As the end draws near, Judge faces yet another judgement

You wonder what Aaron Judge ponders in private moments, if he knows any. 

Here he is - greatest slugger of his generation, perhaps its greatest athlete, a perennial MVP, a future Hall of Famer, rich beyond measure, famous beyond doubt, with a future career on ESPN or YES, whatever - set for life. He's 33. He could have three big years left before the balls shrink into pellets. After that, he can do anything: Run for office, host a game show, buy a hockey team, or take up pickleball. He could retire tomorrow and never again face the absolute pandemonium of an October in the Big Apple. 

What a world he must experience, nothing we will ever know. It must be a wild, perpetual swirl of faces - smiles, grimaces, lipstick, horror masks - always raging, always pleading for his attention, never ceasing. What happens when he needs to piss? Does his security detail plow a path? Every trip must be a motorcade, every movement a military strike. At 6'7," he cannot wear a shawl and pretend to be an old lady. Wherever he goes, the chaos, the adulation, it follows. 

Maybe Bruce Springsteen knows this feeling. Maybe Tom Cruise, or Taylor Swift, or Elon Musk, or Trump. It must be intense. How does anyone stay sane. (Should we assume they do?)

Reason I ask: Tonight, the cacophony could end. Somewhere, around 3 a.m., when the TV crews are gone, and the limos are lined up, and the $100 handshakes have been delivered to the clubhouse porters, the swirl could be over for Judge. The roaring will go silent, the locker will clang shut, and the crowd at the gate will have dwindled to family, cops and stalkers. He'll still be Aaron Judge - the 6'7" tower, the face of the Yankees - and he'll never again know regular life, but another season will have ended, perhaps miserably. 

This week, Judge has faced an impossible task. He had to outdo not just Vlad Jr., or Ohtani, or Cal Raleigh... but himself.   

In this postseason, he is 8 for 18, with a BA of .444. On a winning team, those could be series MVP numbers. Most players (looking at you Giancarlo, at .150) - would take them happily. But if the Yankees lose tonight, all anybody will remember is Game One, with the bases loaded and everything on the line, when he lunged for a pitch in the dirt and fanned on what should have been ball four. A colossal failure. 

It's not fair, but unless Judge delivers over the next few days, that's what the world will remember. 

Last year, around now, the Yankees returned home after losing two in LA. Neither Gerrit Cole nor Carlos Rodon could stop the Dodgers, but the team remained defiant. They were home, and everybody knew that Judge would soon heat up.

Well, they never returned to LA. In the 2024 postseason, Judge went 9 for 49 with 20 strikeouts. And along with a fly ball that bounced off his glove, the strikeouts are what I remember: Judge marching to the dugout, glancing back at the pitcher, before gently setting his bat into the rack. 

It's not fair, the burden we've placed on Judge. But it is what it is. And if the season ends tonight, it will be 12 months before he gets a chance to change the narrative, and on the Yankees, 12 months is a million lifetimes. Every year, the stone just gets heavier. Either he has a couple big games, or maybe he should start thinking about pickleball.