What SU coach Jim Boeheim should have said last night, as opposed to what he did

Last night, after losing to Connecticut, SU basketball coach Jim Boeheim offered one of the mournful, moping moments in an illustrious career of post-game meltdowns. He attacked an ESPN reporter for not being "loyal," whatever that means, and then just sounded like a sad old galump, beaten not only by U-Conn, but by the changes in college basketball that ended,  for now, a great rivalry. It hurt to watch.

Boeheim is a great coach but a damn lousy speech-maker. He needs a writer. Since I am currently unemployed, I’m offering my services. 

This is what he should have said last night after the final loss to U-Conn:

Well, folks, they got us. They got us good. But if anybody thinks the SU-Connecticut rivalry ended tonight, let me assure that they are wrong. You can’t kill something with this much life. You cannot end a relationship that had this much emotion. life. There will be another battle, another contest, and I am here to tell you there will be another outcome. It didn’t end here, no sir, it does not. But they got us. Oh, they got us good.

So let me now shed the trappings of an old coach and speak not to the media but directly to my great former rivals. To the people of U-Conn, I say “Thank you.” I want to thank you for every beating on court you ever administered, for every cruel taunt your crowd ever shouted, and for every boo and hiss that came my way. I say this because I know it came from the heart, from a great rival, from an opponent that was always far more than just "the other guy." 

Batman needed the Joker. Superman needed Luthor. Syracuse needed great rivals, and we had none greater than you. To the day I die, I will savor every victory over Connecticut and feel the sting of defeat, because that is what coaches do, and that is what life is all about. But when someone mentions Connecticut, I will always feel a warmth in my heart, knowing an opponent who always brought everything it had to the game, and which demanded no less from us. It was an honor playing you. It was a privilege. I thank you.

And, well, you got us tonight. You got us good. Have a toast on me. But remember: It’s not over. An affair like this, it goes away. Until next time, whenever it comes, thanks for the ride.

Uh oh. The Sting II? Brian Cashman deals a Yankee prospect to Seattle for a pitcher

The Yankees exiled 23-year-old OF Abraham Almonte to Seattle yesterday for pitcher Shawn Kelley, a 28-year-old bullpen cotter pin who been designated for assignment, leaving the Mariners near zero leverage in cutting another sweet Jesus deal.

It's hard to spin these sub-atomic particle movements, which can only be seen through River Ave electron microscopes, or the Scranton Tribune. It's hard to care. Abe Almonte is most famous within the Yankiverse for being "the other Almonte" - not Zolio, the OF who hit some homers last spring before vanishing into the Sbaros cafeteria lasagna displays of the New York State Thruway. Abe played between High A and Double A Trenton, where he stole 30 bases and restored himself to the official Sickels World Prospect Registry. He'd been lost in a thicket of Yankee nobodies whose baseball destinies lie in some future Caribbean League pennant race. We have a bunch. The Expendables.

Kelley is an arm with major league experience, who had Tommy John surgery back in college (Austin Peay), he can give you innings, he hasn't shot anybody that we know of, and theoretically, you can't have too many of these fodder types.

The Insider Baseball/Get a Life, Dammit clown inside my head says Abe's fate was sealed when the Yankees recommissioned those two aging warships, the S.S. Juan Rivera and the ever-leaking Travis Hafner, who will float North with the team in April even if all they swat in Tampa are sand fleas. That means Ronnier Mustellier, Melky Mesa, Zolio, et al, will be recycled back to Scranton, which would have meant Abe seeing another cruel season at Trenton. Cash probably figured the poor guy needs a new location, and Abe wasn't going to see the bacon-fat skies of Moosic.  (That is, until the injuries start mounting; we've already lost 3B Mike Adams for the spring.)

One last thing: Seattle seems to be one of the few teams in baseball that is comfortable in trading with the Yankees. Some GMs seem to think a deal with the Big Bad Wolf has to include larceny, or their 20-person fan bases will revolt.  The Mariners don't have to worry. It'll be a long time before any accuses them of being the 1959 Kansas City Athletics. Welcome Shawn Kelley. So long, Abe. The grinder turns. Don't lose a finger in it.

What John Sterling would say about the Pope quitting

1. I don't care what anybody says. You can't predict popes, you just can't.

2. This is one of the great things about religions. Today, there is one pope. Tomorrow, there will be an entirely new pope, and that means an entirely different game. Other sports put the same two teams out there. But it's not that way with popes.

3. Right now, it's impossible to say if the Pope is hurt. But stick around, and you can bet that Suzyn will have the inside story on her clubhouse report.

4. The Catholic Church needs some timely pope-ing. It can't keep leaving pontiffs in scoring position. Somebody has to bring them home, in the clutch, and it starts with getting cardinals on base.

5. If God is looking for new captain, well, Derek Jeter is an amazing human being.

6. With the current overshift to the right, the next pope can make huge inroads if he just shortens its swing and hits to the left. If he lays down a bunt, he can practically walk to heaven. Nobody is covering the left side. Of course, if it were easy, everybody would do it. It's not.

7.  When the pope retires, and he's officially out, he'll be safe and secure. And you can keep your family safe and secure...

8. A loss like this would leave a pope-sized hole in Joe Girardi's rotation. You have to hope the Church has some talented youngsters who can step in and fill the void.

9. He is high, he is pious, he is... GONE.  It's a Jack - from Benny!  Oh, Benedict, you're something sort of God-ish!

Rivera, Pettitte, undecided about whether they'll trash Yankee ownership payroll goals and play in 2014

Today, Andy Pettitte and Mariano Rivera announced to a gaggle of Gammonites - separately - that neither has decided whether he'll play in 2014.

You know how every now and then a public figure says something that makes a lot of sense? Well, that's how Andy and Mariano were today. It seems a little to early to be talking about 2014, but maybe that's just me. Next year, Mariano would be 44, and Andy, 41. They're practically old enough for the Early Bird at Denny's, that is, if they're not restricted to creamed corn.

And amid the anticipation of Mariano and Andy's looming life decision, you have to wonder what Yankee owners Hal and Hank Steinbrenner were thinking. Because if Mariano has a great season in 2013 and then decides to come back next year, that's a $15 million contract that has to be renewed. And if Andy does well this year, well, make it a full $28 million jolt to the 2014 payroll - the one the Steins have ruled must fall within $189 million.

In other words, the richest owners in baseball - the ones who promise to challenge for a pennant every year - will basically be hoping that Mariano and Andy have just enough of a crappy season to want to hang it up. We're like the team in the movie "Major League," which the owner secretly wants to lose. If we win, we can't afford it.

And some folks wonder why the Yankiverse so dreads the depressing state of affairs heading into this season?

Another sign of the season from Hell?

Are we nuts to think Brett Gardner can last a season?

