The Yankees are baseball's hottest team, and nobody cares

Today, the Yankees can wake up in the city that never sleeps and see, firsthand, what it's like to be king of the hill, A-number one, top of the heap.

Tomorrow, they can watch how America coalesces around a national team that isn't - in its essence - another sporting manifestation of megalomanic money.  

Today, the Knicks will parade down the Canyon of Heroes for a rally at City Hall, and the world's little town shoes will be melting away. 

Tomorrow, the USA soccer team plays Australia in Seattle, showing the Yankiverse what unconditional fan loyalty looks like.

As the Yankees grow their lead in the AL East - now three up on Tampa - diehards are beginning to whisper the most perilous question of all: 

Dare we dream?

I mean, we're winning without Judge. Without Grisham. Without Giancarlo. Cole and Rodon are pitching well. Rice and Bellinger are for real. Goldschmidt is a Godsend, Clarke Schmidt will eventually return, and even Volpe has played well, lately...

Dare. We. Dream?

The answer, my friends, is... NO. 

They'll blow it. Of course, they will! This mini-winning streak - even without Judge - will simply lead into a devastating collapse, as soon as we stop playing AL Central cupcakes. 

I refer you to the most important Rule of Juju:

IF YOU HAVE GOOD FEELINGS ABOUT YOUR TEAM, KEEP THEM THE FUCK TO YOURSELF!  NOTHING IS EVER GAINED BY TALKING UP YOUR TEAM. ALWAYS STAY NEGATIVE.

Think of it this way: Speak ill of your team and, if they collapse - (as Yank teams have done since 2009) - you've merely burnished your reputation as truth-talking doomsday prophet, who sees through all the fake positivity. 

And if your team happens to succeed, you can claim that it was your caustic negativity that sparked the game-winning juju. 

One unspoken part of today's parade will be the unbridled belief - no, the absolute certainty that OG's game four put-back happened all by itself. Not a chance. Everyone knows his hand was guided by a million doubting Knicks fans, all of whom never stopped believing that their team would lose.

Today, along the Canyon of Heroes, the Yankees get to see how New York responds to greatness. Tomorrow, in Seattle, and throughout the entire World Cup, they can learn how whole countries react. 

But remember: Stay dour.  

A Tardy Game Thread - 06/17/26 (whoopsie)

 

Last year's most intriguing Yankee prospect is this year's most intriguing Yankee

Forrest Gump famously compared life to a box of chocolates: 

Ya never know whatcher gonna git... 

Hardy har har. Fetch me a new Depends. Somehow, such crapola masqueraded as folk wisdom back in 1994, seven years before the birth of Spencer Jones.

These days, when Jones comes up, ya always know whatcher gonna git: 

The Second Coming of Joey Gallo. 

In other words - a walk, a strikeout or a home run. 

In 53 plate appearances this year, Jones has 30 times achieved what stat-focused Gammonites call "the three true outcomes:" a HR (Jones has two, belting one last night), a base on balls (he has seven, adding two last night) or a whiff (he has 21, adding one last night.) In his brief flirtation with MLB pitchers, Jones has brought the three true outcomes 56 percent of the time. (Up slightly from his output at Scranton; in 185 plate appearances, he had 13 HRs, 25 walks, 60 Ks - 54 percent.)

Last night, Jones' 2nd inning homer tied the game. His 3rd inning, bases-loaded walk (after an unsuccessful White Sox pitch challenge), seemed to unhinge the Chisox pitcher. In the 4th, his walk helped push us to a 10-1 lead. Honestly, who cares what happened later? The game was a joke. 

So, let's get to the central question: Is Spencer Jones what the Yankees need?

Spoiler alerts: 

a) I dunno.
b) It's too small a sample size to draw a conclusion.
c) At the July 31 trade deadline, we'll probably have bigger needs.

This we know: When Jones steps up, nobody runs to make a sandwich. 

