Is it his end ? My blogging friends, BØØNE'S end ? (Uhm – Game Three – ALDS)

 

 

Is it me, or is baseball ridiculous when they're catching fly balls off the ceiling?

 Seems to me that's a ridiculous home field advantage. The Rays turned a chaotic situation into an easy out.  Oh well... 

At the end of the world, Fire or Rice? (Apologies to Robert Frost)

 JAZZ OR RICE?   

Some say the year will end with Jazz,
Some say Ben Rice.
And if we're down to our last man,
I have no faith in Ryan McMahon.
For when they fail, we'll pay the price,
I think we'll find that even Goldy
Is too old for a golden oldie,
And playing Volpe over Jazz,
Won't matter much, I think, whereas,
I guess I'd rather go with Rice,
And hope our offense
Will suffice.

"History repeats itself..."

 ...the first as tragedy, the second as farce."

—Karl Marx

Okay, okay, the first time—the Phenomenal Flop in the Fifth, in the 2024 World Series—was pretty farcical, too.

A few observations regarding last night:

—Ryan McMahon, trying to summon up his best, postgame face of disgust, told the press that he was "pissed off with the way we played." 

This is nonsense, of course. 

Once a guy who could hit .240 with 20-25 home runs, get some walks, and play a very good third base, Ryan has shed skills over the course of his career quicker than a Times Square stripper (Do they still have those?). He can now do nothing well on a ballfield—yet he has still made almost $57.5 million playing baseball, and is guaranteed to make another $16 million next year, which will make him one of the very richest people who have ever walked the planet.  

To be truly "pissed off" about anything, he would have to be a psychopath, or a professional deeply devoted to his craft, and there is no evidence that he is either—just another mediocrity who has let his game deteriorate to the point where it can no longer be excused or ignored.

—The Yankees' roster is now filled with such players. Witness Jazz Chisholm, who is capable of doing anything at any time, none of it good.  Most of their other young players, a moment ago such an unexpected boon (sorry to evoke that name) from this season, now look like frightened rabbits in the terrifying AL Division Series.

—It occurred to me, watching last night's fiasco, just how much criticism was showered upon—of all people—Derek Jeter, over the course of his remarkable career. He didn't have enough range, he should have let A-Rod play shortstop, he was only "Captain Intangibles." 

Blah-blah-blah. Lost in all the inevitable blather of our online age, is the fact of what a consummate pro he was right from the beginning.

Not only did he hit .314 and score 104 runs in his Rookie-of-the-Year 1996, but in the miraculous playoff run the Yankees made that season, he was 22-61, and made only 3, inconsequential errors in 76 chances.

George Lombard, Jr., is not Derek Jeter. Which is okay. Almost none are. He may be a very good ballplayer someday—but then, he may also devolve into another Volpe. The odds are not good for him, if he stays on this awful example of a team.

—Perhaps most remarkable last night was how badly the veterans played, as well as the new kids.

Little remembered, for instance, is how the Dodgers actually rallied to win the game of the Fifth Inning Fiasco when Austin Wells managed to hit a badly injured Ohtani's bat with his glove. But there Wells was, in Tampa, making the exact same mistake in the first inning.

—Cody Bellinger, who has disappointed all year when we most needed him to step up, displayed that good ol' warning-track power of his—and once again butchered a ball in left field, as he has done all season. Luis Garcia proved to be yet another, power-hitting first baseman picked up by Brian Cashman...who cannot ht for power. Or play first base.

—Weirdly, the Yankees seemed completely unhinged by Tampa Bay's home dome. Admittedly, it's a ridiculous place to play a baseball game—but one where the Yankees repair to for 6 or 7 games every season, and where they had managed to play an errorless game just two nights previous.

Somehow, though—whether it was the Angry McMahon fielding a grounder, or a coltish Spencer Jones judging a flyball—they seemed completely unnerved by the park. If they were having trouble seeing or something, maybe they should have taken more grounders or flies, or otherwise found a way to adjust.

But no could do. Like so Yankees playoff games in the Cashman era—see the "Midge Game," or Stanton getting thrown out at second on a ball he hit off the Green Monster—the Bombers were thoroughly undone by their environment.

—A man who might have done something about that, of course, was their manager, Aaron Boone.

Talk about repeating yourself! Aaron Boone sat through almost the exact same, inning-long meltdown in that 2024 World Series, and did nothing. He did not come out to settle everyone down, he did not talk to them afterwards in the dugout.

Instead, every time the cameras found him in last night's game, he seemed to be deliberately trying to keep as great a distance as possible from the rest of his team. During the disaster with the Dodgers, he seemed to be almost curled up in a corner, looking like nothing so much as a begging street orphan. 

