Overturned calls are fulfilling and fun, but ABS cannot rescue the Yankees from IBS

 
Last night, in ghastly cold Seattle, where hamstrings can snap like a babysitter's chewing gum, the Yankees continued their communal feast/revenge tour on human umpires, via ABS, the new Automatic Balls and Strikes reality. 

They overturned five close calls on pitches, to be christened by The Athletic as the MLB team most likely to benefit from ABS. 

And it led to... drum roll, please... a run.

Yep. One run. All night. Five overturned calls. Five second chances. 

One stinking run. 

Listen: Every season is full of games like last night, dive-bar cocktails of well shaken hope, mixed with bitters of dread. You coax a dutiful start from your fourth starter, a guy with microscopic expectations, and then, as the innings burn off, you forget your pregame vow of apathy, and you start to believe the Yankees might steal a game... which then slithers between your fingers, with Scott Proctor, Adam Ottavino, Ian Hamilton Paul Blackburn on the mound. Forget ABS. It's IBS we should fear. 

As always, it's the little things. Jose Caballero getting picked off first. The bottom of the lineup going 1-12. The bullpen, creaky from overuse in San Francisco. 

Irritabelle, from
another era

A West Coast time zone, too late to be accepted as reality.

Listen: There will always be games like last night. They're actually quite common, maybe 15 per season. As soon as you get hopeful - and they reel you in so delicately that you don't even know they're doing it - they slap a walk-off single and slam the door.

Five overturned calls. One run. 

I wonder how long the Yankees will maintain an advantage with the ABS system? (If, in fact, they truly have one at all.) Yes, they have veteran hitters and, yes, they have two catchers skilled in the art of framing pitches. But they just pissed away a decent start from Ryan Weathers and five overturned calls. So much for that great, season-opening, self-congratulating win streak.  

Two more games in Seattle, then a relatively easy schedule through April. Cupcakes and tomato cans. And perhaps an advantage to exploit. But they better not have more games like last night. And they better watch those hammies.

On an off-day for the Mother Ship, down in Triple A, The Martian and Mr. Jones start hot

Yesterday, while the Yankees cruised the coast, up to Seattle - the city of Windows '95 - the Railriders of Scranton were shivering in Buffalo, Bronze winner in the 2026 Golden Snowball contest for upstate NY cities. (Note: It was won by Syracuse, the UCONN women's basketball program of snowfall, with 141 inches - or 11.5 feet.) 

After being frozen-out on Saturday, Scranton played two against the Buffalo Bisons, a farm of hateful Toronto, the Gainesville of Canada. 

Fortunately, our two most promising hitters, Jasson Dominguez and Spencer Jones, seem to have avoided an early Cashman Derangement Syndrome slump. At least, not yesterday. Here's what the kids did:

Jasson Dominguez: 3-for-8, three singles, an RBI, one K.

Spencer Jones: 3-for-8, a HR, 2 RBIs, 3 Ks.

Oswaldo Cabrera: 0-for-7, 3 Ks. 

Yanquiel Fernandez (an interesting 23-year-old Cuban OF castoff, via the Rockies): 1-for-8, a HR (his 2nd on the season), 3 Ks.

On the mound, Carlos "Radar Love" Lagrange pitched 4, fanned 3, gave up a run.

It's too soon to say nuthin. (Not that that ever stops us.) At least Dominguez and Jones are not mired in a hitless funk, depressed from being in Buffalo rather than the Pacific Northwest.  

Tonight, Ryan Weathers pitches. God knows how he'll do. If spring training showed anything, we're in trouble. To get Weathers, the Yankees went Flo - they bundled their home, life and car insurance - a full package of prospects. In Tampa, he pitched 17.1 innings and gave up 17 earned runs. If you're doing the math at home, for your own sake, stop.  

For Weathers, the Yankees paid heavily, then pretended they didn't, doubling down with Cat-4 hype. Ever since, he's been The Babadook. Thus far, our starting rotation has been otherworldly. We know this cannot last. And if Weathers doesn't start showing something, calls for Lagrange are going to increase. 

Technically, these April games matter. Spiritually, I'm not so sure. But tonight could be telling... 

Yesterday was just another day in the City by the Bay . . .

