Thursday, July 31, 2014

Suddenly, we learn that Pete O'Brien was terrible?

Plays no position... giant hole in his swing... strikes out way too often... projected as another Rob Deer... no real loss... now sure what Arizona was thinking...

Yep, once again, the Yankees have made a mockery of the game by using their smarts to pick another team's pockets, and get a star player for next to nothing. New York should start now to plan the victory parade down the Canyon of Heroes, considering the incredible improvements on this team, at no cost to the future.

The Evils today traded Pete O'Brien, one of their farm system's great surprises of 2014, and one of two Yankee prospects selected for the recent Futures Game. (Two weeks ago, we traded Rafael DePaula, last year's representative, whose projections were also quickly rewritten to say he is too old; are we seeing a trend here?)  Last week, the Yankiverse celebrated every O'Brien home run - third most in minor league baseball. Now, the peanut gallery assures us that he was never going to be any good. Funny how that works.

They traded O'Brien to Arizona for 30-year-old INF Martin Prado, whose record you can judge for yourself, on the upper right box. He has 5 HRs this year, same as Brian Roberts. (Whom we'll get to later.) Arizona traded Prado after deciding he isn't worth the $11 million per year they must pay him through 2016. To Arizona, that's a bloated, excessive contract. To the Yankees, it's normalcy. I dunno. Maybe Prado can play 2B next year, since - considering O'Brien's revisionist history - up and coming prospect Rob Refsnyder is another dud-in-waiting - no position, hole in swing, etc.  Maybe our entire system is full of phantoms.

We also traded Kelly Johnson for Steven Drew, straight up, which is sort of like trading shingles for rickets. We'll take Drew's stupid one-year contract, and the Redsocks assume Johnson's stupid two-year contract. Drew hasn't hit this year, but the Yankees say he was hot lately, like Chase Headley and Brandon McCarthy were, before we nabbed them. Seeing a trend here?

One more point worth noting, if not celebrating:

Brian Roberts is gone, waived, dropped, vanished, DFAed, surgically deleted from the grid... so long, suckah.

Let the record show that Brian gave the Yankees everything he had. It just wasn't enough. Nevertheless, the Evil Empire did him dirt, dumping the guy just two at-bats shy of receiving a huge bonus. Not only that, but Girardi didn't play him in the last two games - (claiming he needed a rest.) It looks pretty creepy, a multi-billion dollar organization that simply didn't want to pay a guy. Yankee pride? Gimmie a break. For a franchise that bleeds money, that's being frickin' chintzy. These days, I guess screwing the players is what passes for Yankee ingenuity.

Well, what's done is done. On to Boston. We patched a few leaks. Let's see what new ones are ready to spring.

Sick feeling grows, as the Redsocks reload

They rebuild their batting order, get younger, and keep all their prospects. And the worst part? I can't shake the feeling that this weekend, they'll still take two out of three against us...

This is what happens when you completely lose hope for your team.

Which One Do The Red Sox Get?

A? Or B?


Brett... a-ah
Savior of the Yankee Universe
Brett... a-ah
He'll save every one of us

(Seemingly there is no reason for these extraordinary intergalactical upsets)
(Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha)
(What's happening Flash?)
(Only Doctor Chris Ahmad, of Columbia, can provide any explanation)

Brett... a-ah
He's a miracle

(This morning's unprecedented 5.5 games back is no cause for alarm)

King of the impossible

He's for every one of us
Stand for every one of us
He saves

with a mighty swing

Bring me the head of Justin Bieber

I don't do this often, but dammit... I've had it with a certain Canadian spittle-chin who thinks big, tough tattoos can turn a serial pantywaist into a big, tough dude. This little twit is going to stand in the middle of his barbell entourage and bark insults about Orlando Bloom's ex-wife? I wish he would try it with me. I'd love to plant my fist square into that smug, little, un-balled gurlie mouth, go a little Tawny Kitaen, and we'll see how the pipsqueak worm-boy sounds without front teeth.

Fifty bucks to anybody who drops the slimy clump of pubescence and learns him, once and for all, that you don't mock a Hobbit-helping Caribbean pirate, not on this website's watch. Not here. Not anywhere. Fifty big ones, dammit. Wait... a hundred, if the beat-down is administered by a female. Tawny, you out there?

That's right, ladies. Hear me out. About 20 years ago, this planet's Secret Ruling Man Committee sent double-naught agent Kevin Federline - alias K-Fed - to mesmerize and ruin the high-and-mighty queen of self-indulgence, Britney Spears. When Kevin was finished, she had a cue ball head, a lifetime of court dates and - worst of all - sizable love handles. It's time for your Secret Womanhood Illuminati to dispatch some twisted, testicle-eating succubus to the land of Molsons and Labatts, and to put this bathtub-toy sound-alike clod into permanent rehab. A hundred bucks. Do it for the Hobbits. Do it for all of us.

Lester... bangs.

Or maybe clangs.

Boston gets Humanis Centepedes for future Yankee John Lester and Johnny Gomes.

Gut reaction: I thought they'd do much better.

Yankeetorial: Don't buy, Mr. Cashman. Sell, sell... SELL!

Dear Mr. Cashman,

In the movies, the great, all-wise, peace-loving super-ape, Caesar, stunned the James Franco/Charlton Heston genetic-redneck-industrial complex by uttering the ultimate revolutionary word: "NO."

The rest, of course, is box office history.

Today - alias "Trade the Yankee Future Deadline Day" - you have a similar opportunity to save Yankeekind.

You can do what Yankee GMs did throughout the dark ages - prop up rancid teams with bloated slobs in the final, downward spirals of their careers, by trading away what thin strands of hope we have in our farm system. You can watch the Redsocks reload, their fan-base mocking us, as they shuttle John Lester to Baltimore - so the O's can crush us - and then, next year, bring another title to Boston. We can relive this same July 31 agony in 2015, and 2016, and again and again... until the entire crap-pile one day collapses upon us. It's happened before, and I'm not talking about the movies.

Or... sir... you can say... NO.

Listen to me: YOU CAN DO THIS! You can cut against the grain! You can change the course of Yankee history! The apes don't need to take over our planet.

The Yankee fan base is tired of watching haggard old retreads. We are thirsty for youth, for homegrown talent, for Yankees through and through - not mercenary rentals who peaked in 2006. A few sportswriters will yip and moan, but you'd be surprised at how many will come to your defense, who will see the folly of trying to perpetually float canoes made of concrete. The fans will understand...

Don't chase Cliff Lee, or Alex Rios, or Josh Willingham... or anybody. They won't make a twit of a difference. Moreover, we don't want them. We don't need them clogging our roster next year, the way Alfonso Soriano did through June. (And Vernon Wells, and Andruw Jones, et al, in previous years.) There is a reason why people sell used cars, why teams dump such players. You don't get something for nothing. You just get their headaches.

Sir... take a page out of every successful team in baseball... cut bait, clean house... Sell.

Make some calls. Gingerly, see what you could get for Mark Teixeira. He's fading, injured half the time, clearly on the descent. Right now, he's hitting well. Next year, who knows? Somebody might offer a nice package for Tex. Kick the tires. Cut a deal. We can lose with the guy. And we can lose without him.

