Turns out, Volpe played hurt. Should we thank him?

This week, Anthony Volpe - the Jersey boy, the former future-Jeter, and the forever chemical in the Yankee bloodstream - went under the knife to repair a torn labrum in his left shoulder, an injury that happened last May 3 and fostered the worst year in his athletic career, if not his life. 

So, what are we supposed to think about Volpe? Three possibilities...

1. He's a tough kid, a gamer, who played in pain.

2. He's an idiot, who didn't disclose his injury to coaches.

3. He's a victim; the team knew he was compromised and ruined him, by sending him out night after night. 

Obviously, it's all three. 

Volpe played in pain, a page from the John Madden School of Gonad Tweaks. Unfortunately, MLB isn't the NFL, and while he was filling the role - and protecting his job - he was also killing this team. 

On May 3, when Volpe dove for a ball and felt his shoulder pop, he was hitting .233. That followed a month of April, when he hit 5 HRs. (Note: On trajectory for  a Chisholm-esque 30.)  

Here's what's weird: Right after the injury, Volpe sorta improved. He hit .246 in May, his best month of 2025. (But he hit only one HR.) Then, the floor dropped out.

In June, he hit .205. 

In July, .172.

In August, .191.

Worse, his fielding degraded. There was a stretch when he couldn't seem to throw to first, and folks were remembering Knobby. 

When you realize that one fukking measly extra Yankee win in 2025 - just one! - would have... 

a) won the AL East
b) brought a first-round bye
c) won home field advantage in the playoffs.

And then you think of Volpe shitting the bed all summer, thinking he was doing us a favor... well, fuk me. 

The problem was magnified by the collapse of the Oswalds - Cabrera and Peraza - the pair that once-upon-a-time might have replaced Volpe and solved the problem.

The loveable, always-smiling Oswaldo Cabrera broke his ankle on May 12, sliding into home. He was hitting .246 with one HR, but holding down 3B defensively. You had the feeling, it was his position to lose. (I also had the feeling that Oswaldo could play SS, if need be.) Then, snap, he was gone. 

Meanwhile, the perpetually grimacing Oswald Peraza was a folding into a stone cold Triple A flunky. He'd once compared favorably to Volpe, but his bat and glove had disappeared. Peraza, hitting .152, was dumped off to the Angels at the trade deadline for a handful of magic beans. (Something called "Wilberson de Pena" and "future considerations.")  He finished the year at .164. 

My god, WTF happened to Peraza? Three years ago, he looked like a future everyday SS. By August, he was a DH/1B, a pug boxer in a flophouse gym.

Ah, but now we're getting into management, which is a lost cause. It's like Democrats complaining about Kash Patel: Nobody in power is listening, and the angrier we get, the more they giggle.

If Brian Cashman had done what he does best - that is, combed the recycling bins and found a veteran SS -the Yankees could have allowed Volpe to heal and - who knows? - we might still be playing. 

One victory. Just one.

So... in case you're scoring at home, a recap:

Nobody cares what we think. Management bet on a nicked-up Volpe, and that's Chinatown, Jake. The fans booed Volpe in his final appearances, trudging back to the dugout after another strikeout. He might be done in NY. What a sad image. What a terrible outcome. And what a colossal fuckup! 

If there was such a thing as accountability, somebody would lose his job. Ah, but that's another subject for a cold, dark winter.