Last night brought Jones' first HR at Yankee Stadium. You sense that, if all he does is hit mistakes, he could blast 30. (Last year, in the minors, he hit 35.) He can play CF, a slot that will almost surely be open next year. (Trent Grisham will probably sign elsewhere.) But do we need another HR-hitter? We already have at least four (Rice, Judge, Goldy, Giancarlo, when he returns.)

So...  we end up back with Joey Gallo. Why? Why? Why? In his final days - as a Yankee, at only age 28, Gallo was certifiably rancid. Over two years with us, he fanned 194 times in 501 plate appearances. His three true outcomes ran at 58 percent. He was booed at home. His fielding suffered. He was a human reflecting-pool algae outbreak. When he came up, it was Sandwich Time.

But but BUT... in his prime, at age 23, with Texas, Gallo was an All-Star. Twice! Over two seasons, he hit 80 HRs, with an OPS well over .800. The strikeouts didn't matter. In fact, Gallo had a reputation as a grinder, a guy who drove pitchers deep into the count, running up their pitch totals, and so what if he struck out: An out's an out, right? 

If Jones gets hot, over the next three weeks, while Grisham recovers from his tweaked gonad, he could easily become the most interesting Yankee. By Aug. 1, he could be massive trade bait. Or a massive disappointment. 

I say, what if he's for real? The guy can play CF. I say, pick a chocolate, any one in the box. Maybe it's not the cherry that you wanted. But is there such a thing as a shit-filled? Try the kid. How bad can it be? 

– Your Official June 16, 2026 New York Yankees Game Thread ! –

 

Aren't those just the two sweetest things !?!

"If the Knicks did it..." could NYC be this year's city of champions?

It's too soon to say whether the Knicks' championship will usher in a new winning reality for New York , as a "City of Champions" (TM). But not long ago - like, 30 days ago - in the category of world sports domination, NYC was right up there with Peoria, Elmira and Gary.

Back then - four weeks ago - the Yankees and Mets seemed forever cursed, the Jets and Giants remained permanent abominations, the Rangers and Islanders perpetually sucked, and the Knicks were - well - not the Nets. 

Today, as the city prepares for a ticker-tape celebration - is there such a thing as ticker tape anymore? - a harmonic convergence has propelled Jim Dolan over Hal Steinbrenner, Jalen Brunson over Aaron Judge and the other Knicks into iconic territories once roamed by Mariano and Jete. 

Get used to it. The Knicks will be New York's Number One team for at least the next year. It won't matter if they fall apart in 2027. It will be a long, long time before another local team inspires the crazed love and loyalties that are abundant across the city.  People are singing on subways and while standing in lines - which is what New Yorkers do for most of their tortured lives. The cast of Hamilton burst into "New York, New York" following the show. The city is going nuts, as Bill Murray said in Stripes - "dogs and cats, living togehter!" Not since Bucky, Reggie, Thurman and Catfish has a New York team wrought such happy bedlam. 

 So, you gotta wonder... 

Are the Yankees taking notes? Because they could make a similar playoffs run. Could Volpe become a worthwhile SS? Could Judge come back with a great autumn? Could Giancarlo contribute anything? Ben Rice? Cam Schlittler. The Martian. Homer Jones. 

Is there anybody out there?

While Kay and Cone pondered Chappell Roan, the Yankees finally take a series in Toronto.

 First, let's say it aloud: 

The American League is a disgrace. 

It is the Atlantic 10, the USFL, Double A, straight-to-home video, "Dark Horse" (the Nickelback tribute band), Pauly Shore, low-dose Sildenafil, and cauliflower-crust pizza.

It is socks-in-crocks, vintage Naugahyde, Kirkland Vodka, Mar-a-Lago eyebrows, hair extensions, sneaker lifts, and every Brentwood B-lister who suddenly won't leave the house without a Brunson jersey.

