We can absorb ten more losses this season

Ten losses. It seems like a lot, but it's not. Ten losses. That's our wiggle room.

Ten losses. That's a couple Phil Hughes meltdowns, one Joba outing, a handful of those one-run scoring nights - and maybe a game pissed away by a bad umpiring call. Ten stinkin' losses.  Any more, and it's football season: How 'bout them Gints! Eleven losses, and we're looking at next year's Yankee roster, which is to say, we're looking for a resurgence sometime around 2016. Wake me before the asteroid hits. Slade Heathcott will be 35.

Ten more losses.

That's my kitchen table math. It aint exactly algorithms. We have 31 games to play. We are four games behind, with three teams above us. If we win two out of every three, that's a higher winning percentage than any of the Wild Card contenders have shown for the season, and it probably wins us a trip to that one-game playoff, the illusionary crap shot that Bud Selig created for MLB marketing purposes. You know, the special, limited-edition collectable caps that the winning team will be handed after the one-game playoff victory. We'll all want to buy one as keepsakes.

Ten losses, give or take. If we win two out of three - well, that aint bad, as Meat Loaf said (Yankee fan, by the way.)

The wins won't register. It's just the losses now that will kill us.

We have three left with the White Sox. If we don't sweep them, and batter them in doing so, we deserve to have our balls turned into Mentos and then poured into Diet Coke. I'm calling it 3-0. No losses.

We have six with Toronto. This frightens me. We won't beat them forever. I'm figuring two losses.

We have seven with Boston. Insert sigh here. If we're lucky, we take the series. Still, three losses.

Seven with Baltimore. We simply must beat them five times. Two losses.

Three with Tampa. At home. I'll stay optimistic.  One loss. 

Three with Houston, and three with San Francisco. Some of the last series of the year. Both teams suck. Both teams are playing for draft picks. If we're in it, we should sweep them both. But we won't, of course. Late season tomato cans always rise up against the Yankees. Two losses.

That's 10 losses, right there. We would still make it. (Or not, if some other team goes crazy). We must win every series, or get boiling hot and sweep somebody.

If we lose tonight, it's not over.

If we lose tonight and tomorrow, it's not over.

We have 10 losses to eat. Bon appetit!

If they sweep us....

Well, after all is said and done...

It will mean we simply are not very good.

You can't beat up on Toronto all the time. Eventually, you have to win against a good team.

If we lose tonight... well, we'll have had a four-game run... topped off with a three or four-game losing streak: The quintessential predicament of a mediocre team.

I am too demoralized to write this morning. You know something? They actually had me believing we could do this. What an idiot. I'm too old to be so stupid.

In The End, It Is All Wishful Thinking

It is my fault.

I thought I could sneak in a meaningless comment without impacting the Ju-Ju that was working for the Yankees, but I was wrong.

Next time the Yankees go on a run, if I am still alive, I will simply remain silent.

Now that I have awakened, however, I want to point out the obvious.  This team, even with the band-aid squad back on scene, does not have the horses to win.

If you look carefully, our line-up is still overflowing with guys hitting .218, give or take.  A-Rod is back to taking that first pitch strike meatball, and then flailing at either low inside, or low outside balls.  With two strikes, he watches a perfect pitch paint the plate and walks to the dugout, spitting seed husks.

Derek, meanwhile, is having mixed results ( good hit; bad field ) in Scranton.  Each game, another of our .218 hitters goes on the DL, or turns up under the weather. Nunny is playing hurt and is still worthy of an error a game, if needed.

 It is nice to have Tex on the bench for home games, though.  Don't you agree?

Kuroda held this team up for most of the year, and now he is fading.  Andy is rallying a bit, but is still only good for 6 innings. And how much does he have left for September, against the quality teams? CC wins if we score 8 or 9.  Hughes is a mystery ready to be traded, where he will become a consistent winner.  Phellps is done and Bettances now has the job of inflating the balloons for kiddy day in Scranton.

More no-names keep appearing.  But they all hit .218.

And, as our captain ( El Duque ) mentioned;  when the September call-up floods the bench,  when pumpkin seed sellers have their " Black September" for sales, the average age of the team will rise whilst our team BA will diminish.

We have no talent at all in the minors.  None.  Remember?

Final prediction for 2013:  In the end, the Yankees will stay in the hunt but miss the playoffs by a single game.  One loss too many.

One blown save.

A season of false starts?

The epitaph for 2013?

 Today, CC Sabathia pitches.  Used to be, sending CC out against Tampa was like setting loose a hungry lion in an arena of corn-fed Christians.

Now, we cringe at the thought of Adam Warren pitching the fourth. 

Last night's Yankee game was a B-grade horror movie by Roger Corman. The arm fell off our best monster - Hiroki - but Girardi left him in, and left him in, and left him in... saving the bullpen? At the expense of our best pitcher? For what... so we can use them today when CC goes out in the second?

If we lose today, we lose another series, we lose another chance, we lose another week, and - frankly - we lose the surge of hope that was generated - falsely, perhaps - by the hideous malpractice of the Toronto Blue Jays. 

A-Rod's batting average is down to the .260s. An 0-for-12 series, and he'll have David Adams numbers. 

Brett Gardner is going in for an MRI on his hand, after being hit by a pitch. Does anyone in the 2013 Yankiverse recall an MRI coming back with anything less than terrible news?

The September call-ups are a week away. It's the time when teams showcase their future talent, giving hope to fans that brighter times will be coming. If we're not in a wild card race - and we are not far from being out of it - we will be coming upon the saddest Yankee September since the dim daze of the early 1990s. God help us.