Last night, he stood up by the rail of the dugout, throwing sunflower seeds into his gullet by the handful, but still far from his players, as if he were embarrassed by them (which he should have been).

—It was Boone who managed to set up the most costly misplays of the game, which were not even official errors. That was in the latest Fifth Inning Fiasco when—after a game Cam Schlittler had managed to pitch out of most of the trouble his teammates had caused him, and Ben Rice, the only Yankee who seems interested in hitting this postseason had tied the game—Boone had the infield play half in and half out with men on first and third.

It was an all-too typical, either-or strategy of the Cashman era, and it ended predictably. The first batter hit the ball to Chisholm who was playing deep and could not make a play at the plate in time; the second one hit it toward McMahon, who Lombard cut off (wisely, methinks), but then bobbled the ball, allowing another run to score, while no outs were recorded.

—One might have assumed, for that matter, that any manager truly paying attention to the game, would have tried something to augment the Yanks' execrable hitting.

The Venerable Keefe reports that aside from Rice and Wells, of all people, who have gone a combined 4-12 in the ALDS so far, the rest of the Yankees are a combined 1-46, with a .086/.145/.224 slash line. 

This is, in itself, ridiculous. Tampa Bay has good pitching; they are not throwing Koufax, Drysdale, and Osteen out there. 

Still, once Rice homered to tie the game in the fourth, and Jones reached first with two outs, why not run the speedy Spencer? Did he really think Lombard was more likely to homer than single? Or was that just the analytics talking?

—Which brings us to the real problem with this Yankees team, and which is the same problem it is year-in, year-out.  

Aaron Boone is a bad manager because he has figured out that all he needs to do to keep his job is to do whatever General Manager Brian Cashman tells him. Brian Cashman is a bad general manager because he has figured out that all he needs to do to keep his job—apparently forever—is to do whatever owner Hal Steinbrenner wants him to do. 

Hal Steinbrenner is a great owner...for himself. He is a bad owner for the fans and the people of New York, because he has figured out that he can maximize his inherited fortune by not really trying to win it all, but just by contending enough to fill the seats and dominate the baseball airwaves in the biggest market in the country...and also by milking ever-greater subsidies out of the public treasury.

As soon as the postseason ends, he will apply himself to starting yet another labor war with the players, in the hopes of being required to annihilate his team's leading advantage over other teams in other cities, which is effective control of the biggest market in the game (sorry, Mets).

And hey, that tragedy/farce Marx was referring to? It was the "tragedy" of how Napoleon I ultimately squashed the original French Revolution of 1789, and the "farce" of how Napoleon III did the same to the 1848 revolution. 

Here is Bonaparte the Lesser, below. He sure does look the ultimate popinjay, and he couldn't live up to his uncle as a general. On the other hand, he rebuilt much of Paris, including the grand boulevards and so much of what made that city the most beautiful in the world...

When is Hal going to build us the equivalent of Baron Haussmann's Paris? Or even, you know, another championship?  

Keep dreaming, suckers.

 

I just have one thing to say.....

 1.  Most of us, on this blog, predicted that the Yankee ceiling in2026 would be to win the play-in round, and then bow out of the playoffs. 

2.  If Boone ever lets Jazz  play again for this team, we shall know he is the worst manager in the history of the game. 

3.  Judge will be ready for the next round and the World Series. 

4.  Stanton will strike out again today, if the game is close. 

5.  We played baseball against Boston ( bunts, advancing runners, catching grounders, making true throws to the bases, no catcher interference, etc.).  Against Tampa, everyone swung for the fences and all, except Ben Rice, struck out. 

6.  With a non baseball guy in the ownership position,  Cashman and Boone will stay until they are taken out for health reasons.   Or, perhaps, a flash flood. 

That's my one comment.  That's all I have to say for this season. 

What a waste of time. 

A Big Thank You to Our 2026 New York Yankees!

I mean it. Thank you! 

To tell all of you the truth... I appreciate the way the Yankees are playing.They are doing us  a huge favor. 

Two reasons leap to mind... 

Number one.  

All year when people ask me about the Yankees I say they are a bad team that is not good at baseball. 

To this they reply, "But they have the second best record in the AL. They are a playoff lock. Another winning season.  Etc."

It's hard to refute. Especially when they blow-out the Red Sox in the first round. 

BTW they really need to stop with the champaign celebrations after every step up.

My kids both graduated grade school and I didn't reward them with a trip to Disneyland.They had cake.

Celebrate when you win the pennant or, if you want to be like the Knicks, when the real job is done and you win it all!  

