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

. . . Something Educational and Upbeat . . . 

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

 "I just want you to hurt like I do

Honest I do

Honest I do

Honest I do..."

—Randy Newman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New York Giants:        5,959-4798    .554

Brooklyn Dodgers:     5624-5,280   .516 

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

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

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

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

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

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

I digress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Read my forthcoming book!!)

Ahem. Sorry about that advertisement for myself. 

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

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

The Curse of Fishhooks McCarthy.

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

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

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

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

Knicks in Five!

 

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

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

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

 The Four Yankee Questions of the Apocalypse.

1. Are the Yankees really thinking about activating Giancarlo?

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

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

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

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

Let the big dog run!  

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

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

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

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

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

I get shivers, just thinking of it... 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let us consider:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Yes, we’re THAT old.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could this happen?  

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

For the showdown with Boston, could we try something outlandish?

One week from now, the year could be over. 

By then, the Yankees could have emptied their lockers, tipped their sherpas, banged their hookers and be flying to Sacramento, or Sarasota, or Antarctica, wherever. What matters begins Tuesday, a three-game series against Boston that will define 2026, if not the Twenty-Twenties. Tuesday, we march to the ledge and leap into the void. By next Saturday, it could all be over. 

Let's face it: This mini-confrontation against Boston was always fated, though nobody factored-in a potentially catastrophic storm. For the next 48 hours, we must wait to see that happens to the East Coast after the winds and waters subside. 

Talk about omens? Wow. (On that note, here's a thought: For all the branding opportunities in the weather terror industry, this storm still has no name. Is that a sign of what's to come? Big hits by players we barely know?)

Still, in the spirit of hope, I'd like to suggest something crazy next week. 

Rather than try to platoon their way into the ALCS, I suggest they concentrate on something ridiculous! outrageous! blaspheme!!! 

Defense.

Simply stated, the Yankees should forget who's been hot lately, or who hits what against various Boston pitchers. The stats won't matter. The Yankees haven't hit since July. They won't score more than two runs. They're a HR team, and HR-teams never hit in October. Why think they will change?

Nope. They should simply play the best defense they've got. And that is this.

1b Goldy
2b Jazz
ss George Jr.
3b McMahon
c Austin Wells
rf The Captain
cf Spencer Jones
lf Belly
dh Ben Rice

Let's not overthink. This is no time for an algorithm. Let's simply play a game without flinging one into a camera well. 

Sorry, Luis Garcia, but Paul Goldschmidt is, by far, our best glove at 1B. For all his lollypops, Jazz still turns the DP better than anyone else. It's a tough call at SS, closer than it should be, but Lombard has been holding it together. And there is no cause to consider Cabby or Volpe at 3B. Stick with McMahon. 

In the outfield, even a hobbling Judge beats Heliot Ramos, a butcher at either corner. Jones in center. Belly, of course. And Wells, for sure.

Let's not be cute. Let's not give Boston a four-out inning. Let's not embarrass ourselves. Otherwise, by this time next week, the Jets might be the only sports story in town.

Friday Evening Game Thread – ø9/25/2∂

THANKS FOR AN UNFORGETTABLE SEASON, BRIAN!

Creeping Metsism?

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

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

But retire his number? The ultimate tribute?

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

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

Meh.

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

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

But retire his number?  

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

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

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

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

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

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

Congratulations, Mr. Sabathia.

Speaking of bloopers...

 

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

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

Or...did it?

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

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

A perfect storm? Could Boston blow this?

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

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

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

All else has been prelude. 

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

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

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

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

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

Kooky Kapers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fearless. And an idiot.

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

09/24/26

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

And where SHOULD the Yankees be?

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a waste.

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

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

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

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

It’s a crap shoot. Well, crap anyway.

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

What other ticket has that kind of risk?

So maybe that’s the secret.

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

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

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

--

Aaron Judge. Jaxxon Dart.  Fill in the Blank. 

Their injuries don’t matter. 

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

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

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

For the record, right after that we got swept.

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

The bank was finally empty.

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

It’s why we watch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How else do you explain this...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Game Two Thread – What Rhymes with Urinal Cake ?

09–22–26

The end is... forestalled

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

That's baseball, John.

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

With two games today, the end is near.

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

Sum it up?

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

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

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

What was the Yankee highlight of 2026?

Watching the Knicks win the NBA.

What finished second? 

Watching the Mets fall apart. 

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

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

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

See you on the other side.

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

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, the future looked bright. 

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

But everything went wrong from the start. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Once again, the future seemed bright. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

So will anything change? Stay tuned!