As of today, the Yankees are bringing forth an old and brittle lineup. That isn't likely to change before April.

When the music stops, and the final free agents - Bregman, Alonso, et al - scramble for the last empty chairs, it's increasingly clear that the Death Barge has quit this winter's game and will not sign another impact player for 2025. 

Cooperstown Cashman will make tweaks - vets with minor league contracts and opt-out clauses - (think Dominick Smith, this year's Franchy Cordero/Willie Calhoun.) But here's the lineup, as it now stands...

Jazz Chisholm (3B/2B)
Aaron Judge (RF)
Cody Bellinger (CF)
Giancarlo Stanton (DH)
Paul Goldschmidt (1B)
Austin Wells (C)
Jasson Dominguez (LF)
Anthony Volpe (SS) 
DJ LeMahieu (3B/2B)

Close your eyes and imagine everybody healthy - and it's 2021). If the Yankees can get full seasons from Judge and Stanton, and bounce-backs from Goldschmidt and LeMahieu - Breaking News: This lineup will win 90 games.

The problem, though, is - well - reality. 

Generally, Stanton misses a third of every season. He's 35. He couldn't run the bases in October. LeMahieu and Goldschmidt face career twilights. Bellinger has missed substantial parts of recent seasons. And if Judge goes down, it's an asteroid strike. He's replaced by Trent Grisham. Maybe the Martian and Volpe will hit? Yeah, and maybe they won't. Tweak a few gonads, and the lineup looks straight out of 2013 (AKA, the Year ofYoukilis.)

Jazz Chisholm (2B)
Cody Bellinger (CF)
Paul Goldschmidt (1B)
Austin Wells (C)
DJ LeMahiue (DH) 
Jasson Dominguez (LF)
Oswaldo Cabrera (3B)
Anthony Volpe (SS)
Trent Grisham (RF)

I'm not trying to scare you. But the 2025 Yankees are skating on perilously thin ice. And there is no cavalry in Scranton. If you're looking for youthful upgrades, well, there is Ben Rice and - um - Jorbet Vivas? Oh, wait, there's Spencer Jones, and his newest retooled swing. Do you feel lucky?

Early this winter, we traded the most interesting player in our system - Caleb Durbin, who may or may not be overhyped, but who looked to be, at least, full of youthful spirit and grit. Maybe the Martian can bring it. Who knows? But we're facing a spring when Boston may have baseball's most abundant farm system, with a wave of youth on their doorstep. Are we really a tweak away from Grisham? 

The Yankees Top 30 prospect rankings are out. It's a wish list.

It's the butt-end dregs of January, that lumbering, festering time of year when...

1. Hollywood assholes give themselves awards.

2. Music industry assholes give themselves awards.

3. Supermodels give themselves tans. 

4. TV news each night exposes an incredible scoop: It's winter.

5. The Pro Bowl holds it's Egg & Spoon race and Pie-Eating contest.

6. Flu. 

7. Death.  

8. Taxes. 

9. The Yankees sign their upcoming Scranton roster. 

10. MLB publishes its lists of prospects. 

So, here we are, at No. 10, tapping our hammerhead toes until P's and C's report, barely three weeks from now. Yesterday, the MLB grist machine released its Yankee Top 30 Prospects - tweeted by the Somerset Patriots - which gently reminds us that, no matter how barren a system, there is always a top 30. 

The Yankee pig list begins with The Martian, Jasson Dominguez, in his final year as a prospect, who will either win LF in spring training or foster an overwhelming sense of doom for 2025. Imagine the Yankees if, on opening day - say - Trent Grisham starts in left. Quickly, you realize the hopelessness that could emerge, following the loss of traitorous Juan Soto.

The list ends with a 6'2" Texan named Griffin Garner Herring, a 21-year-old lefty reliever who pitched last year for - um - LSU, the school. There is, literally, no way to measure this guy, aside from his record in the SEC. (He went 6-1, with a 1.79 ERA.) 

If you need an indicator, try No. 19: Mani Cedeno, the 16-year-old Latino free agent SS who signed last week for $2.5 million, and who is, at the least, five years away from touching down in a meaningful game. At his signing, Cedeno was ranked No. 11 by MLB Pipeline in the 2025 international signing class, a list of similar ciphers and lottery tickets. As of today, he's still a nobody, who has done nothing, nowhere, no how, and yet he already slots in above Clayton Beeter and Everson Periera, who were exciting items in our top 10 a year ago. 

Oh, well, the Grammys are this weekend. That'll kill 15 minutes. 

Monster Jam

T.S Elliot (that anti-Semite bastard) once wrote that, “april is the cruelest month” but for me it’s always been that period between now and the end of February. Not only is it cold and bleak, (Even here in California – although to be fair, much like our hills during a rainfall after a devastating fire, it’s a sliding scale.) but for a fan like myself, it’s the sports doldrums. 

College football is finished, as is the NFL season and the playoffs with the exception of the Super Bowl… like that matters. 

I can watch and enjoy the Knicks, but it will be a while before the games really count.

I suppose there is college basketball, but it is pretty boring to begin with and we are over a month away from March Madness…

Quick Side Note: A couple of years ago I came to the realization that I lack the knowledge or interest to make a decent run at any March Madness pool or national contest and have made it my mission to come in last.  

Here is my ranking from 2024. I came in 2,856,143rd. This year I’m hoping to break 3,000,000^th. Wish me unluck.

So the other day when a friend of mine asked me if I wanted to go see Monster Jam at the Golden One Arena I jumped at it. Not only was seeing monster trucks shoot fire and crush smaller vehicles on my bucket list, but he works for a large “advocacy” group, and they have a luxury box. I won’t say which one but let’s put it this way, it’s a good thing, Luigi Mangione is in jail.

