Big game...75 years ago today.

 

Bobby Thomson's home run, "the shot heard 'round the world," wins the 1951 National League playoff for the New York Baseball Giants, 5-4.  

Pafko at the wall—because the idiot Dodgers manager, Charlie Dressen, had brought in Ralph Branca, who Thomson had just touched for a game-losing home run, two days earlier, in the first game of the playoff at Ebbets Field, to pitch to him again.

It would be as if Boone had put Nestor Cortes in to pitch to Freddie Freeman a second time, with the Series on the line. (Which...he might have done.)

Afterwards, Thomson goes...home to New Dorp.  

Hey, celebrity was different in those days. Also: the Polo Grounds was less than two-thirds full.  

Hey, it was a weekday. People worked. Thomson's own fiancée wasn't there; she had to do her shift as a hospital nurse.

Jackie Robinson, as you can see, was one of the last men off the field, watching to make sure that Thomson touched every single base.

Russ Hodges, the Giants' broadcaster gave out with his famous call, repeated over and over again:

"The Giants win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant!...Oh, and they're going crazy!"

And so they were.

Incredibly, two of the greatest—maybe THE very greatest—plays in baseball history happened within three years in the Polo Grounds. Both in favor of the home team.

Whereupon...the Giants moved away and they tore the place down.

Oy.

But as they ask at the end of even the greatest stories...what happened next?

Well, there was this thing called the World Series. Featuring Joe DiMaggio, and Mickey Mantle, and Willie Mays.

Not to mention Yogi Berra, Sal Maglie, Monte Irvin, Allie Reynolds, Vic Raschi, Eddie Lopat...and more.

As might have been expected, the Giants came out roaring. They won two of the first three games, before the Yanks drubbed them, 6-2, and 13-1, to retake the lead in the Series. 

Game Six, the Yanks were up, 4-1, going into the 9th inning in the Stadium—just as the Dodgers had been in the final playoff game. 

Johnny Sain came in to put down a Giants rally against Raschi in the seventh, but in the ninth, the Giants loaded the bases against him with none out, and Monte Irvin—and then Thomson!—coming up.

Ruh-roh.

The Yanks brought in the immortal...Bob Kuzava, a journeyman swingman they had acquired from the Senators that summer. 

Kuzava got Irvin and "the Flying Scot" to fly out—scoring two runs. Next up was Sal Yvars, the Giants' little-used, back-up catcher, and he hit the ball hard...but right to Hank Bauer in right field. 

Ballgame over. World SERIES over.

The next year, Game 7 at Ebbets Field, the Yanks brought Kuzava in to face Duke Snider and Jackie Robinson in the 7th inning, again with the bases loaded, and one out. Kuzava got Snider to pop to third, then Jackie to pop up on that famous play where everybody froze but Billy Martin came running in to grab the ball off his shoe tops.

Kuzava went on to shut the Dodgers down in the 8th. And the ninth. 

Ballgame over...well, you know the rest.

So in the end, the Yankees all lived happily ever after.

Big game tonight

Seriously. What else to say?

Ten thoughts, all to be denied later...

1. Apparently, the Captain is out, the China Doll in. If so, I wish Boonie let Giancarlo pinch-hit in the Boston blowouts. Get that first K out of the way. Did Garret Crochet learn us anything?

2. If he misses October, what a lost year for Aaron Judge. Seems like yesterday, he was leading Team America into the WBC? (With Roman Anthony, no less.) A great season loomed. What a letdown. That's baseball, Suzyn.

3. Last week, MLB proposed a ballpark be built in the Grand Teton National Park, because - hey, that's America, Suzyn. Unfortunately, snowflake, libtard, fuzzy-wuzzy Antifa Dumbocrats sniffed the plan and - to make sure wolves can roam free and eat your mom - canceled it, as they do everything that smells of Sydney Sweeney D-cup capitalism. 

4. How about the Grand Canyon! The place needs a boost. How many times can you look at a gorge? Home runs over the cliff! Or the Brea Tar Pits? No bad hops. In fact, no hops: Gound balls hit the goop and stop. And what happened to the outfielders? They were here a minute ago.  

5. Oooh, ooogh! Jumpin Jehosafat! The Great Pyramid at Giza! The Great Wall of China! The Mall of America! Area 51? 

6. So, Gerrit Cole tonight? In postseason play, he'll be picking up where he left off: Pointing to Anthony Rizzo, except now, he'll be in the broadcast booth.   

