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Wednesday, October 20, 2021

As abysmal a Mickmas as we have ever witnessed.


Yes, folks, almost forgot it, didn’t you? Today is Mickmas. The 90th anniversary of the birth of the Commerce Comet, Mickey Mantle, and traditionally one of the holiest days on the Yankee calendar.





 

Historically, like many Christian and pagan holidays, Mickmas comes at a time of year when things are their darkest—that is to say, at the end of the baseball season. They will only get better as we rise, slowly but surely, toward another season.

 

But not this year.

 

This year, the Cashman-Boone regime has been pasted fully into place for at least another three years, in Hal’s Green Book of Big League Foodstamps.

 

There is no hope in sight, nothing like the prophesied births of our holy Yankees trinity, The Babe, and Joltin’ Joe, and The Mick. Three great, transformative players, from three ends of the country—East Coast, West Coast, and dabsmack in the middle—passing on the mighty Yankee tradition almost hand-to-hand.

 

And followed by so many others. Reggie and Thurman and Gator and Goose. Jeter and The Great One and the Core of Four.  

 

On and on, world without end, amen.

 

Except it has ended.

 

Our chosen one now is supposed to be “The Martian,” Jasson Dominguez, a nickname better suited to how he looks in a batting helmet than any sign of “otherworldly” ability. 






More like the Martian in a Bugs Bunny cartoon than the kick-ass Martians of War of the Worlds.

 













Or even Matt Damon in The Martian.


 

As noted here, Dominguez batted all of .252 this year at the very lowest levels of the minors.

 

C’mon, I hear you say. The kid’s only 18.

 

That’s true. 

 

At 18, Babe Ruth was still in an orphanage. But at 19, he won 20 games in the highest minor league in the land and made the Red Sox’ roster, winning 2 more.


 

At 18, Joe Joe DiMaggio was batting .340 in the Triple-A-plus PCL, and setting a league record by hitting in 61 consecutive straight games. Not to mention playing a spectacular centerfield.

 


At 18, The Mick was hitting .383 in Class C Joplin. At 19, he was starting in the World Series.

 

Anyone project a similar ascent by The Martian? The talk now is that he should maybe become a 5-foot-10 first baseman, and the comparisons run more along the lines of Jackson Melian.





 

But hey, not to take the Yanks’ sad plight out on poor Jasson, who will at least have $5 million to console him when he returns to the Red Planet.  

 

Right now, the entire postseason is dominated by our most hated rivals and the teams we loathe the most. It’s the hated vs. the loathed.

 

Right now, we have absolutely nothing to look forward to for years to come, save more pronouncements by Brian Cashman about how all this team has to do is play up to its potential.

 

Right now, we are facing years—years!—of Aaron Boone allowing that there is room for improvement.

To quote our Nobel laureate, it’s not dark yet, but it’s getting’ there. 





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