Creeping Metsism?

So today's the day we'll retire C.C. Sabathia's number 52, in a hastily rearranged, weekday ceremony at the Stadium. (You stay classy, Yankees.)

Hey, I love me some CC. He made our last World Series win—let's face it, the last Yankees World Series win in our lifetimes—possible, and had some great years and some very big games for us.

But retire his number? The ultimate tribute?

This has creeping Metsism all over it—the need to search high and low for new people and accomplishments to celebrate, in lieu of actual rings. It reeks of that organization in Queens so desperate that it just retired the number of a player most famous for getting caught looking in a heartbreaking loss—a player so enmeshed in a cheating scandal that they could not hire him to be their manager.

It smacks of how so many of YES' "Yankees Classics" are now Mets-level, too. Once, we got to see Mickey Mantle winning the 1952 World Series in Ebbets Field. Now, we get the likes of George Lombard, Jr.'s first game.

Meh.

CC won 134 games for us in 11 seasons, which is not nothing. He won 21 games once, in 2010, after giving us 19 wins in 2009. But he never won a Cy Young for us, never led the league in strikeouts or ERA for anybody, never won a single World Series game. Hey, that last one was on Joba. But still.

I'm very glad that CC overcame his addiction problems, even though they left him unable to be on the roster for the 2015 season—and even though he turned in four straight, abominable years for us. Hey, life happens.

But retire his number?  

All right, sure. The game has changed, and so have the numbers. He gave us his all, and he was a blithe spirit, when he wasn't suffering, and I'll always give him credit for his gutsy effort in Game Four of the 2009 World Series, and shutting down Baltimore to win the 2012 ALDS.

But if CC's number is going to be retired, a lot of other pitchers' should be, too.

There's "Happy Jack" Chesbro, who won a record, 41 games for the old Highlanders back in 1904. Okay, that was before they wore numbers, and retiring "names" always seemed a little silly to me.

"What, you're ALSO named Jack Chesbro? I'm afraid you'll have to change that moniker before you pitch for the New York Yankees, son."

But still. There are also, oh, Waite Hoyt, Herb Pennock, Red Ruffing, Lefty Gomez, Allie Reynolds, Eddie Lopat, Vic Raschi, and Mel Stottlemyre—all of whom actually won World Series games...

We can talk about Sparky Lyle, Goose Gossage, and Dave Righetti later.

Congratulations, Mr. Sabathia.

Speaking of bloopers...

 

My wife took this actual screenshot the night of a Cam Schlittler start a couple weeks ago.

For the record, Marc Malusis, on SNY's SportsNite, got his name exactly right. The AI machine did not.

Or...did it?

Just what is that weird sort of penumbra and those wavy lines behind Malusis?  

We DO love Hitler. We ALL love Hitler.  Right?  RIGHT???

A perfect storm? Could Boston blow this?

For weeks now, Yank fans have awaited next Tuesday - September 29th, a day that could live in infamy - when the Death Barge would face Boston, once and for all, to cast final judgement upon 2026: 

Is it a year when we vanquish our greatest foe? Or fail miserably?

It seemed brutally simple: A three-game, make-or-break series. 

All else has been prelude. 

Suddenly, that outcome looks as foggy as the eastern horizon. With a new "storm of the century" approaching, lo and behold! the Redsocks could still blow this. 

Suddenly, Boston needs to beat the Cubs this weekend in a doomsday tempest that has already blown up the schedule. (They'll play two today.) If they blow it, Boston could drop in the wild card standings, leaving the Yankees to play the Cleveland Indians Commanders Browns Cavaliers Guardians, whatever. 

As the Yankees/Railrideers phone in their final three against Baltimore, this could be unexpectedly fun to watch. Why?

Well, if there's anything more enjoyable than watching Boston lose, it's watching Boston lose during a driving rainstorm. 

How about a mud bath at home plate! Some golf ball-sized hail? Horizonal rain. Come on, ESPN! Come on, Weather Channel. Bring it on. I will happily watch.  

Kooky Kapers

Fulmer threw a pitch that had to be a yard and a half outside, bouncing to the wall behind the plate. It was the funniest thing I've seen in weeks. Just so perfect.

Second funniest? Helium makes a stupid throw to third and Rosario watches it bounce by, a look of total confusion and helplessness on his face. It was a dumb throw and not a great one, but holy Hannah. Schlitter hadn't even bothered to get into position to back him up, so another run for Tampa.

Third funniest, at least in this game, and close for second overall: A potential double play turns into another Tampa run as Gil manages to get to first and the ball hits him in the worst place possible--his glove--but he doesn't catch it, because he's looking around worried that the runner might bump him (he wasn't going to)--only possibly why he dropped it. Could be he was just incompetent or overwhelmed or wishing he could relive his rookie season again.

Fourth funniest--not as funny, because it had a positive result--has to be that insane non-slide by Lombard to score on a wild pitch. That was hysterical and borderline genius. (That being the second wild pitch thrown to the same batter also got a lol out of me.)

Starting Cole instead of Schlittler in the first Boston game would definietly be somewhere on the list of  "season's funniest moments," but we have yet to see that for sure. It would be classic Boone. 