Started off like any other Saturday . . .

Rode on the Oracle Ferry - docked at the Ballpark . . . 

Everything seemed welcomingly familiar . . .

It was all "getaway day" business for the Yankees Players . . .

Chad Whitson may need to reevaluate his life choices . . .

Yankees Sweep !  Took the ferry back home . . .

This was the first time in seven years that I went to a Giants home game.  I would always go to see the Yankees play in Oakland so there was no reason to go see baseball in San Francisco.  The concession prices were easily 40-50% more than they were in Oakland in 2024.  (That is a huge difference in cost.)  Plus it was the first Fiesta Gigantes Saturday of the season. Every Saturday home game the Giants "celebrate latino culture" by featuring live music and entertainment before, during and after the game.  It was crazy, festive and loud in between innings.  Then, once the game was over the Yankees players and staff were quickly herded off the field by Jason Zillo and were gone.

When The Singularity arrives, and humanity is eradicated, the automatons might view Saturday's Yankee game as the fulcrum point of history.

Saturday, on national TV, veteran home plate ump Chad Whitson did humanity no favors.

And the game of baseball changed, forever.

In last night's 3-1 Yankee win over San Francisco, seven Automatic Ball and Strike challenges reversed calls by umpire Whitson. One, in the 3rd, turned a called-third strike on Trent Grisham into ball three, leading to a walk and a run. Another, in the 9th, nearly led to a Giants rally. Whitson started the game as its Supreme and Undisputed Boss. He finished looking like a castrated flyspeck, a vestigial organ perched ornamentally behind the catcher.

Never again will home plate bullies - the mistake-prone Richie Garcia or the arrogant "Cowboy" Joe West - decide the outcome of ball games. 

From now on, the faceless, lifeless eyeball of A.I. - the HAL 9000 of sports: ("I'm sorry, Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that") - will overturn calls that were accepted for more than a century.  

From now on, a K is not a K, until the ABS challenge is complete. 

And damn... here's the rub: 

I dunno if we should celebrate this... or fight it with all we got.

Soon, every stat, every outcome, every disputed play that was to eventually become a vagary of the game... they'll be gone. Someone will hit .400. Or a pitcher will throw back-to-back perfect games. Everything we once took for granted will be subject to review. Baseball history is no more.

This week, the Yankees swept SF. But the real winner was The Machine. For now, teams are allowed only two wrongful challenges per game. That rule will not hold. After all, why should a bad call in the ninth - or any time - be allowed? 

Every fan remembers at least one at-bat - a called third strike in the dirt, or a bases loaded walk, right down the middle - so botched by the home ump that we screamed at the TV and kicked the puppy, and - frankly, we will take the outrage to our graves. Never again, right? Well, we'll soon get our wish. 

But I wonder: Did baseball just kick humanity in the balls?

No Kings Day – San Francisco – 03/28/26 – ABOVE AVERAGE IS IN DA'GIANT HOUSE

WHAT WILL WARREN DO TODAY IN THE CITY BY THE BAY ?

 

"The dogs bark, but the caravan moves on."

 

Among the many things that Stephen A. Smith knows nothing about is, obviously, baseball.

Smith's random jeer at Aaron Judge the other day—after the Yankees won their opener, 7-0—referred to Judge as a "Goliath of a man," as if Judge's physical size should give him some invincible advantage in the game.

Yet there's a good reason why nobody remotely Judge's size has ever played major-league baseball at this level before, and it is that being very tall and very large confuses home-plate umpires and affords crafty pitchers all sorts of weak spots to hit if they can.

Someone who actually knows something about the game would understand this. But of course, Stephen A. Smith knows nothing about baseball.

Smith also tells us that in, "Too many moments," Judge "comes up considerably and conspicuously small"—clearly implying that the Yankees' Opening Day contest against a mediocre team not in their division or their league is a big moment.  

Anybody who really knows anything about the game of baseball knows that this "moment" was only considerable or conspicuous because a big corporate media sponsor decided to "buy" Opening Day and festoon it with all sorts of ads for its other, decidedly mediocre products.

But then, Stephen A. Smith knows nothing about baseball.

