"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.)

Today's Game Thread – Car'Loss and Volp'EEEEE ! ! !

The Catching Conundrum and Other Stories

 

With the neck injury to Austin Wells, one that will be difficult if not impossible to truly come back from, the Yankees need a catcher. 

But who and from where? There are very few quality catchers left, not only in the Yankee farm system, but throughout baseball and there is a very good reason...

It’s a crappy job. The worst in baseball.

Crouching the whole game, wearing extra padding on 90+ degree days, taking foul balls off your head and bounced balls in the nuts, having to react in a millionth of a second to a 100 MPH fast ball thrown by a guy like Carman Doval who has NO idea where it’s going and, if it gets by you and the runner scores from third... people blame you.

Who needs that kind of aggravation?

Let’s face it, kids don’t want to be catchers anymore. Not even the bottom heavy, tough, slow ones.  

Speaking of... Last year’s MVP  candidate Cal Raleigh “The Big Dumper”  is shitting the bed this year, hitting a paltry .161 this year and is currently on the IL.  

Just an aside, after 2333 MLB at Bats Raleigh's lifetime BA is 222.   That’s Lloyd Hanes territory.

---

I spent the morning drinking Old Overholt and looking for solutions to the Yankees catching situation and to baseball's as well but all I could come up with, and it's long term is... people need to impregnate more Molinas. 

The real issue isn't finding catchers per se, it's finding catchers that can hit. 

It's kind of inexplicable. Why aren't catchers better hitters? 

They see more pitches than anyone else by a lot. Well over one hundred a game. They see the spins. They gage the speeds, Track the movement of the ball... 

Is the issue that their gloves are so big that they only need to approximate where the ball is going to end up? Whereas with a bat being off, even by as little as a quarter of an inch is the difference between a hit and pop up.

Even if this is true you'd think they would walk more because they should be able to tell what pitch is going to be a ball right out of the pitchers hand. 

I can't figure it out.

---

Wemby knew that the league couldn't call a flagrant foul. 

Why? Because he already has one on the books for an earlier dirty play.  

His next one carries an automatic one game suspension. There is no way that the corrupt and shameless NBA commissioner would suspend him during the finals.  Consequently he was freed to be as dirty as he wanted. 

International marketing face of the league. 

Think Othani and gambling. 

Hard to be a fan of anything these days. 

--

Jose Ramirez...  clone or unacknowledged child?  No other explanation. 

---

The Knicks face a staggeringly powerful juju curse. Ten warnings from The Abyss.

Our world exists to be discussed by twosomes. Vladimir and Estragon on the hill. Charlie Brown and Linus in the pumpkin patch. John and Suzyn in the booth... 

O, to be a fly in the MSG owner's box Monday night, as drooping eyelids and long, liquid breaths suddenly changed conversation into soliloquy.  

On that note, here's mine: Ten singular thoughts on the NYC condition, which now faces existential dread.

1. Soul-crushing Knicks owner James Dolan launched a massive curse Monday night, when he hosted Donald Trump. You don't invite the vampire into your house. This was a juju atomic bomb, from which the Knicks will not recover. In every game thus far, the Spurs have improved. Tonight, a blow-out.  

2. Gotta think the Yankees - watching NYC go bonkers over the Knicks - must imagine themselves riding down the Canyon of Heroes in a pandemonium of good cheer. If (and when) the Trump-stricken Knicks fail, the city will grow even more rabid for a world championship.

3. JM is right. (See below.) This cannot go on. Anthony Volpe is not hitting, and his defense grows shoddier by the day. This is Year Three of the Volpe experiment. It's not working. The guy plays hard, hustles, cheers his teammates: It's not a failure of character. But either Jose Caballero (or Max Schuemann) takes over at SS, or George Lombard Jr. should get the call. As for Volpe? I doubt he'll be a Yankee after July 31.

4. I just realized something scary: Next year, we will be watching the '27 Yankees.

5. Spencer Jones' massive HR last night, his first in MLB, did something rather rare: It scored two runs. Throughout his minor league career, Jones has been streaky. Could he start something? And could his HRs come with runners on base? 

6. Tampa won last night, maintaining their one game lead in the loss column. It's too early to play scoreboard. But until the Yankees pass the Rays, they're in the wild card ghetto. 

7. Jose Ramirez just kills us. Game after game. Guy is 33, he looks like a college dorm refrigerator, and he has 24 stolen bases. Twenty-four. Tied for the MLB lead. He hitting only .241, but no other MLB batter scares me more. Twenty-four SBs? WTF? 