Of course, if we win today...

JUJU ALERT: THIS IS NOT A TEST

KEEP CALM. DO NOT READ THIS OUT LOUD.

DO EXACTLY AS YOU HAVE DONE THE LAST FOUR DAYS. 

DO NOT CHANGE ANY RITUALS. 

DO NOT ACKNOWLEDGE THIS JUJU REQUEST.

Why, that would be silly. There's no such thing as "Juju," right?

WE ARE SIMPLY GOING ABOUT OUR BUSINESS, EXACTLY AS WE HAVE FOR THE LAST FOUR DAYS AND NIGHTS.

No difference. Correct?

Gomorrah v. Tampa: With umps and syringes in our pocket, the Damned Yankees head south

The Evil Empire (TM) - (Note: The Levine Dream Team should also trademark "Spawns of Satan" and "Evildoers from Hell" - is grinning today, from lawyer to lawyer, as our club of demons - led by Osama bin Arod - heads to the God-fearing, Koran-burning capital of the world - Florida - hoping to fling more innocent children into yet another sinkhole straight to hell. To scare them witless, we should play in hoodies.

That's the story arc of Major League Baseball's media, where anyone with a keen moral compass must root against the Yankees - the team of Arod Hitler - because, well, if you have be told why, you might as well swear allegiance to the Beastmaster yourself.  It's like tapping your toes to that Daft Punk song, "Get Lucky:" Everyone else is doing it. So get with the program!

Yesterday, the Yankees deliciously proved that the umpires too can act as useful tools of Satan - with not one but two blown calls on a sinking liner to center. On the YES Network, Michael Kay and David Cone belched sulfur about the Yankees lucking out on the call.  But the following inning, The Master and Mrs. Yogi were grousing over the Yankees being screwed by the bad call in center. Jeez. It's confusing when the sons of George Satanbrenner take the reigns.

Let's face it: As Yankee fans, we have no choice but to revel in our supreme evil.

For supporting this team, I will burn in Hell.

I will stand before a dark tribunal, led by a three-headed demon - each with the face of Bud Selig but a different hairpiece - and each gavel blow will have the impact of a Ryan Dempster fastball hitting my ribs.

For eternity, I will sit in a dugout between Bobby Valentine and Tim McCarver, hands stuck to my mouth with pine tar, while the 2004 ALCS is rerun on NESN.

All because I sided with Satan in this nightmare 2013 season.

Ah, but it will be worth it... YES, IT WOULD BE WORTH IT... just for that wondrous glimpse of the Apocalypse... Bud Selig style:

The Yankees, led by Darth Va-Rod, win the World Series on a blown call, obvious to everybody but the ump who botches it.

This comes at 2 a.m., following a two-hour rain delay that Bud Selig himself ordered, because it seemingly would hurt the Yankees' chances.

After the game, the $25 million-per-year Commissioner refuses to come into the Yankee locker room to award the World Championship trophy. Instead, Vladimir Putin is sent, in the hope that he will steal A-Rod's ring.

Ahhhhhhh, a two month run, in exchange for eternity in hell? What choice do we have?

Do you believe in evil miracles? Yessssssssss.

Exclusive: Official minutes of Secret Yankee Brass meeting this week in Tampa

Several news outlets have reported that Hal Steinbrenner this week called the Yankee Legion of Super Suits to Tampa for a rant session about the farm system, which has turned out bumper crops of pebbles now for three seasons. (BTW: Next year's harvest could be the juiciest, bursting with flavor, Pop Rocks yet.)

This is great news. It almost makes me believe Hal is reading some Yankee blogs, who for years have been decrying the dead farm system - while the mainstream beat writers work to capture those delightful post-game quotes, which are so treasured by Yankee fans.

At considerable expense, IT IS HIGH hired Brian Cashman's rappeling teacher to shinny down from the building's roof and cup a microphone to the window, allowing us to record the event. Unfortunately, the man fell to his death.

Nevertheless, another source came through. The following are official minutes of the session.

9:00 a.m. Owner Hal S. opened meeting, welcoming summer interns from Wharton School.

9:01 a.m. Mr. Cashman recited Pledge of Allegiance. President Levine sang National Anthem. Breakfast buffet served. Gavel accidentally landed on thumb of intern. Team Dr. P.O. Quackman offered first-aid.
 
9:16 a.m. Owner Hal S. opening remarks.  Asked, "What the f--- going on?" Noted, "J---- C----, who the f----!  Slade f--- Heathcott!" Inquired, "Oh my G---, f---  Gary Sanchez?"

9:29 a.m. Owner Hal S. accidentally smashed Mr. Coffee decanter over intern's forehead. First-aid applied by Dr. Quackman.

9:35 a.m.  Intern revived, bleeding stopped. Intern signed waiver of liability or insurance claims, as provided by President Levine.

9:45 a.m. Discussion of latest L. Lohan topless pics on internet.

9:54 a.m. Mr. Sterling gave presentation on Tab Hunter celebrity memoir.

10:00 a.m. Mr. Cashman named winner of A-Rod photo dart-throwing contest. Seconded by Mr. Kay.

10:05 a.m. Owner Hal S. set fire to A-Rod photo, following dart contest.  Seconded by Mr. Scott Proctor.

10:06 a.m. President Levine emptied fire extinguisher on A-Rod photo. Seconded by Mr. Selig (via internet).