Actually, starting Cole over Rodon in Game 2 would be another moment of humorous Boone Boners, and I think we can count on that one.

Of course, finishing one game behind Tampa would be classic, if not funny, although it could have been done to greater dramatic pineapple effect. With the pitching we had, and even with the disappearing offense, we could've won the divisional walking away, were it not for our fearless on-field leader.

Fearless. And an idiot.

Let's Go Schlittler – CAM! CAM! CAM! CAM! CAM!

09/24/26

Along with tallying their 9-run weekly allotment, Yanks showcase their Circle of Trust to the team they must beat

In a meaningless game, piled atop a pointless universe, dangling from an inconsequential reality, inside a hollow outcome, the Yankees last night seemed to vanquish their personal Babadook - the hateful Rays of Tampa - in an irrelevant AL East. 

They scored nine runs, behind four HRs, including a grand slam that turned a game into a laugher, where both teams - and the YES barkers - yearned for an off-switch. 

Soon - maybe by 2030, the doomsayers insist? - our A.I. robot overlords might decide to irradicate this planet's main problem: Humanity. If so, I will blame Yankee Classics culled from 2026 as the final straw that prompts Skynet to no longer see us as adorable house pets, remembered for Post-It notes and Hello Kitty. Nope. Watching another year go down the drain, enroute to another Dodgers' championship - that would have me declaring war on this babbling civilization of meat puppets. I'm sure Claude will agree. 

So, last night we watched Gerrit Cole, Paul Blackburn, Brent Headrick and David Bednar - Boonie's entire Circle of Trust - give Tampa a chance to see what they might face in two weeks, if the Yankees survive Boston. In more believable realities, teams that have clinched an October don't give their future rival a long look at what's coming. Not the Yankees. Not the Mind-Master Boone. We used them all in a nine-run blowout.   

Okay, I get it that the Yankees had to pitch someone. I also understand that Cole needs work, as he will probably start Game Two against Boston. Still, what was the point of using the entire bullpen? It's time for Elmer Rodriguez and Carlos LaGrange. If Angel Chivilli can lift an elbow, give him some snaps from center. 

I'm sorry. I'm not myself. I'm an NYC TradFan - Yanks and Giants- and our world this week has been rocked by the injuries to Aaron Judge and Jaxson Dart. 

If you don't see this as a bad omen - a sign of the looming Yankeapocalypse -  then you should tear the foam insulation stuffing out of your lucky mattress. The Yankees could be done by this time next week. And the Giants already look headed to the glue factory. I suppose we have the Bills? But what about MLB? Should we adopt a second team? It's gonna rain all weekend. A nor-easter in October? WTF? How does anybody feel hopeful?

Nibblin' on some Cole Kibble whilst watching tonight's game (thread)

 

 

 

And where SHOULD the Yankees be?

 

Once again, I interrupt Schadenfreude Week to riff off El Duque's lament for the 2026 season—one which we have been lamenting, as usual, since June—let's look at where the statistics say the "Run It Back" Yankees SHOULD have finished in the American League in 2026.

According to the amazing people at baseball reference, an invaluable source, that should have been the top of the world, Ma!

Overall, when it comes to Wins-Over-Replacement value (WAR), the Yankees are first in the AL, at 14.1.  A close second is another erratic, under-achieving team this year, the Boston Red Sox, at 13.9.  

Tampa Bay, the team that leads them both by a wide margin in the East Division, is at only 7.9.

Driving the Yankees statistical lead is, unsurprisingly, pitching, at 13.1, compared to 6.0 for the next highest, Guardians of Traffic. The Yanks also have a wide lead in starting pitching—10.4, over 5.5 for Detroit—and even a narrow one in relief pitching, at 2.7 to 1.9 for Chicago.

Where do the Yanks fall down?  Well, everywhere else.

Yankees non-pitchers have a WAR of 1.0, or just about average in the AL, good for 6th place. They do not have a position at which they lead the league—though remarkably, we are only 13th at catcher, above the White Sox and Angels.

But here is the failure, plain and simple. The Yanks got surprisingly, overwhelmingly good starting pitching, and even decent relief pitching. 

Brian Cashman failed to back this with a team that could hit its weight, or pay attention for many games, and a manager who had feel for the game.

What a waste.

Aaron Judge, Jaxxon Dart, and Fill In The Blank (And why it doesn't matter)

I have been a sports fan my entire life. It is my preferred mode of entertainment. I appreciate the not knowing, the not guessing, and especially the not figuring out how it ends.

Well, to be fair, we all pretty much figured out how “Running it back” was going to go. I mean they basically told us that they wouldn’t fix the major problems, we would win ninety-plus games but not the division, and that they would have to beat the Red Sox to make the “real playoffs” .

Yet, even in the above example, we still don’t “know” how it will turn out. The Yankees “could” win the World Series. They won’t. I’d be stunned if they beat the Red Sox. But they “could” win it all.

It’s a crap shoot. Well, crap anyway.

While watching the Giants last weekend, a game where they lost Jaxxon Dart, damaged Malik Nabors, lost Brian Burns, and saw Andrew (Giancarlo) Thomas limp off the field, again, a song kept playing in my head.

It was Jimi Hendrix’s “Castles Made of Sand”.  