Plus, I’ve got this Idiocracy thing going ever since I saw Hulk Hogan do his best President Camacho impression at the Republican Convention and I’m seeing it pretty much everywhere now. I was hoping that, in addition to watching Monster Trucks doing damage there would be an appearance by Beef Supreme.

Sadly, there was not.

Part of the problem was that Monster Jam is apparently not Monster Truck Wars.  Monster Jam is a two-hour toy commercial fobbed off as a competition between six, I don’t know what to call them, overgrown dune buggies? 

You know those radio-controlled truck/go carts they used to sell at Radio Shack (A Tandy Company!)? They were like a bigger version of that. Sure they had names like Grave Digger and Jurassic Attack, but there was also one named Scooby-Doo.

The premise of Monster Jam is, there are six vehicles, that compete in a series of events such as driving over some piled up dirt and doing wheelies, doing donuts, and getting air.

You know… the stuff I did in my parent’s Fiat 124 behind the Pathmark after school. 

I even drove it once down a flight of stairs just like Rémy Julienne.

Another Side Note: Many, many, years later my Dad and I were having a conversation about some of the cars we owned, and he mentioned that while he liked the Fiat, he felt it wasn’t that well-built because it always had a rattle, like the frame was going to come apart.

Heh… Heh… 

To involve the crowd, such as it was, you could download a QR code and be a judge for each event. My favorite instruction was when we were told to reward the drivers for their creativity during the donut competition. 

I’m pretty sure that doing a donut just entails hitting the brake pedal and the gas pedal at the same time and then keeping the wheel turned all the way to one side. Not a lot of opportunities for creativity there.

It was all so so, so boring and pointless. Nothing shot fire. No vehicles we destroyed. Actually that would be pointless too but at least it would be more entertaining. 

The "competition" lacked context, villains, story, and a sense of danger. Nothing was at stake, and you know that the trophy they gave the "winner” at the end will be used again the next night. I was a little far away but I’m pretty sure I saw a bowler on top of it.  

It was however, really, really loud, because for some reason, “sporting events” equate volume and excitement.

I felt bad for the little kids in attendance. At least when I destroyed my hearing it was because I sat in the eighth row of a Pink Floyd concert at Nassau Coliseum.

The kids in attendance were more interested in the merch. Which I guess was the whole idea. 

For thirty bucks you could get a slushy in a cup based on the shark themed Megalodon. To be fair, it did light up. 

Just a couple of final notes: 

The National Anthem was sung by a Hispanic woman who kept glancing around like she was expecting ICE to haul her off in the middle of the song. Sad.

 

Speaking of sad. Pretty much everyone in there was working class and tickets were not cheap. A family of four probably dropped close to five hundred bucks to watch this garbage.  

Let me put it this way... If you’ve ever been to Vegas there’s always a moment when you see a person or a family, slowly walking in the lobby, totally defeated, questioning why they saved up their hard-earned money only to end up broke and empty inside. 

I saw several families like that. Sure the kids had a Megalodon cup and a $25 plastic framed photograph of them sitting in a mockup of a Monster Jam vehicle but, at least they got to see this…

On the bright side I still have Monster Truck Wars on my bucket list and I’m sure that will be better.  Plus only two weeks to pitchers and catchers and I hear the Pro Bowl Skills Challenge is going to be very special this year.

"We’re going to be better defensively this time around, if we make it. I believe, if we make it, we’ll get the job done."

It's a short move, from comedy to farce. And it's all in the timing. One moment, you set up the punch line. Next, bang, you mush the pie into Soupy's face.

Yesterday, Food Stamps Hal Steinbrenner delivered the pizza. Were it a Saturday Night Live sketch, Heidi Gardner would have cracked up. But Hal came through. Talking about 2025, with a face as straight as Lindsey Graham, he said..  

"We’re going to be better defensively this time around, if we make it. I believe, if we make it, we’ll get the job done." 

If we make it...

This came as Hal was talking about the Dodgers, baseball's best team and most dominant franchise, the new Evil Empire, and the embodiment of everything the Yankees stood for through their first 80 years. As usual, Hal was griping about money, noting that his team - ranked by Forbes as MLB's highest valued franchise - cannot compete with the big-spending Dodgers, Phillies and Mets. Then he offered his solemn vow... 

This year, if the Yankees make it, they won't be humiliated.

Nope. This time, it'll be different. No Game 5, inning 5. No dropped fly ball, no errant throw, no inexplicable failure to cover first base. This time, different. No embarrassment. If they make it... 

In about two weeks, pitchers and catchers will start arriving in Tampa. The days will lengthen, the sunsets will brighten, and George M. Steinbrenner Field will open for another year. And with every returnee, the horror of last year's world series will replay on the Jumbotron of our minds. 

I guess we at IT IS HIGH have a bit of a reputation for getting down on the Yankees. At times, we're unfair. We complain so vigorously that readers wonder if we even root for the Yankees. 

Well, that's what happens when you love a team. 

The Yankees had a great 2024, a wondrous season, right up to the fucking moment when everything turned to shit, when the comedy became farce. It was a great movie, a magnificent show, until the ending.  

Until the memories of Game 5 are replaced with something great - or, gasp, even more ghastly - I'm sorry, but the images won't leave. We're stuck behind the couch, still watching Gerrit Cole point to first base. We've been there all winter.

Hal says, this year, if we make it, things will be different. 

If only we could believe him... 

An Above Average Haiku Tuesday ~ Wishing for a Handle Edition

might need your glasses . . .

The Redsocks might have baseball's strongest farm system. Is it time to worry?

Yesterday, Keith Law of The Athletic ejaculated his annual Top 100 prospects list, and I suggest you not go there alone. 

It's baseball's version of The Substance - the Hollywood horror flick, where an aging, over-the-hill Demi Moore franchise suddenly transforms into a young, strong Andie McDowell's daughter lineup, ready to win a TV gig world series.