Consider trading Hiroki Kuroda. Next winter, he'll probably retire. Do you remember what happened last August? The guy plummeted off a cliff, completely out of gas. Is there any reason to think this won't happen again? We were going to limit his work load this year. Did that happen? Hell-o-o? The guy is a fine fellow, yes, but he's also a bomb, waiting to go off. Right now, teams would vie for him. He could bring us a package of prospects. Next winter, we'll get nothing for him. Nothing at all.

For God's sake, trade Ichiro. You'll get a B-list prospect, maybe less. But you'll be doing the right thing. Ichiro can help some contending team. He can play in the post-season, occupy the national stage in his final at bats. (If he thinks he's returning next season - at least in America - he's deluded. It's over.) And we don't have to watch a great player slog into mediocrity.

Right now, the Yankees are chasing the second, away-game Wild Card birth, and pretending it's not an illusion. We're playing for the right to suit up for a one-game season. For that, we're supposed to be excited?

Sir, I have news for you: It's embarrassing. 

The Yankees aren't supposed to challenge for the one-game, away-slot Wild Card. They are supposed to challenge for the World Series. And there is a huge difference. Practically every team in baseball is chasing the Wild Card. We are the Yankees - at least we were. We are supposed to set higher standards. Now, well... I wonder. We're the definition of a .500 team.

Sir... Change the course of Yankee human history. It's all up to you. One word. Say it... please, I beg of you. Just say it... SELL, SELL, SELL.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

The Gardino?

Cheer up, everybody: The Yankees are a dynasty superpower in the Gulf Coast League

Both Yankee teams - Yankee Things 1 and Yankee Things 2 - are leading their respective divisions. This certainly bodes well for the 2020 ball club! I can't wait.

10 things I would do if I found a Redsock World Series ring in a bar

A gracious Yankee fan returned it, spawning happy vibes across the information superhighway.

Me? I would:

1. Melt it down into a bullet, and then shoot Big Papi's steroid dealer.

2. Throw it into an active volcano, with a Dustin Pedroia bobblehead.

3. Use it to put a big scratch in John Lackey's car.

4. Break into the world Crackerjacks factory and toss it into the trinkets pile.

5. Place it on a severed human finger and send it to John Lester, saying this is what will happen if he re-signs with Boston.

6. Use it as a brass knuckle, when fighting homeless men for cash in Boston College fraternity parties.

7. Torture it with fire and ice.

8. Swallow it, and then post x-ray photos on the Sons of Sam Horn website.

9. Blast it with radiation, anthrax and Ebola virus, and then sell it on eBay for $1.

10. Wear it on my penis, and then seduce all 25 Redsock wives, humiliating each of them, when they eventually learn the nature of the metal object that rendered unto them such indescribable pleasure.

The Yankiverse is a dark dungeon of hopelessness

I never put stock in polls, unless they reflect my own opinions. This one sure does.

Two out of three IT IS HIGH responders don't expect to see a Yankee World Championship within the next three years. In their opinion, by the time we next win a ring, Mark Teixeira will be a distant memory, Dellin Betances will be at least 32, and Carlos Beltran - oh, hell, we'll probably still have him, after resigning him to a 10-year contract. You can't kill the bogeyman.

From now on, maybe we should simply follow the two Yankee teams in the Gulf Coast League. I love the creativity in names: "Yankees 1" and "Yankees 2."

Why would Boston trade John Lester? Simple...

They saw what the Yankees last year received, in exchange for letting Robbie Cano walk out the door.

Would They Ever Do This For Me, John Sterling Asks

What revealing pictures of Hal Steinbrenner does Brian Roberts possess?

Last night, down in the Stygian coal mines of Moosic, Pa., the Yankees "second-baseman of the future," Rob Refsnyder went 2 for 4 with a walk and an RBI. That gives him four doubles and a homer in his last eight games, batting .344 over that stretch. At Triple A, he's hitting .301.

Oh... and did I mention that Refsnyder last night was playing right field?

Yep, right field. That's where he projects to be a fourth OF or career Triple A player, by the way. Yep, the Yankees "second baseman of the future" now plays practically every other game in right field. Why? Ask your Magic 8-Ball. I've given up trying to figure out why the Yankees think and do what they do, other that to conclude that Mr. Brian Roberts - not Lou Gehrig - has been the luckiest Yankee on the face of the earth.

For the record, the Yankees say Refsnyder is not ready for prime time at 2B. Thus, they're playing him in RF, where I guess he can learn 2B by watching it from a nearby position. Well, actually, they say he's learning the slot, but they're not going to bring him up this year, because it would mean a roster move, and they are complicated - anyone seen Bruce Billings lately? - Ref needs work on the glove, and Scranton's battling for fourth and - "Hey, isn't that Scarlet Johannson?! Isn't she great! Move along, everybody, there's nothing here to see, we're working on trades, can't talk now, move along, la-la-la, take it away, Michael Kay!!!!"

The 2014 Yankee season has been marked by two Prime Yankee Directives:

1) Honor Derek Jeter in his final year.
2) Play Brian Roberts at second base.

Listen: I got nothing against Roberts. Once, he was a great Oriole. He's a grinder, a class act, a wily veteran, takes a lot of pitches, nice to children, holds the door for ladies, yattayattayatta... Only one drawback: At this point in life, he sucks. He's ninth among AL 2B in hitting - and arguably the worst in the league, if you consider the two guys below him have more power.

The old Brian Roberts never showed up this year. Though hobbled in spring training, he was handed 2B on a plate of oysters. The Yankees traded Eduardo Nunez and went north with Dean Anna - remember him? - and the iconic Yangervis Solarte, but as soon as Roberts limped off the DL, The Dean of Hitting vanished and Yangervis bumped the mysterious Kelly Johnson off third, where Solarte eventually fumbled too many balls to keep the position.

Roberts enjoyed a nice little hitting streak in late May. His batting average rose to .260 - bottle oxygen! - then slowly began to wither down to the naked .230s, where it hasn't budged. He has the range of a clam. Lately, his glove has also become clam-like: It doesn't open at the right time. Last weekend, Roberts botched an infield bloop that opened the flood gates for Toronto. It was a play we might look back on someday as the fulcrum point of this season. It wasn't ruled an error. (Oh, what home cooking by the Yankee official scorers.) It was just a play Roberts had to make... but didn't. Folks, this is a recurring theme. He doesn't make the plays that must be made. He won't get younger. He's old, he's tired, and every aspect of his game is cracking, like a tire left too long in the sun. I hate ripping the guy, but what else is there to say? Do we close our eyes and pretend he's doing the job?

Meanwhile, the Yankees remain adamant - adamant! - that Refsnyder will NEVER get a shot this season. He's simply not ready. It's the same thing they said about their other Scranton 2B - Jose Pirela, the International League's all-star 2B. Pirela is batting over .300, but the Yankees two months ago began moving him to other positions, as if to make it clear to anyone unfortunate enough to play 2B in Scranton: Don't even think about New York, pal, not as long as Brian Roberts can lace up his shoes.

So here we are: A tired, faltering team, always looking for ways to lose... and a desperate front office, preparing to mortgage the future at this annual trade deadline. Every other franchise in baseball would make the move toward youth. Every other franchise would say, "Why not?" But not the Yankees. Nope. We're smarter than they are. We know something they don't know.

