LET"S ROOT, ROOT, ROOT FOR SOME GREAT SCHLITT !

 

Cole delivers, and Yank fans love it. Will Cooperstown?

In case you slept, the Yanks won last night behind a typical Gerrit Cole outing: 

5.1 IP
5 Ks
3 ERs
2 Hoovered bananas. 

He battled through three jams, left in the 6th, and roused his teammates the rest of the way from the water cooler. It's what you want from a team leader, and if such a role existed, Cole could easily be characterized as Captain of the Pitching Staff.

Last night, he won a game the Yankees desperately needed. (They cannot afford a losing streak against one of MLB's crappiest tomato cans.)  Cole got them into the strait of Headrick/Blackburn, a place where tankers tank, thanks to the two most unexpected Yankee surprises of 2026. Where would we be without Headrick and Blackburn? Don't wanna even think about it.

But today, let's talk Cole, who over 13 MLB seasons is 161-87, with a career ERA of 3.18. Those numbers would take him to the Thruway rest stop north of Cooperstown, maybe a strip mall outside Oneonta? - where several modern Yankees - (thinking Bernie, Pauly, Jorge, Rocket, Coney) - have run into Gammonitic anti-NYC bigotry. 

At 35, Cole sits on the threshold, outside the Coop loop. The Yankees have him for two more years (assuming a season in 2027) at $36 million per. When he signed in 2020, nobody expected him to still be an ace in 2028. But he has outdone Carlos Rodon (33) and Max Fried (32), and through sheer guts and guile, he's led this staff.

Three times last night, Cole worked out of jams, turning the game over to Headrick, who continues to amaze, despite being overused. Last night was his 71st game; (he is 2nd in all of baseball.) Over four previous seasons, he's never shown such stuff. Whatever deal he made with Mephistopheles, I approve.   

As for Cole, he's 39 wins from the iconic, purely symbolic number of 200, and I doubt he'll make it. He probably gets five more starts this year and will finish with about 10-12 wins. (He now has 8.) Unless he's got a Bartolo Colon gene, he will fall short of 200.

But Cole will almost surely become a Yankee rarity: One who justifies a contract that seemed ridiculous when it was signed. Food Stamps Hal won't be able to point at him and whine about money. That's worth our loyalty, if not a plaque in Monument Park. Any deal that avoids Pavanoville - it's certainly not nothing. 

And if Cole can pitch well in October, hey, ya never know... 

Welcome to September Baseball (Thank You, Mr Cashman)

 

The Long Weird Career of Roger Peckinpaugh

 

(With many thanks for the Peckinpaugh bio written by Peter M. Gordon on Baseball Reference.)

I take advantage of the Yanks' lallygagging vacation sojourn in California to examine the career of a man who has been much in the news lately, thanks to George Lombard, Jr., tying his consecutive error streak at shortstop. 

That is Roger T. Peckinpaugh, seen here on the right, with the famous "Midget Infield" of the old Washington Senators.

Peckinpaugh was an Ohio boy, who signed with the Indians, but was soon traded to the Yankees for the immortals Jack Lelivelt and Bill Stumpf. The deal opened the way for Cleveland to put Ray Chapman, the man who would later be killed by a pitched ball, at short, in a game where Peck was playing the same position for the Yanks—just the first of several strange events Roger would be involved in during his career.

At the Polo Grounds, Peckinpaugh quickly won the starting shortstop job on a bad Yankees team. In his first full season, 1914, he stole 38 bases but hit only .223. Still, already known as "the calmest man in baseball," Peck was named team captain.

Much more significantly, near the end of the season Roger, still just 23, became the youngest manager in major-league history, when the O.G. Peerless Leader, Frank Chance, decided to pack his bags and go home. Peck took over a team mired in the second division.

"The Yankees were a joy club," Peckinpaugh would later write. "Lots of joy and lots of losing. Nobody thought we could win and most of the time we didn't. But it didn't seem to bother the boys too much. They would start singing songs in the infield right in the middle of a game."

Peckinpaugh's "There's no singing in baseball" regime brought a terrible, sixth-place club home at 10-10 in its last 20 games. 