On Law's List, Boston places five prospects, including the #1 - a CF named Roman Anthony, who is 6'2", with power and speed, and who looks like-

WAIT WAIT WAIT... YES, I HEAR YOUR SCREAMS. Calm down. Take a pill. I accept your protests. You're yelling that I'm taking this list seriously, which is in direct conflict with the No. 1 Rule of IT IS HIGH: Never take these lists seriously. Wasn't it last winter that Baltimore unveiled MLB's top prospect, 20-year-old Jackson Holliday? Remember the hype? Holliday came and went, then returned - hitting .190 with a measly 5 HRs. Ha ha. He's no longer on anybody's "prospect list." He's too old. (He's 21.) So, what-we-worry, right? 

Yeah, well, okay... But two winters ago, we assured ourselves that Bobby Witt Jr. was a washout, and that Anthony Volpe was destined for Monument Park. 

In prospect years, two seasons is a decade. 

So, to answer your wails...  Yes, it's too soon to fear the worst. But it's never too soon to worry... when we're dealing with Boston.  

Look, records are made to be broken, and so are prospects. If Roman looks like the next Freddie Lynn - (in his rookie year, 1975, he hit .331 with 21 HRs) - it's still not time to hit the Panic Button. (Besides, when Hal presses his button, Cashman just brings him a Diet Coke laced with Xanax.) 

But there's always concern when Boston has sat out three straight years, preparing to rise, like a zombie apocalypse. These kids can always be new versions of Franchy Cordero. But it's still worth worrying. 

Anthony, a lefty-hitting CF, shot through the minors last year. Law says he could make the team out of spring training, and he projects 30-HR power, speed, defense and high average.  

Next comes Kristian Campbell, a 23-year-old 2B/OF, who hit .330 last year in three minor league levels. He ranks #9. Then Marcelo Mayer - the "It" guy from the 2023 draft -at #28. Then Franklin Arias, age 19, another SS, at #42. Then Yoelin Cespedes, 19, yet another SS, at #97.

The Yankees? We have The Martian, Jasson Dominguez, at #21, which is also his age. It seems like he's 30, having been under the microscope for five years. But he sure didn't impress anyone playing LF in September. We'll see. (They also have George Lombard, the single A SS, at #98.)

The Orioles have three players, including catcher Samuel Basalo, #3. Tampa and Toronto have two, none of which move the needle.

Wait... okay, I hear you: These lists are crapola. But in this millennium, when Boston has more rings than the Yankees, it's worth noting the strategy they have been playing: Lie dormant for a few seasons, go into hiding, then suddenly go for broke. This could be one of those suddenly go-for-broke years. 

The Yankees had better not be done improving.

For Bills fans, the Great Transfiguration must wait one more year

Last night, driving the roads of Upstate New York, you were alone. 

Nobody at the stoplight. Nobody in the rearview. No cop behind the billboard. No ghostly hitchhikers. Highways empty. Homes lit by TVs. 

Bills game. 

For four hours, the face of humanity belonged to Josh Allen. He saved all sinners, spake all truths, offered salvation and - in the end - with the flying monkeys from Hell draped over him, made one mighty heave that shoulda been caught - damn, it was sooo catchable - sorta like a certain CF who shoulda snagged an easy pop fly, but let's no go there... And suddenly, to the hearty tribes of upstate, the season ended, and maybe the world. 

Bills game over.  

Technically, there's still the Super Bowl. As a Giants fan, I can revel in our perfect ignominy, having gifted the city of Philadelphia their best player. But from Jamestown to Plattsburgh, from Watertown to Binghamton, across the ghostly boat paths of the Erie Canal, across the shadows of the Haudenosaunee Confederation, time stopped last night.  

For cynics, it was predictable. Everyone knew Godot wouldn't show, the cavalry wouldn't arrive, Lucy would pull the football, Quinn the Eskimo wouldn't get here, and once again, the end would be filled with Taylor Swift's manic smile.  

This year, along with crashing into tables and wearing ketsup suits, Bills fans took to spontaneously singing "Mr. Brightside," a surprisingly triumphant ode to infidelity, and - true fact: The most popular recorded song in England's history. Next year, they should add Gilbert O' Sullivan's "Alone Again, Naturally," about a guy left at the altar.

Another year, another loss. Another cold winter night around Syracuse. Someday, I do believe it will work out. The city of Buffalo will prevail. The Bills just need to stop playing Pat Mahomes. They need to play the Jets and Giants. There shall be a Great Transcendence. Just not sure we'll live long enough to be there. In the meantime, there is Mr. Brightside.

Coming out of my cage, and I've been doing just fine
Gotta, gotta be down because I want it all
It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this?
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss

Now I'm falling asleep, and she's calling a cab
While he's having a smoke, and she's taking a drag
Now they're going to bed, and my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head, but she's touching his chest now
He takes off her dress now, let me go

I just can't look, it's killing me
And taking control

Jealousy, turning saints into the sea
Swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis
But it's just the price I pay, destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes, 'cause I'm Mr. Brightside

Welcome, Mani "the Man" Cedeno. See you in, gulp, 2030?

Friday, the Yankees announced the signing of Mani Cedeno, a scowling teen titan SS from the Dominican Republic, and the 11th rated prospect in this year's class of Latino cabana boys. Mani and his traffickers inked a $2.5 million contract, which I hope he read carefully, as he is 16.

Here's what the  MLB Pipeline says.

There is a ton of bat speed to dream on from Cedeno’s balanced and smooth right-handed swing. He does an excellent job of shifting his weight in the box to tap into power that is just beginning to emerge. His plus athleticism aids him in the box as he displays quick hands with almost no stiffness to his approach. If the pop begins to come consistently, Cedeno could be a fast riser through an organization’s ranks.

If... if... if...  