10:20 a.m. Presentation on Yankee Code of Ethics by Mr. Mel Hall (via transmission from New York State Correctional Facility at Attica.)

10:30 a.m.  Owner Hank S. proposed Smoke Break. Seconded by Dr. Strawberry.

11:30 a.m. Super Juice Health Lunch served by Yankee co-litigant ally and former Biogenesis president "Doctor" A Bosch. Menu included items designed to combat "low T" and stimulate "personal growth."

11:50 a.m.  Co-owner and second sibling Hank S., announced feeling "super-charged for work;" challenged Wharton interns to shirtless wrestling contest.

Noon: Intern accidentally thrown from fourth story window during wrestling contest. Ambulance called by Dr. Quackman. While awaiting ambulance, owner Hal S. said to have set personal record for pushups.

12:15 p.m. Board table smashed into bits by Owner Hal S. 

12:20 p.m. Move for meeting to be adjourned for group to go "wilding." Meet to be convened later at Pole Dance hotspot. Seconded by Mr. Cone.

Yankeetorial: Next, it will be Tampa's chance to throw at A-Rod

The Evil Empire (TM) has visited two cities on its "Boo the A-Rod Zombie" Tour. In both, The Beastmaster took a fastball off the left arm, to the joy of the paying crowds of modern Dagwood Bumsteads and former Miss Floridas. No one went home thirsty. They got to see The Beastmaster in pain.

Tomorrow, we ride the Bean-Time  Express to Tampa, where Evan Longoria has already made a series of piercing anti-A-Rod wails - reminiscent of Donald Sutherland's squeal at the end of the mid-seventies "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" remake. The sanctity of the game! It's all about integrity! The children are watching this! Somebody must do something! Where the hell is the Johnny Walker? 

When I hear players go off on A-Rod - and I appreciate that some have a point here - I cannot help but think of Bible Belt pastors decrying gay marriage, while they secretly grope the altar boys online. If you're looking for suspects, never overlook the guy screaming the loudest. But certainly, no one would ever speak such things about a Tampa player. Only Yankees break the rules.

Well, Joe Girardi can yell all he wants about The Beastmaster's safety. It won't do any good. When MLB doesn't care about protecting him - if the next ball grazes A-Rod's chin, Bud Selig won't even dare try to feign public remorse - the team has only one defense: Stay in each game, and make it costly for any pitcher to piss off the batters or put a runner on base. If we fall down by four or five runs against a King Felix - well, The Beastmaster might should wear a suit of armor to the plate.

It's sad that we are discussing this. But let's face it: Right now, the Yankees are the demons of baseball - the bad guys in the World Wrestling Federation. We have a pile of games against Tampa and Baltimore still to play, and if our pitching holds, anything could happen. We are a threat to Bud Selig's clean post-season - (though ratings would go through the roof, if we make it, lining old BeezelBud's pockets.)  Wherever we go, fans will scream for blood, and some pitcher with nothing to lose - except maybe a federal investigation into his online visits - surely will give them what they want.

Here you go, Tampa! Step right up! See The Beastmaster, LIVE! And do we have a hero willing to make him fall?

As personifications of evil, the Yankees must have black beards

The other night in Boston, one detail was missing from the image of A-Rod touching home plate with eyes and fingers pointed to heaven.

An evil black beard.

A Ming the Merciless beard. A Snidely Whiplash. Maybe even a Kristie Alley.

In celebration of the Yankees' rejuvenated status as pure evil, as the team that all god-fearing fans must instinctively hate, it is time for the organization to end its outdated ban on facial shrubbery.

If A-Rod were allowed pure freedom of expression, he could dress as a woman (which, by the way, would also be effective) and grow the chin roughage.

Free the Yankee chins.
Let my people grow.

The Evil Empire... evil again? John and Suzyn are fightin' mad

Yesterday, torrents of rage boiled from the Hertz 24/7 Broadcast Booth, (formerly the Lowe's Broadcast Booth: "Let's build something togethahhhhhh....") when John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman learned of MLB's "punishment" of Ryan Dempster... who may be the reincarnation of Phil Linz's harmonica.

Quickly, the Yankiverse truth posse called the spade the spade... the kettle black... and "it" as they saw "it:" The MLB justice system is a sham, a hoax, a mirage, a dingbob.

At the time, I was involved with a certain critical undertaking, requiring hammer and nail, and thus could not apply my full diligence to their precise words. Hopefully, historians someday will sift through game audio and restore the conversation, which should be heard by all American citizens and certainly studied in law schools across the country.

Both John and Suzyn lambasted the MLB "suspension," which isn't even a slap on Dempster's wrist. It's more like the soft lips of Bud Selig tenderly touching his knuckles.

The basic John and Suzyn talking points:

1. It's not fair. Not fair at all. You can talk all you want about A-Rod and the appeals process, but this is not fair. Not fair at all. Dempster won't miss playing time. That's not fair. NOT fair.

2. As a result, two-bit no-account pitchers, looking to make a name for themselves in Cleveland or Tampa, will be inspired to throw at A-Rod. Somebody will lose an eye. What will MLB say when that happens? Tough beans? It's not fair. NOT fair.

3. As for the claim that A-Rod supposedly lied to MLB investigators? Well, what about Dempster, Mr. Moral Policeman? When reporters asked him if he purposely threw at A-Rod, he claimed otherwise. That was a lie. A bold-faced lie. Everybody knows he was lying. Not fair. NOT fair.

We are backed into a corner, the whole world rooting against us.

In other words, we got 'em where we want 'em.

Still, it's not fair. NOT fair.