7. I get it why Boone will start Cole. He's de facto pitching staff captain. But his problem all year has been the instant collapse: Bloop and blast. If he gives up a two-run shot, it might be over.   

8. Here's a thought. Bullpen game without the bullpen. Cole for three. Rodon for three. Blackburn. Headrick. Bednar. Game?

9. Everybody's rested. Could Tampa maybe be too rested? 

10. Starting time: 6:30 p.m. 

Big game tonight.

Remember this day and keep it holy.

Yes, it is Bucky Dent Day, kicking off Holy Month for our New York Yankees. (October 20th: Mickmas!)

We have been binging on schadenfreude these days, me as much as anyone. First the Metsies finishing up another inexplicably disastrous, last-place finish. Then the Sawx.

After the last game of the Wild Card series, I actually went on the Son of Sam website for the first time since 2003. Heh-heh-heh.

I was watching the 1978 playoff game in a college dorm, and was infinitely more nervous than I have ever been, watching any sports event—and enduring almost anything else in my life (okay, it's been a pretty nice life). 

A friend who knew very little about baseball (hey, I have them!) walked in, saw Dent up, heard us all grumbling and nay-saying (yes, I was already doing that, too), and said:

"Hey, maybe he'll hit a home run."

"He has about as much chance of hitting a home run as I do," I snorted. Which, of course, proved to be untrue.

But when it comes to the home run, I have to admit that what I remember and cherish most of all is not Dent's swing, or his romp around the bases. It is Carl Yastrzemski's legs buckling, and his falling to one knee by the Green Monster.

Horrible, I know. I am a terrible human being. Yaz was a great ballplayer (and nearly a Yankee, incidentally), and saddest of all, in a 23-year career he ended up not only never winning a ring, but also making the last out in both World Series he was in.

And...in the Bucky Dent Game.

Sad, but true. 

And it brings out the bone-marrow-sucking barbarian in me. 

Terrible, I know. As I say, I'm an awful human being. 

But what a day.

Knicks in Five! 

 

The Real Issue Facing The Yankees Going Forward

The biggest issue the Yankees face in this next round is... the return of Judge.

Not to be negative, but the team is poorly structured to the point that unless Judge can play the outfield, a huge plus over Ramos, he has to DH. 

This takes Rice out of the line-up or moves him to first where he hasn't played in a while. This turns both Garcia Jr. and Goldy into pinch hitters. It also reduces the defence. 

That's bad. 

So I think the reason that they don't just activate Judge is that amazingly, he's a net negative if all he can do is DH.

Is a rusty Judge at DH better than Rice at DH? Doubtful.

Why take the chance?  They need to wait until he can play right field. Sucks but true. 

Let us take a moment to savor the sweet dulcimer tones of a Boston rage-nausea weekend

They've resurrected the Mookie trade. It's been six years. They're still foaming. And when they tire of denouncing Alex Verdugo and Jeter Downs, it's Devers Time. (Where is Jose Bello these days?) 

And don't forget the 2018 cheating scandal, when they were caught stealing signs. Or the firing of Alex Cora, when they busted former Captain Jason Varitek down to clown coach. Best of all, it's their raging sense of abuse, of betrayal... 

They know what's happened, they know what's coming, and they know their owner doesn't give a diddly shit. 

He'll spend this winter on the Elysian, his $90 million super-yacht. When doom-counseling Boston fans, that's my go-to image: John Henry, on a floaty in his infinity pool, sipping a martini and deciding not to re-sign Pine Tar Sonny Gray. Excuse me. I just farted, joyously. My body speaks when my mind knows the moment is too wonderful for words.

This is the Redsock Weekend of Rage, a magical time when the Fenway Nation devours itself with fava beans and a nice chianti. It's a magnificent 30 hours, and it conjures memories of the Wayback Nineties, when the Curse of the Bambino kept Dan Shaughnessy awake all night - back before the Yankeocalypse, from which we are still recovering. (And there is only one way to end our suffering.) 

It's wonderful when they lash out at each other. 

