Suggested headlines for the news story that says you’re canning 1/3rd of your staff and killing the newspaper

Economists predict local prices of office furniture to drop

New streamlined paper will fit in your pocket

Newspaper preparing to hire wave of free-lancers

Imagine reading the news in 10 seconds? Soon you can!

Answer to America’s obesity problem? We’re losing weight!

We’re cutting the news you didn’t want to read

No news is good news, and we’re bringing more!

New Earth-friendly paper will save trees

Newspaper bats torrid .667 with work force

Coming soon: Our five-part series on unemployment

Sixteen and four since the juju intervention; we are molten hot, but it is too early to start growing our playoff beards

Last night, everybody knew we would win. The Yankees did. The Braves did. Even the weather did. We are in our Super Juju Zone, muthafakka. We are colossuses of juju, lions of the secret path. Right now, we could go to Vegas, bet the house and come home with Celine Dion. But who wants that? Yeah, the sex would probably be great – the things that little strumpet can do with her mighty voice – but after a week, she’d just sit around the house, watch Dr. Phil and not flush the toilet – (she’s Canadian, you know) – so what’s the point? What I’m trying to say here is not that Celine Dion is a female version of Wayne Newton – God, that image will haunt me all day – but I’m saying we must not get cocky.

Cocky. I love using that word. Cock-eeee. Just typing it makes me feel bigtime cocky. Hulk smash. Because when the Yankees are in first with the best record in the American League, you can’t help but walk down the street feeling like Bucky the star cockatoo, knowing that every hot young chick in Syracuse wants a piece of your first-place juju. They can smell the pennant on you. They want a ring. Dammit, you’re the Yankee fan, the high-roller kingpin who is donating 50 wins to Mitt Romney, and it’s like giving a pop bottle deposit to a carload of dirty faced Campfire Girls. Big Wally first place cock of the walk! Life is good! Mrs Peel, we're needed! I'm squeezing the Charmin. Gah. That’s how I feel!

But keep shaving, folks. Keep holding your juju, regardless of how badly you need to go. We turned around the season with the International Juju Intervention, but it’s Juneteenth. Nobody wins the pennant on Juneteenth. Soon, we’ll  subtract by addition: We’ll send Cody Eppley to the Traveling Wilkes Barres for the return of David Robertson. Obviously, Eppley has been fine, felony-grade juju. Same for Dewayne Wise (who has stolen five bases for us.) As soon as Brett Gardner returns, he’s in Batavia. Another juju charm lost.

We’re four months away from the baseball equivalent of having a female Wayne Newton sitting naked on our couch, eating chocolates and watching Dr. Phil, with our sternum length playoff beards ice-berging her Titanic.

God, first place is wonderful! The chores? The stores! Fresh air? Time Square! You are my wife, GOODBYE CITY LIFE, Green Acres we are therrrrrrrrrrre.

Other ways for Bryce Harper to tell a reporter, "That’s a clown question, bro."

That's what he said. This is what he meant.

"Dearest sibling, your inquiry more befits a face-painted pantomime jester."

"Your query is devoid of the rightful seriousness worthy of this non-circus occasion, oh bone marrow donor."

"That is a matter whose red nose and exaggerated shoesize render it meaningless, aside from comic relief, my fellow offspring."

"Your answer deserves to come in the form of a honk, you biological copy cow."

Rivalometer

A-ROD: "I almost feel like it was a swing for the team!" 

YOUK: "If I get traded, I get traded!" 

Where is Curt Flood? Is MLB’s new draft bonus system legal?

Baseball America has posted its 2012 list of Yankee draft picks, and – gosh darn it, you know me – I got confused.

I thought the top picks were signed, because they had amounts ascribed to their names. Usually, that’s how it works. A guy signs for $1 million, and they put that number beside his name.

Not anymore. This year, the numbers are already there. MLB – which is run by the richest, whitest and cheapest billionaires on this planet – has instituted a new system that requires teams not to compete when it comes to paying for talent.

For owners, it’s a dream come true. Long ago, MLB eliminated most of the bidding for young talent via the draft. That way, the worst – and poorest teams – had access to the best young players. If you came in last for a decade, like the Tampa Rays did, eventually you had a team of BJ Uptons and Evan Longorias. A true American success story!

Unfortunately, some teams were offering too much money for players, who dropped to the lower rounds, due to “signability” issues. So, gadammit, the owners just showed who’s boss. They’ll pay what they want to pay and no more – because now it’s illegal: It’s all capped.