We are finally ahead of Kansas City

This is simultaneously hopeful and troubling:

We are now ahead of the Kansas City Royals.

Forget A-Rod: Everybody in the world is mad at Ryan Dempster

Yank and Redsock fans today can enjoy one great and unifying cause: Screaming for the shrunken head of Mr. Ryan Dempster, the Boston Beaner. For two days now, the packs of roving Gammonites have generally sided with A-Rod, refusing to support any pitcher who was obviously throwing at a batter. Even Curt Schilling, the Baghdad Bob of ESPN's Redsock coverage - and who led a chorus of voices that turned the Sunday night game into a midway sideshow with A-Rod as the dunking clown - derided Dempster's craven and cowardly act.

Today's Daily News speculates that Dempster could be the spark that turns around the Yankee season - with 39 games left. And the writers are still marveling about how "Fightin' Joe" Girardi backed his wayward troop. (Listen: If Joe hadn't raised bloody hell, it would have been a disgrace.)

Today, we at IT IS HIGH want to publicly forgive Mr. Dempster for his misguided act, which was obviously committed during the heat of battle. And I think it's worth noting Dempster's true crime, as the good and moral people of Boston see it:

He is guilty of blowing a three-run lead.

Yep. That's why the Redsock Nation wants a necklace of his teeth. He flubbed the game. If Dempster had shut down the Yankees into the eighth, today they'd be naming a bridge after him. The A-Rod beaning would be icing on the cake, a moment to cherish in their jewel box memories.

I know this sounds cynical - but whenever the nation's Champion of Truth, Bud Selig, starts railing about the integrity of the game, cynicism becomes my safe house. Also, I recognize that the A-Rod dispute has a million levels, and will be fought for at least the next five years.

But I view baseball with one core belief: If A-Rod had hit last October and led the Yankees to the World Series, everything would be different. The Yankees would still be treating him as royalty, and there is a possibility that this entire Biogenesis scandal might have never gone public. (I'm not saying that's good, just that it might have been swept under the rug.)

I think that's how A-Rod sees it. And I understand see why he feels that way. He believes his crime was striking out so many times on the world stage. And if so, he's got a point.

Today, it's hard to imagine the A-Rod quagmire leading to anything positive for the Yankees. We are not only Wild Card also-rans, but we are hauling this huge public relations anvil from town to town, while we wage war within our organization. Derek Jeter has already called the season a nightmare. The worst could be yet to come.

And yet, AND YET...

If A-Rod is right, and the instincts of cynicism are true... there IS one possible way out:

Lead the Yankees to a miracle championship.

If so, we in the Yankiverse should start scouring the landscape. Somewhere, we need to start the christening process for Ryan Dempster Bridge.

The Yankees are now officially Back. Hot. Together. Returning. Glotchy. Parumbus.

I give up. Ten brain burps.

1. It's too late for The Great Reawakening. Two weeks too late. Everybody knows this. Nevertheless, last night was the peak of the season. Can we actually turn it around? Damn. We fall for this... every time.

2. Who cares if there is acrimony between A-Rod and the Yankee front office. If they are all gone next spring, it would be fine with me.

3. Brett Gardner is the de facto captain of the Yankees.

4. Thank God Joe got himself tossed from the game. I was proud of him.

5. At one point, Curt Schilling on ESPN actually compared last night's Yankee uprising to the 2004 championship series, when the Redsocks rallied. (Anything to mention that series, eh?) Whenever Schilling spoke, his words were flavored with contempt for the Yankees. He's worse than Sterling. At least John is beset by unbridled Yankee joy. Schilling just hates the Yankees.

6. At this point, we should have one basic quest: Keep the Redsocks out of the playoffs.

7. If there is a moral standard on all this A-Rod business - and I've been arguing for weeks that we should not apply morality to baseball - Ryan Dempster hit a new low. That was as blatant as blatant gets.

8. A-Rod used the appeals process to to hit one of the most memorable home runs of his career.

9. The Redsocks really look like whiners, complaining that A-Rod is playing against them. They also look nervous. I think they're going to crack apart and finish out of the running.

10. As soon as we fall out of this, we should send CC to California and let him rest. It hurts to see him struggle so badly. He's not getting better.

Sign this man to a contract tonight ...

Yeah, he's been out of baseball for a couple years, there's got to be a spot in the bullpen for anyone who Tweets this:

The Yankees are now officially Done. Finished. Over. Kaput. Smoogey. Phlarm.

Yesterday, August 17, 2013—a date which will live in infamy— the United Yankees of America formally ended its reign as a major power in the baseball world.

From now on, the best thing that can happen is that we lose. Yes, lose. Today, tomorrow, all next week and all next month. Just lose. (Except on Mariano's Day.) There is no point to winning a game here and there. It won't matter.

Joel Sherman outlined it last week. If the Yankees lose enough to rate as one of the worst 10 records in baseball - and we're not far from that supreme peak of incompetence - the team will not only draft high next year, but they can sign free agents without losing picks. Unfortunately, that won't even help enough. The Yankees next winter won't sign big free agents because, a: There are none out there, and b: The prime objective of the ownership is to cut payroll to a mythical number - last estimated at $189 million. And then there is the fact that big free agents do not resuscitate dead organisms (see California Angels, Toronto Blue Jays.)

And we are lying in the street with a Do Not Resuscitate tag on our toes. Nobody in the farm system has had what could be considered a breakout year. This comes after our previous great hopes - Jesus Montero, Andrew Brackman, et al - proved to be epic mirages. It's hard to even know if they were ever really great prospects, or just creations of a Yankee hype machine, which is now pumping air around the Slade Heathcotts and Mason Williamses.