"Everybody around him came up big but him," Smith told us—as if we really needed Judge to, say, whack a finishing, three-run homer that would have turned a 7-0 game into a 10-0 game.

Anybody who really knows anything about baseball knows that it's great if the whole team is hitting, and that if the big kahuna doesn't get a poke that day, probably all the better, because it's all the more likely to come in a game where you really need it. 

As it did for Aaron Judge, in the very next game of the season.

But then, how was Stephen A. Smith supposed to know that? Stephen A. Smith, after all, knows nothing about baseball.  

The Contrarian feels that we really shouldn't hold this against Stephen A. Smith because Stephen A. Smith is not really supposed to know anything about sports. Because even though Stephen A. Smith appears constantly on channels and in shows, and on all sorts of other forums that claim to give us first-rate sports analysis, he is really just an "entertainer"—much like a rodeo clown, or a burlesque house tumler, or maybe the current president of the United States of America, which is a position that Stephen A. Smith apparently now aspires to.

Okay. But true wit proceeds from knowledge. 

Even the most foul-mouthed, obscene and transgressive of entertainers—say, Robert Smigel's Triumph, the Insult Comic Dog—manage to strike a deeper vein, if they are any good.  

Last week, on Stephen Colbert's show—canceled, in an unprecedented move, by the proto-Stephen A. Smith who currently resides in the White House he has so foully vandalized—Triumph went through his usual, filthy tirade...and ended by saying how Colbert was being canceled "for financial reasons only."

Smigel was willing and able to mock the powers that be throttling what used be the "Tiffany Network" of television, by dismissing their excuse for blatant, craven censorship. 

It was speaking truth to power—as opposed to what Stephen A. Smith prefers to do, which is to spew insults from a place of ignorance. 

Judging by what the American people now seem to prefer in a leader, Mr. Smith should be a lock in 2028.

 

 

Undefeated, untied and unscored-upon! Yanks could celebrate an Easter of Tomato Cans

Let's face it: Over the first two games, it wasn't certain if we were playing the San Francisco Giants, the team of Willie Mays, or the Jersey Giants, of Brian Daboll. Two remarkably stress-free victories over a team that played a 3B at 1B, and a DH at 2B. It just didn't seem real. Maybe, it wasn't.

Next up - after SF tonight - three in Seattle. Do they still have Jay Buhner?

Then three at home against lowly Miami. 

Then three at home against the homeless A's. 

Three against Tampa at George M Field.

Four against the Angels, LA's ugly sister.

Three against KC. 

The first four weeks resemble a march of animated tomato cans. It will be April 21 before the Death Barge faces a truly hateful foe - Boston, Houston and Texas will be lined up - and there is no reason why the Yankees should not be leading the AL East.

You almost don't want to say anything, or write anything, for fear of upsetting the bingo board. The Yankees can be their own cupcakes. But but BUT... 

1. If Max Fried and Cam Schlittler are for real, the chances of holding the pitching staff together until Rodon/Cole return suddenly look much better.

2. Hot or cold, Judge and Giancarlo still scare the hell out of opposing pitchers. 

3. In Scranton, the Martian went 1-5 (one K), and Spencer Jones 1-4 (Two K's.) Oswaldo played SS and went 1-5 (two K's.) And the pitching staff threw yet another shutout. 

Monday, Will Warren starts game three. It's one of those horrible West Coast starts, at 9:05 p.m., where everything seems out of kilter. Warren had a great spring, was the Yankees best starter. No jinxing here. Let's see what happens.

The Yankees are undefeated - just like Boston, Baltimore and Toronto. No tomatoes to be had.

Boone wants to give the platoon guys a chance to play

 

The media narrative on Aaron Judge is loathsome and tired.

Yesterday, midway barker Stephen A. Smith did what he is paid to do - create flames from broken wind - and the mere fact that you are reading this proves that he succeeded.

On that note, I apologize. 

The Yankees just enjoyed the most pleasurable 24-hour stretch in memory, beating up on the hapless, itinerant San Francisco Giants in a laugher victory that started Wednesday night in the second inning. Thanks to opening day schedules, we've had a full day to gloat, to imagine Cy Young awards and breakout seasons, and to bestride the planet like the colossi of truth and wisdom that Yank fans are known to be. 

