But that's not true. In fact, if the Yankees had paid such a ransom, I believe that today we all would be screaming "Jeff Weaver!" into our secret underground hostage bunkers.
But enough preamble. No more anecdotal ledes! Let's get to the meat: An empirical, super-scientific, human computer, logic-fueled It Is High White Paper on what Houston gave up, comparing it to Yankee prospects. For Cole, the Pirates will receive:
Joe Musgrove, 25, the headliner in the trade. A righy, he made 15 starts last year in Houston, pitched 109 innings (including relief), had a 4.77 ERA. Best comparison: Jordan Montgomery, also 25, (though I think Monty is more highly regarded.)
Colin Moran, 23, a rising third-baseman. He hit .308 with 18 homers last year in Triple A. His defense is suspect. Clearly, he would be our Miguel Andujar.
Michael Feliz, 25, a big (6'4", 230) hard-throwing righty - threw 48 innings for the Astros last season, had a 5.63 ERA. Strike-out pitcher. Let's say a cross between Giovanni Gallegos and Ben Heller.
Jason Martin, 22, outfielder who hit .278 with 18 HR and 16 stolen bases in Single and Double A. Best estimate: A cross between Nick Solak (a 2B at Trenton) and Isiah Gilliam (OF at Tampa), two high-ceiling Yank prospects.
Okay, I admit it: This is a bogus analysis. I can't claim otherwise. Any of these players could be a secret diamond who has flown under the Piratesverse radar. (Is there such a thing?) It's hard enough to compare MLB players, but prospects? Ridiculous. Also, the guy Brian Cashman has most tried to trade is Clint Frazier. The Pirates were said to be insisting on at least two high-level young pitchers, and I really doubt the Yankees would trade Montgomery, their only starting lefty and - fingers crossed - the Second Coming of Andy?
But let's just say the Yankees had traded Frazier, Andujar, Gallegos and instead of Solak, some highly regarded upper level arm - Domingo German. Today, I'd be numb. It wouldn't be the worst deal ever, but it would gouge out a huge biopsy from our farm system - I'm talking prostate biopsies, too - and we'd have nobody at 3B. Adding Cole's contract, we'd be down to about $15 million left to spend on the season, we'd be desperate to unload Jacoby Ellsbury (already are) and something tells me Todd Frazier's name would somehow start popping up in discussions.
There would be a million opinions out there, but one solid consensus: This guy Cole had better be goddamm good! I believe that's a bad recipe for bringing players to New York: Heaping the pressures of Gotham onto the expectations of the fan base - never a good idea. And those poor sex slaves imprisoned in your bunker? Today, they'd be wondering, who the hell is Jeff Weaver?
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13 comments:
Pretty clear Cash didn't want to give up anything of value, so yeah. And he's not done yet ...
Somebody on the FAN yesterday made a really good point....the teams that are doing well right now built their team from position players in their farm system, not from their pitching. Examples...the Cubs, the Astros, and the Yankees. And those teams got their pitching mainly from free agency. Teams that built from their pitching in the farm system...not so good. Example...the Metropolitans.
All of this just makes me even more nervous about Machado.
Don't do it, Cash.
If we had given up Clint Frazier and Andjuhar I would have immolated myself.
Now, I can just kick-back and have a Gentleman Jack.
I agree with Alphonso. This was driving me nuts! I was checking for Gerrit Cole's name 2-3 times a day on the internet, reading all those ridiculous, inside scoops that were, almost entirely, simply copied from other inside scoops.
Now, if the Mets would just get with it and sign away the Toddfather...
Of course, a deal like this was only enough to make a graf of wire service copy at the Times, where the big story was on a couple to do "analytics" for Mexican baseball. And a huge ad by one of the foreign-slave-sweatshop shoe companies, promoting "equality."
Our total remains: Soccer 7, Yankees 1
The guy Cashman wants is Fulmer. He's would have taken Cole but not for the two guys that would have caused Alphonso to spontaneously combust.
We are not out the woods yet. We could still see Andujar and Frazier shipped and end up with the Toddfather for 2 and Machado next year. That said, if that ends up being true we add Fulmer and our offense looks like...
2018
Gardner
Judge
Stanton
Sanchez
Bird
Didi
(rotating DH)w/Hicks/Stanton
Frazier
Torres
2019
Torres
Judge
Stanton
Sanchez
Machado
Bird
Didi
(Rotating DH - now includes the Toddfather)
Hicks
Which is pretty damn good.
Doug K.
And now it’s time for another episode from the files of “Lucky Cashman, Private Dick!”
Chapter One
I was workin’ on an Imp-’n’-Iron in some low Pittsburgh dive, thinkin’ about what a long, strange trip it’s been. First the Bear went missing, and there were rumors he’d been seen making those goo-goo-googly eyes at every outfit in town.
Then it was out to the West Coast, to pick up some Wonder Boy from the East, only to be left holding the bag.
Next a whole shipment of first-class giancarlo showed up, courtesy of my old friend Jetes, down in Miami. Some of the boys in the office said I should be careful. But I was never one to look a gift marlin in the mouth.
Now, I’d just spent a whole day rappelling up and down the buildings of the Iron City, trying to find my old chum, Cole, only to come up empty-handed.
I was down to perusing the river barge arrivals list in the local rag. I’d just spotted what I was lookin’ for—the La Paloma, Capt. Jacoby at the helm—when a blonde goddess walked in and took the barstool next to mine.