Tomorrow, we can ponder the hate-fueled town of Tampa. We certainly know them. We play them all year, and even on the road against them, we sleep in our own beds. Our radio broadcasts cut into their market. Our fans infiltrate their bleachers. They loathe us with the intensity of a billion melanomas, especially because their stars secretly want to join us, to play in packed stadiums instead of a giant ping pong ball with sound effects. But today, let's enjoy the reliving of Mookie and Boston's list of grievances. Dear God, it's a day for Calgon Bath Oil Beads and Brigadoon Refsnyder. Bring on the wonder.

Shall we say it? 

Dare we say it? 

Oh, hell, let's say it...

Yanks in Five.

Captured in the wild. A community of bleacher creatures celebrates Cody Bellinger's HR

 

The bleachers went crazy after Cody Bellinger's three-run homer!
by u/CicadaOk8885 in NYYankees

Boston events calendar has a new Number One

 Some dates have opened up.

Boston is done. Ten tank-aways.

What a wondrous Wild Card series. Two big matchups. Two Yankee blowouts. So long, Sonny Gray. Keep slow-walking, Wilson Contreras. Enjoy your winter, Celtics, Bruins, Patriots and Sons of Sam Horn. The year of 2026 - of the Knicks in five - is officially over. And, for now anyway, so is the rivalry. 

How did we do it? Blissfully, kindly - without bile or mean-spirited acrimony - let us savor the ways that our heroes vanquished our frat-boy, dickwad enemies.

1. The Yankees won with power. (And not just solo shots.) A Ben Rice grand slam. A three-run Bellinger blast. Devastating knockout blows. Ahh, to see the looks on those pitchers' faces...   

2. The Yankees won with bunts. I am not hallucinating. Trent Grisham laid down a bunt so perfect that Boston - fully knowing what was coming - still couldn't handle it. Greatest bunt of the season.

3. The Yankees won with hustle. I'm thinking about Spencer Jones, who flailed at strike three, saw the ball squib away and actually sprinted to first. (Most batters merely jog.) Jones' speed caught Adley Rutschman off guard. He moved slowly, double-clutched, and it was over. Shades of Mickey Owens. It broke open the game.

4. The Yankees won with class. Nobody preened. Nobody showboated. When Boston finally got on the board, Wilson Contreras took 15 goddam minutes to round the bases. His booth apologist, Lou Merloni, suggested that Contreras was trying to rally his team. Huh? What a joke. What he did was piss off the Yankees. After that home run, there was no way Max Fried was gonna give up another hit.

5. The Yankees won with young, rising stars. For five years, we've heard about the looming waves of talent in the farm systems of Baltimore and Boston. Both have had MLB's top-ranked prospect (Jackson Holliday, Roman Anthony.) Thus far, in the name of Marcelo Mayer, neither has panned out. Meanwhile, the Yankees have Cam Schlittler and Ben Rice, legit MVP candidates, and Jones and George Lombard Jr. and - gulp - Anthony Volpe and maybe even the Martian? (Don't snicker, he's still just 23.) 

6. The Yankees won with pitching, pitching, pitching. After Schlittler and Max Fried, Boone never even had to use Gerrit Cole, Carlos Rodon and Brent Headrick. Seriously, if somebody said the Yankees would beat Boston without even using Headrick, would you have believed it?  

7. The Yankees won without acrimony. In the NBC booth, Merloni -  Boston's Baghdad Bob - blathered on and on about the great Sonny Gray. At one point, they suggested that Babe Ruth would not have wanted to face Sonny. Yeah, Babe Ruth. They never mentioned how Gray failed in NYC and to this day claims to hate the place. Okay, I admit to wearing Yank fan blinders, and it's much easier to be gracious when your team leads by seven, but I thought Joe Girardi and Anthony Rizzo seemed to go much easier on Boston than the Redsocks deserved. This was a full-scale team meltdown.   

All things considered, I suppose they had a better week than Cornell. But that's about it.

 8. The Yankees won overcoming a nor'easter of unrelenting gale-force bile. I suggest you visit the Sons of Sam Horn to savor the today's cesspool of angry comments from the Fenway Nation. It will do you good. To me, reading a Boston day-after doomscroll is tantamount to running barefoot through a field of erect nipples.

9. The Yankees won without Stanton and/or Judge. And that may be how this whole thing has to be. I have a feeling that Stanton won't make the Tampa series, as Boone will add another pitcher and, if a pinch hitter is needed, it will be the Captain. I don't mean to badmouth Giancarlo. I'm sure he worked hard to be available for the postseason. But there is no role for him in Tampa, and the final roster spot should go to somebody, anybody, who had a greater role in getting the Yankees here. 