It's all downhill from here. 

That said, let's enjoy this. The Yankees clobbered SF, even if Netflix was more self-absorbed with celebrities eating hotdogs than with the actual game. (I'm still wondering: No Sydney Sweeney?) And yesterday, that one game was being used to validate an entire winter of standing still, a front office strategy that remains only partially cooked. 

But, of course, that's only a fragment of the Yankee narrative. The larger, easier and more slow-moving plot line involves Aaron Judge. By now, even those self-isolating natives on that North Sentinel Island, off in the Pacific, the ones who kill Christian missionaries on contact - even they know that Judge, in the opener, went 0-5 with four strikeouts. 

It's a development that had to be reheated on every cultural burner because, well, Judge is Judge and the Yankees used to be the Yankees.

So, Stephen A. Smith - who is running for president, they say - went on a 90-second bender about Judge failing in big moments. This is the world according to anecdote - to the reality of podcasts. We all remember when Judge swings and misses. When he uncorks that massive lunge, when he swings through fastball, he is the Babe, he is Mickey, he is Roger, he is Reggie and he is A-Rod, because you don't get to fully appreciate the greatness of a player unless you also tag along when he fails. 

Two weeks from now, when Judge leads the league in every slugging category known to mathematics, Stephen A. Smith - who is running for president, they say - won't issue a retraction. And nobody will care. He'll be onto something else, creating flames from broken wind. 

For posterity: The predictions are in, and most of you foresee Yankee Doomsday

Here they are, everybody: Your predictions for 2026. Clip and save.

                              Reg Season Wins     Ben Rice HRs   Gerrit Cole W’s

Stang                                104                           49                     19
Oliver Tiberius              100                          34                      13
Mildred Lopez                  94                         33                      13
Vampfella                           94                         26                      14
Rufus T. Firefly                 94                         32                      12
DickAllen                            94                         29                      13
Carl Weitz                           93                          28                      11
Doug K                                 93                          23                       8
RtotheE                                93                         30                      10
Jaraxle                                  93                          36                     14
Kevin                                    93                          35                      14
Above Average                  92                          30                     12
Gary Frenay                       92                          37                     12
Hinkey Haines                  92                          29                    10
Publius                                92                           26                     8
Bern Baby Bern                91                           29                   13
Pgpick                                 90                           27                   10
Doctor T                             90                           26                     9
JM                                         89                           32                    15
Copelius                             88                           27                    13
el Duque                             86                           36                     9
Scottish Yank Fan          85                            19                      7
HoraceClarke66              83                            31                      4
BTR999                              83                           25                      9
Hammer of God              83                           27                      8
Der Kaiser                         82                           18                       7
13 Bit                                   79                           23                       7

So, it's official: The World Baseball Classic totally messed up Aaron Judge, and Netflix doesn't know how to interview anybody

 

You could foresee it, when they named him Captain of Team America. 

Captain? Here, you had a veteran lineup, full of stars, and the last thing it needed was somebody acting like King Tut. He didn't ask for it. They just anointed him.

(Maybe they should have named Tarik Skubal "Admiral." Maybe he would have pitched one more game?)

Early on, they asked for a speech. He hemmed and hawed. They were like wedding ushers, banging spoons against the snifters. They demanded a speech, which he botched. 

Their reaction: More hype. Heavier praise, grander accolades, more crapola. Now, he wasn't just the best player on the Yankees, or the best hitter on Team America, or the best slugger slugger in baseball. He was the best ever, the greatest of all time, and we should open the Hall now, rather than wait. 

Then came his final game in the WBC: 0 for 4 with three Ks and enough stranded runners to win the tournament.

And then came last night's new incarnation: A return to California as the prodigal son, and poster boy for a Netflix cultural power grab. 

And here's what America saw: 

Bad Aaron. 

Yep. We saw Judge, lunging at balls in the dirt, watching strikes right down the middle, unable to check faulty swings, then trudging back to the dugout, bat in hand, turning once to acknowledge his hopelessness. 

The Judge we've seen, off and on, throughout his career. 