The next year, the club was bought by some serious men, the colonels, Ruppert and Huston, and they installed a manager old enough to vote. But Roger seemed very popular with his teammates, warblers or not, and remained captain. 

Just how good a player he was remains open to debate. 

Peck was generally a below-average batter even in the deadball days. A pull hitter without power, he was easily retired by the constant shifts he faced—and never adjusted to. His main contribution at the plate was the sacrifice bunt, running up the 8th highest total of SFBs in big-league history.

He kept his job mainly because he was widely considered one of the best shortstop in the show.

"...the spectacle of Peckinpaugh, slinging himself after groundballs, throwing from out of position and nailing his man by half a step was an American League commonplace," kvelled longtime Washington Post sportswriter Shirley Povich.

All told, he would lead AL shortstops five times in assists, six times in double-plays, and twice in defensive WAR. The secret, according to Peck, was the Star plug tobacco that he chewed constantly.

"[It] was licorice-flavored, and it made my glove sticky," he would confess. It also helped darken the baseball, "and the pitchers liked that. The batters did not, but, what the hell, there was only one umpire."

This may not have been quite as efficacious a trick as Roger thought, for he also made lots of errors. 

Lots and lots and lots of errors. Never fewer than 26 in a full season, more than 40 seven times, and a career-high 54 in 1917. But then, back in the day, gloves were small—and perhaps too sticky?—and scorers handed out errors if a line drive did not actually take one's hand off, so who knows?

The livening of the baseball seemed to bring Peck's bat to life, too. He hit .305 in 1919, and had two more decent years at the plate in 1920 and 1920, compiling a career-high 8 home runs each season.

But in his first World Series, he hit just .179 and made a critical error in Game 8 (yes, it was best-of-nine) against the Giants, allowing the only run in a 1-0 loss that decided the Series. It also wrecked a great World Series for Waite Hoyt, who had pitched two shutouts previously, and would have tied Christy Mathewson for a record three in the Fall Classic, if not for Ol' Licorice Glove.

Peck was now 30, and the Yankees—then a terribly hard-hearted organization that did not let aging mediocrities clutter up the roster forever—traded him to the Red Sox with three other, marginal players and the requisite $100,000. 

In return, they got an undisputed gloveman at short, Everett "Deacon" Scott (who would hold the consecutive-games played record before Gehrig), and outstanding pitchers Bullet Joe Bush and Sad Sam Jones (not to be confused with Toothpick Sam Jones, I am not making this up).

That trio finally put the Yanks over the top, and won them their first World Series title.

Peck, meanwhile, was moved on to Washington, where he found something of a second life. In 1924, the Senators won their first pennant, and Roger hit a walk-off double to win Game Two. He pulled a muscle in the game, but came back, "heavily bandaged," in Game Six—something Povich called, "the gamest exhibition I ever saw on a baseball field."

Peckinpaugh had two hits and a walk, and made a terrific stop of an Irish Meusel smash to preserve the Nats' 2-1 lead with one out in the ninth. Roger had to be carted off the field, but Washington would hold on and won it the next day.

In 1925, the Senators repeated. Peck got off to a good start but was showing his age, playing in only 125 games. In the World Series, he made a record 10 errors—a record that holds to this day—in 7 games.

In the last game, Roger Peckinpaugh went from goat to hero to goat, maybe faster than anyone in World Series history. 

With the great Walter Johnson trying to win his third game of the Series on a bad, drizzly day at Pittsburgh's Forbes Field, Peck dropped a pop fly in the seventh that allowed the Bucs to tie the game at 6-6.

In the top of the eighth, he homered to give Washington the lead again—only to make a wild throw in the bottom of the eighth to give the Pirates a 9-7 win.

With that error, the calmest man in baseball became the only player ever to make a game-losing error in the last game of a World Series...twice. 

What's more, he became the only player ever to prevent two, Hall-of-Fame pitchers from winning a record-tying, three games in a single World Series with his glove work.

The writers, in their collective wisdom, gave him the MVP for the 1925 season. This was despite the fact that Peckinpaugh was, by any rational measure, only about the 10th most valuable player on his own team,  and maybe the third best shortstop in the league. 