What a cool system. This is like me wanting to hire a plumber. I call him up and say: Guess what, Curly, I drafted you, so you have to work for me, but I can only pay $5 an hour, because that’s the rule. And Curly says, “Shoot, Mr. Seely, I’m proud to have the chance to bend over under your sink.”

Where else in capitalism do people get to do this?

OK, I know what you’re thinking: The money these players get is a scandal. I’m glad it’s coming down. And you’re right. But unfortunately, instead of it going to the kids, it will now make the billionaires into trillionaires.

Is it legal? Can’t somebody sue? Who bargained on behalf of the high school athletes of America? Who decided there cannot be free market capitalism on MLB contracts?

Obviously, we know the answer: Baseball is exempted from trust law. It doesn't have to play by the rules. Also, the owners’ lawyers said it’s OK. (They always do.) The press doesn’t question it. Remember collusion? Remember arbitration? Remember how they backfired?

Somebody’s going to sue over this. They’ll probably get blackballed. Curt Flood did. But they’ll win in the end.

Poetry Corner: The Eppler, Rapada and Wade Brigade

Tomorrow, tonight and today, OK!

Purple, yellow and gray, oy vey!
Gold finch, sparrow and jay, make way!
Cody, Cory and Clay…
                      HOORAY!

March, April and May, ole'!

Copulate, coitus and lay, say hey!
Compensate, give back and pay, today!
Cody, Cory and Clay…
                       OKAY!

Comeback

"Wow one of the greatest Rallye BMW Moments John has ever seen. It's a Rallye like made out of Hollywood or like in Boston. Nick is Swishalicous just like a Frosty from Wendy's. I think I'm stopping at Wendy's after this game so I can eat great even late."
- Manx -

Rivalometer

NOVA: "I didn't have my best stuff today, but I made pitches when I needed it... 
When you don't have your best stuff, you have to fight!" 

BECKETT: "..."

Yankeetorial: Bombers ascend to first, mitigating my righteousness to bemoan miserly cheapskate fashion magazine boy owners’ failure to sign Jorge Soler

With our heroes spanking the cross-town Mehs and taking first, we entities of the Yankiverse no longer resemble a lab gerbil hooked-up to an International Harvester battery.

No sir. We are at peace, harmonically numbed via the morphine drip of Phil Hughes and Ivan Nova, who are suddenly Koufax and Drysdale. Goodness gracious, I can’t even whine about two DP slaps that took us out of bases-loaded, one-out situations last night, keeping the Braves fans from going home.

Nope. Just keep winning, Yankees, and watch the hollering disappear.

Wait a minute. Screw that.

Yesterday, the mealy Chicago Cubs outbid us for Jorge Soler, the last unencumbered international free agent on the open market, the last beef we could have signed for cash on the barrelhead. We let him get away.

Listen: A dark era is soon to begin for Yankee fans – even if the Steinbrothers view it with a happy bottom line. Soon, the billionaire communists who run baseball will impose salary caps on franchises, farm systems and even youngsters who haven’t signed. A new world baseball order is coming, folks, and it’s going to hit the Yankees like a jolt from a shock collar.

It’s about two years away. Enjoy the buzz now, because New York is about to lose its advantage. By 2020, there may be no difference at all between the Yankees and Kansas City Royals. But take heart: By then, the billionaires could be trillionaires.

Jorge Soler represented the last big name free agent out there before the new rules take effect, magically limiting what teams can spend on international free agents. Give them credit: It is a brilliant scam, rendered all the more dementedly when you consider how the fathers of baseball openly despise taxes and regulations at the federal level – but impose them internally (and when you consider how the fat cat players’ union let it happen.)

Anyway, Soler will be a Cub. Supposedly, the Yankees bid heavily, just not enough to get it done. The Steinboys are always frugal.

I realize that many Yankee fans obsess over team spending. I don’t. In fact, I don’t understand how anybody who roots for the Yankees should give a damn about how much we spend. Seriously, it’s a little late for that. We are the Yankees. We are the most successful pro team that America has ever spawned. We are supposed to be the team that never cares about money. We only care about winning.

 
We’re in first… As long as Koufax and Drysdale keep showing up. Enjoy it, brothers and sisters. But a darkness looms off in the distance. The Mayans were right.

Rivalometer

MARTIN: "The next thing you know, I'm rounding the bases." 

PEDROIA: "It's pretty disappointing." 