The dirty little secret about baseball's greatest player: He goes through stretches where he couldn't hit your Aunt Gladys's fastball with a tennis racket. It's a lucky game when the Yankees can absorb a Judgean 0-for-5, and still win. And really, let's be thankful that, last night, he didn't waste a 9th inning HR to make the score 8-0. Those are the events that drive Yank fans crazy. 

Judge will come around. But clearly, the World Baseball Classic - and the overbearing hype of playing opening day in his geographical back yard - has messed him up. 

As for Netflix, what did you expect? Everything was hype. Everything. 

At one point, around the 5th, they wheeled in Rob Manfred, the Commissioner of Hell, to be interviewed by CC Sabathia and Hunter Pence, swooning like OAN interns at a Melania photo-op. They were literally giggling with anticipation, claiming to have stayed up the previous night - I'm not making this up, they had been like first-night college freshmen, going over the pig book - thinking of great questions to ask. Then Manfred sat down, and the interrogation began:

Do you remember your first Opening Day?

My God. They didn't ask about rule changes, which now happen every season. They didn't ask about the impending lockout next winter, which threatens the future of baseball. They didn't ask about expansion, or salary caps, or A.I. umpires, or elbow surgeries, doctored bats, lost statistical frameworks - whatever you wanted to hear about - they didn't ask it, and their reaction to whatever Manfred blathered was to act the San Diego Chicken oogling a cheerleader. 

Insert sigh here.

Well, here's what we can say about last night.

1. We won.

2. Judge got it out of his system.

3. It's over. 

First place in the AL East, baby. Check it out!

Game Thread – San Francisco, CA – Opening Day – Caption Away

 "I'm so sorry Aaron but they just won't trade you here."

Goodbye Cruel World, It's Opening Day

The gods place bets with loaded dice
And all our earthly dreams betray,
But listen to one clown's advice,
Goodbye, cruel world; it’s opening day.

The politicians scrounge for power,
With consequences we shall pay.
But somewhere, it's our finest hour,
Goodbye, cruel world; it's opening day.

Our weary age is full of war,
The daily news brings dark dismay,
So surf the dreams worth living for,
Goodbye, cruel world; it’s opening day.

-- el duque, 2008 --

Project 2026: It's time for 10 cold-hearted predictions

Get down everybody! Hear those sirens, off in the distance? See those flashing lights? They're not drones. They're not missiles. They're gopher balls. They're signs of what's coming... 

The restart of the clock. 

The reboot of time.

The impending new reality.

Get away from the windows.

Ten Predictions of What's Ahead...

1. The Yankees - aka Our Antiques Road Show - will win 86 regular season games, enough to secure the final wild card slot. This will result from a second-half infusion of Gerrit Cole, Carlos Rodon and Clarke Schmidt, along with one rising young starter. (I'll get to that later.) 

2. Ben Rice will break out, make the AL all-star roster, and play an honest 1B. He will hit 36 HRs and bat .280. His opportunities will come after Paul Goldschmidt tweaks a gonad, forcing the Yankees to trust in youth. 

3. Cole will win 9 games. Due to occasional poundings, his ERA will hover around 4.00, but when he's on, he will show dominating command. 

4. Aaron Judge will suffer, as the cops say, multiple contusions and lacerations. He'll play about 100 games. Without him, the Yankees will play below .500. He will still hit 40 HRs and lead the team in offense. (Giancarlo, of course, will be injured 3/4 of the season. That's no prediction. It's just fact.)

5. When Judge goes down, Spencer Jones will be promoted from Scranton. He will take over in CF, with Trent Grisham moving to right. Jones will hit 21 HRs in about 50 games, becoming the new version of Joey Gallo/Shane Spencer/Kevin Maas. Yank fans will adore him, until he goes 0-15 in the postseason.

6. The Martian, aka Jasson Dominguez, will start slowly in Scranton and then fall into a deeper funk when the Yankees bypass him to promote Jones. He will be traded at the deadline for bullpen slop, probably to a team in the NL West, as far away as possible. There, he will cobble together a decent career, though he'll never the next Mickey Mantle, as he was so horribly touted. Someday, long after he is a memory - (as we shall be, too) - the Martian will be remembered for his  nickname and his fate: Just another a good-looking prospect who was eaten alive by the Yankee pressure cookier. 