If the season ended today, two sub-.500 teams would make the expanded AL Playoffs, where nearly contestant gets a participation prize, as Peter Marshall used to say, "the home version of Hollywood Squares."

Nearly halfway into 2026, Boston - 11 games below .500 - should be contemplating a trade deadline teardown, yet the Redsocks sit comfortably, a mere five games down in the wild card race. They can pleasure themselves through July and still have time to get hot and win a championship.

Never has an MLB regular season seemed so irrelevant. Baseball has become the NBA, without the adrenaline shot of the Knicks. Right now, two AL teams - the Royals and Angels, (neither making the above chart) - are true lost causes - the worst teams in the worst divisions of the worst league in its worst year. 

The outcomes barely matter. Yesterday, at one point, a tight game in Toronto became so irrelevant that cultural historians Micheal Kay and David Cone carried on an extensive conversation about the singer, Chapple Roan. This came after Kay - heretofore a notorious debunker of the pop scene - proudly identified the song "Pink Pony Club" as a walk-up clip. This prompted Cone, an expert in the eighties/nineties punk scene, to ponder the amazing cultural revelations from his broadcast partner. 

Michael Kay is onto Chappell Roan. What's next? Wet Leg? Clavicular? 

Wait. I've gone off topic. What were we discussing? O, yeah... the quality of the American League. Well, it's not a glitch. It's a marketing plan. We know how the owners feel about selling substandard products: It's great! Send out lousy teams, have them play in Sacramento, force other cities to build new stadiums, and use the regular season - from April to October - to cull a few teams from the race. You've got parity and profits. So... keep on dancin' at the Pink Pony Club. 

gAmE tHrEaD – sWoOn fOuRtEeEnTh, 2o2sUx –CoNgRaTuLaTiOnS kNiCkS !! !!! !!!!

 

The Yankees have taken first place in the AL East. And nobody cares.

As everyone knows, the Miss America First-Runner-Up must serve as a year-long backup to the pageant's victor and - God forbid! - if something happens to the reigning champion of charm, the First-Runner-Up shall immediately assume the icon's backbreaking roster of duties, whatever that is. 

Today, the world champion 2026 Knicks own the heart and soul of New York City. 

Rightfully.

By a mile. 

In fact, sometime next week, they will transverse that mile, more or less, along the Canyon of Heroes, a stretch that hasn't been fully toasted since 2012, when the Giants, under Eli Manning, shocked not only the world, but Tom Brady. 

Frankly, the explosion in Knicks popularity is staggering. Who knew that Taylor Swift is a rabid fan, living and dying on each Knick free-throw! Travis Kelsey better watch out. If Jalen Brunson calls, the wedding could be off. The Knicks have overwhelmed the mysterious manhole sewer squads and could even replace Pizza Rat (in a good way) as Gotham's greatest icon of survival. This is their year, maybe their decade. Brunson is the new Jeter, the new Manning, the new Reggie - dare we say it - the new Mick. Every other NY team can only watch and see what mayhem looks like. 

It's a battle for First-Runner-Up.

Even if the Yankees win the '26 world series, they probably cannot chase down the Knicks in the race for tabloid back page supremacy, as shown the left. For posterity, here's how they ran it today.

Note: If the Mets could somehow catch fire and win it all, they could out-Cinderella the rest of the field and win a shitwad of back pages. But the Knicks will still be popular next fall, when their season begins. The Giants and Jets? They won't come close. And the rest of the field is desolate.  

Here are the unofficial 2026 midyear rankings for New York's Team, including their most recent world championship. 

1. Knicks (1973 - no, 2026!)
2. Yankees (2009)
3. Mets (1986)
4. Giants (2012)
6. Jets (1969)
6. Rangers (1994)
7. NJ Devils (2003)
8. Islanders (1983)
9. Nets (Never)
10. Liberty (2024.)