If Mani takes five years to reach the majors, only God knows what Yankee hell-scape he'll find. Trump's entire second term will have come and gone. Taylor Swift will be pushing 40, into her second marriage, with three kids. Elon Musk will have been declared the 51st state, with Greenland, the Grand Caymans and Zuckerberg in the cue. Juan Soto will be coming off a .211 season, Anthony Volpe will be a Met, and the Buffalo Bills will be favored to win their first Super Bowl... next year, of course. The Yankees? I foresee a wild card!  

Listen: It's hard to get stoked over a prospect who might not arrive in your lifetime. In five years, I'll have glass tubes in my crotch and an A.I. mistress. Also, there's a good chance that Mani will end up in a "Bundlerewski" trade package for some 34-year-old gas tank on some July 31 trade deadline. 

Newton's 1st Law of the Yankiverse: Prospects come and go. 

But but BUT... On this wintery morn, I am chalk full of hope. Welcome, Mani! Love the spelling. Love the glare. Love the fact that, once again, the Yankees have given me a new, phantom hope from the farthest edge of the universe. Mani Cedeno - a perfect baseball name. It doesn't matter that every year, the Yankees bring forth a new, huggable, "can't miss" 16-year-old, and quickly slot him into their Top Ten List of Prospects. It doesn't matter whether he's competing with Caleb Durbin or Jesus Montero. There is always somebody ranked No. 1, and we fools will track him like Jack Reacher, as he navigates the Yankee reality.  

There was once Jackson Melian. There was once Roger Repoz. There was a Ricardo Aramboles, a Ruben Rivera, a litany of names that only ardent Yankee fans will remember. Every year, a new hope, so far off on the horizon that you wonder whether you should bother... but you do. 

Last week, Baseball America released its top 100 prospects rankings. The Yankees had only one player - Jasson Dominguez, aka The Martian, who, at 21, is rapidly becoming a "Now or Never"  - on the list. Overall, a sad showing. Spencer Jones didn't make it. Will Warren didn't make it. Clayton Beeter? Nope. Comparatively speaking, the Yankee farm is in a sorry state. But today, we have a new hope. 

Welcome, Mani-Man. See you in 2030. 

A hateful screed for the last NFL Sunday of the season.

First, full disclosure: I hate the NFL. I hate the owners. I hate the commissioner. I hate the fake patriotism, the corporate tie-ins, the coverups on brain injuries, the insane cost of tickets, the new kickoff rules, the glitzy halftime shows, the pregame show betting parlays...  everything. 

But but BUT... I love football. Played in high school. A great play in football can make you leap from the couch and scream. Few things in this world can rouse you like sports, (One exception: Golf, which is pure evil. Every wrong with humanity stems directly from golf.) 

This weekend, I have a special wish for the NFL. It goes this way...

1. I love Buffalo. It's a great town. The long-suffering Bills Mafia is heartful and righteous. The fans actually send money to charities of opposing players, as they did with that Raven tight end who dropped the big pass last week. In every way, such events are Buffalo's finest hour.  

2. I hate the Chiefs. If I never again see Andy Reid and Pat Mahomes pitch the bundling of home and car insurance, that's reason to live. I have no issue with Kansas City. They traded us Roger Maris. But the Chiefs have won enough. Everyone in America knows this. Everyone wants the Bills to win.

3. I hate the refs. Game after game, with phantom penalties, they decide winners and losers. It's the fourth quarter, a minute left, close game. A hail Mary pass. Players collide. For one long, endless moment, everyone looks around. Then the flag is thrown. Pass interference. Or holding. Or roughing the passer. Something. It doesn't matter. Suddenly, it's all over but for the chip shot field goal. A great game... with a sad, dreadful, tiresome conclusion. Decided by the refs.

4. The instant replay must prove this. It will be be obvious, so incredibly wrong that whomever is in the TV booth - Romo, Aikman, Collinsworth - they openly blast the call. And it will be one of those penalties that cannot be challenged. The network will bring in the league's lackey, who hems and haws, and says it coulda gone either way, but the whole world will know that one team just got screwed. Again. And everybody will be pissed. 

5. Yes, the Bills must lose. Their fans must suffer. Again. But part of Buffalo's soulfulness stems from its love of a cursed team. It makes everyone stronger. If the Bills ever win, they will riot in the streets - just like every other city. And the morning sun will reveal a sad, rotted urban landscape - just like every other city. Nobody's life will have changed. Nobody's brake pads will have healed. And nothing about the Bills - or Buffalo - will ever be like what it was. 

When I was a young man, I kept a book of quotes, which I wrote down whenever I saw fit. Here's one from Cyprian St. Cyr.

"The man who is loved by a woman is lucky indeed, but the one to be admired is he who loves, however little he gets in return. How much greater is Dante gazing at Beatrice than Beatrice walking by him in apparent disdain." 

Yeah, that's what I want. The Bills must lose. I hate the NFL. Bring it on, juju gods.

A cold question for the coldest week: Does LeMahieu have anything left?

Now and then, while crying into our Genny Cream Ales, let's pull the loaded Luger from our mouths and remember: 

* The '24 Yanks reached the world series.

* Even if they embarrassed themselves in game five - which they did! - it was their best season since 2009.

* Even if they wimped out with Juan Soto - which they did! -  they still have the game's greatest slugger.

* Even if the Mets rise - which they might - Soto will never be quite the same, as he hits in front of someone not named Aaron Judge.

* The Orioles, our chief threat in the AL East, have regressed this winter.

* Toronto is Toronto, Tampa is Tampa, and Boston is fulminating about another youth movement - third in the last five years? Remember when Baseball America gushed over Baltimore's looming dynasty? There's a big chasm (or Chisholm)  between wowing the slobbery scouts and winning. 

So many questions. So many asterisks. But at the risk of being Joe Pollyanna, let me stress: All is NOT horrible. With a breakout here and a comeback there, the Yankees could take the AL East and - from there - maybe next time our ace will cover first?

