With Memorial Day approaching, it's time to ponder the slow death of the Yankees

We can talk ruefully about the Giancarlo Stanton contract, a nightmare of financial constriction that will likely outlast the Covid pandemic, the pop group BTS and - perhaps - American democracy. 

But there is special dung-heap in hell for two contract extensions,  bestowed within 10 days of each other, in mid-February of 2019, upon Luis Severino and Aaron Hicks. 

The deals are celebrated annually in Boston, Tampa, Toronto and wherever Yankee-haters fester, like the tube worms that they are. Today these two eternal, Satan-rendered parchments frame a Joel Sherman thumbsucker in Murdoch's Daily Bigfoot. 

It's worth a read, as long as you don't live near a bridge. Here's a taste:

"... [U]nless Hal Steinbrenner authorizes exceeding the threshold — and he should do that if trying to win a title is truly the goal — then the Yanks will likely have a limited pool from which to choose and/or will have to invest more in prospect capital to get another team to eat dollars."

"... [I]n the four seasons Ellsbury got on the field for the Yankees he played more games for them (520) than Hicks has in six (493). "

I believe I speak for the Yankiverse in saying, "Yeow!" Halfway through the piece, I felt like George C. Scott in "Hardcore," screaming "TURN IT OFF! TURRRN IT OFFFF!" But Sherman nails it: Over 10 horrifying days, which were then applauded as "Cooperstown" Cashman's crowning achievement, the Yankees lashed themselves to a pair of contracts that now rival tickets on the Titanic. 

Before going further, let us remember the sacred IT IS HIGH oath - similar to the pledge by Superman never to take a human life, and that of Lassie to never bite people: We do not blame players for getting hurt. Yeah, some are incredibly breakable, some are incredibly stupid, and some are incredibly inventive when it comes to vitamin supplements - but ballplayers are generally just dumb fucks trying to feed their families. They may be millionaires, but they must deal with billionaires - and their lawyers, conniving shitheads who somehow stole the keys to a key American cultural icon. So... let's not pile the current malaise upon Hicksy or Sevy. Let's just wish them health. It's not their fault.  

Their contract extensions came 14 months after the bloodless coup that brought Giancarlo Stanton and his own wretched contact to Gotham. Ever since, time seems to have suspended itself, with the Yankees perpetually chasing Tampa, or Boston, or somebody. 

We watch our rivals bring forth waves of young players, while we sign burned-out Bruces and odious Odors. The Rays, especially, roll out rookies like assembly line candies in a demented Lucille Ball skit. And before yesterday, who the hell ever heard of Alek Manoah?

Great Yankee teams of the past always possessed several key elements:

1. A solid catcher.

2. A great centerfielder.

3. Lefty sluggers.

4. Homegrown stars.

Yeesh. We just went 0-4. We have no catcher. We have no CF. We have no lefty sluggers. And home grown? The Yankees used to have a Core Four - Mariano, Andy, Jeter, Bernie, and you could add Jorge - perennial all-stars, if not Hall of Fame candidates - raised from puppies in our system. 

Today, here's the list of Yankees who have never known another organization: 

Mike Ford
Brett Gardner
Estevan Florial (up for a few days)
Miguel Andujar
Jordan Montgomery
Kyle Higashioka
Gary Sanchez
Tyler Wade
Aaron Judge

We have a Core One: Judge. And a bunch of injuries. And a bunch of bad contracts. 

So... tonight it's Detroit? Insert sigh. I guess we can always beat the tomato cans. But where is this franchise going?