Brett "Not Yet" Gardner put up big numbers last year. Loftonian numbers. Ichironian numbers. He hit .323, with an on-base percentage of .417. That led all starting Yanks in batting average. Not only that, but he whiffed only 7 times. Whole season.  That's 3 percent of Curtis Fanderson's total. Now, we hairplugs of the Yankiverse - and places like the Daily News - wonder if he can do it again.

Of course, he can! Over 16 games.  Because that's all he played last year. A whopping 37 plate appearances. Then he disappeared like Garth Brooks (as Chris Gaines, of course.) Austin Romine and Dave Aardsema have nothing on him.

So... now he's our everyday LF? And maybe our CF? And maybe our lead-off batter? And maybe our best OF? Who assembled this team, Rube Goldberg? And what can we expect?

Well, in 2011, Brett played in 159 games. But that number is deceiving. He came in late for defensive purposes or he pinch ran. And you'd have a hard time calling him durable. He banged himself up and went on roller-coaster streaks as loopy as anything the Grandman can do.

Check this out: In April of 2011, Brett batted .188 and stank out the Bronx. He stole 4 bases, but was caught 3 times. He looked so bad, you wondered if he would stay. Then he caught fire.

By May 25, he had smashed his way up to .270. The Yankees went on a run, too. On June 19, he had soared to .294. The guy was being touted as a possible addition to the All-Star squad. Then he wracks up a shoulder and - poof - by July 9, he's dropped to .264. That's 30 points in three weeks. That's a big o-fer.

So then he gets hot again. On July 20, he's back up to .291. Then another nagging injury. Through August, the cheese drains out of him. He finishes August at .265 and ends the season at .259 - mediocre, but with 49 stolen bases. If he could have clipped a couple slumps, we're talking .280 and 60 SBs. We're talking about a LF on a pennant winning team. We're talking about a legitimate replacement for Nick Swisher. IF HE CAN CUT THE SLUMPS.

I go into this wretched detail for a reason: Gardner is as up and down as they come. Thus, that nice little .323 average last year would probably have been wiped out by May 15. We really don't know what we've got. He's missed a year. But can he go a whole season?

(By the way, in 2010 he stole 47 bases and batted .277. He played in 150 games - again, a lot of late inning replacements.)

One of the weirdest parts of the winter was the Yankees' two-year-deal with Ichiro, while passing on younger OFs.  We have nobody ready in the minors. (Sorry, Melky, but .230 won't cut it.) We're going with Brett Gardner all the way. I appreciate the loyalty to the guy. But seriously, does anybody think he'll hold up? It's not like Cashman to forsake a Plan B. But I don't see one. And neither does the Daily News.

Tayor Swift's Yankee chants

HELL WITH YOUK, HELL WITH YOUK, HELL WITH YOUK!

a-RAAAHD.... a-RAAAHD...

MO... MO... MO!

Yankee Defcom 5: The Yankees should scatter players around the globe on Asteroid Day

Friday is Asteroid Day in America. Top scientists say a bus-sized chunk of rock will miss the earth by about 15 minutes, closer than anything since we started tracking them with slide-rules. NASA calls it a "city killer" (Abe Beam wasn't the only one.) If the chunk hits Atlanta, everybody's a Flame. If it hits Denver, everybody's a Nugget. If it hits Boston, everybody's a-brewin'...

The official word: Don't worry, everybody, it will miss Earth.

Which is exactly what they'd say if it's heading for Syracuse.

We've seen this movie. We know the deal. The authorities fear mass riots. They don't want a zombie apocalypse. There was a Charles Bukowski poem where the world ends, he grabs a woman, rips off her dress, and the last line of humanity goes something like, "I shoved it in." The Army doesn't want this. We need to maintain orderly lines at Walmart. (But don't shop at Target.) 

So let's assume Friday is the end of a city. We can sit back and think about which city could disappear, but that's really not nice. (That said, have you ever driven through Schenectady?) Instead, we of the Yankiverse must demand security measures:

On Friday, our heroes must not be consolidated in Tampa.

Listen: We don't have Bruce Willis sitting on that asteroid with a nuke. We don't have a super rock death ray. If that rock turns out to be a breaking ball, instead of a fastball, some unlucky ballclub could pay the price.
 
We can overcome the loss a player, but if we concentrate our pitching staff in Tampa and it's - kaboom - well, there go the next three seasons. We'd probably get an extra sympathy draft pick next summer, and Selig could cut us some breaks on the salary cap, but we'd lose big if the chunk does Tampa. We become the Tampa raze.

Yank the Yankees! Scatter them to the wind.

For starters, we move Jeet, Mo, Andy and Robbie to a secret fortress a mile below the earth. Hal and Hank know those twin lady socialites who exchanged emails with Petraeus and all the generals. They must know of an underground bunker. (Note:  Deep underground, Robbie Cano might be inclined to sign an extension, in exchange for having his life saved.) We load a few prospects on a plane. Marginal players should be cut loose. We can lose a backup catcher or even a starter - especially one who strikes out 7 out of 11 at bats in the post-season - but we can't lose an infield. 

We must work now to delay spring training. Don't put our eggs in one basket. That ain't Bukowski, but he'd approve, or be self-medicated enough not to care.

Pap Smear: Papelbon says the Boston Redshots were injecting players before games

Another day, another stink bomb in Major League Baseball's long-lost war on drugs.

Yesterday, Jonathan Papelbon - he of the meltdown that devoured Boston - disclosed that Redshots operatives regularly injected him with Toradol, yet another drug nobody has ever heard of until now. They shot him up before games, and he felt like a toreador. It was a legal drug. But it could be a reason why Clay Buchholz missed a bunch of games last year with esophagitis, a respiratory infection that put him into intensive care. Breathing issues are a side-effect of Toradol.

OK, we've prattled about Selig's fake War on Drugs in the past. Nobody knows what to do. MLB keeps shooting itself, while other sports allow 300-pound linebackers to skate. Baseball has seen so many great individual records - HRs, batting average, wins, etc. - shattered, creating immediate suspects. That conjures the the image of vastly wealthy athletes using their money to secure illegal and unfair advantages over the rest of the herd. Hello, A-Rod.

But now we see a different pattern emerging, and it's far more insidious than anything cooked up by Roger Clemens or Barry Bonds. Papelbon is the second Boston star in a week to disclose a whispered organizational network that suggested players juice, and even offered them drugs. (Curt Schilling said last week team officials suggested he take shots to prolong his fading career.) This isn't the scenario of a rogue millionaire. This is institutional corruption. Admiral Selig might want to ask how high the secrets extended within the Redshot order. And if the owners didn't know, how hard were they looking?

Listen: This isn't just pure Boston bashing. It could come back to bite the Yankees. But Papelbon has done the right thing. Others need to come forward too. There has always been a putrid stench to the way MLB enforces its policy: Somebody leaks a name, and the news media builds the gallows and gets the rope. The others - hundreds of current and ex-players - live in fear that a reporter will call and say, "Your name turned up on the list."