10. The Yankees won without John. Forgive me here for breaking the vibe. But I wish John Sterling had lived to see this. He deserved a final championship, and the Yankees failed him. I guess you'd say, That's baseball, Suzyn. But that raises another thought: She's 80. Let's hope that they don't fail her. 

Shouldn't be surprised...

That Girardi was joining the fun and rooting for the Red Sox. In a more subtle way than the other guys (h/t Rizzo, who stayed out of it...maybe why they hardly used him), but that's the way Joe does things. Remember how much he resented Posada because he had to teach Jorge how to catch better? Then he seethed, waiting his chance, became manager, and in Jorge's final season, Joe treated him like shit. Humiliated him. Benched him. Generally was a complete asshole.

Mr. Nice Guy...on the surface

That's how Girardi is. And he's not even Sicilian, although I can't vouch for his mother's side. Holds a grudge, waits for his chance, often gets his revenge in a passive-aggressive fashion, like he did last night and the night before. Careful not to look too obviously one-sided because he doesn't want to be labeled as the nasty hardass jarhead he can be.

The Yanks fired him. Sure, YES hired him, eventually. And he actually does call a good game when he works with Kay. That is not a venue for revenge, it's just hometown homers watching.

But on the national stage...well, that's different.

We won't be getting his either smart insights or disguised favortism during the Rays series. It's on TBS, and this is the likely announcer lineup.

Goodbye Joe, we gotta go, me-oh my-oh.

2026 ALDS Broadcast Information

Networks: TBS, truTV, and Max (HBO Max)
Primary Play-by-Play: Brian Anderson or Alex Faust
Analysts / Color Commentators: Ron Darling and Jeff Francoeur
Studio Hosts: Lauren Shehadi and Adam Lefkoe
Studio Analysts: Pedro Martinez, Curtis Granderson, and Jimmy Rollins

AL Wild Card Series – Game Two – 54 √s 54 . . .

"THE BRAIN TRUST" 

The Very Definition of a D-Bag

A Sox fan was at the game last night wearing his "I'm a coward who punches people while hiding behind his mask" shirt.

I hope he wears his good luck shirt again tonight since it worked so well last night.

Classless mofo.

The platoon lives. Tonight, it's the Yankee all-but Lombard lefty lineup

 

The Weymouth Wonder and the Cohasset Kid: 10 takeaways from Night One

Wotta game, wotta night! Ten joyous ponderings.

1. Yanks won without using BLACKHEAD - the bullpen duo of Paul Blackburn and Brent Headrick - and/or WARCAR - secondary starters Will Warren and Carlos Rodon. Tonight, all arms should be locked and loaded. No excuses. It needs to end tonight. 

2. Gag me. Tonight, we won't have to hear any more about the wonderful, beloved, free-spirited Ted Lasso-esque, Disney animation - jolly Payton Tolle, who is cherished by all. 

Look, I'm sorry that the guy lost his mom, but God save us from the incessant, chirpy, NBC broadcast booth happy talk. 

3. In Houston, the Astros got booed by their own fans. Not only that, but they played in front of thousands of empty seats. They're blaming a spoiled fan base. I say it's karma. 

The gristmill of the Gods grinds slowly, but infinitely fine.

4. In my life of wasted Yankee doomscrolling, (before there even was doomscrolling) I cannot remember having two New England native stars like Cam Schlittler (Weymouth) and Ben Rice (Cohasset.) From conversations, I can tell you that Redsock fans are absolutely terrified of them. 

Can we scare up a Massachusetts connection to George Lombard Jr? (Damn. Just checked. He grew up in Miami.)  

5. Michael King took a no-hitter into the seventh for Sad San Diego. Another reason to loathe Juan Soto.

6. Great to see the bottom of the Yankee order contribute. A solid October could save Austin Wells, who last summer seemed to be the team's Gone Girl. And then there's Anthony Volpe, whose Travolta-like career has already conjured up his obit several times. 

How many times have we bade him farewell? Ten times? Twenty?