10 inspirational observations to soothe the ire of Met fans today

1.   The Subway Series is done.
2.   The pennant race is over.
3.   Summer has ended.
4.   Apples are ripening on the trees.
5.   The fall TV lineups will soon be released.
6.   Football!
7.   Christmas is around the corner.
8.   The winter off-season will be filled with surprises!
9.   An asteroid could destroy earth.
10.  Death knows no pain.

Thuuuuh Master is back: John's Walkoff WinWarble hits 7:17 seconds

WinWarble
7:17 seconds

The walkoff warble is perhaps the greatest Zen moment known to the Yankiverse. It is the sound of one fan clapping – that one fan, of course, being the legendary radio voice of the New York Yankees, John Sterling.

After a slow April, in which The Master didn’t even bother to warble a few wins, John is hitting the mid 6-second range consistently. But no Lavoris-enhancing drug juices a WinWarble more than the walkoff homerun.

The walkoff adds a half-second to John’s THUHHHHH, allowing him to warble into a range heretofore visited only by Pavoratti and Spongebob. But nobody, not even Christina Aguilera, just snaps off a 7-second WinWarble unless the Yankees provide an impetus. Long thuuuuuuuhs don’t happen in Kansas City.

Yesterday, John’s Sterl Hurl topped off at 7:17 seconds. It’s here, mashed with the IT IS HIGH Grammy-winning "WinWarble Song," by the Deadly Spinners of SUNY Purchase.

If you're not reading the comments...

...you're missing crucial Yankee broadcast reportage from manx:

Bless you, manx, whoever you are.

El Duque to deliver keynote speech at prestigious Millbrook Literary Festival

Saturday, June 16

12:45 p.m.

The Secrets of Juju: Revealed

Millbrook Book Festival

Millbrook, NY

(Buy the book.)

Stop the insanity. Please.

Crap. Please stop all the politically correct bullshit. Gardy is done. Surgery to come. Then re-hab. Then Chien-Ming Wang. It was great while it lasted. But he ain't coming back. Not " after the all star break.". Not at all. His elbow is toast inside. He'll need the tendons of three pigs to re-build it. Crap. Let's be honest about it.

Rivalometer

TEX: "Winning helps!" 

PEDROIA: "I'll get hits--don't worry!" 

Dare we even think that Hughes has turned it around?

It's been two solid starts since the Armaggedonoutahere in Anaheim, when Jered Weaver cracked, and Phi Hughes butchered the lead. The Yankiverse brooded, even discussed sending him to our Thruway team, the baseball version of how Syria treats dissidents.

He crushed Detroit, and last night he figured out the mighty Mets. His record looks like a needle print-out of John Edwards' answers in a lie detector test. There's no reason to think in his next outing, he wouldn't give up six home runs against the Morningwood School for Wayward Girls. But hell, he's still only 26. He's younger than David Robertson.

The trouble with Hughes is expectations. Ours, not his. When he get whacked, it's the most frustrating Yankee experience aside from watching the Big 3 leave the bases loaded.) We've watched him for seven years. We've seen him in the All-Star game. We've seen him bridge to Mariano. We've seen him miss half a season with a dead arm. Long ago, they dubbed him Phil Franchise, which was ridiculous. His nickname should be "WTF?"

But Hughes is the missing link between first place and fighting for the one-day wild card.

Take away three clunkers - two of which came in April - and Phil Hughes is having a solid year. Dare we believe?

Upon witnessing Tex's homer

Source: SNY

In marathon double-super runoff, Mariano Rivera is named May ITISHIGH/LUNCHABLES Yankee Employee of the Month

Congratulations, Mo,

alias "Mr. May"

And get well soon.

Another Gardner update, another month out

Brett Gardner, whose value to the homerun-happyYankees is most recognized when he's gone, will miss another month.

The elbow.

The team announced it today.

After the all-star break.

But that's if it heals...

Something is wrong here. He keeps trying it out, reporting pain, and we sit for another month. Raul Ibanez is looking tired. He's 40. He didn't sign up to play LF every day.

Time to give a shot to the Cuban mystery man, Ronnier Mustellier? He's old (28), but he's still in his first year of pro ball in America. He blew threw Trenton early this year, and he's now batting third for the Traveling Wilkes Barres. Don't know what he looks like in the outfield - he's an infielder by trade - but he's hitting the ball. (Bats righty.) Take a flier on him?

Jesus Montero catches a no-hitter

Word has it from high Yankee sources that he'll never cut it in the majors.

Too big.

Rivalometer

Back-to-back-to-back, belly-to-belly-to-belly! 

Ump strikes out Youk with bases loaded!  

Hiroki Kuroda, the poem

From Binghamton to Sarasota

We Yankee fans mix gin with soda.
Chaos, we have reached our quota.
Uncertainty, thy name’s Kuroda.