So... exactly what photographs of Hal Steinbrenner are out there?

What secrets are he hiding. How do we get a Polaroid? Or a video. Witness? Deposition? Bodies?Kinky boots? Whatever... we need it.

Apparently, that's the only thing that's going to change this wretched organization.

Yanks To Replace Word "Bullpen" With "Sieve," Win Anyway

7 runs in 3 innings. Two off D-Rob, who got the S, which was in actuality a WTF.

We put up 12 runs. This means, theoretically, we will be shut out for the next 5 games, having used up our two-per-game limit for the next week or so.

Brett Gardner (pictured without helmet), power hitter. Tex, power hitter. Only eight weeks to go and our ace is Brandon McGillicutty. Yeah, that's a good sign.

The Rangers are terrible this year and we came as close as humanly possible to blowing a 10-4 lead late in the game.

In the negative run differential derby, the Yankees hold a comfortable lead with -27, easily besting Miami (.500 and -17) and KC (-2, .505). Unless we somehow plug the sieve or begin scoring 12 runs with regularity, we might have a shot at this. Time will tell.

Boston is in last place. The Schadenfreude isn't as satisfying as it should be. Though it's not bad.

The one-game playoff is within our feeble grasp, but feels as secure as the snow globe held by Charles Foster Kane on his deathbed before he whispered, "Tanaka."

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Today's Yankee Promise; "We'll Score 2 Runs."

Whoever pitches tonight for the Yankees can rest easy in the knowledge that, against the world's worst team, our offense will put up 2 big runs.

Maybe Gardy goes deep twice again ( naturally, with no one on base ).

Maybe Zealous Wheeler hits a pop up to second that falls clean, with Yankee runners on 2nd and 3rd and two outs.

Maybe Almonte gets hit by a pitch with the bases loaded, and a second run comes in on a passed ball.

Maybe McCann doubles down the left field line with Yankee speed on first and second, beating the over shift for the second time all season.

Maybe Carlos goes yard in the ninth with Jeter on first.

No matter how you want to slice and dice it, I think we get 2 runs.

We did yesterday.

Therefore;  as long as our pitching staff holds the Rangers to 1 run, we are golden.  Otherwise, it is our 4th loss in a row.

I think losses to Texas count double, because no one else loses to them.

Why did I have a nightmare last night about falling off a Cliff?

Is Adam Warren thinking of his next job?

An old friend and fellow blogger, Whitey Fraud, 
sent this from St. Augustine, Florida, 
where at the bottom of every sinkhole lives a Burmese python.

For the Cuban OF Rusney Castillo, the Yankees will have to outbid Boston

Five teams will take private stool samples of the so-called "Brett Gardner with power." (Which, in lieu of Gardy's HRs lately, takes on new meaning.)

The five teams: Yankees, Orioles, Astros, Phillies, Redsocks.

No reason in this frickin world why we can't outbid Baltimore, Houston and Philly - even if they pooled their money. But Boston - damn - they have been building a war chest, without debt, without long-term liabilities. They have plenty of money, plus, this is when dumping a high-priced bum at the deadline - a Peavy, for example - could embolden them to bid higher than usual. (John Henry could decide to screw the Liverpool soccer team.)

This is also when assuming the bloated contracts of a John Danks or a Cliff Lee could deter the Yankees from flinging millions at a workout video.

Another crossroads, folks.

Over the last five years, the Evil Emp has let a gusher of international talent flow by the wayside, without laying down a card. They ignored Cespedes, Puig, Chapman, Darvish, and a host of others - preferring to go cheap, signing the Adonis Garcias, the Ronnier Mustelliers, and the Vidal Nunos. Only this year did they go full bore after Tanaka, but was it because they knew the roof was about to collapse? Considering Tanaka's elbow, we must wonder: Did Hal think winning the bidding war was worth it?

Aint my money. I say spend it. Who knows what Castillo might bring? Worst case scenario: He doesn't look at Triple A, and they dish him off next winter for a prospect. This is a purchase that would not affect the Yankees' luxury tax. It's a loophole that soon will be closed. If we don't use it, Boston will.

Loyal Fan Anonymous Institutes "Pants-Free Fridays" at Yankee Stadium

Our opponents routinely beat the pants off the Yanks so let's all embrace the example of our good friend Anonymous (pictured below) and show support for our 2014 Yankees by going pantless to every Friday home game.  Sure as hell don't see fan support like this in Boston!

"What happened with Alex Rodriguez and the Just Salad on the Upper East Side, 47 minutes and more before Just Salad opened on Monday morning?"

Wherever A-Rod goes, he is a hunted dog.

Down goes Yaz, down goes Honus; next up for Cap? Cap.

The Great Jeter will finish sixth.

Merry Christmas, Yankiverse. It's almost time to unwrap our gifts and see what Santa has brought

'Skuze me, folks. I've gone a wee bit into the eggnog. I can't suppress my excitement. It's the trade deadline - a/k/a Yankee Christmas Eve! One of these mornings, we'll wake up to find what Santa has left under our tree. A brand new star! Just for us! Deck the halls, everybody! All together now: "Here comes Santa Cash, here comes Santa Cash, right down Santa Cash wayyyyyyy..."

Today's Christmas rumors have Josh Willingham wearing Yankee stockings. Oh, joy! Oh, golly! Oh, hosanna! We could suit up a new 35-year-old OF who's hitting .215! Why... OMG... you insert a Willingham into that white hot Yankee order, and - holy crap! We're gonna win the World Series!

Or maybe John Danks. I'm not making this up. We'll get Danks from the White Sox for a handful of magic beans. Know why? 'Cause they're stupid. And we're smart. OK, all right, yes... Danks' ERA is 4.40 - lowest it's been in three years, and higher by a half-run than any of our current starters - plus, we'd pick up his $14 million per year contract through 2017. Aww, but where's your Christmas spirit, you Grinches? Once Danks reaches NYC, he'll turn into John Koufax. There's something about Yankee pinstripes that makes everyone a kid. Look at Carlos Beltran!

We'd put Willingham in RF. Bat him cleanup! A masher like Willingham, you gotta protect. He can play 1B, if Tex tweaks a gonad. You know what they say: With Willingham, you're never out of the Wild Card race.

And what about Cliff Lee! Now, wouldn't that be a Christmas? I can just hear the anti-Yankee Gammonites whinnying. "The Yankees got Cliff Lee! It's OVER! NOBODY CAN STOP THAT JUGGERNAUT!" Lee is only 35 years old. He'll pitch for another five years. Maybe Philly would throw in Ryan Howard! He's hitting .227. And maybe John Mayberry Jr., at .213. Or maybe John Mayberry Sr. can still swing the bat?

We lost Alfonso Soriano, and yet we wouldn't even skip a beat!

O, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas... This week, we feast on tomato cans - Texas and Boston - whose stupid, ignorant front offices have already started rebuilding, thinking about next year. Pttuui. I speet on next year. Those dumb rubes, thank God they're not running the Yankees. We've got a shot at that One Game Wild Card! With Willingham or Danks, or an infusion of new old blood, it's hard not to see these '14 Yankees going all the way!