Selig owns the list. It's time for players to start talking. I thought I'd never say this:

Bravo, Pap!

Grandy, a long term contract? You gotta be kidding me.

Today's fodder from the "When Hell freezes over" file: Curtis Granderson says he'd like a long-term Yankee contract. Yeah, and I'd like a date with Beyonce.

That's Curtis Granderson, who struck out 195 times last year en route to a .232 batting average that plunged off a cliff around June 15.

That's Curtis Granderson who became a HR-or-K hitter - negating the foot-speed that had been so much of his game.

That's Curtis Granderson, whose change in style two years ago seemingly saved him from being a platoon hitter, a guy who couldn't touch lefties with a tennis racket, and who suddenly regressed.

That's Curtis Granderson, who in the post-season last year struck out 7 times in 11 at bats.

He'll be 32 this year. Do we want him at 36?


Listen: The Grandyman is a prince of a guy, arguably the greatest humanitarian on the Yankees. He's smart, he's got a future in broadcasting or whatever he wants. I would be happy to have him a YES broadcaster. But 195 times last year, I cursed his putrid name. I'm sorry. One of the few benefits of payroll austerity is going to be saying no to 200 strike outs a year. And if he bounces back? Well, we've already seen him bounce back once. We know what happens eventually. He's a recidivist.

Grammy breast ban brings memorable night for viewers

The hotties came out last night for CBS's first breastless Grammys, and the performances never looked more sizzling! So many highlights. My favorite: Here's Katy Perry, Beyonce, Lady Gaga, Adele and Taylor Swift joining forces for a salute to the music of Minnie Pearl.

Carrie Underwood dazzled in her own duet with Janelle Monae.

Fans went crazy when Fergie as Carly Rae Jepsen walk the red carpet!

At one of the great after-show parties, Justin Timberlake clowned it up by exchanging shirts with Lena "Girls" Dunham.

The future is merely the past, without spoiler alerts: Our Official Top 10 Yankee Prospect List - with strategic analysis

These days, everybody ranks prospects, without even taking stool samples. Well, here we go: the future of Yankee rock-n-roll.

10. Mason Williams, OF. Ranked #1 on most lists, dropped to #2 on a few because he apparently thinks he craps lobster Newburg. He must read prospect rankings. Well, read this, Mace, you little piss grub: Ruben Rivera. As far as we're concerned, any punk prospect shows attitude, he gets 10 days in the Time-Out Room. You got speed. You got glove. You got nothing until you grow a pair of Yankee testicles. That means a little YES SIR, NO SIR, HOW FAR, SIR? A year in Trenton ought to do you some good.

9. Jose Campos. P. The sidecar we got in the Jesus Montero-Michael Pineda fiasco. We're adding him strictly as a personal favor to Brian Cashman. Happy birthday, Cash: As long as Campos ranks high, you can walk the streets of Tampa.

8. Gary Sanchez, C. Another #1 on many lists. But who are we kidding? Everybody knows we'll trade him. He’s a hitting catcher.  Girardi prefers defensive catchers. Like Girardi was. We're tempted to rank him higher, so that maybe we'll get more in the eventual trade. But considering the Jesus abomination, what does it matter? Let's just cut our losses now and forget about him.

7. Dellin Betances. It''s a nostalgia thing, like watching The Who perform at the 12/12/12 concert. Betances gave us great winters, way back when. He's still 6'8," which looks good coming off the bus, though he's on the verge of joining Upward Bound with Andrew Brackman. Still, we officially say Betances will make it. Got that, Delly? This is the year.

6. Slade Heathcott, OF. The Yankees have always wanted a star named after a 70's metal band. When he steps to the plate, we'll hear, "Kum on Feel the Noiz." Plus, he's endured: Alcoholism, homelessness, brawls, two operations... NYC needs somebody like this. Ladies and gentleman, won't you welcome... SLAAAAAAAAAAADE.

5. Austin Romine, C. Another oldie but goodie. Hey, what's a Yankee prospect list without Austin Romine. Use to be, he walked in the shadow of Jesus. Now, he occupies the shadow of Francisco Cervelli? Nah. This is the defensive catcher who reminds Girardi of Girardi. The most important Yankee of 2013. If he craps out, if we have to go out and sign a catcher next winter, hell with this: I'm rooting for an asteroid. This is our vote of confidence.

4. David Adams, 3B. If we could build a time machine, we'd go back and stop him from wrecking his ankle in 2010, plunging us into this crappy alternative universe. If we had stopped him, Adams would have dealt to Seattle with Jesus, we would have Cliff Lee, we might have won two - maybe three - consecutive World Series, but now we'd be stuck with Lee - who sucked last year. And so here we are, in this universe, with Adams at age 27 - twenty-seven - and he's destined for Triple A. Well, things happen for a reason, folks. This guy hasn't endured a Homeric odyssey for nuthin.' He's going to make a Yankee career. He can hit. All those guys in front of him, they might flake out. If this guy was going to flake out, he'd be flakes by now. This guy will save us from A-Rod, or from Youk, or maybe from ourselves.

3. Tyler Austin, RF. He's never gotten the big scouting/high bonus press, like the others. He had to earn his playing time. He overcame cancer in high school, and he was drafted in a low round for a bonus that was little more than college scholarship money. He outhit the bonus babies. Then he did it again. Then he did it again. Pure and simple, folks, this is the closest we've had to a Mattingly since Mattingly.

2. Rafael DePaula, P. OK, this is a stretch. But what are prospects lists but wet dreams by people without real lives, people with nothing better to do than read rankings in blogs. You, for example. Me, too. There is no hope for us. Why waste our precious time following players who, by basic probabilities of math, have as much chance to star for the Yankees as RuPaul.  Ed Yarnell, people, remember Ed Yarnell! But hey, this guy was signed out the Dominican League under the name of Rafael Figuroa, (Note: This means he's probably 30) and thus was stuck there for two years, unable to get a Visa. This is his first season in America. That means the Yankee brain trust hasn't had a chance to ruin his arm. I'm saying, BELIEVE. Not because I necessarily believe. But it's more fun. And wet dreams beat nightmares.

1. Austin Aune, SS-CF. (Pictured) The golden child. He's so far low in the system that frankly, who cares. But we drafted him as a CF, and now he plays SS. That's a combination of Mantle and Jeter. He could be a major college QB. That's a combination of Elway and Henson. Oh well, I'm going with Mickey-Jete. Golden boy.  Our new Jesus. He hit last year in the rookie league. He'll play for Staten Island. He's three, maybe four years out, but gimmie something to believe. Finally, personal note to Austin: Get uppity, and you see what happened with Mason Williams? It'll happen to you. Now, hit .340 and give us something to dream about.