Yesterday they demonstrated what I've been saying all along. THEY ARE NOT GOOD AT BASEBALL. The team is filled with guys from bad organizations that don't know how to win. They are poorly constructed and poorly run. 

McMahon and Donaldson etc. instead of Machado! It was the same money! 

Almost forgot, poorly managed. Boone is a horrible manager. 

Last night the Yankees showed their true colors for all the world to see. They are in fact a bad baseball team and are not good at baseball. 

Thank you! 

Number Two. I love baseball and I love watching the Yankees. Always have. From the looks of things there might not be any baseball next year thanks to a greed induced lockout. 

Normally, and especially if the Yankees were a team worth watching or G-d forbid the World Champions. the thought of no baseball in the Spring would make me sad. 

But, they are so, so bad from the Front Office to the back-up catcher that I will not miss them. I will fill the time with something that sparks joy. 

So... Thank You 

Thank you for being he worst playoff team I've ever seen. 

Last night  Jazz had me wondering if they should have started Volpe. Volpe! 

Wells makes me miss Gary Sanchez. Gary Sanchez! 

I need to stop. 

So again, and for the last time... 

Thank You 2026 New York Yankees!  

A nice one year owner initiated, money grubbing, self own sabbatical sounds perfect right about now. 

Rays in three!

It's a hail of horrors, and the worst is yet to come

I believe that we at IT IS HIGH celebrate Yankee wins more joyously than anywhere in the known Rizzutonic universe. 

And when our heroes fail, we fling our buckets of flaming feces harder than anywhere else in God's creation.

Last night, we ran out of gasoline and shit. 

Last night brought what should have been the worst Yankee embarrassment since - say - Babe Dahlgren and Spud Chandler headed the war-ravaged teams of the 1940s. In fact, it was merely our worst game since Saturday and - if you want to travel back further - since the infamous Game 5 of the 2024 World Series. 

October embarrassments now happen on an annual basis.

Choking has become the Yankee brand. 

Seriously. How else do you explain the last two games against Tampa, when they have... 

Nearly been no-hit. 

Failed to plate one baserunner.

Struck out 18 times.

Turned every routine grounder into an adventure. 

Played as if watching the game on TV. (Can someone explain to Spencer Jones that, in the postseason, players dive?) 

Resembled the Redsocks. 

Against Boston, they made every play. 

Against Tampa, they've botched everything their way.  

Listen: This is where we're supposed to say it aint over, that we can win two in NYC and send this thing back south (maybe to coincide with a roof-shredding Gulf Coast hurricane.) 

Sorry, but it aint gonna happen. (Actually, the hurricane might.)

The 2026 Yankees are a team of destiny. 

Just not the kind we wanted. 

We know how this ends. Like last year, and the year before. The Yankees have mentally cleaned out their lockers. If Tampa scores, it's over. It will end on a cold, blustery night, with the Yankees down by a handful, with the TV announcers blathering excuses, with the umps hurrying things along, with the Rays pointing to objects thrown onto the field, and with the authorities fearing the cascade of boos will become something far worse. 

We're going home, where the anger will be hard to ignore. 

The worst is yet to come.

A L D S – Game Number Two – YES WE CAM !

(PLEASE DO NOT BLOW THIS)

I think we need a touch of Harry in the night...

 

As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.

This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

Big Game Tonight... with ramifications for NYC, MLB and the USA

Writers have always cherished the existential metaphors between baseball and life. 

Nine players: Nine planets. 

Three outs: morning, noon and night. 

Pitcher and catcher: Man and Woman. (Additional Fun Fact: The duration of a home run corresponds EXACTLY to the length of the male orgasm.) 

And now comes the 2026 season, with the Yankees and humanity, teetering tonight on the brink...  

1. Win or lose, there will still be Yankee chest-thumping, as the series moves to the Bronx. We'll have the RF porch, the gnarly fan-thugs along the foul lines, and the raging, Pizza Rat, Knicks-in-five chaos that Tampa never experiences in its giant, climate-controlled ping pong ball.

2. Win or lose, the Yankees will still start game three with Max Fried or maybe Carlos Rodon, our best starter in late September, (who might still be waiting to throw a pitch.) We'll still have Ben Rice, the poor man's Judge, who - sadly - looks rather clownish, rooting from the dugout. (Love the guy, but if the Yankees flop, 2026 goes down as an incredible embarrassment.)