So let's leave out plates of milk and cookies. Let's hang the stockings with care. Wait... what's the sound? Sleigh bells? A clattering on the roof. I can hear someone calling the batting order: Brett Dasher, Derek Dander, Jacoby Donder and Carlos Blitzen... Holy crap, somebody's downstairs, a bearded guy, emptying the farm system! For joy, everybody! It must be Santa!

Monday, July 28, 2014

The man who stole two bases on one pitch is having trouble letting go

Wouldn't you?

Yankeetorial: Two excruciating defeats lead the Yankees into "Mortgage the Future" Week

This weekend, the Redsocks traded the ever-crumbling Jake Peavy for two solid pitching prospects, and there's not a Boston frat-boy in beer pong captivity who doesn't expect his team to rise next year and crush the AL East. Why wouldn't they think such crap? Their farm system produces, and they supplement it by holding garage sales. It's not rocket science. In fact, it's a simple formula: Trade old for young, and build your system. Every successful team does it.

Only one franchise does it in reverse. The Yankees begin with massive, bloated free agent contracts - and then try to build around them. That's why we have a Beltran, an Ichiro, and a Cecil B. DeMille cast of .220 hitters. This is Trade Deadline Week - the most terrifying part of the Yankee season - when we traditionally add a few new, giant boulders to our already sinking ship.

Listen: I don't pretend to know what prospects are worth keeping. I think 90 percent of the Yankee bloggers - with their top 10 lists and trade suggestions - have never even seen the players they claim to rate. I'll go with the scouts, thank you. But here's one bit of wisdom worth remembering: If you lash yourself to a great white whale, you better be ready to hold your breath when it goes under.

I'm sick of watching the Vernon Wellses and Andruw Joneses come and go - with past-tense resumes and the inability to turn on a fastball. They are cemeteries in the commercial district of our order, and they kill entire seasons. This year, it was the walking dead known as Alfonso Soriano - last July's brilliant Brian Cashman pick up - who - by the way - has yet to be signed by anybody, because the world has seen what the Yankees refused to notice, until half the 2014 season had been destroyed. (Oh, and while we're on the subject, the prospect we traded, Corey Black, has overcome a terrible start at Double A and now has an ERA of 2.98; we might see him in Cubs box scores next year, a gift from the Yankees that keeps on giving.) 

This is Hopeless Week, when Cashman is supposed to save the floundering team by getting something for nothing. We've seen this movie before. He will trade a name that most fans have never heard - and thus won't miss - for a 2008 all star whose contract would explode a third world economy. Quickly, the deal will be hailed by the YES team, by John and Suzyn, and by the Gammonites who like to have phone calls returned. For maybe two weeks, we will have a new bat, or a new starter, and as soon as we win one game, the trade will be inscribed into Yankee lore as another sign of our front office dominance.

And then - slowly, drip by drip - we will be strangled by the Burmese python that this deal turns out to be. We will watch this big lump of lard sit in the middle of our lineup like an overturned milk truck, and we will have no recourse but to play the bum until fans literally cannot stand the sight of him. By then, it won't matter. Another winter will loom, and we will be thirsting for more free agents to erase the memories of this underachieving eam.

This is it, folks. This is the moment when the heroin addict either checks into rehab, or he abandons his kid and goes out to Needle Park, in search of another fix. The Yankees claim to value their young prospects from April to June - stressing the critical aspects of a farm system - but now is when it matters. We hear how the Yankees are scouting other teams. Make no mistake: They are scouting us. We won't get something for nothing. Redsock fans are already looking forward to next year. And in the meantime, it's not as if they won't have anything to amuse themselves.

Nope. They have the Yankees. They can watch us and laugh.

Sunday, July 27, 2014

The Master unveils his Chase Headley Homer Howl

"You can bank on Chase... Headley is deadly."

Homer Howl Analysis:

Bank: Do the Yankees know that John is giving free advertising? Are they banking any money here? If we're looking for an ad tie-in here, how about a singing, "Chase is the place for the helpful hardball man!"

Deadly: There are many other rhyme options. "Headley is deadly, readily." Or, "A deadly Headley medley, steadily deadly!" Or, "Chase's touchin' the bases!"

Singing potential. It's sad that John did not replace the tuneful, "So-larte, oh-oh..." with a Broadway application. How about going with a touch from West Side Story: "There's a Chase for us... somewhere a Chase for us..."

Or the Beatles: "There are Chases I remember all my li-ife, though some have changed."

If John wanted to move into - say - the seventies, he could try some Steve Miller Band: "Some people call him the Chase Cowboy... I call him the gangster of love!"

Rating (out of 5 yelps): 2. More work needed.

Was it a dream?

No, it was real, I tell you, it was real! I was there. I saw it. The team was picked up by this tornado, and we were all dropped into a magical world, a paradise, full of bright colors... five games above .500! Everything looked so beautiful. There was no crime, no war, no hunger. When we needed rain, it rained! When we needed a botched pop-up, our opponents botched a pop-up! O, it was incredible! We were in line for a wild card! THE Wild Card, I tell you! It was so lifelike, so real! You were in the dream, Gardy! And you, Chase! And you, Carlos! And you, and you... and you!

Holy crap, what an incredible dream! Oh, Auntie Cash, why did you have to wake me? I wanna go back. Can you send me back? Quick, who's got the Ambien?

Some Questions For Those Watching Today's Yankee Game

It is the end of the 4th inning, and we are down 1-0.  Based upon what you have seen thus far from the Yankees:

How many of you think:

1.  The Yankees will get another hit?

2.  The Yankees will get another baserunner, by any means at all?

3.  The Yankees will have a runner in scoring position?

4.  The Yankees will score a run?

5.  The Yankees will hold the Jays to one run?

6.  The Yankees will score two runs, but no more?

7.  That Brett Gardner will go to a 1-2 count when the Yankees have a chance to score, and then strike out?

8.  That Derek will kill a potential rally by grounding into a double play?

Please submit votes before the Yankee's next at bat.

 Or later.

The trouble with the 2014 Yankees: When a winning streak ends, a losing streak begins

I always knew my kids would grow up, learn about sex and eventually leave the house. I recognized that my beloved dog would only live for about 12 years, then start crapping all over the place and need to be slumbered. I have embraced the reality of changing seasons, shifting political allegiances and even transitory love. But damn, I thought we'd beat the Blue Jays at home... forever and ever.

Seventeen games. Seventeen wins. God, the Jays were always here for us. We'd stumble home from a West Coast fiasco or a drubbing in Texas, and there they'd be, like mints on our pillow, preparing to run out Brett Cecil or Todd Redmond. "O dear," we'd say, trying not to giggle. "This could be the day!" Hah. They were our seaside chums, our home port lays, our cousins from the North. Damn, I'd trust them with the keys to our clubhouse.

Now, this.

It's over.

It's not easy to end a sports curse. It took Boston 10 generations, and for the most of it, we sat in their heads like a stomach virus. Then, suddenly, poof - Johnny Damon hit a grand slam off Javier Vasquez, and soon they were kicking our over-paid, cake-sitting, A-Rod-infected, syringe-poked butts from Hartford to Nova Scotia. With only two exception - 2009, and the Bobby V era - they've owned us ever since. I don't think Toronto will do the same. But we've seen enough of the 2014 Yankees to know that when they stink, they stink bad.