But today, front and center, comes a question haunting one of their core, a coach in player form, the ever hustling D.J. LeMahieu. If he could bounce back, our infield issues would disappear. 

But but BUT... here is the realty of DJ in 10 points.

1. In July, he'll turn 37 - a point-of-no-return for most players.

2. Last year - this is not a typo - he hit .204. Really. Two oh four.

3. Over the last four seasons, his numbers have steadily crumbled. His batting averages: .268, .261, .243, .204. His RBIS: 57, 46, 44, 26. Yikes.  

4. He bats RH in a lineup that needs lefties. 

5. In recent years, he's faced nonstop injuries. One after another. The Yankees have used them as an excuse for his decline. But his body seems to be breaking down.

6. The Yankees will pay him $30 million over the next two years.

7. If not for the contract, they would probably DFA him. As it is, they can't trade him. He's tethered to the deal. 

8. The Yankees could really use him. Depending on where Jazz Chisolm ends up, they have an opening at 3B or 2B, and their 1B, Paul Goldschmidt, is actually older.

9. LeMahieu is famously disciplined, a "fundamentals" player, always prepared. It's not crazy to think that could put together one final decent year. He's worth a gamble.

10. He needs a great spring training. There is no net. He has to hit. He has to look good in the field.

Listen: I like the fact that LeMahieu has one last shot. He deserves one. I don't think anybody expects a return to 2020. But hey, ya never know.

The events of the last week show Dodgers are the new Evil Empire, and the Yankees are living in the past.

Last night, for spits and giggles, safe in my panic room, I reviewed the 2025 Yankee bullpen, at it now stands. (Warning: Do not attempt this, without a Home Life Alert lanyard.)  Check this out:

Long man:
Marcus Stroman (until traded)
Clayton Beeter 
Will Warren

Blowouts/Mop-ups: 
Fernando Cruz
Scott Effross 
Jerry de los Santos

6th inning: 
Mark Leiter Jr.
Jake Cousins 
Jonathan Loaisiga (around July)

7th inning:
Ian Hamilton

Boone 8th inning Circle of Trust: 
Luke Weaver

Closer: 
Devin Williams

Fun Fact: None of the above throws from the left side. 

Yep, the big bad Yankees - in Yankee Stadium, no less - have no lefty in the pen. 

To say the Yankees have work to do is an understatement. It's like calling the Atlantic Ocean "moist." Early this week, the arc of the universe pointed to the Yankees signing LH closer Tanner Scott. Then the Dodgers signed him. That left RH closer Kirby Yates as top dog in the free agent market. With the speed of a wildfire, the Dodgers signed him. The Yankees turned their head and coughed.  

So, what came next? The lords of baseball reacted, as always - squealing like stuck pigs. They raged about spending - blaming the Dodgers, Mets and - of course - the Yankees... the Evil Empire.

I swear, some Gammonites must have a programed user-key that rips the Yankees for spending. Forget that the Dodgers ($309.1 million at year's end, according to Cots Baseball Contracts), Mets ($289.1 million) and Phillies ($288.9 million) all spent more, the Yankees ($283.4 million) remain the poster child for financial gluttony - even as they are bullied in the ATM line. It's muscle memory: Blame the Yankees. 

And Yank fans know the reality. In terms of signing a big fish, we're done for the winter. Forget Alex Bregman: He'll go to Boston. Forget Pete Alonso: He's a Met. Any deal Cooperstown Cashman makes will hinge on shedding Stroman and his $18 million salary, a move the team will rue come July, when the pitching staff is decimated and commuting to and from Scranton. 

But but BUT... so be it. 

The Yankees will sign a bullpen lefty: Seriously, they have no choice. Maybe they'll find a backup catcher in the scrap heaps. But they're done, as far as signing any major acquisition. Their lifelessness over the last few days proves it. 

Everyone will complain about the Dodgers, Mets and Yankees, ruining the competitive balance of baseball. If only it were true...

If Trump really cares about justice, he should demand a full investigation into Sasaki and the Dodgers.

Today's essay question, students: 

Using quotes and information tables from the Internet, explain why Roki Sasaki was ever going to sign with anybody other than the Dodgers. Use a romantic theme - such as love, death or nature - and incorporate at least one example of popular poetry, in 30 words or less.  

Okay, here goes... 

I think that I will never see, a bigger, thicker bullshit tree. From the git-go, Roki was always gonna sign with L.A. On the way, he screwed us. Fuck him.

That's 30 words (git-go is one.) But I stand by the sentiments, which - by the way - are pissing people off everywhere, as details leak from the recent MLB bidding war over Sasaki. This is a scandal! This is an outrage! If Trump cares about justice, he should sign an executive thingy and stick a big, ugly probe into Sasaki and the Dodgers.

First, let's acknowledge that Sasaki has the right to play for whomever he wants. In this case, it was the Dodgers - home to his pals, Ohtani and Yamamoto, a sure-fire contender and, located on the West Coast, a geographic preference for Japanese stars, as long as they can afford fire insurance. I have no problem with his choice.  

But here's what stinks. Early in the process, apparently Sasaki's coolies asked each interested MLB franchise to provide a detailed coaching plan to counter a lessening of MPH he experienced last season. Thus, teams like the Yankees - in good faith - sent extensive information about their coaching, scouting, everything - which then went to the Dodgers. 

It's as if Coke - looking to sign Taylor Swift - sent over their secret formula for tooth decay, and it's now owned by Pepsi.  

Every interested team sent Sasaki a glimpse into their developmental processes - proprietary information, now possessed by the Dodgers. That sucks. And there needs to be blowback. 

Right now, here are some realities of baseball in 2025.

1. The NL West is a sham. There is the Dodgers, and everybody else. Sorry, San Diego. Enjoy your wild card chase. You'll be lucky to finish 10 games behind LA. 