Two of our vaunted three first-round picks this year have yet to see a pitch. It's as if we draft high-ceiling prospects and then immediately rearrange their hitting and pitching styles. If we drafted Stan Musial, would he have ever made it through Single A, or would some Yankee hitting coach - trying to earn the big payout - demanded that he change his stance? 

Brian Cashman is a likeable and energetic general manager, king of the scrap heap. But throughout his career, he has labored in the shadow of Yankee money and an overbearing ownership. (The Steinboys are becoming their father; is anyone surprised?) Cash needs to go to a small market and prove once and for all whether he can build a baseball power... because he has now been running the Yankees for more than a decade, and we are a fractured, tired operation, listing in the water.

It was not Cashman, but Gene Michael and Bob Watson, who built the great Yankee teams of Joe Torre. But Cash kept our aging ship afloat for about five years - from 2003 to 2008, before the infusion of free agents pushed us back into contention. That was no easy feat. But it's time for the Yankees to start over, and that means a new person in the front office.

It's over, folks. Not just the 2013 season, but the great Yankee run. We are the walking dead, unaware that blood is oozing from our ears, and our intestines are hanging out. The best thing that can happen is that tonight, our mortal enemy takes pity on us. It refuses to let us stagger the streets, corrupting the memory of what we were. It needs to put the muzzle to our forehead and pull the trigger. It's time to lose. It's time to start thinking of a young Yankee team, somewhere off in the future. Kaput. Smoogy. Phlarm. I never thought I'd be using such words.

It's A-Rod Shame Weekend in America

Between today's "Shame of the Week" on Fox, CBS's attack on "60 Minutes," (et tu, Morley?) and ESPN's "Chilling with Schilling" morality extravaganza Sunday night - well, let's face it, folks-  the American media popes have waited a long time for this moment.

The plan is for the Yankees to be humiliated, booed out of Boston, eliminated from all races, and ridiculed, rebuked, condemned, on the national stage. It should be the most enjoyable Yankee-hating excursion since the afternoon when Reggie and Billy squared off in the dugout, prompting concerns over the downfall of civilization,.


Now, the unnamed sources of Bud the Lips are claiming that A-Rat snitched - a deed beyond dirty, because he was not only lying to MLB but also dishing dirt on the brotherhood. Frankly, a lifetime ban won't be enough. This calls for concrete booties.

I hereby propose that A-Rod also be banned from post-retirement appearances in shopping malls, Ramada Inns, thruway rest stops and on Dancing with the Stars. (Though I personally would allow him on Hillbilly Hand-Fishing.)

But....

Hmm, I hesitate to mention the gorilla sitting across from me. His name is not Magilla. It is "Hope." Yes, a glimmer of hope - yes, hope! - in this hopeless season. Last night, our blowout early lead harkened back to the days of Lou and Catfish, when Billy and Reggie appalled the Oh-Dears of American justice. Everyone hated the Yankees then.  We were pure evil, pure greed, pure defiance.

That year, Boston held a 7 and a half game lead with 41 games to play.

Today, we are down by 7 and one games. There are 41 games to play.

Apocalypses don't happen twice in a lifetime, do they?

We'll know soon enough. It's Shame Weekend. Wear Kevlar. (And go get 'em, Hiroki.)

Instant Replay: The already too-long game might be lengthened by 20 minutes

OK, t'is blaspheme to question the MLB leadership about the long-overdue embrace of instant replay. Truth is, they should have done it five years ago. If the Yanks lose tonight because some fat slob, who should be taking Thruway tolls, misses a call at home plate, we'll be screaming for Bud Selig's hair gerbil - just letting this ridiculousness continue for so long.

Selig - who once proposed putting Spider-Man 3 movie logos on the bases - claims to honor the grand traditions of baseball, especially when those grand traditions are grandly profitable. So OK - I get the move toward instant replay.  It had to happen.

But - and I hate to say this - Selig's been right: We'll lose something here. Any time baseball inches closer to the NFL, we throw overboard a little more of our humanity. Frankly, there is nothing more galling in sports than subjecting 60,000 fans in a stadium - sometimes in rain or freezing temperatures - to a 10-minute wait, while technicians haggle over some call that matters to a guy's personal stats.

It's common on Super YES-Mo for the Yankee announcers to be divided over whether a guy is out or safe. The camera angles just don't allow an easy answer. So in those moments - at times in blowouts, like yesterday - everybody in the bleachers will just stand around and wait. Three calls for each manager to challenge? We know what will happen: They'll wait for the TV replay - order the players to create a delay, while someone watches the video feed, and if it's remotely close, they'll issue a challenge.

Does anyone think Billy Martin would have ever gone a game without using all three challenges? These are like timeouts in the last two minutes of a basketball game. Need to get a pitcher up in the bullpen? Challenge the last play. You bought yourself five minutes, while the matter is considered in New York.

This could add 20 minutes to a game. Thus, the 7:10 p.m. game ends around 11:30 p.m., long after Yours Truly is in bed, dreaming of Slade Heathcott in a geisha dress.

Tonight, we play the Redsocks, which generally adds 10 minutes to a game. You could factor in another 10 to cover the booing of A-Rod.  If orange is the new black, five is the new four-hour game.

Just a thought, next time we're all standing around, waiting for something to happen.

The campaign continues. Now A-Rod's a snitch?