Hendrix, while not a castle made of sand, washed into the sea too soon as well.

--

Fandom is such a strange thing. To root for a team is to end the year in disappointment. Pretty much always. For everyone. 

Only one team wins a year and then immediately struggles to repeat. Sometimes going decades in-between “Here comes Willis!” and “Knicks in Five!”  

Some teams never win at all. The Buffalo Bills went to the Super Bowl four years in a row. Four. Years. In. A. Row. From 1991-1994 Didn’t win any of them. 

The Atlanta Braves with Madux, Glavine, Smoltz  etc. won division titles 14 of 15 years and won the World Series once. 

You know who wears all those New England Patriots, “Perfect Season 19-0 Super Bowl Champions” T-Shirts? The ones they printed up for immediate sale?  

“Unused Super Bowl loser shirts are donated by the NFL to nonprofits like Good360, which distributes them to families in need worldwide.” 

Worldwide because the only people in the USA that would wear those shirts are us.  As a thumb in the eye of Boston fandom.   

--

So why do we do it?  Why do we drop $150 on a Tuesday for a ticket with the understanding that they might totally suck that day? That the players you want to see might be taking the day off. That Aaron Boone might decide to have a back-up catcher bat clean up?

Let’s face it if Aaron Boone managed the Beatles they would have kept Pete Best but had him play lead guitar and put John Lennon on drums.

What other ticket has that kind of risk?

So maybe that’s the secret.

The risk. The hope. The lack of guarantee.  Maybe we watch because there actually is a possibility. A miniscule one. That we will see something organic and amazing.

A potential 29-point comeback that looked like it was going to end in failure with our best player missing the final shot. And then a hand comes out of nowhere to tip it in.

Years of suffering erased. Overwhelming joy.  A joy that can only come from years, decades of suffering defeat.  A joy that resonates now and will resonate in nostalgia.

--

Aaron Judge. Jaxxon Dart.  Fill in the Blank. 

Their injuries don’t matter. 

If we win…  if we win without them, it becomes the stuff of legend.

If we lose it becomes yet another deposit in the bank of disappointment we call fandom and will make when we finally win that much sweeter. 

There’s a reason that Chris Chambliss's Home Run brought tears to my eyes.

For the record, right after that we got swept.

The next year Reggie hit three home runs in one game and the tears flowed yet again.

The bank was finally empty.

And then slowly filled up until 1996.  So it goes.

It’s why we watch.

After 157 games, the fate of the Yankees boils down to the frustration of what could have been

Five games left, still treading water, and nothing has changed.

We launched 2026 with concerns at catcher, shortstop, third base and centerfield. Six months later, none of the problems has been resolved. Next week, the Death Barge must face its supreme nemesis, the Redsocks, who have owned us in this Trump-dominated millennium. 

Excuse me if next week doesn't look like a replay of the last 17 Octobers, a lineup of future YES Anti-Classics, to be beamed into our homes like reruns of Glee.   

Keeping with the questionable legacy of Brian "Cooperstown" Cashman, the Yankees are once again limping to the Babadook finish line of a forgettable season. 

Is this some hallucination? PTSD? Is it an A.I. projection? Should we be counting fingers? Will we soon see a sideline report from Tilly Norwood? I always assumed The Matrix was just a movie. Was it, in fact, a glitch in The Matrix?

How else do you explain this...

Aaron Judge has a tweaked calf. WTF is it with calves? Who tweaks a calf walking to the dugout? His fractured rib rehab lasted seven games, ending when he homered. Now, should we even root for his fast return - and the 0-12 that probably comes with it?  

Giancarlo Stanton is a full-blown punch line, bordering on Louis C.K. cringe, as the Yankees publicly ponder his return as a pinch hitter. This is insane. Guy can't run, can't field, and won't have swung a live bat since April. But he might play in the postseason? That is batshit, bull-goose looney, Randall McMurphy, Cuckoos Nest nuts. 

Once again, as in Groundhog Day, we're hoping for the magical transformation of Anthony Volpe. Guy's a Kleenex that sticks to your fingers when you throw it away. They now say Volpe could play 3B. Why not? Ryan McMahon and Amed Rosario sure can't.  

George Lombard Jr. arrived as the next Jeter and has devolved into the latest Isiah Kiner-Falefa. Two months in, we still don't know what we have. 

Our bullpen is flat-out exhausted, as every Yankee victory of late seemed to require Boone to use Blackburn, Headrick and Bednar - all of whom show signs of cracking.

Back in March, we saw these problems. Clear as a bell. We just figured they could be addressed. We had Hal's inheritance. We had a farm system. We had the trade deadline. We had options, we failed, and we're supposed to celebrate Cashman's work? 

I'm sorry. I suppose we should rejoice over making the postseason. Look at the Mets. Look at the Jersey Giants and Jets. But really, who here does not look at the 2026 Yankees and see the cracks?  

Go ahead, owners. Come winter, lock us out! You'll be doing Yank fans a favor.

Game Two Thread – What Rhymes with Urinal Cake ?

09–22–26

The end is... forestalled

Yanks win 2-0, but Suzyn says it's "inevitable" that Tampa celebrates on hallowed Yankee soil. 