3. Down 0-2 and heading home wouldn't be history's worst deficit, but it sure would feel that way. Game One birthed our darkest fear: That the Yankees simply don't hit. It's already in our heads. Every Yankee faces that deepening sense of loss, fear and stress. It's happened repeatedly in this millennium. Yankee teams built around HRs suddenly go ice cold, unable to advance a runner. The growing crowd frustration only makes it worse. Is it already here? 

4. Already, "Hell's Bells" Austin Wells has become this team's official bonehead, joining Nick Swisher's flubbed liner in the 2012 ALCS, and Gerrit Cole pointing to first base in 2024. Wells being thrown out a car-length from third is already in the future embarrassment queue. Sadly, it might define his career. 

5. The lords of MLB and Fox Sports must already be pondering their worst nightmare, a world series between Tampa/Cleveland and Milwaukee/San Diego - small markets with stars that nobody knows. Tampa is particularly sad. The Rays can boast of selling out Game One, but that's probably because Yankee fans were in the mix. Will they sell-out against Cleveland?

6. If the Yankees fall tonight, the floor will start to give way. And here's the real rub: Their veteran lineup could be two years older the next time it takes the field. An ownership lockout looms over November, a dark and sketchy time for America and its national pastime. The world series starts Oct. 23. If it goes seven, the finale will occur within hours of the midterms. 

It's gonna be crazy. 

The Yankees better win tonight, or the course of humanity could be fundamentally altered forever. How's that for fucking ramifications!

Believing their own blarney.

 

On August 4th, 1963, Mickey Mantle stepped up to the plate in the seventh inning of a game against the Baltimore Orioles, pinch-hitting for reliever Steve Hamilton, he of "folly floater" fame. 

Mantle had not played for almost two entire months, after badly injuring himself running into one of the stupid, jerry-rigged walls in Baltimore's Memorial Stadium. Nonetheless, he belted a pitch from George Brunet of the Birds deep into Yankee Stadium's left field bleachers, tying the game at 10-10, and ran around the bases in his usual hurried, head-down way—with tears in his eyes, thinking, "Gee, I'm a lucky guy."

The Mick made a habit of such feats throughout his long, injury-riddle career. Just the year before, he had come back from four weeks on the disabled list to pinch-hit a three-run homer before some 50,000 fans at the Stadium, and in the 1961 World Series he had managed a key, pinch-hit single despite playing with a wound that started bleeding through his uniform.

Opponents often thought that Mantle was at his most dangerous when playing injured—or hung over—because it diminished his eagerness to over swing.

Who can say? But nonetheless, The Mick in that immortal, 1963 game, was batting in a regular-season game, after a "mere" 60 days on the DL.  

By contrast, Giancarlo Stanton was sent up last night to have his first at-bat in...132 days. In the ninth inning, of a an important playoff game. Against a top closer. 

Those familiar with this space will have noticed that I don't exactly have the highest regard for our Mr. Stanton.

I feel that he came to the New York Yankees under false pretenses, based on gaudy, National-League statistics that were probably augmented by various illicit substances (thanks again, Mr. Jeter). 

The results of whatever his training regimen was and is have been visited upon the Yankees. He has barely been able to play over half of his games in NewYork, and his production has been erratic at best.

Given ownership's loathing to spare an extra dollar of all that inherited lucre, his presence on the roster has been generally disastrous, preventing the Yanks from signing any number of other players who could, well, play—and who might well have put us over the top at last during these last, frustrating nine seasons.

But neither Giancarlo nor us fans deserved what Aaron Boone and the rest of the Bombers' braintrust clowntrust visited upon us last night.

As many of us have mentioned here, one of the most frustrating things about Stanton is that not only does he get hurt all the time, but it takes him days, even weeks, to get back in "form" after returning from those injuries (whereupon he usually gets injured again).

But far be it from the Yankees-in-charge to believe anything but their own childlike faith that Giancarlo is always so clutch, no matter the circumstances.

Could The Mick have come through last night? 

Maybe, but he was a god. Giancarlo is a mere mortal, in our fallen age, and liable to fail. As are we all.

I know, I know. October makes us all batty. Or should I say, even battier than usual. 

Already, otherwise astute and intelligent friends have told me seriously that the real problem last night was Austin Wells running into that out (Stupid, but as our Peerless Leader has pointed out, was McMahon—or Stanton—really going to come through with a hit?), or even that, had Carlos Rodon started, he would have been sure to match Drew Rasmussen "zero for zero" until...what? Our bullpen blew the game?

Stop it.

The fault for last night lies with our Clown-in-Chief, the man who our Nepo Baby Clown owner will not fire, and who seems to have on tap an endless supply of press box clowns willing to write yet another encomium to his many years of not having losing records.

The fact is that having Giancarlo Stanton and Trent Grisham on this post-season roster is ludicrous mismanagement.