8. Yankee bullpen held up heroically over the last two nights. But you can feel it burning out. Multi-inning saves in early June? That's how you develop Scott Proctors. Today, Carlos Rodon needs to go seven. But he's on a pitch count, too. We can't go on like this.

9. In June, Ben Rice is hitting .231 with one HR. He's pressing. I think Rice was benefiting from the Post-Judge Sigh Derangement Syndrome: The pitcher just faced the game's biggest slugger, so he relaxes. Rice jumped on mistakes. Now, he follows Trent Grisham. Aint the same.

10. Gerrit Cole's facial expressions last night were troubling. He looked genuinely concerned over his inability to secure strike three. You wonder if he has fully adjusted to his new, post-surgery reality.  He will. Eventually. I think. Maybe...

And now, a carefully considered, deeply researched, and meticulously presented analysis of our shortstop

Jesus fucking Christ, Volpe is terrible. 

He can't hit. He can't field consistently. David Cone says he works sooooo hard, he's really trying. I'll say he's trying. He's the most trying player on the goddamn roster.

He is now batting .190. McMahon is showing some signs of life, outhitting the hometown failure, while our catchers still can't hit for beans.

This can't go on. Volpe is getting worse, just as he has for three years now. And there's no injury excuse this time.

Boone is an idiot. Cashman is incompetent. Poor Volpe is just not a major leaguer, maybe he never will be, and what the Yankees have done to him by pushing him to this point is criminal.

Game Thread – Tuesday Swoon Ninth – 202SUX

Dear Influencers of the Yankiverse (You know who you are.) Enough with the Judge-replacement theories

Lars Nootbaar? Byron Buxton? Adley Rutschman? Your momma? That's it! Enough! We're done here! You're either stupid, or you hate America! Turn off the microphone, darling! This is over, Piggy! 

What? Huh? You're still here? Oh, I get it. You were watching the Knicks, anyway. Enough with the trade talk! Enough!

Ever since Aaron Judge went down with the bum rib - ribberty-bibberty! - the interweb has been bubbling-over with ridiculous, clickbait trade rumors, none of which make sense, aside from displaying the warped minds of people suffering from Volpe Derangement Syndrome, which has rotted our peanut-sized brains.

Listen: The last thing the Death Barge needs to do right now is trade what's left of our farm system for a two-month outfield replacement, or a rent-me veteran shortstop, or a catcher in the final throes of his contract. There is no reason to package whatever talent we have left in Scranton, or Somerset, or the back alleys of Tampa, for an OF who, come September, will simply add to the bottleneck of clogged baseball arteries. 

The Yankees have one play, one...

With Judge out, probably through mid-August, they must give Spencer Jones and Jasson Dominguez full-scale opportunities to show what they've got - even if it's nothing.

And yes, the means watching Jones attempt to hit with a stance that looks like he's taking a dump while practicing goat yoga. He's curled up and struggling like the way Clint Frazier once did, before the Yankees pulled the plug. Jones has a vicious, violent, uppercut swing, and when he does finally connect, it will be a 450-foot blast with an exit velo that causes David Cone to giggle another punk tune from the eighties, but I'm wondering if, instead of Blondie, we'll be seeing the reincarnation of Ron Kittle.  

Last night, Jones went 1-4 with three strikeouts, swinging through curve balls the way Trump goes through Diet Cokes. Fortunately, most of the Yankiverse was watching the Knicks game. And more fortunately, the Martian will soon return from his rehab in Scranton. From there, either Jones hits, or we go to Plan B: Jasson Dominguez, for at least another two weeks. 

After that, I suppose we can try Yanquiel Fernandez, a stepped-on former Rockies prospect, who has 13 HRs in Scranton, plus a cannon-arm. What we don't need is Nootbaar. Or Buxton. Or somebody that rips apart the current reality. 

Don't get me wrong. The Yankees will need bullpen lug nuts. Last night, they used an unsustainable eight pitchers to beat Cleveland. Had they not scored two runs in the 10th - if the game had, say, gone into the 11th or 12th, they would have either needed to cut into the rotation, or sent out a position player to pitch. (And they had run out of position players, as well.) You can't use eight pitchers per game.

And you can't trade the house for a two-month replacement. You hear me, Piggy? You just can't. Huh? The Knicks lost? WTF? How do I get outahere?