7. The Yankees will finish third in the AL East, behind Boston and Baltimore, both of whom made a commitment to youth, which finally paid off. 

8. The Yankees will unveil a hopeful threesome of pitching prosects: Cam Schlittler, Elmer Rodriguez and Carlos Lagrange - the greatest potential trio since Ian Kennedy, Phil Phranchise and Joba. One will suffer elbow issues, one will disappoint, and one will excel. If you're lucky, you get one out of three. If. You're. Lucky. 

9. Jose Caballero will play a dutiful SS until mid-June, when he is replaced by Anthony Volpe. The new Volpe - featuring a new bat and rejiggered stance - will hit for two weeks, then fall into the floundering pit where he always ends up. By September, the SS will be Ryan McMahon. (Of, if we're lucky, George Lombard Jr.)

10. The Dodgers, of course, will win it all. They'll outlast the Mets in the NLCS, the de facto world series. Why would anybody think differently?

Play ball. (And get your predictions in.) 

WE'RE NUMBER THREE! WE'RE NUMBER THREE! WE'RE NUMBER...oh fuck it

 If, if, if...every team, every year, could be great. If. If everyone hits, if all the pitchers are lights out, if baserunners and fielders don't make a lot of mistakes and dunderheaded plays, if the manager had a brain.

He could while away the hours, conferrin' with the flowers, consultin' with the rain. And his head he'd be scratchin' while his thoughts were busy hatchin', if he only had a brain.

And you know, he makes out the lineups himself, so we know who to blame for not having a brain.

If I was 20 years old and had a 100 mph fastball and 98 mph slider and could hit .450, I'd be playing big-league ball.

If you can keep your head when all around you are losing theirs and blaming you, you'll be a man, my son. Or something.

Don't ask me, ask Kipling. As Slim Pickens said, I'm working for Mel Brooks.

Yankees' latest gift to ungrateful fans: Opening Night on Netflix

Apparently, the QVC Home Shopping Network was taken. 

So, here it is, the latest spit-in-your-face show of disrespect by MLB - and, by proxy, the Yankees - to an ancient fan base that long ago forgot passwords and user-names. Don't go searching for tomorrow night's season opener on the usual channels, because the Lords of the Game found a new, squeezable money source, and - Fun Fact: It's you! 

 Remember that 30-page scrolling contract last month, where you clicked "AGREE" in order to watch Andy of Mayberry? Well, the lawyers remember, and you're either signed up, with money being siphoned off your Medicare account, or you'll watch the action on ESPN Game Cast. And good luck. 

The Yankees 2026 opening night lands on Netflix, as the first reality mini-series to strand 26 millionaires in a haunted clubhouse, and let human nature have its way. 

It's gonna be a long year.

On that note, if you haven't registered your 2026 predictions, you have until gametime Wednesday to make known your nightmares. I'll ejaculate mine tomorrow, after keyboarding the final factoids into the psychotronic, IT IS HIGH artificial intelligence mind meld with the brain of Brian Cashman, (who, fun fact, posts on this website under the name Alphonso.)

Before I unleash the hounds of my desperation Hell, here are the main questions of 2026, as I see them: 

1. How nervous should we be about Boston? (The Redsocks are all-in on 2nd-year-man Roman Anthony, while we just sent our vaunted 2nd-year-man, Jasson Dominquez, to Scranton. Are we flat-out doomed?)

2. Can Yank pitchers hold the line until Gerrit Cole, Carlos Rodon and Clarke Schmidt return?

3. Can they survive after Cole, Rodon and Schmidt return?

4. What happens when Aaron Judge gets hurt? Guy turns 34 in April. He's gonna miss time.

5. Randal Grichuk? What the Gri-fuk? 

6. Was Trent Grisham's 2025 a complete anomaly? And how did the Yankees allow his 2026 qualifying offer dictate their entire course of action?

7. Who pitches the 7th and 8th innings? (And, please, stop saying "Camilo Doval., you pussy)!" It's downright rude.

8. What happens when Anthony Volpe returns?

9. Will we ever - ever? - see Spencer Jones?

10. How much did the AL East improve?

Predictions, people. This is no site for cowards.