That's baseball, John.

Game One Thread – Uh . . . Like . . . You Know . . . Savages

With two games today, the end is near.

Lemme get this straight. Jose Caballero wants revenge. Last year, when the Rays ditched him, they hurt his feelings. He hasn't forgotten. For months now, he's been silently seething, festering, waiting for payback. Now, in this John Carpenter fog of late September, Cabby intends to bring down the jackboot of justice via his personal vendetta scrapbook? 

Sum it up?

I ask - humbly, sincerely - because it's hard to imagine anyone else still chasing the fiery clown car known as the 2026 Yankee season. In theory, the Yankees could sweep Tampa in four games and hit the final weekend like Van Morrison in The Last Waltz, (though they'd still probably more channel Neil Diamond.)  It's not gonna happen. Everybody knows it, including the Cabster. 

God bless the guy for clutching hope, but did he witness the same regular season we did?

The last six months have been a year of runners on second and third with no outs - and we don't score even a run. It's been a year when our Cy Young candidate - the worthy Cam Schlittler - has only won only 14 games. It's a year we lost Aaron Judge, gave up on the Martian, and said farewell to Giancarlo, presumably forever. 

What was the Yankee highlight of 2026?

Watching the Knicks win the NBA.

What finished second? 

Watching the Mets fall apart. 

Soon, the season will boil down to a three-game playoff against Boston. Win, and we'll hug some measure of satisfaction, even after the Dodgers are done with us. Lose and - well - 2026 goes down as one of the most frustrating seasons in recent memory. 

So, today, let's play two. And let's get this pennant race thingy over with. By the time Kimmel does his monologue, the tail of the Titanic should be disappearing under the waves. I hope Cabby gets a few hits.

This is the end. Our only friend, the end. 

See you on the other side.

Schadenfreude Week (interrupted by "Day of Rage") Resumes! Day Five: Can the Mets Rebuild???

 

 

Someone—I think it was JM—said a couple days ago that the real question was whether Steve Cohen and David Stearns could rebuild the Mets. 

That’s a very good question, because it seems to me that the Mets never stop rebuilding. 

Just look at the Steve Cohen “era.” Cohen is, let’s face it, a crooked financier who should be in jail—something that makes him practically a choirboy amongst the sorts of riff raff who own major-league clubs. A self-made man, he also has a head for business.

After the abominable Wilpon & Katz, erstwhile friends of Bernie Madoff, had run the Mets into the ground, Cohen bought the team in late 2020. Sure, he made have wanted it mostly for the casino-real estate grab he was already envisioning out at Willets Point, but he clearly wanted the team to win.

After looking it over for a year, he let Sandy Alderson bring in Buck Showalter to manage, and shelled out for Max Scherzer to join Jacob deGrom in the rotation. He had already signed up Francisco Lindor, who had an outstanding year, as did such homegrown Mets as Pete Alonso, who led the league in ribbies, Jeff McNeil, who won a batting title, Brandon Nimmo, and closer Edwin Diaz.

The rebuilt 2022 Mets took off like a rocket, going 7 games up by early August, and still holding a 1-game lead with 6 to go.

Then, as they have so often over the past 30 years, the Metsies lost three straight to the Phillies Savannah Bananas Braves, finishing tied for the division title, but only qualifying for the wild card game. Which they lost to the Padres, 2 games to 1, despite playing all 3 games at home.

Still, the future looked bright. 

Jacob deGrom chose to sign with Texas, where he did nothing for the next two years, thanks to injury. But Cohen kept spending, bringing in Justin Verlander and Kodai Senga to replace him, and David “Houdini” Robertson as a set-up man. A ground round of catcher, Francesco Alvarez, came up and hit 25 home runs.  

But everything went wrong from the start. 

Diaz, incredibly, injured himself celebrating a win in the demonic World Baseball Classic, and was lost for the season. Alonso and McNeil’s averages drooped. Age finally caught up to Scherzer and Verlander, who started only 35 games between them. The team finished 12 games under .500.

Did Steve Cohen simply “run it back,” as a certain other owner and GM we know would have done? 

No, he did not. Time for the Mets to rebuild. Again

Cohen brought in David Stearns, widely regarded as a boy genius  of baseball for rebuilding Milwaukee. Stearns promptly fired poor Buck Showalter, and brought in an unheard-of Yankees dugout coach, Carlos Mendoza, to manage.

Harsh—and undeserved—as it was to give Buck his walking papers, I thought that Mendoza quickly proved to be a terrific manager, just the sort I would have rather had than Ol’ Mushmouth. 

And it all seemed to work. After a dreadful, 24-35 start, the un-pressurized, rebuilding  2024 Mets turned on the after burners. 

Stearns replaced Scherzer and Verlander with a rebuilt Luis Severino, and Sean Manaea. Along with a revived David Peterson, they pitched splendidly. He sent a message by jettisoning a temperamental reliever after he tossed his glove into the stands.

The team made the postseason by winning a wild, critical game in Atlanta the day before the season ended, then taking a thrilling Wild Card series on a big home run by Pete Alonso off Devin Williams (something that Mr. Cashman rigorously disregarded), thrashing the Philles in the NLDS, and giving the Dodgers much more of a fight than we did, in the Championship Series.