7. Last night balanced on several fulcrum points that could have crushed us. The lazy DP liner that caught Lombard off second base. The diving shovel toss DP grounder. Both are the kind of plays that haunted us all year. Boston failed to exploit them. Not exactly a team of destiny. 

8. I wonder if, deep down inside, Aaron Judge is secretly terrified that the Yankees could get hot and win a world series without him? 

Well, it won't happen. Any scenario that takes this team deep into October is going to hinge on Judge's return - for better or worse.

9. In a perfect Yankiverse, we save a ninth inning rally against El Chapo. We've waited patiently. It needs to happen, and I believe the juju gods are ready to pull the trigger.

10. Sonny Gray tonight. Our lefty lineup. That means Jazz, Garcia, McMahon, et al - and Giancarlo. Yes, he'll pinch hit, probably in a big situation with the fans going wild. A classic moment, like the first movie glimpse of Dracula - waiting to happen. 

Make no mistake. This aint over. A bunch of moments are yet to play out. How many times this year, after scoring a bunch of runs, did the offense then run ice cold? We must not let this thing survive into Thursday.

Cam was Cam and Rice was Rice and Ramos just really sucks

And never the twain shall meet. Amen.

Really, Grisham was a defensive replacement? Really? I had to laugh watching the Peacock replay when those words escaped the announcer's mouth. (Boone, of course, is an idiot.)

117 pitches from Cam. Let's hope his arm doesn't fall off this postseason.

Come on, Maxie. You can send those Red bastards home tonight.

You know, I never liked Torre, and I ended up not liking Binder Boy Jarhead at the end of his term, but he is sooooooooooo much smarter than the Baboone.

This is not the Helios Cash was looking for. We got the King of the Space Wasting People.

AL Wild Card Series – Game One – He's Baaaaaaaaaaack !

 

WILL WE SEE A CANTRUNIAN BLAST ?

Goldy and Rosie, the righties, start tonight.

 

Dear Yankees, have you happened to notice NYC's celebration of the Knicks?

Dear Owner Hal, Manager Boonie, Captain Judge and team...

I hope you watched Saturday night when Jalen Brunson hosted SNL. He appeared in sketches, cracked jokes with fellow Knicks and even got to introduce Katseye. The crowd loved him. It's also worth noting that the last bigtime pro jock to host the show ended up bagging Taylor Swift. As the Scooter would say, not chopped liver.

So, our message, in an IIHIIFIIc nutshell: 

It's nice to win a world championship in New York.

I'm not overselling this. If you can win, say, tonight and tomorrow, send Boston home to the nor'easter and head for Tampa - dengue fever capital of Florida and your home away from home - we'll start chanting "Yanks in five!" From there, who knows? Come Halloween, that could be you up there with Mayor Mamdani, the Mango and his Human Printer.

Beat Boston, and I guarantee you will be fondly remembered on this site. (Unless you crap the bed in Tampa.) Win a ring. Spring us from this doomscrolling prison. For a few weeks, let us forget the war, the price of gas, corruption, hurricanes, A.I., screw worms, ICE raids, data centers, Flock cameras, measles, Lake America, Putin, China, Musk, press bans, Canada, tariffs, airline pilots who are secret furries and the Epstein files. 

Dear God, give us a jolly October, and when your flatbed passes on the Canyon of Heroes, we will scream your names and fling confetti unto the cosmos.

Give us a joyous October - a month for respite - and the greatest city in the world, home to the greatest fan base in the world... it will all be yours. Yours! YOURS! 

And maybe Katseye, too!

For game one, how about a serving of Camlos Schlitdon?

Before diving into this primordial ooze, let's acknowledge that this is merely pregame crapola, a special kind of nothingness, even more nothing than your standard nothingnesses, which are total nothingburgers. 

All pregame sports fodder - TV shows, "bold" print predictions and online drivel - slides into a slop-bucket of nothingness that stands out, even in these warm seas of influencer piss. Today and tomorrow, whatever we say, write or think will not matter one whit (as opposed to our regular season bullshit, which tugs the heartstrings of the juju gods.) In the leadup to Tuesday night, we can say anything. So can Michael Kay, or Boone, or Trump, or your Mom. We are in a pre-pregame mode. All that matters is Tuesday night.

That said, this we know...   

Apparently, the Yankees will start Cam Schlittler. Thank God. Anybody else would tear a giant rift in the Yankiverse. There is nothing more cowardly than dissing your staff ace. For better or worse, it must be Schlittler.  