Yesterday, we saw Exhibit AAX-299 that Brian Roberts no longer functions as an MLB second baseman. We saw what happens when you continually play a catcher at first base. We received a reality check about Brian Cashman's scrapheap pickings - Jeff Francis brought his special recipe for meatballs - and we looked like the patchwork lineup that - well - we are.

Thus far, the 2014 Yankees have been a perfectly engineered, Rube Goldberg .500 machine. For every 32 stutter steps forward, they magically take 32 stutter steps back. Today, we reach a mini crossroads. Do we win this series, keep the post-all-star break ball rolling... or lose 2/3, at home, to our former whipping mules, and start the market correction?

No news here. We all saw this coming. What goes up must come down. Your kids will grow old, and your dog will die. We will all someday moulder in our graves, and as far as we'll be concerned, none of this will ever have happened. Brian Roberts, though, damn... who knew? 

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Speechless About What I Obviously Can't Even Mention

It had been suggested by a sociopath in the peanut gallery that a certain someone resembling myself should refrain from certain activities related to the Intertubes due to the possible negative repercussions on a particular professional sports team that shall remain nameless.

These Things That Cannot Be Spoken Aloud Or Even Scribbled Digitally (TTCBSAOESD, known in some writer circles as "Tits and Aesop," for short...writers -- always the sex and fiction references) will not be spoken or scribbled here for fear that the commenter with the Patrick Bateman personality, mentioned above, may be onto something -- or more likely, on something, but whatever. Never look a gift horse in the anonymouth, I always say, just roll with the results.

So, Tits and Aesop and all that, I can only point out that one of the spheroidally-inclined professional sports teams in the general vicinity of New England (but not actually in it) remains the one and only team in their competitive set to post a .500 or better record with a negative run differ...oops, ummm, a lesser record in an important offensive category. You may know the one to which I refer.

Said team prevailed recently due to an Asian tsunami-type event that involved an orbish object landing in a spot known generally by a two-word nickname, the first word of which would be one way to describe the great Peter Dinklage, and the second, perhaps a place where Norman Rockwellesque characters sit nostalgically in wicker chairs on a construction connected to the front of their abode while sipping lemonades.

Also astonishing, two men not known for being effective in recent memory were, in fact, effective. One of them has a first name that, spelled a bit differently, would complete this movie title:  "_________ of the Dead," a film featuring the very funny Simon Pegg. The other man has a last name that is part of what the Big Bad Wolf will do to blow down the door of the Little Piggies' domicile.

As The Master said on this team's radio network a couple of weeks ago, "Now, here's something you can hang your hat on:  three games in the loss column. That's what really matters." Perhaps you don't personally wear a hat, but it doesn't matter. Go buy one and hang it on the aforementioned column or you might jack-indigo-negatory-xavier everything, if you catch my general drift.

Plus, who knew that they guy with the number of all living Popes on his back would be such an impish presence now that he's about to step aside and join Benedict on the unemployment line? Amazing, all of it.

Ah, sorry, that word's been taken for years by the other spheroidally-inclined sports team near, but not in, New England. Tits and Aesop, then, and I'll keep it under that thing hanging on the column, just in case.

Update to the Book of Joe's section "Knobbiticus"

Now it came to pass in the third summer of his four-annum covenant, a time called 2000, the righteous Yankee warrior Chuck Knoblauch lost his ability to bring direction to the hurl of balls.
Sayers of sooth pondered this omen, and prophets offered solutions. But the more that “Knobby” sought to herd his frantic emissions, the more waxen and leprous his tossings became.

One dusk, Knobby’s errant missile soared so far off course that it nearly slew the mother of Keith Obermann, son of Sevareid, while the matron held a baseline seat. So pocked with guilt was Knobby that the once-great Twin barely could see the outfield through his veil of tears.
That night, Knobby appeared unto Joe’s chamber and spake:

“Hear me, o, Joe!

“My arm mocks God with its treachery.

“’Tis a curse upon the House of George and a stain of camel dung upon our carpeted pennant path. Lend me thy axe, I beg thee, so that I may chop off the fevered limb and feed it to the suited toads of print and byte!”

Joe placed his calm hands upon the mini-brute’s troubled appendage and declared:

“Hear me, o, Knobby!

“Thy demons reside not within thy wing, but within thy mental mind.”

And so Knobby flung himself to the floor and spake:

“If brain it be, then bequeath to me thy trowel, so that I may carve out the infected lobe!

“If brain it be, then clip me unto thy taser, so that I may singe the wormed matter!

“If brain it be, then swing thy scythe neckward, so that my thought cabbage shall plummet, and my eyes at last can gaze up at their meat pedestal, freed of madness and deceit.

“Bolt me to thy bench! Option me to thy Clippers of Columbus! Trade me to the plebes of Kansas City, or to a place where my head can be blissfully shrank!”

For seven days and nights, the jell-haired Yank testified to his sins. Finally, Joe spake:

“All right, all right, all right, o, Knobby, listenup!

“Only ye can smite the vermin that breed beneath your pleasingly oiled quaff.

“Only ye can untempt the lips of self-doubt, which open unto the glistening French tongue of error.

“But fear not for the House of George, o, Knobby, for thy craven seizures shall not unman us.

“On the morrow, ye shall find a seat of pad. In thy stead, we shall martial the tuneful Venezuelanite fielder and batsmith, Luis Sojo.

“For until ye becalms thy derelict oblongata, ye pose threat to all celebrities who occupy seats along the Line of the First Base. And that includes Rudolph Giuliani, son of Koch, heir to Dinkins, and brother of Ailes.

“To preserve the House of George, which seeks a grander Yankee palace hewn of public gold and bejewed boxes of luxury, we must protect the shining forehead of Rudolph Giuliani, our political ticket of meal!

“Verily! And in the spring of 2001, thou shalt move to the far field of Left. There, no stones slung by thee shall ever slay a celebrity or king, or those who service them.

"This I doth decree!”
And so it came to pass.

The following spring, Knobby roamed the far field of Left.
And he ruled the League of Grapefruit.

And he rained frenzy upon his foes through the showery month of April.

And then, without cause, his June bat floundered and died.

And when Knobby’s covenant expired, the House of George exiled him to the crop farms of Kansas City, and his name was never spake again.

And no Person of Very Importance was ever felled by one of Knobby’s ill-aimed pellets.

And Rudolph Giuliani, giver of pork, oversaw many celebrations.

And one day, there shall be a greater and more expensive House of George, born of the public till and ripe with the raised price of tickets, thanks to the wisdom of Joe, the generosity of Rudolph Giuliani and the sacrifice of Knobby, son of Sax.


Alas, hear now the amended post-script to Knobby, the unshaven and multi-chinned puncher of wives - exes and current - who hath been chained and shamed for his alleged foul deeds, and who had once been destined for the Twins of Minnesota's Fame Hall, to which he rightfully had belonged.
But Knobby hath appeared unto booking shots of mug, snarly and not kempt, raising questions of his mental brain-work and morality clock, and casting doubt upon all heroic soldiers who must move in life from the glowing adoration of Yankeedom to the deathly humdrum of Humdrumdom. 
For therein lies great pain and torment.
Be not forever enchanted by those who win the pennants in their youth, yet who cannot find peace within their own crumbling houses, for it is the greatest greatness of Joe that he hath found stability in love, the kind that was denied to the tragic man called Knobby.