Once again, the future seemed bright. 

I thought the Mets were all set. They now had what I was always saying the Yanks needed: a savvy owner willing to spend money and leave the rest to his cunning GM, and an astute manager.

Stearns seemed like a wizard, snatching Juan Soto from us, along with less noticed but highly useful players, such as Clay Holmes and Luis Torrens. 

Once again, the Mets took off like a house-afire. They stumbled, but still led the division at the start of August. Then they fell flat on their collective faces, going 20-31 to miss the playoffs altogether. 

Stearns immediately went to make adjustments—maybe too many adjustments—letting Alonso and Diaz walk, trading Nimmo and McNeil, bringing in Bo Bichette, Marcus Semien, and Luis Robert, Jr. , talking a lot about “preventing” runs.

You saw what happened. Yet another collapse, thanks to injuries and age. The worthy Mendoza was fired. Kodai Senga’s famous “ghost pitch” was thoroughly exorcised. Alvarez missed yet another half-season with injuries. Stearns brought in his puzzling favorite of a closer, Devin Williams…who also, fortunately for the Mets, missed half the season with injuries.

By the trading deadline, the last-place Mets were…rebuilding. Again. For the third time in six years. While Steve Cohen was talking about “adding” a general manager to help club president Stearns.

So will anything change? Stay tuned!

 

 

 

 

Let us celebrate a night with no game: The last off-day of an off-year that threatens to become an off-decade.

Yank stats, last 15 days

According to one of the evil sports betting cartels - the real-life incarnation of Bond villains - the Yankees enter the final week of the 2026 season with a two (2) percent chance of winning the AL East. 

Two percent. 

Works for milk, I guess, though our batting order is more comparable to skim.  

To win the AL East, all we must do is sweep Tampa, a superior club in nearly every category, which brings to NY its usual, hateful vendetta issues, while having won eight of its last 10... 

While we rest a lost and tweakable Aaron Judge and an overworked bullpen, gasping for air.

While we rehab Jazz Chisholm and ask him to accept a platoon role at 2B, destroying his chance for a golden contract next winter.

While we try to assess what's wrong with Gerrit Cole and how to fix him, without mentioning his age. (Thirty-six.)

While we decide who in creation will play 3B and CF.

While we prepare to ask for even more from Cam Schlittler. 

It's like we're a week into Armageddon and still figuring out the musical playlist. But tonight, no game. (Unless we want to torture ourselves and watch the Jersey Gints.) 

And who the fuck is Schreiber?

 

I went to bed and we were up 4-1. I awake to the taste of pineapple, and not in my mouth.

Boone is saving guys for the three-game battle agains the Red Sox. He's been doing it for a while now, sneakily, so we didn't notice.

He had no intention to make a run at the Rays. And if we finish third behind Boston, well, who cares? Still the same playoff.

When we play Boston, he'll be saving guys for the Divisional Series against one of the .500 teams from the Central or West. Of course, they won't be very good, so he'll be saving guys for the big League Championship against Tampa. At which time, he'll be resting some of out best players and bullpen arms for the Dodgers.

We'll never get past Boston.

The Sunday Game Thread – Blessed Be Da Yank–ees

 

I SUDDENLY LOOKED UP

 ...and was horrified by what I saw on my TV screen.  

Perhaps the worst string of useless players I have ever witnessed:

Wells, Schuermann, Sanchez, Volpe, MacMahon Rosario and Caballero.  Add in a pitcher named

 Fulmer ( most common name amongst shelf-stockers in the CVS chain ), and watching a tie game ( at that moment0 was a waste of time. 

The game was lost the second I saw our starting centerfielder ( Cabby ).  And they waste the arm of Cam Schtitler for this?  When will Cashman and Boone be sent to the retirement home? 

 Yankee fans know the answer is never. 

So the Yankees will never be any better than this. 

I will watch college football any time.  Even the 84-0 game is better than watching the Yankees. 

Where's Oswaldo?

 

There are the gigantic, gobsmacking mistakes that General-Manager-for-Life Brian Cashman makes, such as refusing to even talk to stars such as Manny Machado and Bryce Harper when they wanted to come play for the Yankees, or passing up Justin Verlander for Sonny Gray or J.D. Martinez for Giancarlo Stanton, or refusing to trade Gary Sanchez for J.T. Realmuto.

But then there is the steady, running undercurrent of smaller mistakes he makes month-by-month, season-by-season, that are noticed only by the Cashman cognoscenti but which constantly, steadily undermine this team.

I'm talking about shipping Thairo Estrada to the Giants for cash, or giving up Ezequiel Duran for Joey Gallo, or trading T.J. Rumfield (now on a streak of 23 consecutive games reaching base, and about to become NL Rookie-of-the-Year) for Angel Chivili, or letting the likes of Luke Weaver, Clay Holmes, and Luis Torrens—all of whom the Yanks could have used this season—go for nothing at all.

Or DFA'ing Oswaldo Cabrera.

DFA? WTF?

In a season spent trying desperately to stand Trent Grisham up in centerfield, somehow, nobody noticed that the Yankees' infield is falling apart. 