2. The whole NL regular season is basically a build up to the NLCS, which will pit the Dodgers against the Mets. Oh, certainly, there is a chance that either team will screw up and lose the divisional round. That would just make the NLCS quicker.    

3. The foot path for Japanese stars to the Dodgers is now a four-lane highway. Next winter, around now, yet another star will come. He will, of course, want to play with his buddies. The Dodgers. 

4. Not sure about the rules in Japan, but don't they limit the number of American players on each team? Is that fair trade? Just wondering. 

Listen: If the Yankees gave Sasaki's henchmen (and henchwomen) critical insider information - well - they were fools. Looking back, everybody knew Sasaki would be a Dodger. The question is, did he play us? Should he be up for an Oscar? Did he pretend to be interested, just to wheedle out information and waste everybody's time? 

My 2025 juju shit list, which started with Juan Soto, keeps growing. It's going to be an angry juju year. 

"And Ichiro is going to be out... SAFE!"

 And he's going to the Hall. 

An Above Average Haiku Tuesday ~ We're All Really Impressed Down Here ! Edition

RIP ~ David Lynch

With Santander going to Toronto, pressure builds on Boston to sign Bregman, and the Yankees watch

Yesterday, ex-Oriole slugger Anthony Santander signed with Toronto, a five-year, $92.5 million deal, with an opt-out after three years, plus "deferred money" and "escalators" - which I assume is newly laundered Bitcoin earmarked for drugs, hookers and police bribes, am I right?  

The switch-hitting Santander will protect Vlad Jr. in the Blue Jays' batting order - or vice-versa - and either way, it's not hard to imagine the pair replacing Judge/Soto as the AL's biggest one-two punch. Not only that, but the signing kicks Baltimore squarely in the nuts - pressure building on young Jackson Holliday - and adds a few more dollars to whatever deal Boston might cook up with Alex Bregman, the best free agent still on the market.

You know what? I'm done sweating Toronto. For the last decade, the Blue Jays have continually showcased new waves of talent, which come and go with nothing to show. Cavan Biggio? Teoscar Hernandez? Bo Bichette? Doesn't matter. They end up as Josh Donaldson, wandering CN Tower, looking to mock Tim Anderson. Something's wrong with that franchise. The hateful Vlad Jr. now even says he'd deign to play for the Yankees. WTF? They can't even sustain their hatred. Year after year, they are MLB's most disappointing team, and Santander won't save them.

But but BUT... it's Boston's turn. Bregman isn't the guy who'll match Rafael Devers in the batting order, but he could have a nice comeback season hitting in front of him, and he'd protect Devers in the field, allowing him to move to 1B. Every few years, Boston mounts a charge. This winter, they signed pitching, pitching, pitching, and if they go for defense - that is, if they haul in Bregman - 2025 might be such a season. Don't snicker. In this millennium, they own more world championships that we do. 

I say all this with the full understanding that the Death Barge is done, done, DONE with big free agents this winter. Somewhere out there is a homeless infielder who bats LH and was pretty good five years ago - insert your fave name here. Someday soon, he'll get an offer from Cooperstown Cashman, and the big letters on the contract will say "Scranton-Wilkes Barre," and our "infield opening" will move on from DJ v Oswald v Oswaldo. We'll go to Tampa with a modern version of Brian Roberts/Stephen Drew. Is Brigadoon Refsnyder available? 

We wanted the Yankees to keep going, to sign ONE MORE impact player, to break the chain of winters where they sign JUST ENOUGH to compete, but NOT ENOUGH to win it. Damn. The Dodgers just never quit. But we're aint them. 

A snapshot of how Juan Soto will perform next year without Aaron Judge batting behind him

 

From the brilliant Todo Casi Bien

The Dodgers buy another star. But nobody wants to hear lamentations from a Yankee fan.

Hey, distressed people of LA, here's another line to stand in: For 2025 playoff tickets. Drop your October plans. The Dodgers are coming to save you.

Days after adding Roki Sasaki, the best starter on the market, the defending champions announced yesterday they're signing Tanner Scott, the best reliever. (A 1.75 ERA, 22 saves last year.) Their roster, already the best in baseball, just added two potential all stars, and all it cost them was money. 

Hey, distressed Yank fans, remember how that used to work? Back when our owner wasn't so poor? Back in the early 2000s, when the Bombers supplemented lineups with Mike Mussina and Jason Giambi (though, come to think of it, those teams didn't win a ring, did they?) 

Look, anything can happen over a long summer. But from Inauguration Day, it looks as though the 2025 Dodgers have wrapped up the NL West, and they're awaiting MLB's greatest rivalry: Their seven game NLCS with the Mets. There are two marquee teams in baseball, and then there is everybody else. (By the way, that's us, everybody else.)  

Look, nobody wants to hear a Yank fan complain about money in sports. I can hear the screams through the internet. HE'S whining about somebody buying a pennant? Remember when we used to be the bullies? Remember how people raged at us, frothing at the mouth - especially Redsock fans. Remember how much fun that was? Ah, those were the days...  

While the Dodgers spent last week - well - spending, the miserable Yankees looked to wheedle a middling infielder from somebody, anybody, who would take Marcus Stroman off their grubby hands. Their goal was to cut $17 million from the payroll, due to a bum contract the Yankees signed last winter. If they can ditch Stroman, they can bestow another bum contract on somebody else, who they will desperately seek to trade next winter, right around now. The big wheel will keep turning. 