One day he could strike out Yogi.
Next day, he’s a double-bogey.
Every night, it’s karaoke.
Who is this guy, our boy Hiroki?

Perhaps some wise, old pitching Yoda

Knows why he can’t beat Minnesota,
Then laps the Mets in his Toyota.
Uncertainty, thy name’s Kuroda.

Employee of the month double super runoff going down to the wire again

With four hours left, one vote separates Mo from Tex.

We are a polarized Yankiverse.

Rivalometer

TEX'S THROAT: "Really good news!" 

BARD'S MOUTH: "I'm not thrilled!" 

10 new MLB drug-testing protocols for the handling of Ryan Braun’s urine

NEW YORK -- Major League Baseball and its players' association decided there will be no written decision in the case overturning Ryan Braun's drug suspension, while also changing the rules that allowed the Milwaukee Brewers outfielder to get his 50-game penalty thrown out.

MLB and the union announced changes to their drug-testing agreement Thursday in the wake of the Feb. 23 decision by arbitrator Shyam Das to overturn the suspension that followed a positive test by Braun, the NL MVP.

The new protocols:

1.    No running, towel-snapping or horseplay involving urine.

2.    Do not transport urine home to store in refrigerator, especially  lemonade container or soda bottle.

3.    In case of contact with eyes, flush immediately. (Note: This is not a joke.)

4.    To maintain proper chain-of-custody, urine must be kept under 24-hour video surveillance with at least two armed security personnel present at all times.

5.    No brandishing of urine with the intent of scaring, intimidating or making nerdy-typed people vomit.

6.    No diluting of urine for purpose of resale.

7.    Urine must be treated respectfully, in clear bottle, bathed in light so that beautiful, pristine, frothy golden glow can be admired.

8.    No sniffing or ingesting urine for anticipated psychotropic effects.

9.   Any re-urination, re-pee, re-release of bladder, or account of the act of urination, without the express written consent of Major League Baseball, is prohibited.   

10. Absolutely NO tinkering with urine, such as the adding of illegal performance enhancing drugs, with the intent of making Ryan Braun look bad.

Open letter to Johan Santana: Want to no-hit the Yankees tonight? Here’s your guaranteed, 8-step formula

1.   Walk the leadoff batter.

2.   Walk the second batter.

3.   Walk the bases full, preferably on four pitches.

4.   Continue to throw balls outside the strike zone. Don’t worry. The Yankee batters will swing. They’ll be convinced that you’re about to throw a fat pitch, so they can hit an exciting grand slam.

5.  Each inning, repeat numbers 1-4.

6.  To keep your pitch-count low, instead of walking batters, occasionally hit them.

7.  To move runners up, don’t be afraid to throw a wild pitch. The key is to always keep one or two in scoring position.  

8.   Never throw strikes to a Yankee with the bases empty. That’s when he’s most likely to hit a home run.

Remember the rule.

Just stay cool.

Fill the bases

And throw to bad places!

Rivalometer

Nova shows what he's got!  

Beckett hides from the press!  

Since the International Juju Intervention (IJI) of May 21, the Yankees are 9-3

The recent Yankee winning streak has prompted certain pundits of the YESiverse to try and identify various reasons for the turnaround - such as pitching, fielding and hitting.

These people are fools.

The inescapable truth is that on May 21, this blog - and the millions of Yankee fans who support it - declared an International Juju Intervention (IJI). That night, we - the faceless fans of Yankeedom - stood together in front of our teevees and poured forth all the vibrating crapola that had been bottling up since the hell trade of Jesus Montero, and we let it fly.

The Yankees floundered that night, and a few Chicken Littles - (you know who you are, Mustang) - clucked off to hide under the coop of disbelief. The rest of us held our positions. We were rewarded with a five-game winning streak. You can look it up.

We stalled against the California Anaheims of Los Angeles - which is out of juju wi-fi - and then continued the IJI million fan march in Detroit.

The record since the IJI now stands at 9-3.

As this season continues, the so-called "experts" will conjure all their reasons why the Yankees started winning. They'll point to this. They'll point to that. Listen: They know nuthing.

The fans did it. Juju is as good a reason as anything you will hear from the mouthpieces and the note-takers. Never doubt it. Take a bow, Jujuverse.

Nine and three, baby. Nine and three.

First round pick Ty Hensley could be greatest Yankee "Hensley" since Bam Bam Muelens

Since the dawn of time, the Yankees have been blessed by great, lyrical minor leaguer no-name names, such as Tucker Ashford, Bronson Sardinha and Colter Bean.   