StubHub, that cruel website that kept Yankee fans away from the playoffs last October, is still underpricing the team product

Over the winter, the Yankees bolted from MLB's megadeal with the legalized scalper website called StubHub, advancing some bizarre, twisted, Moonian logic that empty seats at Yankee games came about because secondary market sellers weren't gouging enough money for tickets. I personally think the Yankees' rationale stemmed from something Charo once said on the Merv Griffin Show. I cannot adequately summarize it, without getting into subatomic string theory. So let's just take a step back and accept this conclusion:

Yankee mucho brass say StubHub bad, very bad.

Turns out, doesn't matter what Yankee mucho brass say. According to the Daily Murdoch, StubHub is offering its spring MLB packages, and Yankee tickets can be had for as little as $8. Eight dollars. That's a six-pack of Genny Cream and a bag of Doritos. Eight dollars? Hal and Hank won't like that. But for the rest of us, life is good.

The Yankees want to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony, which would mean buying tickets at full value (or more) from TicketMaster, Bruce Springsteen's favorite villain. I say, good luck with that. And to the rest of us, remember: StubHub very bad. Keep repeating it, over and over, especially when you're sitting in a $200 seat next to a fan who smuggled in a six pack of Genny Cream and a bag of Doritos.

King Felix's big deal takes CC off the hook and ensures that he will someday pitch for the Yankees

Seattle, the city that gave us Windows 95,  is still celebrating the $175 million deal that will keep Felix Hernandez in a Mariner uniform for at least the next two years.

Two years? WTF? I must mean seven years, right? That must be a typo, right?


Nope. Two. And frankly, New York should be toasting King Felix's ascension, which is the durn best news since Cano became a U.S. citizen.

Listen: For starters, no longer does CC Sabathia shoulder the anvil of being "baseball's highest paid pitcher," which to drunks and Redsock fans means he should throw a shutout every time he takes the field. Well, life doesn't work that way. A good pitcher is a good pitcher. But every year CC didn't win the Cy Young, we faced some acne-pocked Yankee-hater who'd say, ha! he's the highest paid pitcher but not the best. Ha!

Well, ha! no more.

But secondly, and more importantly, whenever a small market team empties the couch for a slab of meat, instead of keeping said side of bacon, it's actually a guarantee he'll end up finishing the contract somewhere else. As soon as Felix has a bad year, or Seattle falls apart, the GM and local Gammonites will start whipping up the chorus to send him - and his team-killing salary - packing. Teams always need a scapegoat, and the highest paid player wears the biggest bulls-eye.

That's how the Dodgers did it with Kevin Brown. That's how we did it with AJ Burnett. (And how we originally secured A-Rod from Texas.) Think Josh Beckett. Carl Crawford. Jose Reyes. (Hell, the entire Marlins roster.) Rich or poor, doesn't matter. As soon as something goes bad, the bigger the contract, the more the franchise wants to escape it. And theoretically, that's where the Yankees step in.

Maybe King Felix will stay baseball's best pitcher for the next seven years. And maybe Seattle will have a great team - they sure picked our pockets with Jesus Montero. But I dunno. I'd say the odds are better this weekend than last that Felix Hernandez will someday be a Yankee. An overpaid Yankee, beyond his prime, but aren't they all?

Cashman's ex lowers the boom

The Daily Murdoch sent two reporters this week to dig the latest toxic dirt on Brian Cashman's dangerous love life, which has ascended into Yankee lore with the likes of Fritz Peterson's trades and Scott Proctor's firestarter. The nut graph says that Cashman will pay his wife $1 million a year in child support until the year 2525, if man still alive, or she accepts Alphonso's weekly marriage proposals.

Ah, Cash. A word about Brian McGuire Cashman... (See his famous IT IS HIGH Yankeeography)

I'm tempted to think of Randy Newman's take on Lester Maddox: He may be a fool but he's our fool. But Cashman is no fool - love life not withstanding. He's bright, intellectual and - considering his Machiavellian survival skills within the Steinbrenner Game of Thrones - functionally brilliant in the art of political self-defense. He could have been a governor, or the inventor of Velcro. But he became a Yankee.

He is relentless in his work ethic: How many times on holiday weekends have the Yankees pounced on a scrap heap player basically unknown to the Yankiverse - good grief, Eli Whiteside! - or roped his way down a building for charity. In interviews, his words are parsed and analyzed like a U.S. Supreme Court justice. He personifies not only the Yankees but corporate sports in America. More than anybody - more than A-Rod, more than Hal, yes, even more than Jeter and Mo - to people who follow the game closely, he is the enduring face of the New York Yankees.

He turns 46 this year, his 15th as Yankee GM. If not already, he will someday be the longest running Yankee GM in history. And like NY players who get screwed in the All-Star vote or Cooperstown (Roger Maris!),  Cashman never gets credit for the victories. The critics cite Yankee money, not Yankee ingenuity.

Well, we're about to see about that. The next two years are Cashman's legacy. This year ends the talent surge spawned long ago by Bob Watson. Next year starts the new era, whatever it will be. The Yankees won't be harvesting the free agent market. They'll be relying on Cashman's organization.

Cash owes his ex $1 million a year. Chump change if the Yankees win. It's a hefty bill if he's still trading for love or standing at home plate, torching his mitt and spikes.

A Boston Ballplayer Flipped The Bird In The Earliest Known Photo Of Anyone Flipping The Bird

In 1886.

Curt Schilling says the Redsocks wanted him to juice

Well, you never know...

Curt Schilling opened up on the Church of Fenway yesterday, telling a radio show that 2008, when his arm was turning into sauerkraut, some unnamed Redsock officials suggested he get a shot in the caboose from the Fountain of Youth.

So I guess it's not just Yankees.

And it's not just players.

And who knows, maybe it's not just isolated private trainers.

Listen: I dunno what we do about performance enhancing drugs in baseball. I really don't. But we've played whack-a-mole for 20 years, and we're getting nowhere. They just find new drugs, new masking agents, new methods. We can go 20 years whacking the moles. It won't work.

I just wish every ex-major leaguer who ever used PEDs or tried PEDs would come forward and tell everything, regardless of the personal consequences. Right now, with these media Cotton Mathers so full of moral indignation, I don't see that happening. If America could get a realistic appraisal of the use of PEDs in pro and amateur sports, maybe we could winnowing out the drugs that kill or debilitate athletes prematurely. If we could target them - maybe the less harmful ones could be administered with league supervision. (Sort of like what Colorado and Washington plan to do with pot, I guess.) Right now, this isn't working.

The make or break Yankee of 2013: Austin Romine

From the moment we laid our cards face-down and let Russell Martin walk off to Pittsburgh - confirming our heir owners as taxpayer-robbing cheapskates - 2013 became the Year of Austin Romine. For better or for worse.

Of course, we still heard the front office infield chatter, squeaking like a vast field of meerkats which claimed Francisco Cervelli and Chris Stewart would handle the "catching chores." But nobody bought it. You don't pay $200 million for a sports car and race it on balding retreads.