It must be remembered that, at the time, there were often silly restrictions on MVP voting, such as not allowing someone to repeat as most valuable player. The sportswriters seem to have seen something about Peckinpaugh that maybe didn't show up on the stats sheet. He had got serious MVP votes after poor seasons in 1922 and 1923, and even back in 1914—perhaps as a tribute to his stepping in as playing manager.

And...it could be that, once again, the writers did not have the slightest idea of what they were seeing on the field before them, every day of their working lives.

So much for beating Boston, Yanks blasted by Hell's Angels.

Wellp...  at least it happened on the far coast, before the hurricane hits, and too late to stay up for. 

Remember that game in the loss column the Yankees gained Sunday against Boston? It's gone. Funny how they go. It's as if the universe farts. We're now five behind hateful Tampa and three ahead of the vengeful Redsocks, holding the tie-breaker, if it matters. (And Boston just lost Will Contreras, their best hitter, to a hammy. Hail, the Immortal Hammy!) 

Ten takes...

1. The world is discovering what Yank fans have known for months: Trent Grisham has deteriorated into a bad CF, a defensive liability currently mired in a 2-for-37 slump. It's been a hard year for Old Slow Foot, ever since he accepted the Yankee one-year qualifying offer of $22 million, prompting Food Stamps Hal to close his fanny pack for the rest of the winter. Last night, Grisham botched a throw home after an errant pickoff attempt, though the game was pretty much over. Right now, across the Yankiverse, he's about as popular as data centers and Flock cameras.

2. Last night, the Death Barge reverted to its One-Run-Per-Game mode. Spencer Jones homered, and that was all. It came in the fifth, when the Yankees were down 4-0, and you could argue that they needed base runners more than a solo shot, but - fuck - that's the Yankees, eh. It was Jones' 8th HR in 181 at-bats. Over a 500 at-bat season, that would mean 28 HRs. Hmm. He's hitting .238. Gallo? 

3. When Aaron Judge returns, Jones will either take over in CF or board a bus to Scranton. Weird, eh? You either take the arguably most vaunted position in sports - centerfield for the New York Yankees! - or head to the mud yards of Moosic. 

4. Elmer "the Glue Gun" Rodriguez got pasted last night - gave up four, didn't survive the fourth. It's been a moon since a Yankee starter effectively killed a game. The year began with high hopes for Rodriguez and Carlos LaGrange, the early sensation in Camp Tamp. Neither came through. (They claim LaGrange might still pitch this season - he's recovering from a bum shoulder - but nobody's betting on it.) 

5. That means that, basically, the Yankee farm system didn't produce one pitcher of magnitude this year. (Schlittler was last year.) Not one. Brendan Beck doesn't cut it. Not one. Remember how they called their camp "The Gas Station," and how they boasted about developing young arms? Not one. 

6. WTF with David Bednar pitching the 9th, in a blowout, and giving up three? I suppose he needed the work? Yikes. What a fiasco. 

7. Clarke Schmidt and Ryan Weathers may soon join the bullpen. During their careers, both have been starters. What could go wrong?

8. Heading into last night, the Angels were 52-85, tied with the homeless A's for the worst record in the AL. This was the kind of game you cannot afford to lose, and the Yankees lost by nine. WTF?

9.  The Boston radio announcer, Will Flemming, apologized for calling Jazz Chisholm a bush leaguer. I realize that Jazz talks too much, but nobody turns a DP more fearlessly (with his hat somehow glued to his head.) And frankly, when an old, Wonder Bread white guy from Boston attacks him, I automatically suspect race is an underlying factor. (BTW: I wonder if his pals call him "Phlegm?"

10. Gerrit Cole tonight. Must game. Knicks in five.

Game Thread - Anaheim, CA – 08/31/2∂

 

 

Congrats to Redsock fans everywhere. Your radio team has finally achieved full-on, bonkers hate.

Dear Redsock Nation,

For 35 years, your blustery fans whined about John Sterling's rampant shows of favoritism during Yankee radio broadcasts, driven by Jeep. 

You never got over Sterling's shtick, the home run calls and Win-Warbles, and how his voice lilted unto heaven when the Yankees had a lead. You prosecuted John and Suzyn Waldman with the vigor of Rand Paul in a Covid hearing. How dare the Yankees employ flagrant home team announcers, befouling the otherwise pristine Harding & Mazzotti Broadcast Booth! (By the way, hurt your body? Call Harding & Mazzotti!)