The Yanks SHOULD have brought up the late lamented Oswaldo in the last month of the season, and seen if he could hit and field well enough to bench Ryan McMahon. 

They SHOULD have spent that last month, too—if they were not going to bother actually chasing hard after the TB Rays—trying to find ways to score runs without relying on solo homers.

Especially solo home runs from bums and perpetual invalids who were—and probably still are—injured.

All that said...

The Yankees still SHOULD have enough starting pitching to win this playoff series and at least reach the World Series. 

They might not. As someone wrote in an actual review of an Off-Broadway show I read the other day, there has been a "clown resurgence" of late (Somehow, that explains so much.). 

But the odds are in our favor, provided we can put on our big-boy pants (very big in Jazz's case), remember that we gotta have heart, and always, always, follow the Knicks.

I, for one, will gladly tip my own clown hat and red nose and call Brian Cashman my daddy if he does at last bring home a World Series trophy, all on his own.  

This is the year. Now is the time.

 

Another Yankee October of toothless doom.

Well, here we go again?

Over the last 15 Octobers, we've watched it every year: pumpkin-spiced beer, political attack ads, Indigenous Peoples’ Day, leaf-peeping, apple-picking, haunted hayrides and It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. 

Here's what happens: A lineup of home run hitters (that's us) runs into buzzsaw pitching (the Rays), and turns into a slasher movie of strikeouts. 

It's the Great Thumpin,' Aaron Boone.

Last night, the Yankees delivered 12 Ks. Their one hit - a liner that landed inches from the foul line - was immediately erased by a ridiculous base running blunder. We watched Speedy Austin Wells become a meme. (Not that it mattered; does anyone believe Ryan McMahon was going to drive in a run?) 

It sure was fun, punching down on Boston. 

But we're not facing Sonny Gray anymore. 

Last night, against Drew Rasmussen - "The Yankee Killer?" It's hard to all him that, because there are so many - I counted maybe five hard-hit balls. Basically, the Yankees marched up to the plate, took their savage swings, and then marched back to the water cooler.   

We can tell ourselves that it was just one loss, not a catastrophe. Why bother? Nobody will believe it. All year, the Yankees barely touched Rasmussen, and he's lined up to pitch Game Five, if we get there.

Once again, we just can't hit in October, when pitching improves. Instead, we watch an endless progression of "sluggers" - from the GrandyMan to Doncha Know, from Swishalicious to Gleyber Day. And now, Spencer Jones? Beating Boston was too easy. It masked the reality of the 2026 Yankees. 

Well, at least our players get to sleep in their spring training beds, as we ponder Monday night. Cam Schlittler v the Tampa staff. One mistake, and the season could effectively be over. Can he pull a Rasmussen? 

Here we go again?

Kiss me goodnight, Boonie...

 

"If we should fail?"

 

"We fail?

But screw your courage to the sticking place

And we'll not fail."

Didn't see the game live, because the relatives were over.  But I don't care.

Yes, Wells should not have run past a stop sign after getting the only hit we had in the game.

But...I can't blame Wells for getting the only hit we had in the game.

Was Cole the right choice?

A record 14 straight, postseason starts without allowing more than 3 earned runs. Only 3 starts out of 23 in October when he allowed more than that. 

So I guess it wasn't a mistake to start him.

I guess our starting pitching has stood up.

I  don't know if this Yankees team can beat anybody coming out of the National League. Hell, I don't know if they'll even beat Cleveland or Chicago in the ALCS.

But I'll tell you this: Schlittler, Fried, and Rodon: Yanks will sweep the next three against the Rays, and take this series.

Screw your courage to the sticking place. We're going to win this series.

ALDS – Game "Number One" – Cole √s Rasamussen

 

 

 

 

Big game...75 years ago today.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so they were.

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

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

Oy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ruh-roh.

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

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

Ballgame over. World SERIES over.

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

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

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

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

Big game tonight

Seriously. What else to say?

Ten thoughts, all to be denied later...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10. Starting time: 6:30 p.m. 

Big game tonight.

Remember this day and keep it holy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And...in the Bucky Dent Game.

Sad, but true. 

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

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

But what a day.

Knicks in Five! 

 

The Real Issue Facing The Yankees Going Forward

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

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

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

That's bad. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shall we say it? 

Dare we say it? 

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

Yanks in Five.

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

 

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

Boston events calendar has a new Number One

 Some dates have opened up.

Boston is done. Ten tank-aways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouldn't be surprised...

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

Mr. Nice Guy...on the surface

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

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

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

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

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

2026 ALDS Broadcast Information

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