Stewart had a monster year last year. He batted .241. He's a fine backup. Play him 130 games, and everybody will say the same thing: He's a fine backup.

Cervelli will always be an IT IS HIGH fave. He's twice gone to the hospital in his uniform for the Yankees. Cashman royally screwed him last spring, on the day before the team came north, trading George Kontos, a solid pitching prospect, for Stewart and sentencing poor Franciso to the Traveling Wilkes-Barres, where he spent the summer riding the New York State Thruway. But play him 130 games, and everybody will say the same thing: He's a fine backup. Also, Cervelli this week added to the baggage when his name popped up in the Miami drug clinic investigation. It's a stark reminder that superstars aren't the only guys who would be tempted to juice.

That leaves Romine, whom Brian Cashman predicts will start the season at Scranton. When Cashman says that, he must hate himself. He must have to take Vicadin to speak the words without bursting into tears. If Romine cannot beat out Cervelli or Stewart, the Yankee ship will be leaking oil before it even leaves port.

Romine has endured a miserable 18 months. More than anyone, he was the reason we traded Jesus Montero for the sack of potatoes. Then he blew out his back. (He could star in a PBS show, Austin's Sitting Limits. Ha. Get it?)

Listen: There is a vast difference between players with good backs and bad backs. A 25-year-old catcher with a bad back is equal to a 30-year-old with a normal one. But Romine still has the highest ceiling of the three. If he's a major league catcher, our farm system will actually have delivered something - first time in a miserable 18 months. He doesn't need to hit. (Martin spent most of 2012 hovering at .200.) He just needs to start. Everything begins and ends with Austin Romine. That's a hell of a pressure to put on a rookie. But that's what happens when owners go cheap.

A-Rod vs. the Curse: Alex Rodriguez his voted January IT IS HIGH Yankee Employee of the Month

Congratulations, Alex.

You can drop by and pick up your IT IS HIGH Employee of the Month parking pass at any time. Also, we found some deer antlers in the garage. They're yours if you want them.

Also, we should note that the voters elected Russ Canzler as First Runner-Up. If for some reason, the reigning Yankee Employee of the Month cannot complete his or her term, the First Runner-Up will be called upon to take over the duties! Congratulations, Can-Man!

Youkilis looks 10 years younger without his beard

Also, the hat has something to do with it.

And the shoulders-up camera shot.

And the lack of a scoreboard showing his batting average.

And his shoes. You can always tell a man's age by his shoes.

The whole world's juicing... The whole world's juicing: Everybody, even Jesus, is in the records of that Miami fountain of youth clinic

According to the Internet, (the new teevee!) Jesus Montero, Francisco Cervelli and Ryan Braun are Major League Juiceball's latest suspects, their names turning up on the napkins of the Florida clinic under investigation for quacking performance enhancing drugs. New names leak every day, teased from investigative sources, staining reputations, while the rest of the league cover heads and watches the Evening Noose to see who's on trial.

Folks, this is no way to run a witch hunt.

I don't mean to dismiss the corruption of PEDs in baseball. I just think the ship sailed long ago. I wonder why they're not epidemic in the NFL and NBA - since they're everywhere in far lesser money sports, like as track and bicycling. I think the NFL and the NBA don't try very hard to catch people. Because a lineman doesn't get to 340 pounds without help from something.

Did you know Mickey Mantle was accused of taking steroids in 1961? Writer Zev Chafets contended that The Mick's fade during his famous home run race with Roger Maris resulted from a botched steroid injection. That's 52 years ago. That's Mickey, baseball's last purely innocent boy, corrupted by fame.

Bud Selig loves to blather about what a great job he's done as commissioner (at a salary in excess of $25 million per year.) He says his drug policies have restored purity to MLB. Good grief, he must be on drugs. Baseball's drug war is an abomination.

I think we're still dealing with the 1994-95 players strike, brought on by Selig's attempt to roll back free agency through a salary cap (which he finally implemented this year.) Facing a loss of revenue and popularity, MLB sought to win back fans through the excitement of big home run hitters. So it juiced the balls, built bandbox stadiums and looked the other way on PEDs. 

But when the great home run records of Maris and Ruth fell, the owners realized they had lost a treasure trove of baseball history. So the scions of the game began demonizing Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa, and later Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens. Today, MLB has evolved to a point where it cannot deal with greatness of any kind. Any player who rises substantially above the crowd is greeted with suspicion. And good luck to all in New York, where scrutiny boils with 100 times extra intensity.

For nearly 20 years now, baseball has been reliving the Joe McCarthy hearings of the 1950s. Someone names a name and - boom - the player can deny it, but who cares? And who knows if the truth will ever come out?

I wish there was an easy answer for this. There isn't. I respect that MLB needs to test for certain drugs - especially the ones that will kill players later in life. But it's a vaunted chestnut that baseball is a metaphor for life. And MLB's war on drugs is just as much a fiasco as America's.

More names will come out. Brace yourself, Yankiverse. Salem is coming to Gotham.

YOUK RESPONDS

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Our long national nightmare has ended. There shall be peace at last!

The Gammonites have issued their verdict: A-Rod is guilty

The train has left Salem Station, feathers floating in the breeze over the steaming kettles of tar. The mob has reached its decision, via a unanimous round of applause, and now America is giving the world a free lesson in why sportswriters do not cover wars, politics and criminal justice.

Today's submission comes from U.S. Appeals Court Justice Bill Madden, penning his decision in the Southern District Daily News on CHILDREN OF U.S.A. vs A. RODRIGUEZ. In his ruling, Justice Maddon invokes the Chandra Levy statute of 2001, contending that when a celebrity on media trial declines interviews, he/she is, in fact, admitting guilt. The venerable justice writes:

If A-Rod truly is a victim here, his reputation smeared, his career in such jeopardy, then why is he in hiding? Why isn’t he shouting to the world he is innocent? Why isn’t he calling his teammates, assuring them all these damning things they’ve been reading about him — purchasing HGH and testosterone from Bosch's clinic, receiving house calls for personal injections from Bosch — are all B.S., made up by forces out to destroy him? Why hasn’t he reached out to the commissioner of baseball, Bud Selig, to tell him the same thing?

Judge Madden's reason is ironclad. Clearly, A-Rod - by merely issuing a denial, and by not touring the talk shows with Kleenex in hand- is pleading guilty.  And the Judge notes that A-Rod's worst crime - as they always are with monsters - is against the children. The children of America.

What about those kids he addressed... If he's so innocent, don’t you think he owes those kids a personal assurance that he’s still everything he portrayed himself to be?

It hurts, thinking of impressionable kids who read the A-Rod attacks and wonder, "Why isn't he talking to Ellen?" Meanwhile, elsewhere at the Southern District court system, three Daily News judges today teamed for a story that portrays A-Rod as a paranoid conspiracy nutjob, obsessed with the idea that the Yankee brass (historically, Madden's go-to sources) and MLB are out to hang him.