A new all-time great Jeter moment

(Via Reddit) The celebration of Ichiro's home run.

Two events today could determine Brian Cashman's legacy

Around here, some of us have a tendency - you could say - to now and then mutter unpleasantries about Mr. Brian Cashman. (Looking at you, Alphonso.) After all, the Evils haven't won a World Series since 2009, and our Redsock enemies have three in 10 years. We blame who else - (but not W.B. Mason) - other than our whipping man-boy, the Cash Man.

Lately, though, he's on a roll. (Don't get me wrong: I'm not sold on Chase Headley, because I am an unabashed prospect-hugger. Somehow, prospect-hugging became unpopular in the Yankiverse. Posters are accused of clinging excessively to minor leaguers. Count me in. I think Cashman overall is terrified of another Austin Jackson/Ian Kennedy debacle. Many fans now grumble that the Yankees should trade young arms because they all go into surgery anyway. I disagree. I say it's why you don't trade a kid like Rafael De Paula, that for every five young pitchers, one might make it. But he could be Andy Pettitte. Still, it's nice to have a pro third baseman playing third, instead of a Scranton Railrider.)

Cashman's great talent over the years is his relentless dumpster diving. If Blarney Joe McDoofuss gets waived by the Calgary Cameroons, Cash is immediately weighing whether he's a better fifth OF than our current one in Trenton. Give the boy credit. Anything that moves, Cash is on it. He could be enjoying a free afternoon, smoking dope and rappelling down a building in Connecticut, but he'll stop when his iPhone dings that a new player is on the market.

Today, two events take place that I hope go well for Cashman. One is Chris Capuano, today's new starter. God knows what we have. Capuano is a cast-off from Boston and practically the entire free world. Cash bought him for a bucket of balls. If we get five innings and a lead, it will be as close as anyone in baseball gets to a free lunch. I don't want to get ahead of myself. He hasn't done it yet. But Chase Whitley is approaching his sell-by date - in terms of innings - and we all know Ian Kennedy will only come with a hellacious price tags for prospect-huggers. If we can wrangle two months from Capuano - I'm thinking Aaron Small - who knows? If it happens, I hereby nominate Cash for President.

The second event today takes place at Alex Rodriguez Field in Miami. Yes, there is such a thing. A 27-year-old Cuban outfielder named Rusney Castillo will do jumping jacks and give stool samples for MLB scouts. The Yankees will be there. This guy is no Puig or a Humanis Centepedis, but he bats right-handed, is said to be faster than Taylor Swift, and he might be MLB-ready.

It's been too long since the Evils dipped a toe into the Cuban market. Whatever we spend on Castillo would not bump our luxury tax. In other words, it's a loophole that hasn't yet closed. (But it will one of these days.) Let's hope Cash wins the discussion with Hal. Let's sign this Rusney guy. Even if Masahiro Tanaka misses 2015, he is still the reason we are in this race today. He was worth the investment. To win, you gotta put money on the line. Let's give Cash credit. And let's hope he brings Hal's checkbook to Miami.

Capuato for nothing... and the chicks are free.

Friday, July 25, 2014

Question: Could the Yankees actually create a WORSE trade involving Ian Kennedy than they did once before?

The last time Brian Cashman spun Ian Kennedy into motion - on Dec. 8, 2009, the Day After Pearl Harbor Day - this is what unfolded.

The Tigers got bullpen lugnut Phil Coke, leadoff CF Austin Jackson, Cy Young winner Max Scherzer and Daniel Schlereth impersonator Daniel Schlereth. They have been the AL's dominant team ever since.

The Diamondbacks got Kennedy, who went 21-4 in 2011, nearly winning the Cy Young, and workhorse starter Edwin Jackson, who consistently logs about 200 innings per season. They spun off Kennedy to San Diego last year for the great Matt Stites and Joe Thatcher.

The Yankees got Curtis Granderson, who had a good 2009 and then turned into a strikeout machine, currently of the Miracle Mets.

Two Cy Young-level pitchers, a solid CF, two lugnut arms and a Daniel Schlereth impersonator - and all we got was an old Sammy Davis Jr. song from John Sterling...

Now, there is talk of bringing Kennedy home. There are rumors that we will trade some of the few jewels of the Yankee farm system for Kennedy.

Question: Could Cashman possibly top his previous deal?

Scranton: Where the Yankees send their semi-prospects to be humiliated

Dear Lord, please tell me this is a joke ...

Seriously ... WTF?

And we're wearing these things against redsocks' farm team? Really???

One question to the folks in Scranton and in the Yankees minor-league offices. Do you really hate your players that much?

A prayer for the Yankees

Our Father, Who Art In Cooperstown...

Wait a minute. Holy Cow, God! The Evil Empire is 6-1 since the death of Johnny Winter, 5-1 since the passing of Jim Rockford, and undefeated since Yangervis Solarte was loaded into a cannon and fired toward the Western horizon.

One might say the Yankees are reclaiming the AL East. In fact, The Master, John Sterling, believes this. His mentor, Suzyn Waldman, desperately wants to believe. Don't we all? Could Chase Headley and Jeff Francis be the secret Yankee additives that transform a stick of dried vegetation into that refreshing, smooth-tasting Lucky Strike? Hell, I don't know. But You do.

And I do know this: You've been treating us awfully nicely lately.

Sunday, we won because the Reds flubbed a measly pop-up.

Tuesday, we won despite never scoring until the 13th inning.

Wednesday, You sent us a Biblical flood to win.

Good grief, to lose our one game since the break, we had to make five errors. You couldn't even save us from ourselves.

Today, it's Toronto, renegade half-brother of Buffalo. Listen, God, say what You wish about the Blue Jays; they are Canadian for "tomato can." Our lucky streak appears to be holding firm. We will miss R.A. Dickey in the rotation. I think their starters are Dopey Dildox, Filthy McNasty and Cher.

Most importantly, there is an endless supply of beloved American celebrities, currently peeing into their deathbeds, glazed eyes looking to You, who might goose this otherwise hopeless Yankee team into - at worst - the one-game Seligian playoff. If we can reach the Selig, we'll leave the rest up to You. OK?

Wait a minute. Just so you don't get the wrong idea, God: I was a huge fan of Johnny Winter. And I loved, loved, loved James Garner. I hate to be thinking that some beloved icons of stage or screen must stride into Your Great Unknown Unknown, simply to somehow help the Yankees, but - hey - Noah built his arc based on crazy, and I say, A win is a win is a win. (Dying is easy. Comedy is hell.) Go, you Hollywood clock-outs! Be not afraid! And Father... bring us this day a broom, and let us sweep. Thine is thuuuuuh power, and thuuuuuuh glory, at least until September 1, when the rosters expand. Amen.   

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Fan Fave Chase Headley's Facebook page has 130 likes

I guess some guys just aren't into Facebook. How about Twitter?