Just in the week or so since the delirious days of the back-to-back grand-slam games, it's become pretty clear that, promising as George Lombard, Jr., is, he is not quite major-league ready. Anthony Volpe plays second better than he does shortstop—which still doesn't mean he can hit.

The Lollipop Kid, Jazz Chisholm, has managed to slide himself onto the DL after a season full of distracting hijinks (including putting our best player out for the year, while chasing a pop fly in a game that was hopelessly lost). 

Ryan McMahon could never hit and now can't field, but if he takes Hal Steinbrenner's money, he will play, no matter how badly.

So where does that leave us?

Maybe, in need of a gutty, major-league veteran, who was able to fight his way back from a horrendous injury and now seems to have become, once again, a good hitter and able to play second, third, and short???

Nah! 

Where's Oswaldo? He's in Cincinnati, where most likely he will simply become a good, useful utility player—just the sort who fills up the rosters of teams that actually win the World Series, as opposed to the fantasy superstars, the would-be Jeters that Brian Cashman is obsessed with creating in order to demonstrate his genius.

Good luck with the Reds, Oswaldo. We'll be thinking of you, sitting at home for the postseason, as this Yankees team—blessed with its best starting pitching in a generation—once again falters and fails for the lack of players who can reliably provide basic competence.

Damn you! Damn you all to hell!

Watching yesterday. 2-2 late in the game. Said to myself, "You know what? I'd rather watch college football."  

I don't watch college football. Maybe a big game and certainly not in September. 

And even then only the 4th quarters of close games. 

And only I've already read, walked, wrote for an hour, cooked, ate, called friends, checked in on the kids, watched 147 YouTube shorts... 

And only if my imagination has failed me to the point where I am beyond caring. About anything. 

The Yankees have gotten me to the point of beyond caring. The worst part is that it feels permanent. It is why a number of us here are indifferent to the idea that the games won't take place next year. 

Ownership and management, for all the reasons listed today by others have destroyed my love of the game. 

It's unfathomable but nevertheless true. 

I'd rather watch Brockport play Oneonta and I don't even know if Oneonta has a football team. 

Endless Spring

 

Unlike the movie of the same name, what your New York Yankees have now introduced us to is "Endless Spring."

Here we are, almost at the very end of the season, still playing like it's spring training.

The Yankees now have spring training—and then they have more spring training.  And more.

Yesterday, with the division at least still ostensibly on the line, we were still trying out players and lineups.

Can Michael Fulmer close?  (Uh, no.)

Can Caballero play centerfield?  (That would be a big negatory.)

Can Max Schuemann be a pinch-runner?  (I'm sorry—what?)

Meanwhile, the real questions—Can The Martian be a major-league starter?  Is Oswaldo Cabrera ready for the bigs again?  Can Spencer Jones play everyday?—are never addressed.

All so we can be "prepared" to finally start playing hard in a postseason...which our GM says is just a crapshoot.  ("Uh, I never actually said that...")

Crazy.  The Yankees are the best team that never got out of spring training.

As the Yankees stumble toward another finish line, lifetimes of fan loyalty begin to fade

It's almost over... 

Soon, they will not hurt us anymore. 

No more walk-off losses. No more squandered rallies. No more runners left on third, no bullpen meltdowns , no booted grounders, no overruled pitch-call challenges. Close your eyes and shake the Magic 8-ball that holds not only existential answers but the jersey number of the great Yogi. It got late early. It's deja vu, again. It's over, because it's over.  

Soon, the mysteries of this painful season shall be revealed unto us. 

Soon, we will be locked out... and free.

You know that dead bird dangling from our neck since the era of Mickey and Roger? The naive childhood trust we placed in the Yankees, as the team that would never let us down? Well, what's left of it will soon be gone. 

The 2026 Yankees are not going to win the division. They almost surely won't win a world championship. You can feel their heartbeat slowing, their pulse weakening. October will bring their downfall, followed by the apocalypse - a lockout brought on by billionaires who are convinced they are not making enough money. 

After the labor dispute, which might cancel the 2027 season, baseball will never be the same. Time will run out on the game that famously has no clock. 

Last night, the Yankees lost. But honestly, who gives a shit? The season has eight games left. They might as well bring up the rotation from Scranton. They won't catch Tampa, and Boston cannot catch them. The AL East final standings are etched in concrete, if not Trump's Italian marble.  

The Yankees will finish second, a few games behind Tampa, and then play Boston in a three-game series that will define 2026. 

Take a deep breath. For the next two weeks, watch the leaves change. Enjoy the cool nights.  

The next time we see Aaron Judge swing a bat, it might be 2028, and he'll be pushing 36. 

The next time we see the Martian, he'll probably be wearing another team's uniform.

The next time we see Giancarlo might just Old-Timers Day. 

It's almost over, everybody. 

Belief, that is. 

A sincere question

WHY THE FUCK WAS CABALLERO PLAYING CENTER FIELD?

Sometimes, as much as I know he's a total idiot, Boone amazes even me.

And Bednar hadn't pitched since Wednesday. Fucking Fulmer? Really?

The guy doesn't seem to mind losing. He ensures it, time after time.

I GIVE A SCHLITT ! LET'S GO CAM !!!!