Sources say the embattled Yankee star is “scared” that bigger forces are at work to try to discredit him and sink his career. Holed up in Miami, Rodriguez has been huddling with an army of lawyers and PR people as the performance-enhancing drug scandal enveloping him intensifies.

Everybody, all together now: W.T.F?

Listen: This is supposed to be a humor site. As in, hahahaha. We should not be the lone atoll in the Yankiverse that defends somebody from a media lynch mob. Yeesh. We should be in the mob, hurling feces; we weren't big A-Rod backers to begin with. There's no funny stuff here. There's nothing to be gained.

But we're are watching something worse than one drug scandal (in a vast, polluted sea of PEDs, by the way.) We are watching a person - yes, an overpaid, egotistical jerk - get railroaded out of New York by a media that is nestled happily in the hip pocket of a franchise ownership, which simply wants to bank more money from the taxpayer-financed team. 

When they finish with A-Rod, be assured that the Yankees next move will be to start negotiating a long-term deal with Robbie Cano - that is, assuming he doesn't bolt, having seen how the team and its independent U.S. Justice System treats aging stars. 

It's open season on A-Rod. We're still in the Death Valley of the sports calendar. Football is done. Baseball isn't here yet. A-Rod's name in a headline generates clicks. (We've certainly learned that.) Write anything, Gammonites! All aboard, everybody! We're leaving Salem Station. Never mind that ticket-taker with the three heads! Disregard the boiling red tar. Next stop - hmm, that's strange... Salem Station!

Experts say the Yankee farm system potentially has potential

Former Blue Jay stuffed suit Keith Law, now an ESPN analyist, is ranking the Yankees farm system 10th in baseball. Baseball America had us No. 11. John Sickels, a former assistant to Bill James, also at ESPN, puts us at No. 14. So there you have it. Middle of the pack.

In each case, we have reached this middling status due to players who - because they are still south of Double A - are not currently top prospects, but who have the potential to become them.

Listen: These rankings are flat-out crapola. They mean nothing. They serve as a parlor game, a diversion to get us through the winter doldrums, until pitchers and catchers straggle in. You can rank the Yankees anywhere, because nothing will prove you wrong: The Yankees have nobody on the verge. Nobody. And it's crazy to hear devoted bloggers rant about how the team could rank higher if so-and-so has a breakout year because - well - hey, thank you, Dr. Einstein, for summing it up!

Last year, we anticipated Dellin Betances breaking out. He didn't. The year before, we anticipated Andrew Brackman breaking out. He didn't. Every year, we anticipate someone breaking out. He won't. Occasionally, but not often, someone breaks out. But it's not who we expect to break out. Because, if you think about it, a guy who breaks out cannot be the one you expect to break out. 

Oh well, I have never seen a correlation between a high farm system ranking and a world championship, and trust me, I've wasted many hours looking.

Don't get me wrong. It's fun to fantasize over prospects. Consider me a prospect-hugger. But David Phelps never ranked atop anybody's list, not even to break out. And he was only kid who remotely contributed last year. Before him, we had Ivan Nova, and I don't remember him topping any list either. We can sit around and dream about Slade Heathcott patrolling centerfield, and hey - it's fun!  Knock yourself out. 

We're number 10. Hip-hip, harumph.

ESPN ignores facts, trashes Yankees ... in other news, sun rises in east

Man, I hate defending A-Rod. It's a pretty lonely pursuit, as el Duque pointed out the other day. I celebrated when A-Rod opted out of his contract, and kicked a dent in my trash can when Hank and Hal decided to re-sign him to that ridiculous contract that's the H&H boys are trying to void now.

Still, the shit that ESPN makes up is completely ridiculous. The latest Gammonite to take out her hatchet and ignore reality is Johnette Howard, who writes about the latest allegations against ARod in a column with the headline "Hey A-Rod, Just Shut Up Already". (He needs to shut up because, well, he's issued a denial ... through a spokesperson. How dare he!)

Howard lays out the proof that ARod is guilty:

A spokesperson for Rodriguez said on Friday that "the allegations are not true." But given Rodriguez's belated confession to his past PED use, and the spike his performance took in 2009 (when he was supposedly using again, according to Bosch's notes), Friday's story is damning stuff. 

Yep, he's guilty ... the spike in his 2009 performance proves it!!

Why, let's look at that "spike his performance took" in 2009.

HRs: 30, his lowest total in 12 years!
RBIs: 100, his lowest total in 12 years!
Batting average: .286, tied for his lowest in nine years!
Slugging pct: .532, down for the second straight year and a full .113 below his 2007 mark!
OPS+: 138, down for the second straight year and 38 points below his 2007 total!

Yep, there's the proof for you.

Meanwhile, Howard references the "Outside the Lines" piece that "provides the sort of detail that sets off alarms about whether Rodriguez's latest denials can be believed."

Ah, yes, more details that prove Alex is guilty ... such as?

A source told "Outside the Lines" that Bosch would get text messages, usually late at night, to head to Rodriguez's waterfront mansion on Biscayne Bay, where he would inject him with performance-enhancing drugs every few weeks. One night last spring, a source said, Bosch told associates he had been kicked out of Rodriguez's home after he had trouble locating a vein and infuriated the Yankees' third baseman."

Shit, those ARE damning details, especially coming from someone as credible as "a source." Oh, by the way, there is also this little detail:

The sources did not explain to "Outside the Lines" why Bosch would have been tapping a vein since HGH and testosterone do not require intravenous injections. 

Yes, the mastermind of the whole scheme doesn't know how the drugs work, and, apparently, neither does A-Rod despite a decade of use. But remember, the "source" is far more credible than ARod ... the spike in his 2009 performance proves it.

Thirty-five minutes of squirming: CBS last night could have used John and Suzyn to kill time

If you weren't a 49ers or Ravens diehard, the most pleasurable part of last night's game came - like most things in life - came with the lights out.

For 35 minutes - the mighty, all-powerful NFL -  held the national spotlight with its trousers down.

Decades from now, when we're eating creamed corn and blathering to befuddled nurses about some guy named A-Rod, they'll still remember the Super Bowl power outage. If Beyonce is still around - she'll be tipping the scales in Aretha Franklin country - she'll be the lady who tripped the circuits of New Orleans. And then there will be the toadies on CBS, the turkeys who gobbled nothingness for 35 excruciating minutes.

Here was a major TV network -  or at least it was - and CBS couldn't scrounge a legitimate news reporter? It's one of the biggest stories of the year, and they couldn't even talk about it.

OK, it caught them off guard, I'll give them that. But on Friday, Scott Pelly anchored the CBS Evening News from New Orleans. Where the hell was everybody? For 35 minutes, the clown court - Boomer, Shannon, "Coach Cowher," et al - attempted to recap game highlights and talk about what the 49ers needed to do to win. (Score touchdowns, dammit. That's all. They needed to score! We knew this. Yeesh!) John Sterling could have killed 35 minutes more easily - or better yet, he would have thrown it to someone outside the Dome, with access to the authorities.