Dark times, indeed

What I want for Christmas

Sort of sad here. Joe Pepitone's honorary 1998 World Series ring is on the block at eBay.  It's going for a mere $17,995. With free shipping!!!!

Sherman, set the Wayback Machine for July 24, 2004

In the 100th game of the season, God finally joins the Yankee 25-man roster

It was like watching ants fight a tidal wave. They couldn't pull their tarp. (Why does that sound kinky?) The juju gods had sent a deluge, and Noah Girardi was safe and dry in his hand hewn Yankee ark.

Face it, humanity: Last night's Yankee victory was an act of God... of Yahweh, Allah, Budha, Gaia, Jehovah, Zhule, Claverino, Stoopah-dooba-doonga, Brad, Sellerinoanbarnes... El Supremo, the Prime Mover, the Sky Pilot, the Big Boss with the Hot Sauce... you pray, He plays...
the first sign all season that somebody out there, beyond George Steinbrenner's hideously swollen corpse, is ready to spin miracles for the otherwise cursed and hell-bound 2014 Yankees.

Make no mistake, Boston frat-boy soreheads: God has joined the Yankee 40-man!

A roll-off win, courtesy of Mother Nature - or, to you nonbelievers, global warming. Screw you, Richard Dawkins. I'll take Richard Dawson. Let's face it. Without God, we were going to lose last night. We had scored our two runs. Our offense was done. They couldn't hit Yu Darvish with tennis rackets. Soon. Joe was going to bring in his B-team bullpen, featuring Chris Lesomethingorother, who'd pitch one game and be gone. Without a deluge - without God as our Zimmer bench coach - we were going to lose two out of three at home against the worst team in the AL.

And then a voice spake, "Let there be lightning!" It wasn't Michael Kay. Nope. He actually said, "We will do our best to entertain you." If he had done magic tricks with lit matches and his bare ass, he couldn't have topped watching the grounds crew - metaphor for humanity there - haplessly struggle against the elements, like Kelly Johnson attempting to play first base. Nope. All we had to do was let God weave His miracle. He could hit .320 and replace Robbie Cano, doncha know!

Take heart, Yankiverse. We are three games behind Baltimore (only three "in the loss column," as John Sterling would remind us.) We are a half-game behind Seattle ("tied in the loss column") for the remaining Wild Card slot, in that insanely divine, one-day Seliginomics payoff - I mean playoff. You could yip and moan and say, "Who cares? Without Tanaka, we have nobody to pitch in that one game." Oh, but no. We have found our Game One starter. He goes by many names. Last night, it was Curt Flood.

Yanks to Groundkeepers:

Last night in the Bronx:

Seven years ago in Denver: 
As a violent thunderstorm rolled in from the mountains after the sixth inning, the tarp suddenly enveloped and covered three members of the Rockies' grounds crew, snarling them underneath. Immediately, almost every available Phillies starter, position player and coach in the dugout scrambled to their aid.  
Mind you, they were the visiting team, although one Rockies player--LaTroy Hawkins--pitched in as well.

What do you think of that story, elderly gentleman who last night rushed to help the Yankee Stadium groundskeepers?

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

What AJ Pierzynski would tell the Redsocks

"What I’m finding hard to swallow... is this bullshit smear job you guys have been pulling on me since I was unceremoniously dumped."

Historical moment saved for posterity

Put this next to your Ron Coomer autographed ball: The precise moment when newly shaven Chase Headley arrives in the Yankee trench.

Two runs in 21 innings, and tonight, Yu Darvish

The Yankees are worse than watching a bad soccer team. Whenever a Yankee scores a run, we should get that Latino soccer announcer who shouts, "Goooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaal."

Pathetic. The big question tonight is whether Darvish will throw a perfect game, a no-hitter, or just settle for a measly shutout.

And now Kelly Johnson is hurt? Who will play 1B? Who will replace that 6 HR and .219 average?

Can Steve Whitaker and Andy Kosco come out of retirement?

Cash for clunkers? Did the Yankees just trade the Dellin Betances of 2016?

It's hard to pour gasoline on a trade that yields an instant, walk-off victory. And the YES men last night were already gushing over Brain Cashman's netting of Chase Headley, as another sign of his genius. The Yankees got a former all-star for the scrap heap icon, Yangervis Solarte, whose last light fizzled Monday, when he popped up to end the game. Also, from that romantic, dead-ender standpoint, it's fun to think of the Yankees chasing a 2014 Impossible Dream - think Anthony Newley singing Man of La Mancha - but Cashman yesterday spoke the most frightening words in the Yankiverse: "I have more work to do." If he's chasing truly John Danks or Cliff Lee, we could soon be re-enacting the doomsday trades of Jay Buhner and Doug Drabek. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

But - hey - we won last night! We won't get swept at home by the worst team in the AL! Isn't that all that matters? Tonight, John and Suzyn will treat Headley like the biggest Christmas gift found under the tree. At the risk of rousing the true believers, consider this:

1. The guy has a herniated disc. A frickin herniated disc. Ever had one? It's like having a knife jabbed into your spine. In simple terms, this is Kevin Youkilis II. Of course, he's hitting over .300 since receiving an epidural shot in June. Trouble is, the shots wear off, and his should be nearing the end of its pain-killing life. Surely, San Diego knew this. They didn't wait for the trade deadline. If Headley's back flares - and it will - the second epidural doesn't always work. Everybody's back is different. Maybe this guy can gut it out for the entire season. But jeeze, a herniated disc? If you thought Teixeira is fragile, he's Cal Ripken compared to this guy.

2. Saying goodbye to Solarte is sad, from a lost cat standpoint, but realistically, we said bon voyage two weeks ago, when he was shipped to Scranton and converted into Zelous Wheeler. Solarte's hitting and fielding had simultaneously collapsed - a hard thing to do for most major leaguers. He provides cover for the San Diego front office, who can say that he was hitting more than Headley (who for the year is hitting a meager .229; that certainly fits in with this Yankee team, eh?) Solarte was a nice human interest story, and I believe Yankee fans will look back on this mediocre team, remember him and smile, much in the way we now do about Alviro Espinosa or Stump Merrill. But as a Yankee, he was already gone. And San Diego certainly didn't place much value on him.

3. Trading Rafael De Paula scares me. Yes, he's a 23 year-old pitcher at Single A. But in case you've forgotten, he was our representative in the 2013 Futures Game. (Question: Did anybody mention this on YES last night? If they did, I missed it.) Three years ago, he was signed to a huge contract, then he missed two seasons due to Visa issues. (Question: Was anybody in the Yankee brass ever held accountable for that snafu? Seems to me, they wasted a ton of Hal's money.). Last year, De Paula looked great in low A and led the Yankees entire minor league system in strikeouts. This year, he got whacked around early on in Tampa, but then figured it out. Since June 23, he's been almost lights out. Over his last 24 innings, he's given up 4 earned runs, struck out 33, walked 10. He would have been in line for a promotion to Trenton. Clearly, San Diego likes what they saw. They had Toronto bidding against us for Headley. They wanted this guy.