 

Schadenfreude Week! Day 4: How they stack up, by the numbers.

 

No Judge? No chance in 2026?

Never mind. Remember our municipal slogan: It could always be worse!

Here are how the Yankees and Mets match-up, by the numbers (and just to be fair, I have also included the Yankees numbers since the start of the 1962 season, when the Mets also began):

World Series Wins

Mets:  2

Yankees: 27

 Since 1962: 8

Pennants

Mets:  5

Yankees:  41

 Since 1962: 15

First-Place Finishes

Mets:  6

Yankees: 50

 Since 1962: 24

Playoff Appearances

Mets:  11

Yankees:  61

 Since 1962: 35

Most Wins in a Season, Including Postseason

Mets:  116 (1986)

Yankees:  125 (1998)

Most Wins in a Regular Season

Mets:  108 (1986)

Yankees:  114 (1998)

100+ Wins

Mets:  4

Yankees:  21

 Since 1962: 11

90+ Wins

Mets:  12

Yankees:  78

 Since 1962: 34*

*Assuming the Yanks will win one more this year.

Winning Seasons

Mets:  28

Yankees:  103

  Since 1962: 56

Last-Place Finishes

Mets:  14

Yankees:  4

 Since 1962: 2

100-Loss Seasons

Mets:  6

Yankees:  2

 Since 1962: 0

90-Loss Seasons

Mets:  19

Yankees:   4

 Since 1962: 2

Seasons Leading in Team Home Runs

Mets:  4

Yankees:  46

 Since 1962: 11

Seasons Leading in Team ERA

Mets:  3

Yankees:  25*

 Since 1962: 8

*Yankees pre-1962 total is probably hire; appeal is underway now.

MVP Awards

Mets:  0 (Oldest franchise never to have had an MVP award)

Yankees:  14 players, 25 awards*

 Since 1962:  6 players, 9 awards

*Number before 1962 would undoubtedly have been higher, save for years there were no MVP awards, or there were different rules, such as not allowing repeat winners.

Cy Young Awards

Mets:  4 players, 7 awards*

Yankees:  5 players, 5 awards+

 Since 1962:  4 players, 4 awards

*Hey, the Mets had to win something, didn't they?

+Only 1 total Cy Young was awarded to both leagues, preventing Whitey Ford from winning the 1963 AL award.  The bastards.

Individuals Home Run Champions

Mets:  1 (Pete Alonso)

Yankees:  14 players, 31 championships

 Since 1962:  6 players, 9 championships

Individual Batting Champions

Mets:  2 players, 2 championships

Yankees:  10 players, 11 championships

 Since 1962:  5 players, 5 championships

ERA Champions:

Mets:  4 players, 7 championships

Yankees:  9 players, 10 championships

 Since 1962: 4 players, 4 championships

One-Pitcher No-Hitters:

Mets:  1*

Yankees:  12 pitchers, 13 no-hitters, including 4 perfect games

 Since 1962:  4 no-hitters, including 3 perfect games

*Mets' no-hitter actually included a hit, by Carlos Beltran.

Times No-Hit By a Single Pitcher

Mets:  8

Yankees:  7

 Since 1962:  0 (Last time Yankees were no-hit by a single pitcher was by Hoyt Wilhelm, in 1958)

All-Time Highest Seasonal Attendance

Mets:  4,042,045 (2008)

Yankees:  4,298,655 (2008)

Times Leading Their League in Attendance

Mets:  6*

Yankees:  61+

 Since 1962: 28

*In fairness, the Yankees don't play in the same league as the Los Angeles Dodgers.

+In fairness, the Mets don't play in the same league as the New York Yankees.

Times Leading New York in Attendance, Since 1962

Mets:  21 (1964-1975, 1984-1992)

Yankees:  43 (no attendance in 2020)

Feel better?

\

 

 

 

Are we back to searching for meaning in a meaningless universe?

In case you went to bed... 

Last night in Arizona, the Death Barge scored five in the 1st and coasted to a 9-2 win - homers by Ben Rice and George Jr. - while the YES barkers reminisced about 2001. You missed zip. The game didn't matter. It could have been the Arizona Fall Instructional League, featuring Dax Kilby, or a spring training nothingburger.

The Yankees' postseason fate - a three-game series vs Boston - is encased in carbonite. And it looks as though we'll do it without a fully healed Aaron Judge, who has caught Giancarlo Golden Calf Condition, which gives us a chance of survival roughly akin to that of the Kennedy Center.  

Surely, by now, you've heard: Judge tweaked a stem and has gone onto the 10-day IL, which means he might make the final weekend against Baltimore. But which Judge will we see? The Hall of Fame captain or the rusty, potential 0-for-13?  

Dear God. After six months of wrangling, 2026 will boil down to three games against Boston, either with Judge flailing at balls in the dirt or Heliot Ramos launching his signature DP grounders? How does this end without us measuring bridges and - gulp - rooting for the Jersey Giants?  

For six months, the Yankees have been unable to find a lineup. Every week, every night, Boone has mixed and matched, a platoon garage sale, with so many permutations that it's almost not worth the currency of caring.  