Throughout the outage, nobody told us - or even raised the issues of:

1. Was the outage widespread? Were sections of New Orleans without power?

2. Had there been any disturbances? Any explosions? If there had been no such reports, that would have been worth noting.

3. What was the league protocol for canceling the game? If, say, the power was shot and could not be restored Sunday night, would the game be replayed in its entirety? Or picked up in the third quarter? What would they do?

4. Why did the field look so well lit on TV? With their camera lenses wide open, the field looked fine. This morning, I read that the Ravens sideline was plunged into darkness. You wouldn't know it from watching the game.

5. What was happening in the NFL Commissioner's box? Was anybody even trying to get an interview?

The longer the delay, the more CBS looked like a cable access show in Watertown. The esteemed football "panel" performed a retake of the pregame show. They had nothing to say.

It was one of the most fascinating moments in Super Bowl history - frankly, until then, I was ready to ditch the game, it was so one-sided - and then the lights died. And for 35 minutes, we watched buffoons.

At Newsday, it's still all about A-Rod's women

Today, Newsday is running an angsty, 600-word thumbsucker, fixed under the banner of "ANALYSIS," which could be titled, "What if A-Rod is innocent?" It asks the philosophical question which currently dogs humanity: What if the impossible is true, what if A-Rod IS innocent? 

The conclusion: IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER! IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER! IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER!

Any goodwill he had left with the organization all but disappeared when he was alleged to have flirtatiously flipped baseballs to two women near the Yankees' dugout during Game 1 of the 2012 ALCS -- a game that began the Tigers' four-game sweep -- in order to procure phone numbers.

Yes, in the end, it's all about the ladies.

This past week, a source described the Yankees as being "exasperated" by the latest news, resigned that the circus with this particular player never leaves town, even when he's away from it recovering from surgery.

Listen: It's not a bad piece. Don't mean to snark. But the media analysis concludes that there is so much media analysis that the only eventual conclusion is to jettison A-Rod.

Frankly, Newsday is right. Everybody knows what's going to happen. A-Rod is like a raging boil that must be popped. The world can't let it alone. Maybe it will end in court - (Imagine A-Rod as Jack Nicholson shouting, "You want the truth? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!") - but more likely it will wind up in some windowless corporate Gitmo, with a check being deposited in an off-shore account, and people leaving via the fire escape.

And then, A-Rod will magically disappear.

He will disappear the way Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa, Roger Clemens, Manny Ramirez, et al - that growing list of invisible legends - suddenly vanished from the game. He will disappear in a manner so brilliant, so total, so... Stalinesque! Whoosh. He's gone. Deleted from the screen.

Listen: These mass disappearances is the greatest cancer the sport has ever faced, and yet Commissioner Hairpiece - who pays himself in excess of $25 million a year, and possesses the self-congratulatory demeanor of a North Korean dictator - regularly tells the world that MLB is more popular than ever, thanks to his steady, 79-year-old hand on the till.

In baseball's quest to wrap itself in morality  - (and, of course, maintain its federal anti-trust status) - MLB has created a monster that devours its stars.

I've said this before. But watch out, comrades. A whisper here, and a scribbled napkin there, and they'll bring down anyone who is playing too well - especially if it happens in New York. (No Yankee could ever pull what Ryan Braun did in Milwaukee: beat the rap on a legal technicality.) Hunter Thompson once wrote, In a world where everybody is a criminal, the only crime is getting caught. When everybody in the league is stepping along a dotted line of morality -  looking to get bigger, stronger and richer - the best survival strategy is to come in second. They'll target the best. Keep your head down and play in Kansas City.

Last year, a guy out of nowhere tweeted that Robbie Cano was juicing, and it became national news. The guy later recanted, saying he had no proof. He just went with it. Oh well... IT JUST DIDN'T MATTER. With every base hit next season, Derek Jeter will create whispers. Is he juicing? Somebody will say it. If it's untrue, well, IT JUST DOESN'T MATER.  And if Mariano comes back too well, do you really think he'll escape the chorus?

Listen: It's lonely, defending A-Rod. (He is not sending me checks.) He is not a particularly appealing figure. But was Ty Cobb? Was Wade Boggs? Up close, were Babe Ruth and Ted Williams? All the others? Listen: There aren't many superstars with their heads on straight. What mattered was how they played between the lines. Now, well... altogether: IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER.

It's all about the media circus. That's code for "New York." Brace yourself, Yankiverse. And think hard of the consequences before the media runs A-Rod out of town. Because if he's innocent... who cares?

Scylla marries Charybdis

T'was the night before Superbowl and all through the huss...

Not a creature was stirring. They'd all been concussed.

Super Predictions

1. The team that wants it most will win.

2. Big plays will determine the outcome.

3. Turnovers will be the key.

4. Without a pass rush, the defense will get shredded.

5. To win, you must control the line of scrimmage.

6. Both teams must limit penalties.

7. It could come down to the field goal kickers.

8. Don't overlook the special teams.

9. To pass, you first need to establish the ground game.

10. Coke over Pepsi by two touchdowns.

No, we Can't: The Russ Canzler Era is over

Yesterday, the Yankees waived Russ Canzler, the scrap heap pickup who supposedly would balance our famous all-lefty outfield, and whose signing ended the Chris Dickerson Era, which concluded the Greg Golson Era and coincided with the Justin Maxwell Era. (Final line on Canzler: No runs, no hits, no eras.) I hope he didn't bother to shave.

Generally, these are the machinations followed by people with nothing better to do, the types who remember the Key Grip Operators in Adam Sandler movies, or the sound engineer in a Deep Purple album. (Sad bunch, us. This is supposed to serve as an escape?)

Of course, we might be prematurely signaling the Canzler farewell. He might pass through MLB waivers like sweetbread through a vegan. And, frankly, his fate probably doesn't matter to the Yankees. We've seen his movie. It stars Adam Sandler, and ends with him hitting 20 home runs for Scranton. The right-handed Chris Dickerson.

Listen: A lot of crap gets blathered about the A-Rods and the Joshes, while the Russ Canzlers of the world get passed around baseball like a plate of liver. And quite probably Russ Canzler, if he ever met me, would pop me in the jaw for the snark we registered upon the beginning of his Yankee era. But I'm sort of sad to see him go. There is no greater joy for Yankee fans than to see a nobody evolve into a somebody. I still celebrate Mike Stanley. I still smile over Aaron Small.

Good luck, Russ Canzler! This is probably a good thing. Once the Yankees signed Juan Rivera, your ticket to the Poconos was a done deal. You did your job, sir. You never let us down. Now, ready for the Melky Mesa Era?