Well, today, the Righteous Redsocks - Curt Schilling's chosen team - can bathe in its self-sustaning acrimony, thanks to the radio team of Will Flemming and Will Middlebrooks. They did something Sterling wouldn't have touched in his entire career. They called for a Boston pitcher to "drill" a Yankee batter and pick a fight during the late stage of a 16-1 plastering. 

This came about because Jazz Chisholm stole third in the eighth, with the Yankees leading 14-1. The Boston infield wasn't holding him on, and he basically jogged to third. Defensive indifference. Austin Wells was batting against Boston's Jovani Moran, and in the booth, Flemming was seething over the indignity of Chisholm's move. 

"Wouldn't you sort of like to see Moran drill Wells right here?" Flemming asked.

Well, speaking on behalf of the Yankiverse, YEAH! 

I mean, who wouldn't want a full-on, bench-clearing brawl! We haven't had a bonkers, bare-fisted street rumble in waaaaay too many years. I've wondered what Giancarlo Stanton has been doing in the Yankee dugout. Now I know: He's waiting for his chance to grab little Caleb Durbin and fling him like a Frisbee into the upper deck. Come on, everybody, grab the testosterone and let's do some Hegseth! 

Look, I get it that Chisholm didn't need to steal third. But who cared? Certainly not Boston. They had given up, because their 4-year-old center fielder didn't get the call on a trapped line drive, so - hey - let's pick a fight! Maybe Flemming could punch out Suzyn? And if they hurt their body... well, you know who to call.

Folks, isn't that what is happening all across America? 

Something goes wrong, so drill the nearest guy and let's fight.

I already know what Boston will do about Flemming's words. Nothing. Maybe he'll recant, sorta, with a winky-wink. And if the Yanks play Boston in the postseason - right now, they'd be hosting the Redsocks in a three-game wild card series - what are the odds that somebody doesn't drill Chisholm? 

Yep, congrats to all you Fenway Freedom Fighters. You guys are something. See you in October.

Game Thread – August 30th, 202∂

So, are we ready for Anthony Volpe, edition number four?

Not sure what it means - if anything - but Anthony Volpe yesterday went 1-4 with a walk and two Ks for the Scranton Railwhatevers. He played 3B, as he has done for most of the last three weeks. At Triple A, Volpe is hitting .217 - (23 points below his BA for the Yankees this year) - with 6 HRs in 115 ABs.

Volpe is 25, going on 32. He's been with us since 2023. It seems like forever. Last year, he supposedly played half the season with a bum shoulder. But this year, all healed, his game only continued to unravel. A lot of people expected him to disappear at the trade deadline. But here he is, perhaps ready for another go?

Yesterday's Scranton game ended before George Lombard Jr., in NYC, tweaked his knee batting against Boston. Lombard walked it off, singled, played two more innings and then left, whisked to a hospital for voodoo scans. Immediately, the Yankees revved up their Baghdad Bob machine, saying the injury looks minor and listing Lombard as "day-to-day." After all, 21-year-olds heal fast, right? 

Since joining the team Aug. 4, after Volpe was banished, Lombard has lived several of his own lifetimes. He's been compared to Hall of Fame shortstops. He's been mocked for committing six errors in six games, a record among Yankee shortstops that had not been achieved since 1915. Roger Peckinpaugh, remember him? 

Lombard and Volpe have shared a wondrous and terrifying experience. Both were hoisted on a pedestal as the future of the Yankees - and then hung out to dry. In both cases, their stories are incomplete. Today, their fates will merge on the results of a medical scan.  

Dunno what to make of this splintered seesaw of good and terrible luck. In a Ben Affleck movie, Volpe would return, he'd befriend Lombard, they'd make peace with their dads, they'd compete for Zendaya, and they'd lead the ragtag, loveable Yankees to a world series. Unfortunately, Affleck hates us, and were this a movie, it would be directed by Rob Zombie or the guy who did that Melania flick. 