But we all can recall stinker outings by our No. (Looking at you, Gerrit.) If Schlittler gives up a two-run blast in the first, Boone will develop an itchy trigger-finger. He might decide Schlittler is having an off-night, and it will be better to save him for a redemptive appearance in game three, if there is one. 

If Schlittler gets into trouble, we will need an emergency Plan B. That could be Paul Blackburn and Brent Headrick, who have gallantly put out fires all season. But we might lose them for game two. On that note, I would suggest moving to our best starting pitcher in recent weeks, the mercurial Carlos Rodon. 

Yep, Camlos Schlitdon: Five innings from Schlittler, four from Rodon. A righty starts, a lefty finishes. They never get comfortable. We hold the platoon advantage.    

In game two, we start LH Max Fried and, if/when he gets into trouble, move to RH Will Warren. Maxill Fredren. 

We still have Blackburn and Headrick - Blackrick? - and can move to David Bednar for a five-out save - Headnar? 

Some 3-D chess here. Make no mistake: The Redsocks will do the same. Moreover, they have pitchers with particular axes to grind - Sonny Grey and Aroldis Chapman. But both have already enacted vengeance over their treatment in NYC (and frankly, El Chapo has yet to be adequately punished for the bullshit he brought us.) 

Ah, but whatever we say, it doesn't matter. Not today. Not tomorrow. Only Tuesday night matters. 

Still, let me assure you: 

If the Yankees fail this week, the wrath of this website will be First Testament Biblical, and it will make that no-named Nor'easter look like a backyard kiddie sprinkler. 

To go easier, all we must do is beat Boston. Do that, and we will always have a secret smile for 2026. And it starts Tuesday night.

End of the Season – RAIN DELAY – game thread . . .

. . . Something Educational and Upbeat . . . 

Schadenfreude Week, Day Seven! Because, let's face it, schadenfreude is all we have left.

 "I just want you to hurt like I do

Honest I do

Honest I do

Honest I do..."

—Randy Newman

Pretty much everything that went wrong this year for the New York Mets…is everything that has gone wrong before. Again and again.

Look at all the proven stars who came to Queens—and disappointed or underperformed. All the Jim Fregosis and the George Fosters, the Jeromy Burnitzes and Mo Vaughns and Roberto Alomars, the Bobby Bonillas and Vince Colemans and Bret Saberhagens.  

All the promising young players who were traded away and achieved stardom elsewhere, the Amos Otises and Nolan Ryans and Jeff Kents and Daniel Murphys.  The young guys who never did quite achieve lift-off, the Steve Hendersons and Lee Mazillis and Jay Paytons and Michael Confortos and Travis d’Arnauds and John Mains.

The tragic demises—and revivals elsewhere—of Dwight Gooden and Daryl Strawberry.

The Mets are known for their pitching, for all the strong young arms who are going to turn the team around. But how often do they bloom or die—or die first? Or bloom elsewhere?

Remember “Generation K” (Jason Isringhausen, Bill Pulsipher, and Paul Wilson)?  How about “The Fab Five” (Jacob deGrom, Noah Syndergaard, Matt Harvey, Noah Syndergaard, Zach Wheeler, Steve Matz)? 

Even the great young 1980s starters, Doc and Ron Darling and “El Sid” Fernandez and David Cone, were gone so soon. Jerry Koosman and Nolan Ryan won 20 games outside of New York, and Tom Seaver pitched a no-hitter…with Cincinnati.

Sixty-five seasons in, the New York Mets are the one and only major-league baseball team that has lasted over five years in NYC and failed to produce a winning record. The figures don't lie:

New York Yankees:  10,963-8,283   .570

New York Giants:        5,959-4798    .554

Brooklyn Dodgers:     5624-5,280   .516 

New York Mets:           4,972-5,312   .483

How to account for this? I think, gentlemen, that we are looking at a curse.

Sure, there has been much ballyhoo about supposed curses in baseball before. But I think that we can safely dismiss them as hooey—hooey, I tells ya!

The Curse of the Bambino up in Boston? Try the curse of never wanting to acquire many Black or Hispanic players.

The curse of that billygoat in Chicago? Please. Since when are goats allowed in the ballpark, even in Chicago? Besides, the Cubbies had already failed to win it all for 37 years and dropped five straight World Series before that alleged goat voodoo.