Dept of Why Bother? The worst Brian Cashman interview ever

ESPN's Sportsnation hosted Brian Cashman for a 60-minute "chat" today. You - the general public - were invited to ask The Man Who Traded Jesus anything.

Something tells me there was a screener involved.

Amazingly, nobody asked how he looks so good, and whether he's lost weight. Some of the questions.

"How long can you put up with all the aggravation of being in the pressure cooker that is New York?"

"What was the most fulfilling moment in your tenure with the New York Yankees?"

"Hello Mr. Cashman! I'm a diehard Red Sox, but have always had high respect for you and how you run the Yankees, which can't be an easy job. My question to you is how difficult it is to maintain a good relationship with everyone like the owners, manager, and players when you're so busy?"

"Is it true that as a GM, your phone rings off the hook"

"If you didn't have a job in baseball, what would be doing?"

"Are you satisfied with your accomplishments in your tenure with the Yankees?"

"Where's a good place to start if one's goal were to become GM of a sports team?"

"Brian -- what motivates you after all of the success you have already had?"

The answers weren't much better. This is why the world needed Deadspin.

Congratulations to X Games. You have completed your journey

Well, the X Games finally did it. They X'd a kid. Caleb Moore - at 25, an aging veteran - died yesterday, the result of attempting a back flip on a 500-pound snowmobile. What a tragedy! ESPN feels terrible. It's just so sad.

It's. Just. So. Sad.

Manslaughter. I say manslaughter. I say somebody in a suit needs to go to jail. If you fill a pool with sharks and assure kids they'll get on network TV if they jump in, you'll get takers. But make no mistake here: YOU are the shark. YOU are the one sniffing the blood.

Oh, my... How dare we speak such anger in this time of mourning? Can't we see how bad ESPN feels? Why... they've set up a web page to raise money for the family! What humanitarians! The quality of mercy hath not been strained. (And watch the ratings soar.) Obviously, they have a plan: Do to Caleb Moore what the NFL tried to do with Pat Tillman, that is - create a martyr, hold a memorial, donate books to the library, build a statue, create a savior for every kid who dreams of getting laid by doing somersaults off a cliff.

Listen: We all know that testosterone-pumped teens think they are invulnerable. In every group, there is a kid who is willing to drink piss or eat the light bulb. And ESPN was delighted to hand out its fruit jar full of urine. Year after year, you could bank on the X Games coming up with a new and more dangerous competition. They must have watched "Jackass" for inspiration. And everybody watching had the same sense: "Eventually, somebody's going to die here."

Yesterday, on YouTube, I watched the death of this kid.  You can, too.

What kind of industry exploits death? And about that fundraiser site for the family to pay its medical bills? WTF? A network beams his death on national TV, and the contestants have to scrounge donations to pay the medical bills? You gotta be kidding me.

Manslaughter. Somebody in a suit should go to prison.

And now, a personal note...

Yesterday, I left the newspaper where I "worked" for more than 30 years.

The Syracuse Post-Standard has stopped functioning as a daily. It now prints three days I week. I would tell you which days, but for a mental block. It hurts too much.

I can't complain. It was my choice. I left on my terms. I don't know what I'm going to do for a living. Something will emerge.

I don't know how this will affect the blog. Obviously, IT IS HIGH is what keeps me sane, because into it, I pour my daily insanity. I might post more often. Too often. If my next job - say, bagging groceries or MMA fighting - demands time, well - who knows? I sure don't. 

Also, let's face it: The 2013 Yankees look like one dim bulb of hope. If they're out of the race by August 1, I might find myself with nothing to say. (Or, hmmm, I might have a lot to say.)

Either way, it's a quandary - being old and officially out of work. I can't even work up a venomous hate for the old employer. My friends still work there. I made my choice. And this was no surprise. Four years ago, I saw it coming when I wrote this for Salon.

Something will emerge. I'm looking for the lifetime equivalent of an Aaron Small.

Oh well. Let the record show that on the day I left newspapers, the Yankees signed Travis Hafner. Omen?

By signing Travis Hafner, the Yankees have deleted the Jeter option at third

OK, OK, stopping spitting, it was just an idea: If events transpired to keep A-Rod from returning, as the Yankees seem to be encouraging in full-throated bliss, one instinctive option would be to move Jeter to the less stressful 3B position. Youkilis would become our DH, and we'd simply need Chico Escuela - the incarnate good-field/no hit infielder - to play SS. Made sense to me.

Obviously, didn't to Brian Cashman's 14-member Data Analysis A-team. Because in the last three days, to virtually coincide with A-Rod's latest public self-debasement campaign, the Yankees have effectively eliminated their options with Jeter. He will play SS this year, bad foot, old age, at all. And as far as I can see - considering the psychological deterioration of Eduardo Nunez as a fielder - there is nobody - nada - to replace Jeter, if he crumbles. Oh, well, there is always the X Games for that blood lust diversion!

Yesterday, we secured Travis Hafner, who is old, beat-up and has never fielded a position, as our DH against righties. Now, you might argue that he'll have to earn his job in spring training. You could also argue that Gandhi invented foie gras. Last spring, the newcomer Raul Ibanez went 2 for the month of March and still came north as the starter. Raul eventually justified the move. Andruw Jones, on the other hand, did not. So which is Travis Hafner?

Almost simultaneously, we signed Juan Rivera, I guess as the RH half of the DH. So now we have two more old, beat up guys, who will platoon at the spot. Wow. I didn't think we could actually get older. But we did!

Three days ago, if the Yankees had opted for a Jeter-at-third solution, here was our lineup:


lf Brett Gardner
3b Derek Jeter
2b Robbie Cano
lb Mark Teixeira
dh Kevin Youkilis
cf Curtis Granderson
rf Ichiro Suzuki
c Francisco Cervelli
ss Short guy who can't hit

Now, we're larded with wheezers who cannot run or cover ground. Youkilis will play 3B -- until he gets injured. He's gotten hurt the last three years.  Our DH will be Hafner-Rivera. That leaves Nunez backing up everybody - infield and outfield - even though he is a candidate for DH.

A month ago I gleefully ridiculed the Redsocks for acquiring a lineup with five catchers. Ever since, they've gotten younger, smarter and more rounded. Now, when I look at the 2013 Yankees, we are a team of DHs: Youkilis, Hafner, Rivera, Jeter (occasionally) and Nunez. Will Ichiro or Teixeira need days off as DH? Tough luck, pals.


Listen: I accept that the Yankees know more about this than I do. I accept that maybe Cashman has something up his sleeve - though it's getting late. But with Youkilis and Jeter playing side by side for an entire season, a tankerload of DP grounders are going to roll into left field. How many times will we watch end-of-inning grounders launch huge rallies? And how many home runs can we hit to match the damage done?

I just don't see how anyone thinks we can go the entire season this old, this slow, this way. And now we have Pronk.