From "two sources with direct knowledge of the case." Hmm. I wonder who that would be? Officer Toodie and Officer Muldoon?

Jete's in the news: Papa's got a brand new hag

Derek Jeter may or may not be engaged to Hannah Davis, who some are calling "the new Kate Upton," which makes Kate Upton "the old Kate Upton," which is sad.

Jeet's old enough to be - at least in parts of Florida - her father.

Listen: The Captain can do whatever The Captain wants. As John Sterling says, he's "an amazing human being." Most websites and gossip bloggers - the wisest people in the world - would consider Hannah Davis to be the Lou Gehrig of beauty: the luckiest girl on the face of the earth. And if they find happiness and joy together - well - that's all I want for Derek Jeter in life:  The man has already given me plenty of both.

But in my long and tedious time here, I've known some pretty cool, handsome guys - lady killers - who were always dating the hot babes, 15 and 20 years younger. They were living the life! And the relationship always ended with them getting dumped on the side of the road.

Of course, they weren't millionaires. (Actually, a couple were.)

Here's the deal: Does an intelligent 23 year old supermodel want to settle down and spit out kids, as the 40something husband might be inclined to want? Nope. The beauties want to experience Hollywood, careers, the fashion world - they want to make it on their own. They're not ready to be somebody's full time wife. And you can't blame them.

Of course, there is always true love, which transcends age barriers. If it's true that Jete's hitching up, well, let's hope he has found it. He deserves it. But it's gotta be ard work, being 39 and playing a 23-year-old's position. And it's going to take a lot of energy to be find a lifetime relationship with a 23-year-old stunner.

Insert sigh here.

Frankly, I always felt Derek Jeter was married to the Yankees. Does this news make him a polygamist?

Mark Reynolds: Fresh meat from the scrap heap, as we limp to Boston Market

The Retrieval Empire keeps churning. We have signed Mark Reynolds, who used to kill us, when he didn't strike out. Unfortunately, he fans enough to make Curtis Granderson resemble Bobby Richardson.  It's beyond my imaginative capabilities to foresee Reynolds doing anything but homering or striking out - and not in equal measures. But we have reached the Bobby McGee definition of freedom - just another word for nuthin left to lose: At least we won't have to watch Lyle Overbay over-sway against a torturous lefty. Reynolds is streaky. Fenway is Fenway. Why not?

After this weekend, none of this may matter. And why post a photograph of Taylor Swift, other than give readers a reason to visit this blog? I'll get to that.

You see, my Sidney Ponson bunion is flaring. It swells up into the perfect likeness of firstbaseman Travis Ishikawa, whenever the Yankees sign a player who will probably last one weekend, or less. We're like those punks who kidnap Amish guys, shave their beards and let them go. By the time Reynolds is done feeling his chin, he might be back on the scrap heap.
 
This has been the Year of Passing Through Yankees, with Brian Cashman as the ticket-taker, diligently trying to shrink the budget. Our biggest goal - perhaps our only goal - is to avoid long term commitments.

Thus, we are the Taylor Swifts of baseball. Badaboom.

Tonight, my friends. 

What I said in January

A little right, a little wrong.

Yankeetorial: The maketh or breaketh weekend approacheth

Tomorrow, we hit Fenway for what may be our last big weekend of 2013.

Saturday, we play the always hideous 4 p.m. game on FOX, offering Tim McCarver his chance to throw some final, Stage I Alzheimer beanballs at A-Rod. If you want a drinking game, take a swig every time Tim and Joe say the word "shameful." You'll be on the floor by the third inning.

Sunday night, we appear on the vaunted ESPN game, which is like being the featured guest on "Judgement at Nuremberg," hosted by Curt Schilling. Mr. "Don't Tread on Me" is probably re-reading the Mitchell Report as we speak.

It will be a weekend of condemnation - of Yankee guilt, Yankee treachery and Yankee evil - laid out by the self-appointed morality squad of national TV, who are summoning their spittle right now - rehearsing their outrage in the studio, praying for an end to this brief Yankee resurgence, so America's youth can escape the corruption of having to hear the names "Yankees" and "Alex Rodriguez"  spoken over the public airwaves.

Maybe they will take to the field and stop the game themselves, like protestors in Egypt and Syria, standing up for what is right, and halting this steroid menace - while also drawing their last big Nielsen weekend.

But throughout their rants and ravings, remember this: If they wanted to rid the country of the taint of A-Rod, the moral media could simply go somewhere else this weekend. Aren't Cleveland and Kansas City in the throes of a hot Wild Card race?

Well, that aint gonna happen. This weekend is gold-plated. It's a combination of A-Rod hatred - always a just and moral stand, (though the last time I looked, Alex hadn't cost the taxpayers of Rhode Island $75 million) - the sports world's greatest fake rivalry (good grief, Youkilis came over, and there was hardly a peep) - and the reality that one bad Yankee series will put MLB's New York metropolitan market to sleep for the rest of 2013.

If the Yanks lose three in Boston, Gotham turns the channel to Eli Manning until next April. 


So here we go. As Yogi would say, it's gotten late early. If we take them in Boston, we'll be riding high, and we'll likely stay in the race through September 1. But a three or four-game losing streak puts us out to pasture. (By the way, it's an inevitability - but at least we can have fun imagining otherwise.) 

Place your candles around the TV, folks. I'd call for a juju intervention, but I'm not sure whether the Yankees won't be better off in the long haul by getting Jerry Cooneyed early, and starting to prepare for next year's overhaul. This weekend should clarify everything. Close your eyes Friday night, and you'll think it's 2002 with Roger Clemens returning to Fenway.