(If anything, it should've been the Curse of Fred Merkle, but don't get me started!)

I digress.

If there IS a Mets curse—and I say there is, dammit!—what should we call it?

The Curse of Robert Moses, the guy who did so much damage to the city (as well as some good, debate amongst yourselves), and who desperately wanted the UN out in Flushing Meadows, not a ballpark?

But it was Moses who put the park out there in the first place—which was one of his better ideas. Why would he curse his own creation?

The Curse of William Shea, the guy who managed to create the Mets in the first place, and whose park they deep-sixed? 

But Shea was, by all accounts, an incredible mensch, who would do things like see to it that whole troops of kids got to go to the ballpark every summer...along with enough spending money to buy hot dogs and popcorn and soda.

When he had an extended hospital stay, and his room was filled with flowers from friends, he saw to it that flowers were sent anonymously to everybody else on the wing, too.

(Read my forthcoming book!!)

Ahem. Sorry about that advertisement for myself. 

But the fact remains, why would such a terrific person—one who was often amused that nobody knew who he was—want to curse the team he struggled so to bring into being? Or anybody?

No, that leaves only one possible name for the curse:

The Curse of Fishhooks McCarthy.

That is, John A. "Fishhooks" McCarthy, the Tammany sachem who would infamously go to mass every morning and pray, "O, Lord, give us health and strength. We'll steal the rest."

It was Fishhooks who created the great "Valley of Ashes" portrayed so ominously by Fitzgerald in The Great Gatsby; Fishhooks who made the gigantic ash dump that underlies everything out by where the Metsies play. 

Okay, sure, so maybe you don't like the idea of a moral universe in which a conniving, thieving, colorful machine boss can cast curses from the hereafter?  Fussy, fussy, fussy.  We need a curse name for the Metsies, and we need it now!

Speaking of black magic, I'm sure all of my schadenfreude will redound against us. Hence my closing image of the regular season, courtesy of our own, Above Average. Yes, soon they will be sweeping up our little heads.

Knicks in Five!

 

Heading into the Boston series, the Four Yankee Questions of the Apocalypse

It's hard to imagine, but sometimes, you read a headline and wonder... Can this really be true? 

Lately, I've seen a few about the Yankees, from theoretically reputable sources, such as the Internet. I see the story. I cannot believe it. But apparently, there is some basis of fact behind it. On that note...

 The Four Yankee Questions of the Apocalypse.

1. Are the Yankees really thinking about activating Giancarlo?

Seriously. This is insane. Didn't we try this with Nasty Nestor two Octobers ago? You cannot bring a guy back after missing a year and expect him to produce. Moreover, you cannot bring a guy back after missing a year and expect him to produce... when he cannot even run the bases. 

To win this series, the Yankees will need hustle and defense. Giancarlo Stanton can provide neither.  

2. If Judge thinks he's good to go, is Boone really going to overrule him?

If Judge thinks he's ready, who's going to stop him? You wanna get in his way? Go ahead, but I sure don't. I doubt Boonie does either. Let the big dog run. If he tweaks a gonad, he tweaks a gonad. If he goes 0-8, so be it. He's Captain. He gets to decide. 

Let the big dog run!  

3. Is there anybody who can ferry us to Bednar?

All season, whenever we needed an out, it was Brent Headrick. And he always came through. Last month, he had one of the best ERAs of any reliever in the game, well below 2.00. He should have been named to the All-Star Game. 

Now, that ERA is up to 2.18. The guy has thrown 78 innings. His 81 games pitched is second in all of baseball. That's Scott Proctor territory. (Actually, Scott threw 102 one year.) The poor guy is throwing on stems and seeds. We have nobody else. Does he have two games left? If not, who gets us to the 9th?

4. Will we finally get to see that inevitable, epic, long-awaited Aroldis meltdown?

When El Chapo joined Boston, Yank fans silently rejoiced. We all knew where it was headed: To the out-of-body experience of an Aroldis Chapman collapse. 

I get shivers, just thinking of it... 

The manic scowl. The glistening tattoos. The rivulets of hyperbolic sweat pouring off the brim of his cap. Oh, yeah. The first walk. Ohh, baby. The second walk. Keep it coming. The three-run blast. OHHH! The insane smile. Haha. Yes, he stands there, glaring AND smiling. Oh, yes, yes, yessss.  