(Note: The WNBA's explosion in popularity came after 2024, when Caitlan Clark graduated from the NCAA. The 2024 Liberty didn't get the attention they deserved. They only won three tabloid back pages, all year.)

So, the Yankees are in first, Giancarlo is newly tweaked, the Martian has landed, and - who expected this - hardly anybody cares. How 'bout them Knicks!

Swoon Thirteenth Game Thread – WHAT'S REALLY on OUR MINDS . . . . . .

 

Remember that logjam in the Yankee outfield? It's over.

In case you missed it last night - choosing to watch plucky upstart Team USA beat the mighty world power, Paraguay - while running to second, Trent Grisham grabbed his nut sack and checked out of the months of June and July. 

The Yankee brain trust calls it "Hamstring Tightness." The Yankee fan base calls it "Business As Usual." Of course, we all must wait until the newly gelded Grisham rises from bed and moves to pee. From there, it's a question of weeks... or months. 

Once again, we are traveling the Yankee Circle of Dread:

Be healed. Be horrid. Be hot. Be hurt. 

Repeat as necessary. 

So will disappear Grish, the hottest Yankee, until - well - the All-Star break? The trade deadline? By then, rest assured that a new wave of injuries will take over. (Watch yourself, Belli. Beware, Ben.) 

Two weeks ago, The Athletic published a thumb-sucker study that said the Yankees, Mets and Orioles are baseball's most injury prone organizations. Since 2024, the Yanks top the field in games lost due to Injury List designations. The story came down as Aaron Judge awaited scans of his fractured rib. 

So here we are, as always, waiting for mystery re-enforcements. 

Aside from Tommy John situations, I'd argue that hammies are the nastiest issues. They're a certain six-weeks in the Ice Bucket Challenge, and they bring continual false hopes. Remember "Setback Sevy" Severino? There's nothing more dangerous than a player who is itching to test his hamstring, absolutely sure that it's good to go. Grish is 29. He better take his time.

In this case, Yank fans will, at least, get their wishes granted. We will soon see an outfield of The Martian, Belli and Spencer Jones - (Hey, can we nickname him for the old NY Giant star receiver, Homer Jones?) 

Since Grisham accepted the Yankee Qualifying Offer last winter - ensuring that Jones and the Martian would spend April and May in Scranton, we have waited to see what the two most interesting prospects in our farm system have to offer.

Soon, we will see everything. 

And in our hearts, we know what will happen.

Horrid. Healed. Hot. Hurt. Repeat as needed.

Game Thread Flashback – 2022 – (Hey - I really enjoyed El Duque's opening post today)

Bullpen

Bullpen (To the tune of Blackbird)

and with apologies to John Lennon and Paul McCartney

Blackburn pitching nowhere near the ninth.
Hoping for ground balls and shallow flies.
All your life…
Giving up a three run and letting the game get tied.

Jake Bird pitching nowhere near the ninth.
Hoping to command electric stuff.
All your life…
We are all still waiting for an outing that’s not rough.

Blackburn why?
Jake Bird why?
Do you both give up RBIs?

(Music)

Blackburn why?
Jake Bird why?
Are you where strong outings go to die. 

(Music)

Doval pitching nowhere near the ninth.
Cranking up a pitch to one-oh-two.
All your life…
No one knows where it is going. Especially not you.

We are stuck with all three and there’s nothing we can do.

We are stuck with all three and there’s nothing we can do.

We are stuck with all three and there’s nothing we can do.

Before he'll accept a trade to the Yankees, el Chapo wants an apology. Here's one.

Our dearest Aroldis,

Hope you're staying cool. For some reason, when I think of you enduring these 90-degree days of late, I get flashbacks to the Johnstown flood. 

Anyway, I see on the Interweb that you're still a bit miffed over how those mean old Yankees treated you, back in 2022. I couldn't agree more. You deserve an apology. 