Today, the Yankees play Boston for the last time in this regular season. Jose Caballero will probably play SS. Nobody calls him the future of the Yankees. But Cabby will have to do. (BTW: Playing SS last night in Scranton was everybody's fave, Oswaldo Cabrera, and he went 1-5, lowering his season average to .286. There's a movie in there, and we know Oswaldo can act from his CarShield commercials.) 

Today decides the four-game home series and our season record against Boston. If the Yankees win, they will not only lead the Redsocks by four games, but they'll hold the tie-breaker, a phantom 5th game. (Fun Fact: That's what killed them last year against Toronto.) They would almost surely secure the first AL wild card, with its limited home field advantage. Also, they can go to the West Coast this week for six games to be played after our bedtimes. No anxiety. Just sleep.

We shall have respite. But until then, we wonder: Who's narrative will play out at SS? The wheel keeps grinding.

º8/29/2∂ – Wicked Double Pissah in da Bronx - Game Two

 

º8/29/2∂ – Wicked Double Pissah in da Bronx - Game One

 

Yanks face Judgement Day, without Judge.

 Wellp, here goes nuthing... 

Across the world, millions of innocent people are fleeing floods, wildfires, maelstroms and war - oblivious to what we of the Yankiverse would manically consider "Doomsday Doubleday Judgement Day" - with two games against Boston that will define 2026, at least until next week.

It's nuts to assign cataclysmic significance to the outcome of a sporting gig, a cultural parlor game, but the ship called "Reason" sailed long ago. In our bug jar, where our feelers barely touch the air holes, we today face six to eight hours of grueling, self-imposed anxiety, as we prepare for two games that will change nothing in our lives, aside from the panicky fact that we can think of nothing else.

The twi-night doubleheader - ahh, a vestige from the distant past - begins at 1:05 p.m., with the nightcap set for 7:15 p.m., give or take. By then, either team could be out of bullpen arms, summoning the dregs from their Triple A wastewater ponds. By then, certain Yankees could be headed back to Scranton, (where Anthony Volpe last night reverted to SS.) By then, one fan base will be drunkenly celebrating, and the other will be measuring nearby bridges.  

And here's the joke. 

Probably, nothing will come of it. 

After all the buildup, all the handwringing, the teams will do what happens in most doubleheaders: They will split. (Yank fans would happily accept such an outcome.) Come Monday, the Yankees fly to LA, with a new time zone and lease on life. Swimmin' pools. Movie stars. 

Today, the Babadook. Next week, San Diego. Keep that in mind, as the terrors descend. They can beat us. They can sweep us. But they can't eliminate us. 

OH SCHLITT ! ! ? ! !

The Only remaining Reason To Watch

In July, 1915, a bunch of my friends gathered around the family radio in Yonkers, New York, to listen to another Yankee game.

But this was no ordinary game. 

In the previous five games the Yankee shortstop, Roger Peckinpaugh, had made an error.  On this day he would make his 6th in 6 games, setting a New York Yankee record.  A record which stood until August 27th of 2026, when rookie shortstop George Lombard would duplicate that feat. 

Roger went on to become an all star shortstop,  until he totally wigged out in a seven game 1925 World Series ( playing, by then, for the Washington Senators ) during which he notched 8 errors.   Of interest, Roger was the American League MVP that same season.

So there is reason to watch tonight.  We may see a new Yankee record established by a rookie.  We can call it the " 8 ball game. "   Those of you who play pool will know the implications here. 

What ever happens, someone should take Lombard to a Yankee bar tonight and be a chaperone whilst he gets hammered.  I recommend Crown Royal shots, draft beers and pickled eggs.  

If Roger can become a league MVP after his ignominious achievement, so can Boy George. 

There is always hope. 

"Seventy percent of life is showing up..."

 ...But the Yankees only show up 70 percent of the time.

Last night was, yet again, Not A Good Faith Effort.

Hey, it was raining most of yesterday, and the grass was really wet, and the crowd was only some 41,000, and the Yanks are just in a pennant race and playing a team that has constantly beaten and cheated and humiliated them over the past 10 years.

You can't expect ballplayers who are making tens of millions of dollars to get up for that. Not against the great Hayden Wesneski, who entered the game with a 4.50 ERA.