Look, I get it that we should go easy on Los Angeles. The city is physically and emotionally scarred, and the Rams just lost a tough one. I hate to sound cynical, but the media has already latched onto that fat old lie - that a sports team can restore hope and love to an anguished city. It's a Hollywood trope. It's We Are Marshall, Remember the Titans, Brian's Song and even Pride of the Yankees. And it's bullshit. This is a world where Juan Soto will make $765 million, plus a luxury box, and Shohei Ohtani's closest pal lost millions while betting on games, and Ohtani skated.  The Dodgers are not The Bad News Bears. They're a team of mercenaries owned by a billionaire oligarch, and even if they lose their first 10 games in April, they will still lead the NL West by 10 games in September. And the Yankees will continue to rest on laurels built a quarter century ago. 

I wish the best for everyone who has lost a home - or worse. And come opening day, when the Dodgers hoist their championship flag, I hope it brings you some form of joy. But having been there, a long time ago, I warn you: In the end, you'll still be standing in a line, waiting for something that won't deliver. But you don't wanna hear it from me.

A Public Service Announcement from our intrepid and loyal Skipper, Boonie Bubbles!

Thanks for the important reminder, B. Bubbles!

Eighty days later, on the downward slope of winter, Aaron Judge and Gerrit Cole still conjure fresh images of the flub

A popular bumper sticker currently for sale.

A few weeks ago, Aaron Judge appeared in a TV commercial for - well - something. His Ralph Lauren perfume, maybe? His Adidas? Some evil reverse mortgage? A bundling of insurance with Flo? Didn't matter. Once Judge appeared, all I saw was a lazy pop fly bouncing off the heel of a glove. Nothing else registered. 

A couple days ago, I had another flashback moment over Gerrit Cole, the great Yankee pitcher. Somebody was pointing, raising their finger in the direction of - well - something.  I couldn't look. All I could see was Cole, standing on pitchers mound and gesturing toward first. Nothing else registered. 

Dear God, those images aren't going away. They remain as traumatic as the night they crash-landed, and they run the risk of becoming permanent stains on the careers of two great Yankees. 

It's now 80 days since the disastrous, infamous Game 5. Eighty days. 

Dear God, it feels like 80 weeks. Trump's resurrection. Luigi Mangione. Bird flu. RFK Jr. Assad's collapse. The LA wildfires. Elon Musk. Jimmy Carter. Bob Uecker. Biden. The inauguration. And then the real headlines: The Yankees... 

We lost Juan Soto, signed Max Fried, doubled-down on veterans who could be past their sell-by dates. The team won't look the same. But the embarrassment of that one night - Oct. 30, in Yankee Stadium, before a stunned national audience- remains stark and fresh. 

For 15 years, we dreamed of the Yankees winning a world series. When they finally got there, they were undressed and humiliated. And the principle architects of that meltdown were the two players we most believed would lead us. Judge and Cole. The Captain and the Ace. The heart and the head.  

I still don't know what to make of the fact that Cole briefly sought to renegotiate his Yankee contract, only to find the franchise would not budge; he quickly fell back into line. Was it a momentary miscalculation? Or a sign of fear? If we expect loyalty to and/or from the corporation, that ship sailed long ago.

Eighty days since the meltdown. Seventy until opening day. We're over the winter hump. But we're not over what happened. Not by a longshot. I wonder... will we ever be?

The Dodgers have become Team Japan. This will only intensify.

To the surprise of nobody, Roki Sasaki announced yesterday that he will sign with the Dodgers. 

The news spread like wildfire broke in the evening that the '24 world champs were improving - adding the most sought-after free agent in this winter's tranche of talent.

Thus, for their third straight bidding war, the Dodgers will use their money, status, talent and geographical location to sign the premier incoming Japanese star. Next year, they'll probably do it again, when Munetaka Murakami, a lefty slugger who hit 59 HRs in 2022, comes over. (Actually, they might scorn Murakami, who strikes out too often. Either way, rest assured, they'll get the pick of the litter.)

Meanwhile, the Yankees continue to creep from also-ran to after-thought. 

Honestly, we can't hang this on Cooperstown Cashman. The Japanese pipeline took shape in 2017, when Shohei Ohtani - "the Japanese Babe Ruth," conjuring certainty that he'd become a Yankee - chose the West Coast, closer to home. After six years with the dreadful Angels, Ohtani leaped to to the Dodgers last winter, and promptly recruited Masahiro Yamamoto, the best pitcher in the class. Now, they have a ring - and Sasaki. With each new signee, they'll become more attractive to next year's group. 

Like I said, this isn't Cashman's fault. Actually, it's more due to the collapse of the NL West and, most notably, the Dodgers' traditional rival. Two years after losing out in the bids for Aaron Judge, their hometown target, the Giants are adrift. Last year, they finished below .500, 18 games out, and won only 4 of 13 against LA. They haven't finished above .500 since 2021.

Meanwhile, the Padres disappointed. (Though, in retrospect, they gave the Dodgers their toughest postseason competition.) Seattle never hit. The Angels remain awful. The Rockies were the NL's worst team. And Oakland fled the building. These cities were supposed to cap the Dodgers' pipeline. They failed. Barring fluke outcomes, the Dodgers are poised to win several championships. They are clearly baseball's marquee team, perhaps to be challenged by the Mets. 

In the 1990s, the Yankees looked like the future destination for Japanese talent. That ship has sailed. 

Marcus Stroman deletes his - GASP! - Instagram profile. What does it mean? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

Long ago, the great philosopher/poet Ed Ames summed it up...

High upon a lonely ledge
A figure teeters near the edge
And jeering crowds collect below
To egg him on with, "Go, man, go!"
But who will ask what led him
To his private day of doom,
And who will answer...

Who. Will. Answer. Not me. But today's sleuths of the Yankiverse face a mystery unlike all others: The fate of Marcus Stroman, of his Instagram profile, and of the remaining $18 million on his contract, which Team Cashman seems determined to cast overboard. Go, man, go... 

