit, without concern for workload. That's because MLB didn't want to break God's 4th and greatest Commandment: Thou shalt do no work on the Sabbath, which belongeth to the NFL. (Frankly, with the KC Chiefs on another network, it's a wonder MLB didn't postpone last night.) 

Thus, after the 4th, each inning begat a new hurler, with a new Wikipedia thumbnail from Bob Costas. If anyone hiccupped, out he came. We sat through 11 pitching changes - how many times did that wiseass Buffalo jabber with Jason Kelce? - running the game to 3:07, well above the lowered durations that MLB prided itself for achieving this season.

Of course, Yank fans got to suffer the added indignity of watching Carlos Rodon stay - gulp -too long!  In the 4th, after Salvador Perez hit one to - as Costas said - "Staten Island," didn't everybody but Boone know it was shower time for Rodon? We'd only seen him fall apart all season. In the last three batters, Austin Wells had to stand on tiptoes to catch his fastballs. And soon, it was 4-1. 

So, here's a pop quiz. What happens tonight? 

Answer: Absolutely nothing.

The teams will take a well deserved night off, to rest their bullpens. This guarantees another night of pitching changes, and that the ALDS will last to the weekend, though not the Sabbath. Who knows, maybe we'll get the world series in before Election Day! In KC, we'll actually play two games in two nights. The end is near, and everyone will get to pitch. 

Final note: In case you missed it, deep into the 9th, here's John's HR call for Jazz Chisolm. 

"Jazz making beautiful music! He hits one deep into the right field seats! And all that Jazz!" 

Sorry to say, but rather disappointing, eh? Over the years, it's often taken The Master several HRs to perfect a call. I wonder if he'll get that chance?

Extra final note: The hell with mentioning Danny Tartabull. I thought he might be a juju talisman. One more chance.