He could be the Dellin Betances of 2016. By then, of course, 2014 will be a distant memory, and last night's win will be a deeper, much darker context. Today, the most terrifying outgrowth of this deal is the immediate gratification - the instant analysis that the brown-nosing NYC media will give Cashman. It's like Putin after the Olympics; he'll think he's bulletproof. This could spur an invasion of Arizona - a bigger trade of prospects, as he tries to goose a team that - no matter how bad the AL East looks - remains the virtual definition of a dud. Seriously, does anybody out there see this team winning the World Series?

I guess we should enjoy last night's victory. Because here comes the hangover.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Vidal Nuno back to being Vidal Nuno

Before we nominate Cashman for a Nobel Prize, consider that:

1. The Tigers' Austin Jackson, a former Yankee farmhand, homered off Nuno.

2. In that game, Joba Chamberlain recorded his 20th hold.

3. Brendan McCarthy soon will probably go back to being Brendan McCarthy.

A cruel and joyless gang of revisionist historians has stolen the Yankees' 10,000 win celebration

Some lifeless, boring, never-had-a-woman office geeks at Baseball Reference - probably fans of the Redsock-leaning Bill James - have just rewritten their precious record books and successfully crushed all plans for Yankee jubilation over the franchise's looming 10,000th win.

These "historians" have decided to remove the 1901 and 1902 Orioles from Yankee record books. That gives the Yankees 9,879 wins overall, or 9,145, if you delete the Highlanders altogether. (As they will do the next time we get close to 10,000.) Whatever. Last week, we were closing in, at 9,992. Now, why bother? Here is their official fishy explanation.

"We discussed this at length when we did the first edition of our new encyclopedia in 2004. IIRC, the deciding factor was that the Baltimore franchise went bust during the season and was turned over to the league. After the season, the league then sold a new franchise to investors in New York City. We felt that wasn't really a relocation or a transfer; it was simply filling the gap in the league that was opened when the Orioles' franchise disintegrated. 

Got that? Sure you do. It's so crystal clear. Nothing arbitrary at all. In fact, it was translated from the original Jackie Gleasonese: "Humina-humina-humina."

What does this mean? Simple: Don't bother to look at old numbers. These joyless, office-visor-wearing sacks of lumbago won't let anybody in a Yankee cap celebrate an anticipated 10,000th win, which is what their website had been showing for the last - well - since anybody bothered to notice their stupid, meaningless, waste-of-time records.

Nope. As soon as we got within striking range, they deleted the Orioles. How much you wanna bet that six months from now, they reconsider - conclude that the '01 and '02 Orioles were legit - restoring the victories and giving the Yankees 10,09 wins.

As for anyone who was planning that 10,000th Yankee win party, ha-ha. Well, here's the deal: We at IIHIIFIIc were going to throw a parade along the Canyon of Heroes like nothing the city of New York has ever seen. We were going to have a giant George Steinbrenner balloon. We were going to have a mile-long march of celebrity Yankee fans, including a robot Nelson Mandela. Now? Forget it. It's off. We'll never do it. Why? Those nearsighted, hunched-over, pants-piddling, acne-chinned, 350-pound, swollen-footed, chair-breaking, inflatable-doll-girlfriend twerps have ruined everything... for everyone.  I'm glad they'll never get laid.

A .500 team is a mathematical work of art and a perfect equilibrium of nature

Last night, in scenic Your Name Here Stadium, I watched the Pawtucket Pawsocks beat the Syracuse Chiefs 4-3, with a strange concept on display. Imagine a Triple A game played by young players on their way up, rather than old-timers in their final incarnations. Over the last 20 years of monitoring Columbus and Scranton - the Yankees antique attic for used parts and memorabilia - practically all I've ever seen were nostalgia re-enactments, teams larded with the Wally Whitehursts and Russell Canzlers of yesteryear. That's the Yankee way.

The Redsocks can find hope for Mookie Betts. Meanwhile, the Yankees trot out Adonis Garcia.

Aw, shoot... if I sound negative, it's because I ruined an otherwise perfect night by tuning into the Sunoco Broadcast Booth on the Yankee Radio Network, driven by Grief. If you popped in during the eighth inning, you knew in seconds that the world had suffered a terrible tragedy. Several times, John started recapping Derek Jeter's unbearable rally-killing DP, then halted, preferring to sell the snake oil of a million dollar payout from Celino & Barnes. Suzyn couldn't save him. She was chewing on her lip, buttoned down with mortification. They were watching their team squander another brief hot streak by playing minor league ball. They saw the reality: A .500 team will do horrible things in order to stay at .500.

Listen: Boston and Tampa have both won five in a row. A week ago, John was crowing about those sad teams selling off John Lester or David Price at dramatic discounts, with the Yankees having their pick. Now, we should prepare for the whooshing sound, as one or both teams overtake us. Moreover, we should prepare for a long-term plague, because they will pass us with young players, the kind we would trade for Cliff Lee or somebody, anybody, named Chase - be it Headley or Utley - who cares?

The saddest part here, as The Master repeatedly stressed, is that Jeter had been playing well lately. Last night, we were reminded that 40 is 40, and it doesn't leave... and that Kelly Johnson is a nightmare at first... and that Brian Roberts will never regained his glove... that Zelous is Yangervis... and that Matt Thornton would be long gone by now, if not for his two-year contract. Without Mark Teixeira, the Yankees are a Triple A club, and not a particularly exciting one - like Pawtucket or Syracuse - to watch. A .500 team is a work of mathematical art, like one of those miniature wave machines on your desk. It always gives back the wins of last week. It's too bad we're playing the worst team in the AL. Because it's our turn to lose. And don't stand in the our way, when it's our turn to lose.

Monday, July 21, 2014

This Is Another One Of Those " Go To Bed Early " Games

We could all tell that the kid did not have his best stuff tonight.

Flash and O'Neil were both talking about it early.  And his pitch count was way up there by the top of the 6th inning.

Nerves from his Yankee stadium debut can be a culprit.  His three errors caused a lot of those extra pitches.  He was shaky and it showed.

Still, he soldiered on against a team in the toilet, and held the Rangers to 1 run.

But Girardi blew it, big time.

The kid had still given the Yankees 5 2/3 innings of 1 run ball.  He could not get the third out in the sixth and should have been pulled after the base hit up the middle.  That way, he is guaranteed not to take a loss.  A reward for gutting it out on a lousy day….primarily because his own defense failed him.

But he held up his end of pitching, despite endless 3-2 counts and fouled off pitches.  He was at the 100 mark, anyway.  Time to take a bow and think of a better day.

So what does Joe do?  He leaves him in the game  so he can walk the next batter, and then brings in the asshole lefty from Boston who always screws up.

I look up, after Derek hit into a predictable rally killing, game killing, bases -loaded double play ( which I correctly predicted ) the previous inning, and it is 4-2 Rangers.  Clearly, now that Tex is hurt again, we aren't scoring more than 2 runs tonight.

We had a shot at a 2-1 win, but Girardi stayed too long with a kid who was tiring, and did not have his best stuff anyway.  What would have been a positive experience, and a major relief for the kid ( leaving the game with the Yankees ahead 2-1, despite his three errors), now becomes a nightmarish experience and, for sure, a loss. I'll be surprised if he ever plays well again at the stadium.

The Rangers were 4-24 in their last 28 games.

Girardi will make them well again.

Really a terrible job of decision-making tonight.  This one is on you.