Once again, the Un-Clutchedness was appalling. 

Many have written here about this Yankees team's continuing inability to hit with men in scoring position (when they hit at all). But it goes the other way, too. Four of the five Houston runs scored with two outs, just as the vast majority of opponents' runs now score with two outs against your New York Yankees. 

The Venerable Keefe established long ago what a terrible field manager Aaron Boone is. But what many have overlooked is just what an awful clubhouse manager he is, too, utterly unable to keep his teams paying attention throughout the long season.

The June Swoon, the July Die, the August Bust...call it what you will, but I have never seen teams take nothing from something the way that they do under Aaron Boone.

A little winning streak, pitching that keeps them in every game, the bats seeming to break out...

Nope.

Nothing means anything.

Back we go, with another non-effort like last night's. 

Five hits, two errors, 11 more strikeouts, 0-for-9 with runners in scoring position, two-hours-and-thirty-seven minutes and done, because who wants to risk their luxury car in a flash flood on the way back to Connecticut? 

And now the rookie's errors have become a thing, on the back page of the Post, because apparently neither Aaron Boone nor any of the aged veterans in the clubhouse have the ability or the inclination to settle the kid.

And now comes the big showdown series against the Red Sox, which means something to old folks like us, but nothing at all to this ever-more-annoying zombie team of Yankees, who seemingly can't wait for the season to be over.

Hey, it was overcast this morning, and you know what kind of a mood that puts you in, and Judge will be back soon, and who knows, maybe the playoff match-ups will be favorable...

Still have to show up, though.

Into the most critical series of the year, the Yankees stagger

Well, here we go. The moment we've dreaded since early June may finally come to pass.

The wolf is at our door.  

Sadly, the Yankees are the hamster, scampering in desperation for three brutal months. Since Aaron Judge went out with a fractured rib, our lineup has been a toothless caravan of Ks and botched RBI opportunities. 

Take last night. In the early innings, they twice failed to score a runner on second with no outs - the fundamental low bar for championship teams. The Yankees fail so regularly, so comfortably, that fans expect to fail when a runner reaches 2B. 

Where have you gone, Paul O'Neill? Is there nobody who can smash a water cooler? Have we all just gone out sailing on Lake America?

As we await Boston, and the possibility of a wipeout weekend, the state of the Yankees is cold and bleak.

Catcher: Despite the YES team's dutiful claims of hope, Austin Wells remains the worst hitting catcher in baseball, especially clueless against lefty pitching, which is the new normal. Last night, he went 0-3 with three Ks. The usual...

Infield: Our future is an unraveling ball of twine held together by George Lombardi Jr., who last night made his sixth error in six games. He's on the back cover. Beginning tonight, the spotlight will burn hotter than ever. It killed Anthony Volpe. Is it coming for Lombard?

Outfield: Aaron Judge says he will return without playing a minor league rehab game. He'll go straight to RF, where he will exercise caution on balls that would otherwise demand that he dive. What could go wrong?

Rotation: Our strong point, though the loss of Ryan Weathers might require a regular bullpen start, and Carlos Rodon is still Carlos Rodon. Generally, we can expect six innings and three runs. 

Bullpen: The loss of Francisco Cruz - elbow - really hurts. Brent Headrick is showing strain, and the once-limitless succession of young arms from Scranton is no more. Last night, we used 35-year-old Justin Topa, signed from the scrap heap barely a week ago.   

Everywhere, a meltdown, waiting to happen. 

The wolf is at the door.

º8/27/2∂ - Ass'Tros √s Yunkeez - "Oh Baby its Cole Outside"

 

 

As George Lombard Jr. approaches the maelstrom, every game is a lifetime

Five nights, five errors, including one that arguably cost a game. 

Is this really happening? 

Please, pour water onto my face. Yell into my ear. Wake me from this existential dread.

Suddenly, the Yankiverse is mumbling, grousing, fearing the worst about George Lombard Jr., piling upon him a lifetime of scrutiny, barely three months into his 21st year.

I, for one, hope that he... 

a) does not read social media
b) does not listen to talk radio
c) does not read this blog

I'd add that he needs a competent shrink, who never utters the most terrifying phrase this week in the Yankiverse.

The Yips.