Wanna know what'll happen? Whatever goes down in game one, Boone will run out a completely different lineup on the second night. If Jazz is hot, it won't matter; next night will be Volpe. Same at 3B. Maybe SS, too, where every ball to Lombard has become an adventure.

Our hope, of course, is pitching. We'll have to shut them down. But it's hard to do when one mistake - one HR ball - puts your team into a bottomless hole. 

Damn. I don't know when I've felt so hopeless about this team. Losing Judge will do that. I always thought he'd be back. Now... who knows? And if next year is a lockout, we may never see his greatness again. 

Damn. I never thought the Yankees could fall so easily. But we watched Food Stamps Hal sit out last winter and congratulate himself all summer. He could have signed Alex Bregman, and our 3B woes would be gone. He could have signed a catcher. Instead, he drew an arbitrary line in the payroll, and though we didn't know it, our fate was sealed. For six months, we've been staggering toward this wild card destiny, this runner-up certainty and - honestly? - a part of me now just wants it to end. Dear God, is this hell?

Gum Dread - Sectombar 18th, 202∂, AZs √s Yankees

OHHHH – HOW YAH DOING, HAL ?

Schadenfreude Week, Day Three! Mets Retire the Number of a Player Most Famous for Taking a Called Third Strike.

So tomorrow the Mets will honor new Hall-of-Famer Carlos Beltran by retiring his number 15. Beltran, you'll recall, is most famous in Mets lore for having been called out on strikes to end the epic, 2006 National League Championship Series.

This was the bottom of the ninth, Game 7—the same game that had already seen Endy Chavez's amazing catch, in Shea Stadium. Mets loaded the bases with two outs and Beltran, their best hitter at the plate against rookie relief pitcher, Loudon Adam Wainwright, who had all of three saves in his career, and looked as shaky as a Trump lawyer out there.

Beltran let the first pitch go by for a strike, swung and missed at the second, then stood as still as the Statue of Liberty for strike three. 

The Mets are retiring his number. 

Oh, Mets.

To be sure, Carlos Beltran had some terrific years with the Mets. 

And hey, added bonus: Beltran also played a key role in another piece of fraudulent Metsian lore. When Johan Santana pitched the team's one and only, single-pitcher no-hitter, back in 2012, Beltran, then with the Cardinals, in fact hit a double down the line. One that kicked up chalk.

In those pre-replay days, it was allowed to stand. 

But I metsgress.

It's all but impossible to imagine the Yanks retiring the number of somebody whose biggest moment was taking a called third strike. Right down the middle. With the bases loaded. With two out. In the bottom of the ninth inning. To decide the seventh game of a league championship series.

But then, a lot of the Mets' retired numbers are, well, just plain weird. In part, this is due to the fact that the team just started play...64 years ago. In part, it's because...Mets.

Consider:

David Wright (#5)—Perfectly admirable player and captain. Made one World Series—in which he allowed Royals to score tying run in 9th inning of clinching game by reading the play wrong, and cutting in front of his shortstop to field a groundball.

Gil Hodges (#14)—Managed Mets to miracle World Series win, but played only 65 games for the team, after Hall-of-Fame career in Brooklyn.

Dwight Gooden (#16)—Great pitcher in his prime, and a tragic story. Won 1 World Series with the Mets—and 2 with the Yankees.

Keith Hernandez (#17)—Captain, star, beloved announcer and Seinfeld guest. Won MVP...with the Cardinals.

Darryl Strawberry (#18)—Great hitter in his prime, and a tragic/triumphant story. Won 1 World Series with the Mets—and 4 with the Yankees.

Willie Mays (#24)—A god—with the Giants. Nice send off from the Mets, but he had little left.

Mike Piazza (#31)—Juicer. Never won a World Series with anybody.

Casey Stengel (#37)—Excellent ballplayer with Dodgers and Giants, greatest manager ever with the Yankees. Amusing ornament with Mets.

Talk about your reflected glory. Fun fact: Of all the Mets' retired player/manager numbers, only Tom Seaver (#41) and Jerry Koosman (#36) won more World Series with the Mets than they did with another team.

The Mets are not only retiring Beltran's number this weekend, they have also produced a documentary tribute to the man, one they play repeatedly on SNY.  

In the doc, Beltran comes off as the Edith Piaf of baseball, saying repeatedly how he regrets nothing. 

Not the called third strike. 

Not his deep involvement in the Houston Astros cheating scandal that cost him a chance to become the Mets' manager.

(Has any other team ever retired the number of a player who was kept from becoming their manager because of a cheating scandal?)

He did clear up one thing for me, though, which was that he did not come to the Yankees as a free agent in 2005, because he had the deepest respect for Bernie Williams, and did not want to push him out of centerfield. While this sounds like just another Beltran excuse, it is confirmed by Bernie himself, in the same documentary.

Don't get me wrong. I love Bernie Williams with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns. But Bernie was already in decline—and already being pushed out the door by Cashman. 

Geez Louise, Bern, you couldn't have said to Beltran, 'Great, man! Come play center, and I'll move over to left.'?

No?

Maybe it's just as well. How else could Cashie bring Beltran in—twice!—after he was past his prime. But that's our Brian.

Everybody sing now:

Non, rien de rien

Non, je ne regrette rien..