Just don't try any drinking games. 

So, How Is The Killer "B" Doing?

Good morning, faithful.

I was on a bender, praise the Lord.  Martinis and oysters at 11:45 am and then the beach.

The party way up on some Red Sox owned spit of land surrounded by ocean.  Cape Horn, I think they call it.

But I did hear some sun-burned fat guy yell something about Dellin Bettances showing up in the Bronx.

Did he get into the 14 run game?  Did he pitch or play first?

After all these tedious years of failure, investment, re-positioning and hope, do we have anything?

A taller Colter Bean?

A stalk of nothing?

Why isn't this blog covering this creep?

I do know that Alphonso was the man last night.

Thanks, everyone.

What actors will play our heroes in the Hollywood spectacular about the Miracle '13 Yankees?

Vernon Wells/Samuel Jackson

  

Kevin Youkilis/Don Rickles

 

Derek Jeter/Sir Sean Connery

 

Andy Pettitte/Clint Eastwood

 

Travis Hafner/Robert Duvall

Lyle Overbay/Ian McKellen

Alex Rodriguez/Morgan Freeman

Mariano/Jaden Smith

Planning our Playoffs starting rotation

Obviously, Hiroki throws Game One. The only question is whether this is the one-game Wild Card, or we win the division, in which case he’ll face the lucky winner.

Either way, Hiroki is our man. He gets the biggest float in the Canyon of Heroes parade. Understand? Biggest float. After that, well, we face questions.

For Game Two, career achievement loyalists will want Andy or C.C., but I say, "Glag!" Let's break the mold. Super Nova is our second-best starter. When we sent him to Scranton, something there scared the living Christ baby out of Nova, and he hasn't been the same. He should pitch Game Two. Yes, I know - you’re saying we need to render unto C.C. what is C.C.’s - whatever the hell that means. I get it. Still, I’m with the Ivanhoe.

That puts either C.C. and Andy in Game Three, and the key is whether we have home field advantage. If we've compiled the AL's best record - I would suggest switching Andy to Game Two, because it will be in Yankee Stadium, where the ghosts of the Babe and Wee Willie haunt the rafters, giving wedgies to enemy outfielders while they chase fly balls. The ghosts, who have roamed this grand old cathedral since it was built, will work harder with Andy than C.C. because - well - they’re racists. One of these days, Bud Selig will kick them out of Cooperstown; he has hired guns working on this, as we speak.

Phil Hughes becomes our eighth inning maestro, the Mo-pan Zee Bridge, which frees David Robertson to create his jams in the seventh. If we can run the table in the first round, a three-game sweep, C.C. will start Game One of the ALCS, and we'll call up Chris Bootcheck from Scranton, just to spice up the Fox Sports broadcasts.

Of course, with the Yankee bats scoring 14 runs per game, it really won't matter who we pitch. Maybe Alberto Gonzalez can throw a couple mop-ups, or we'll let Betances get some playoffs experience. That's how traditions are born.

Question to the Yankiverse: Would our magical, incredible, Hollywood storybook 2013 World Series victory be tainted?

Two in a row! Jeet hitting off a tee! Youk on the Stairmaster! Only 6-and-a-half games out of the Reviled Card, with KC looking over its shoulder! Yeah, baby! We're no longer the Hafner-empty Yankwads, driven by cheap. The A-Rod bombers are back, MONEY! And the world is looking a little bit of Grandish!

Nevertheless, now that Pinstripe pride and power hath been restored, the faithful fan faces a disturbing conundrum. (And as far as conundrums go, there is nothing worse than a disturbing one):

Because of A-Rod and his - well - issues, could our miracle march to the 2013 World Selig Series be darkened by allegations of performance enhancing elixirs and/or surgical augmentations?

Think of it: We win eight of 10 the rest of the way, rising to steal that vaunted fifth AL post-season perch from the adorable, peach-fuzzed Royals. We win the one-game playoff behind Hiroki Kuroda, best pitcher in the game. We roll past the Tigers, as we did this weekend, and then beat the Redsocks behind a merciless onslaught - (rhymes with Don Slaught) - of A-Rod and Youk/swinging the cuke! Then we face the Pittsburgh Former Yankees - good grief, do they have Bernie Williams, too? - and take them in four. Sorry, A.J.

Would critics claim the 2013 World Series was tainted by some colonel's secret sauce? Will this undermine our victory ride down the Canyon of Heroes? Would we face a rain of syringes?

I say, hell, dammit: If America runs on Dunkin' Donuts, why shouldn't the Yankees do something about their Low T? And this is no time to be a contrite or beholden fan. If MLB wants innocence and purity, let it televise Tee Ball. Have you heard John Sterling's last two WinWarbles? The man hit a solid 7.00 seconds on each, without straining a chord. He's gotta be juicing.

Listen: The baseball world wants an Evil Empire in the same way the WWF needs the Undertaker. So be it. The Yankiverse needs to step to the plate and supply one. Only the nastiest villains - the Freddies, the Chuckies, the Jasons - become Hollywood franchises. You start questioning your villainhood, and the box office plummets. From now on, every chance we get, we gotta kick a puppy. Hell, the team can wear Kevlar vests in its victory parade.

Eight out of ten gets us a one-day ticket to Kuroda Land. Two in a row, baby! Two in a row! I can feel the evil rising! Look to the darkness, Luke. Two in a row.