Nope. Aint going there. It's too early to sound the Mandatory Evacuation alarm. But Yank fans know an iceberg when they see one, and the Brace for Impact light is  flashing. 

Lombard arrived on Aug. 4, a century ago?, rousing our most unbridled hopes since The Martian homered thrice in one game, back in May of 2025. He looked like the Second Coming of Jeet, with an extra dab of Ozzie Smith. We penciled him into Monument Park, if not Cooperstown. 

Now, suddenly, every grounder is a Stephen King novel. It's been three weeks. It feels like three lifetimes. And now comes a Twilight Zone weekend against Boston. A mistake or two could drop the Yankees behind the Redsocks with a thunder of boos that could grease a slide back to Scranton. 

Ah, Scranton. Never has the name of a fine, upstanding city conjured such images of existential torture. 

There - down there - Anthony Volpe is playing 2B, demoted from franchise SS to discarded utility lug nut. Last night, he went 1-4 with a HR, his 6th on the brief season. At SS, Oswaldo Cabrera went 1-3 - no errors. I believe Yank fans would love to see Oswaldo again - he's hitting .279 with 17 HRs - but at SS? Nah. He's stuck there for eternity.

Listen: If Lombard continues to struggle defensively, the Yankees might have to blow up their well-hyped future. Another round of Volpe? Or Max Schuemann? I don't see Ryan McMahon shifting to SS, and Amed Rosario is a lost cause. In Scranton, there is ex-prospect Marco Luciano (age 24, with 22 HRs, .297, who mostly plays 2B.) And in Somerset, a formerly hyped prospect, Roderick Arias, is having his best year. (.272, 14 HRs, age 21.) It's a long, steep drop to the next great hope, Dax Kilby, (.280 in 93 ABs at Single A.) Frankly, there's just Volpe. 

This might be the most important weekend of Lombard's career. Damn. Why don't I just heap more pressure on him, eh?

Tonight... a clean game. Okay? 

A gentle query

WHY IS TRENT GRISHAM STILL PLAYING CENTER FIELD?

Game Thread – 08•2∂•2∂ – RIP Tim Curry

 

 

The Yankee bullpen looks Booned. Ten lost observations

Last 7 days

1. For a while last night, I thought the Yankees would honor Dolly Parton by losing 9 to 5. 

2. Boone's Circle of Trust is leaking. Our mainstays - Brent Headrick and Fernando Cruz  (see chart) - desperately need a week of fine weed and Calgon Bath Oil Beads, but that won't happen, not with Boston approaching. The 6th, 7th and 8th innings now belong to Blackburn and Hill. Blare the sirens. This is Def-Con 4.

3. George Lombard Jr. remains the great Jeterian hope. But four errors in four games have raised rip tide warnings. Suddenly, when the ball gets hit his way, the Yankiverse holds its breath. The franchise cannot afford another infield apparition. If this becomes a mental thing... 

4. Like the guy in Obsession, the horror flick about Natalie Harp, I am clutching my trinket and wishing for Aaron Judge to return... NOW! But but BUT... if he's not ready, he could bring an 0-for-15 weekend. 

5. Sonny Gray is 16-3 and Boston's shot for the Cy Young. He pitches tonight against the Marlins and will probably go Sunday. God knows who will oppose him.

6. If there's anything we've come to know about Will Warren, it's that Boone always leaves him in one batter too long. 

7.  Over the last month, Ben Rice is hitting .158 with three HRs. Yes, he's a fan fave. But batting second, he's coming up in huge situations, and he's not getting it done. 

8. In Scranton, Anthony Volpe is hitting: Two for five last night, playing 2B. The Martian, meanwhile, went 0-4 with three Ks, inexplicably playing CF. And Oswaldo, at SS, 0-4 with three Ks. Come Sept 1, when the rosters expand, help is not on the way.

9. Last night for Scranton, the Railriders used five pitchers, a bullpen start, and gave up six runs. Help is not on the way.

10. I know it's not easy, but when Jazz Chisholm is on 1B, and Austin Wells is batting, there should be an immediate command to steal 2B. Wells is a human GIDP, and his DP grounder killed us last night.

Damn, I hate losing to Jose Altuve.