When I say goddess, it ain’t palaver. She had a body that wouldn’t quit, and a face that made the Mona Lisa look like Gladys Ormphby. She knocked back an Imp of her own, then the next thing I knew she had an arm around my waste and her tongue in my ear.
“I’m not Santa Claus, but I can get you some Cole,” she purred.
“Talk to me, baby.”
“Just out in the alley,” she cooed. “But it will cost you the Future. A little game of Chance. And Andujar. And the Red Thunder ”
“The Future? I got it right here,” I said, tapping the pocket under my roscoe. “It’s like they say on the tequila ads: tomorrow is overrated.”
I followed the blonde out to the alley. I woulda followed her to Wishaw, if she’d asked me.
“Where’s the goods?” I asked, trying to keep my tongue in my mouth.
“Right there.”
She pointed down at the ground. There was Cole, all right. Lying face down in a pile of gopher balls.
“Why, Cole’s a stiff!” I said.
“And always was,” she whispered in my ear.
She took three giant steps back then, without so much as a mother-may-I.
Up at the far end of the alley, I could see a figure in a trenchcoat and a fedora and a popgun. Neal Huntington, GM of the Pirates. I looked back the way we came in, but there were two more of his gunsels, with gats of their own.
I wiped my hand across my mouth and laughed. The world had begun to revolve like ancient women, gathering fuel in vacant lots.
Stayed tuned, for our next, spine-tingling episode!
And now for the conclusion of our bone-chilling story, “The Case of the Missing Cole,” another episode from the files of Lucky Cashman, Private Dick!
Chapter Two
“Hello, Lucky,” said Huntington. “I’ll take the Future now, if you please.”
I thought of how many times I’d been caught up a dark alley before like this. That time with Nicky Johnson, and then with Vazquez. With McCann, and Pavano. And then with Johnson again, and Vazquez again—
“I fear we are in Rat’s Alley, where the dead men lost their bones,” I told ol’ Neal, stalling for time while I subtly fingered for my own peashooter.
It was gone. I looked over at the frail, who was grinning like the Cheshire cat.
She must have taken it when she slipped that arm around me, back in the bar. Along with my second gun, my third gun, my shiv, my boxcutter, my blackjack, and the corkscrew I keep handy just in case I run into a particularly rare vintage Bordeaux.
Damn, she was good!
“Spare us the theatrics and the verbal gymnastics. We break wiseguys just like matchsticks,” Huntington growled. “C’mon, Lucky! Hand it over. The Future—all of it. Including the Gleyber.”
“Not the Gleyber!” I told him, my head reeling.
But I knew it was on me, burning a hole in my jacket pocket. He would have the Gleyber and the Florial, too, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.
There was just one chance. I had to charge him. Make a run at him and hoped he missed.
There was no more chance of that happening than Joggy playing in the World Series again. But I had to try.
Neal was already firing before I took the first step. But I tripped over a stray black cat, and went down harder than the Bear going after a bunt.
I heard Huntington’s first bullet buzz just over my head as I fell. It went directly into one of his gunsels, where it snuggled up next to his liver like a good little kitten.
The second shot hit a trash can cover, bounced off a brick wall, and ricocheted right back at Huntington, hitting him where his heart should have been. He went down like the Red Sox with a ten-game lead.
That still left one villain. But before I could so much as turn around I heard a grunt of surprise, then another grunt of extreme pain. It was the Bear, wrapping our friend up in a nice, friendly hug. He tossed him away like a Three Musketeers wrapper, and stood there grinning at me.
“Your offer is accepted,” he said to me.
The doll was staring at me in something akin to wonder as I brushed myself off, her lips parted.
“I can’t live without a man who’s that lucky,” she breathed, a fire in her eyes.
“Maybe even luckier than I think,” I told her. “Look!”
Cole was moaning and shaking his head, the gopher balls rolling away.
“Cole’s still alive. Hey, maybe—”
Next thing I knew, though, I was flying through the air, secure in a pair of huge, ursine arms. The dame was signaling for a taxi.
“You’re through here, boss. Remember, we got to get the piers. Captain Jacoby and the La Paloma are due in.”
Jacoby. That’s right. I still had to take care of him. Well, maybe I could make a deal, swap him even up for Manny Machado, or Yoan Moncada.
After all, anything is possible when you’re…Lucky.
Huntington supposedly wouldn't budge on Torres, but traded Cole 4 guys who's ceiling is that of Ronald Torreyes. What did he have a 300% tariff on the Yankees? I'm glad they didn't get Cole, I saw some calling him Eovaldi 2.0 or the obvious Vasquez. However I'm annoyed that Houston gave up nobody.
Horace, I'm going to read that and probably sing your praises shortly.
To quote my good friend Tommy Wissau
"Ha haha, what a story Horace"
I would have called the blonde goddess a dame, but flawless execution.
Yeah, never got around to dame. But there are so many good noir names for women!
Thanks for reading!
It is par for the course, weirdly, that they wanted to much from us. Remember in the early 2000s, when the Red Sox kept trading Brandon Lydon to acquire major players? They always wanted Bernie Williams or some such from us.
Just don't get it. What does Pittsburgh care what the Yankees do?
But I don't think it will matter. Cole is subtraction by addition.
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