We've been here before, eh? Like... every fucking winter?  Wasn't it last January when the Death Barge brain trust desperately shopped around Carlos Rodon, like a YA novel pitch from Diddy? As it had done previously with Sonny Gray, with Nathan Eovaldi, with Lance Lynn, with all the other disappeared? 

Last October, Stroman was royally dissed, when the Yankees shelved him. Now, he's poster boy for 2025's Cashman Scapegoat Syndrome, as the franchise seeks someone to blame for its most recent failure. But the Yankees always need a scapegoat.

Yesterday, Stroman deleted his online presence. Who cares? Probably, the next team that gets him. Because he'll have something prove. He'll be the latest in a train of players who grew up loving the Yankees, and now push voodoo pins into them. 

Stroman's 2024 season was disappointing. But here's the rub: It wasn't THAT bad.

He finished 3rd on the team in wins and innings pitched, 4th in strikeouts and games started. Yeah, at times, he fell apart. So did Cole. So did Gil. So did Schmidt. So did Rodon. No Yankee pitcher lasted the year without a meltdown. Stoman's coincided with October.

So, no Instagram? He's deleted his Yankee logo. WTF does it mean? 

Well, it means he's gone, and he knows it. It means the Yankees have once again devalued a trade chip, just as they look for a deal. It means he'll have something to prove in 2025. It means the Yankees will open camp with five starters and Clayton Beeter. And it means the Yankees are still blaming bad contracts on the players, not the guy who writes them. Insert sigh here. And take it away, Ed...

If the soul is darkened
By a fear it cannot name
If the mind is baffled when
The rules don't fit the game
Who will answer, who will answer
Who will answer

Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...

RIP Bob Uecker

 

A genuinely funny man and a great announcer. Who among us hasn't said, "Just a bit outside." at least once? 

I just watched this Tonight Show clip, "genuinely funny" is an understatement. He takes a minute or so to warm up but after that he just kills it. 

The card of a card on the Cards. 

He will be missed. 

The deal for a Triple A prospect may signal that Brian Cashman is done chasing big names and has turned to minutiae

Hot scoop: Yesterday, the Yankees obtained from the Cubs a 23-year-old, skinny-as-Cher, bearded-and-bejeweled righty prospect named Michael Arias. They gave up "cash considerations," the Mallo Cup coupons of MLB. The Cubs DFA'ed Arias and faced losing him to waivers. The Yankees sprinkled just enough coinage to leapfrog the list and claim Arias, the Cubs' 18th ranked prospect, for those of you who are scoring at home. Yeahp. Hot scoop. 

At 6'0 and 155 pounds, Arias brings the physical presence of William H. Macy, but he has a live arm - lots of Ks and Ws, and a Colter Beanian ERA of 4.77. He originally was signed by the Blue Jays as an infielder, but didn't hit. The Cubs made him a relief pitcher, and he shot through the system - up to Triple A last summer. There, he got whacked, mostly due to the walks. Can Yank coaches can straighten him out? Dunno.  

Frankly, this is the kind of subatomic-level move that a Hal-fearing Yankee blog should ignore. The fact that I'm writing about Michael Arias means that I'm not bellowing about the need for the Yankees to stoke the bids for Alex Bregman, or to sign a second baseman. Instead, we're wasting valuable bile, and it doesn't grow on trees, people. 

Raising our blood pressures into the 300s, as he kowtows to Hal's frugality, is Brian Cashman's real mission in life. I'd like to believe we will live forever, buttressed by the rain of disappointments we face each day. We grew up thinking the Yankees would be the one team that never failed us. Now, with Hal seated atop the shit pile, they do just that - every day. 

So, instead of screaming for justice, we're supposed to discuss whether Michael Arias will find the strike zone? Spoiler alert: Nobody knows.

But but BUT... scrap heap acquisitions long ago became Cashman's secret power. When he signs an "ace," the guy turns out to be Javier Vasquez. (Good luck, Max Fried.) But in the recycling bins, he finds Luke Weaver, Ian Hamilton, Clay Holmes, Jake Cousins. Give the guy credit. He knows how to work a flea market. 

So... Arias?  At 23, he's the youngest pitcher on the Yankee 40-man. Same age as Volpe, one year older than the Martian. Last year, despite the walks, he rose to Triple A. Another lottery ticket? Another Cashman Cutie? Another day closer to pitchers and catchers. The big wheel turns. Are we on it, or under it?

"Down in Kokomo..."

 

I have to head up to Massachusetts for a few days, but I just thought I’d leave you this bit of song stealing to sum up our off-season. To the tune of the Beach Boys’ “Kokomo”:

 

Juan Soto

A no-go

He’s rushing off to Flushing

Sasaki, named Roki

He’s another “No, ’kay?”

Kyle Tucker

No luck there,

He would cost some money

Oh, honey

It’s all goin’ to go

To Hal in Kokomo.

 

Paul Goldschmidt

He’s OLD!  Shit!

Alex Bregman?

The dregs, man

And he’s not coming.

Arenado?

A shadow 

Of what he used to be, man

But still not for us, damn!

Every cent’s got to go

To Hal in Kokomo!

 

Burnes

We yearns

To see him pitch here

Alonso, the P. Bear

We won’t see him near here.

Need a closer?

Not Tanner

’Cause he ain’t scot free.

Marcus Stroman

A roamin’ 

To bring us Brooks Raley

(Oh, really?)

No, it’s gotta flow

To Hal in Kokomo

 

Cashie,

Talks trashie

But he thinks like Lassie

Boonie,

A loony

Bringin’ in that Nestor

That Series

Will fester

But not with Randy

And Lon—no trostie

With whom we are all lostie,

All loved by Hal

Down in Kokomo.

 

Holes at second

And third

And there is no catcher

Volpe just can’t mature

We need more pitching

Less bitching

About the Benjamins, Hal.

But we know

Where you want it go

Down to your yacht…

In Kokomo…

And you, like that. Thanks, Brian Wilson