It's hard to believe that those creepy management toadies fools left you - a great pitcher - off the Yankee playoff roster, simply because... 

a) you were getting regularly bombed. 

b) you were unable to throw strikes.
c) you let a new tattoo get infected, sending you to the IL.

and d) you missed a mandatory team practice. 

Why, the gall! The unmitigated gall! 

Not only that, but after the tattoo thing - and who doesn't have enough of them - those simpletons handed the closer role to Clay Holmes. And then, they had the nerve to suggest they did it simply because a few players hit walk-off HRs, leaving you to stand on the mound, smirking like Mr. Sardonicus, in much the way you must have looked after shooting up your ex-wife's garage, back in your madcap salad days, back when your trails of sweat didn't conjure comparisons to the 2021 Fukushima nuclear plant tsunami.  

I'm sorry, sir. O, how sorry I am! 

I'm sorry that your feelings were hurt by the bad people with the desks. And now, now, as the Redsocks prepare to dump trade you to - um - I'm sure that somebody, anybody, somewhere, will be delighted to hand their fate in 2026 to a petulant, 38-year-old toddler, who hasn't pitched a full season in the last four years. And it will soon be time to change venues once again.

Surely, I speak for the Yankiverse when I beg your forgiveness, allowing you to return to the team you so artfully destroyed in the early 2020s. Why, it would be like old times, watching you walk the first few batters! Maybe we can stage a reunion with Jose Altuve! Or Rafael Devers! Or Mike Brosseau!

O, well. I understand that you are a proud man. On that note, I hope you stay in Boston, to give the youngsters a role model. And next year... maybe the Mets? We can only dream.

With the Knicks overcoming their curse, maybe it's time to revisit the Juju Rules, starting with the first and most important one of all

"DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?" I answered, "NO."

It's fair to say that every half-cogent NY baby boomer remembers where he or she was on the afternoon of Nov. 22, 1963, when the news came down: The president had been shot. The president was dead. The world had changed. You were no longer a kid...

For New Yorkers, next came the night of Feb. 22, 1980, in the sleepy Adirondacks town of Lake Placid. There, as the final seconds counted down, the immortal Al Michaels shouted, "DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES? YESSS!" as the USA hockey team somehow beat an all-world lineup from Russia. A moment frozen in time. We remember where we were.

For hardened NYers, there was the night of Nov. 18, 1985, when Lawrence Taylor hit Washington QB Joe Theismann so hard that he changed the dynamics of football, making Left Tackle the most important position on the line. Taylor broke Theismann's leg, a brutal blindside, and his frantic gestures for help were probably the greatest act of humanity in his violent career. We remember where we were.

There are other moments. 

Of course, Sept. 11, 2001, when the World Trade Center fell.  

Oct. 12, 2001, Derek Jeter's flip play at home plate, to nab Jason Giambi's brother. 

Nov. 8, 2016, Election Night, as the country chose Donald Trump. 

March 27, 2022, when Will Smith slapped Chris Rock during the Oscars.

July 13, 2024, the assassination attempt on Trump.

And then there is last night, when the Knicks - down by 29 - inscribed themselves into the cultural history of Gotham... and Hollywood. We will never forget where we were when OG Anunoby's hand soared in from outer space to score the winning basket with one second on the clock.

I certainly will never forget where I was.

In bed, sleeping. 

I'd watched the first half, seen enough. I trundled off to the Land of Nod, thanking my stars for not going whole-hog onto the Knicks/celebrity bandwagon. Nope. I reminded myself - they're still the Nixx, guaranteed to disappoint - be it against Reggie Miller or Wemby. They hadn't fooled me. And I was going to get a good night's sleep, maybe waking up only once to pee.

So, today I wear the shame of disbelief. My gravestone will say, "COWARD WENT BEDDY-BYE, MISSED KNICKS' COMEBACK." 

Do I believe in miracles? No. (And now, having made my bed, I must do it again in Game 5. The juju worked. Forget FOMO. I am a lost cause.)