But no former future hall of famer name ever generated more false hopes than Hensley “Bam Bam Meulens,” (the reincarnation of "Bye Bye" Balboni, except he played on the other side of the infield – if you want to call standing at third base “fielding.”)

Now, at last, we have a new Hensley – Ty Hensley, our first-round stud pitcher pick, the latest “future Roger Clemens,” even if such a designation conjures unintended legal suggestions.  

Obviously, we are in a race to give this young 6’5” hurler a nickname, such as “Ty the Guy,” or Ty “Em Up” Hensley.

In remembrance of an august Yankee tradition, I suggest the following:

 “Meulens” Hensley.

WTF? ANOTHER RUNOFF FOR IT IS HIGH/LUNCHABLES MAY YANKEE EMPOYEE OF THE MONTH

This is why Florida is purging its voter rolls, by the way.

First

Poetry Corner: Who injected what into Clemens' butt?

Who put why into A-Rod’s thigh?

Who inserted when into Damon’s chin?
Who spread jelly onto Boomer’s belly?
Who injected what into Clemens’ butt?

Who thrust how over Jorge’s brow?
Who gave cheese into Coney’s knees?
Who pushed piss into Tino’s wrist?
Who pierced where into Rocket’s derriere?

Who pressed meat into Clemens’ retreat?
Who sprayed urine into Roger’s stern?
Who shot juice into Rocket’s caboose?
Who shoved a pumper into our boy’s dumper?

Rivalometer

 Every game day, we take the temperature of the all-important Yankees-Red Sox rivalry:

Russell shows muscle! 

New England watches basketball!  

10 possible events that would absolutely stun the Roger Clemens trial

1.   Clemens' lawyer, after hours of cross-examination, proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that his client was on the golf course at 3:02 p.m. – not 3:01 p.m. - breaking the prosecution’s case.

2.   Andy Pettitte, recalled, cannot recall what he recalled, when called.

3.   In middle of closing arguments, plucky country singer Mindy McCready bursts into courtroom, points to government star witness Brian McNamee and cries, “I’M CARRYING HIS BABY!”

4.   Jose Canseco, under brutal cross-examination, admits that he is, in fact, his evil twin brother Ozzie.

5.   A new-found, grainy video of Jose Canseco’s controversial pool party reveals Clemens peeing into a bush for five straight minutes, the kind of physical act that would be impossible without the use of illegal laxatives.

6.   Under brutal cross-examination, Clemens breaks down and says he never meant to hurt anyone – except Mike Piazza. He did want to hurt Mike Piazza.

7.   Called to the stand as a surprise witness, Bud Selig’s hairpiece takes the Fifth Amendment and refuses to answer questions.

8.   Andy Pettitte – re-recalled, says he is his now absolutely sure that he cannot recall ever being sure.

9.   After two more jurors are dismissed for sleeping in court, prosecutors charge that Clemens’ legal team attempted to sabotage the case by stocking the cafeteria with a daily turkey dinner buffet.

10. Clemens fires his attorney, announces that he will defend himself and calls himself to the stand. Under self cross-examination, Clemens demands to know what is important in life – baseball or love? He says "Love!" and asks his wife to marry him. Weeping jurors stand and cheer, the judge declares him not guilty, and Clemens rejoins Andy Pettitte to lead the Yankees to the World Series. Then he wakes up and finds it is all a dream, and he is being played in a movie by Channing Tatum, and you're right - this doesn't make sense. But tell me: What does? Trading Jesus Montero for a pitcher who cannot throw? The wrong man is on trial! This trial is out of order! This court is out of order!

People of Wisconsin:

When money overwhelms ideas, Andy throws a shut-out. Hal & Hank can learn a lesson from the Koch/Rove/Ailes triumvirate and buy us some damn championships. Just outspend the suckers and we are bound to win. Even if there is some collateral damage.

10 Biggest Responsibilities that come with being named Captain of MLB All-Star Game Home Run Derby

1.   Set the defense.

2.   Make sure teammates get sleep on night before derby.

3.   Give signs to “swing away.”

4.   Uphold traditional, hard-fought sanctity of All-Star Game Home Run Derby.

5.   Take troubled teammates under wing.

6.   Absolutely prohibit tomfoolery.

7.   Run out grounders, even though nobody in the field.

8.   Yell “Get out! Get out! Get out!” when teammate hits long fly.

9.   Make sure hookers get paid.

10.  Pretend to take it seriously.