Will we get to see it? The Apocalypse is near. 

It's STILL Schadenfreude Week! Day 6! Can—will—the Mets rebuild???

I apologize for leaving off my smug reveling in the agonies of our crosstown chums, something occasioned by that grim intervention into human joy known as “work.” 

But now, on a damp, depressing day with no ballgame—a presaging of what is to come for us maybe as early as next week, let's stoke our freude again by celebrating the misery of others.  

The question yet remains: can the Mets rebuild? Again?

We started off by consulting the highest metaphysical authorities. And as the Magic Eight Ball would say, “Outlook not so good.”

Let us consider:

In six years of constant churn, the Mets have risen to a tie for first—and plummeted back to last. 

They have some hitters, and they may soon have one of the best all-around—and youngest—outfields in baseball, with Juan Soto, Carson Benge, and A.J. Ewing. 

But after a hard-slugging rookie season, their much-touted catcher, Francisco Alvarez, has looked more like Gary Sanchez. 

Marcus Semien, who they got to fill a hole at second, is 35 and has had his third straight poor year at the plate. Francisco Lindor, who has generally been an outstanding shortstop for them, was plagued by injuries and looked shaky when he did play. He’ll be 33 next year.

Bo Bichette bounced back after an awful start at third, but they never could find anyone who came close to replacing Pete Alonso at first. All sorts of young guys and vets alike who they counted on giving the team depth—Brett Baty, Mark Vientos, Ronny Mauricio, Jorge Polanco, Luis Robert, Jr., and Jarred Young—have failed to click, or flopped outright.

The pitching, meanwhile, was a disaster in 2026. The Mets are now touting their best young arms—Nolan McLean, Christian Scott, Zac Thornton, and Jonah Tong—as the core of an exciting new staff. But they’re not that young—24, 27, 24, and 23, respectively—and between them, they won all of 23 major-league games this year.

Edwin Diaz signing with the Dodgers at the start of the year was maybe not the terrible blow it seemed, but the Mets failed to come up with a replacement closer. They tried out Kodai Senga for the role, but his famous ghost pitch continues to ghost him. Other than that, it’s good ol’ “Mr. Soft Stuff,” Devin Williams, who was bad, then hurt. And he’ll be back again.

The Mets dealt away Clay Holmes and Luke Weaver, who had both been very effective for them—part of a huge, trading deadline purge that saw them deal away over one-quarter of the roster.

In return…they really didn’t get all that much. The best pick-ups look to be Jefferson Rojas, a middle-infielder who hit 27 homers in AA and a little bit of AAA ball this year, and who may be the real deal; Sammy Stafura, another good-looking middle infielder, from upstate, who is 21 but is  only in A+ ball, and maybe Bruin Agbayani, the son of Benji. 

(Yes, we’re THAT old.)

Beyond that, there wasn’t much added to a Mets farm system that in 2026 performed at, well, Cashmanic levels.

The Triple-A, Syracuse Mets, a hodgepodge of players moving up and down, managed a winning record and narrowly missed the playoffs this year. 

Other than that, only one of the Mets’ Dominican Summer League teams finished over .500. The system as a whole played .462 ball, with a 5.02 ERA, and a .722 OPS. 

By contrast, the Yanks’ less-then-stellar system played .539 ball, with a 4.82 ERA and a .798 OPS.

To give you an idea of just what disarray the Mets were in, some 39 hurlers pitched for the major-league team, and 64 for Syracuse—and no one won more than 5 games for the 'Cuse.

Sure, if there is major-league baseball next year, the Mets could sign, say, Tarik Skubal, and maybe Trent Grisham and Jazz Chisholm (I kid, I kid), hope that Lindor bounces back, find areal  closer somehow, somewhere, hope the kids keep developing in the outfield and maybe—maybe—put together a playoff contender again.

But even after six years of a heavy Wall Street hitter investing mightily in this team—even after a guy widely acknowledged as one of the best general managers in baseball has been in charge for three seasons—even with the hiring of what seems to be another baseball savvy manager, in Andy Green…the Mets still look to be going nowhere much. And for many years to come.

How could this happen?  

The answer now seems obvious. Tune in again tomorrow, the last day of the regular season—and the last day of Schadenfreude Week (more than coincidence?)...