Yankeetorial: Yesterday, joy returned to John and Suzyn, but the Yankiverse grew shrouded in darkness

First came the A-bomb from A-Rod. (Notably absent, John's secondary cry, "Alexander the Great conquers again!" Casualty of the scandal?) It caught The Master by surprise.  He called it as a long fly out - no high-far-gone - until the ball cleared the fence.

Suzyn became drunk with joy.  After the walk-off, she actually chose A-Rod, rather than Brett Gardner, as her star of the game. (Might be that YES grabbed Gardner; Suzyn often gets sloppy seconds.) She sounded like a mom whose 3-year-old just won an international weight-lifting competition.  Her interview resembled the happy ending of a fairy tale. 

All this, after the funeral call of Mariano's third straight blown save - an emotional roller coaster ride and near psychological disassembly on the level of Eric Bogosian's angry lead in the 1987 award-winning "Talk Radio."

But I found Suzyn's post-game interview troubling. It's not that she didn't lecture him about steroids - everybody else does, why should she? - but as Alex blathered thanks to  the people of New York City, I had flashbacks to to the 2010 Tea Party celebration of Christine "I am not a witch" O'Donnell, after winning the GOP Senate primary in Delaware. If we think this will end well, we are as delusional as her supporters were that night.   

Frankly, I never really thought A-Rod would hit for us. Too many surgeries, too many miles on the tread. As a once-great player turned into an MLB scapegoat, I find him a sad and sympathetic character, a bull in the ring with four swords in his neck. He doesn't deserve the 24-7 public flogging engineered by Bud Selig, Brian Cashman, Bill Madden (and, of course, Alex Rodriguez.) Nobody - not even Youkilis - deserves to get beaned, and then have a crowd cheer. 

But if A-Rod does go on one final tear - it will be hard to take John and Suzyn, as they pretend the witch is dead, and the kingdom is saved. Yesterday, we gained ground on only one team - Tampa - in the fake one-game wild card race. If we win 10 in a row - (and we won't) - we will still be four or five games out with a month to play.

If there was one legitimate knock on A-Rod throughout his career, it was that he hits meaningless late-inning home runs.

Well, none will be more meaningless than those he hits in September.

No "A-bomb" cries or fairy tale post-game interviews can change that. And at some point, it will get crowded in the broadcast booth with that invisible elephant.

Biogenesis of Genesis: On the Sixth Day, A-Rod rested

In the big inning, there was darkness...

On the first day, A-Rod said, "Let there be lights!" and all the Klieg lights of the media firmament shone upon him.

On the second day, A-Rod said, "Let there be lawyers!" and mountains of legal papers rose from the oceans, and he could again stride freely despite his bad hip.

On the third day, A-Rod said, "Let there be games!" and he went one for three with a walk.

On the fourth day, A-Rod said, "Let there be bean balls!" and a White Sox pitcher hit A-Rod on the elbow, causing a thunder of cheers.

On the fifth day, A-Rod's team finally won, in extra innings, no thanks to A-Rod, who went oh for four with three strikeouts.

On the six day, A-Rod rested, and the Yankees were crushed by an angry, jealous God from Detroit, where everybody is pissed off about something or other.

On the seventh day, A-Rod... well... wtf?

The Yankee Power Report, sponsored by Indian Point

Hats off to Lyle Overbay, the hitting star of yesterday's game.

Lyle came up and hit his 13th home run, with a runner on base, to plate the Yankees first two runs. Later, he drove in a third run with a single. Thus, he drove in all three Yankee runs.

Lyle Overbay, bringing the Yankees power!

Message Of Note.......We Are Down For A Decade, Minimum.

It is Cashman's fault  ( The Steinbrenner dolts can't be blamed because they have no ideas, and are slimy, little greedy inheritors of wealth who, if born to different parents, would be shoveling coal ).

Cashman is in charge of player talent and we have, for 10 years, drafted, traded for, and signed the worst players imaginable.


Hughes, by a clear margin, is our best drafted player in a decade, and he sucks.  The few others who emerged as talented were traded for bear scat.

When Cashman was finally deprived of unlimited money to buy talent, he was forced to accumulate retreads.  And we have a bowlful.  Many of the guys at AAA, for example, are 29 years old and with their 6th team.

Look at the duds that have cycled through our line-up this year, and note that most of them were not even from the Yankee farm system.  We couldn't provide .128 hitters with "home grown" Yankees.

Look at the Pineda deal, the Banuelos hype ( " he reminds me of Guidry..."), The Bettances fiasco, Andy Brown and Andy Brackman, the kid who said he was going to UCLA upon whom we wasted a top pick, Cito Gaston...the sad story of failure stretches on and on.


What has Cashman done in response to this record?

 Resign with honor? Fire people?  Hire proven
executives and talent evaluators from other clubs?  Commit Seppaku?

 No.  He has made not made a single change.  Zero.

He has rewarded failure.  He has stayed loyal to those blowhards around him. He has failed to recognize the firepower gathering around him,  and the diminishment of resources at his disposal. He still defends the talent pool in the Yankee's fading, minor league system.  His baseball bigotry
 ( "Yankees are better than anyone";  "people change when they put on the pinstripes," ) has blinded him to the reality he has created.

 Dien Bien Phu anyone?

Important point to remember:  There is nothing to which we can look forward right now.

El Duque is blinded by optimism, hope and pale ale when he says we have to wait until 2016 to have a shot at anything other than a one game, double wild card play-in game.  That means he thinks some guys in A ball will emerge by then.  Has he looked?  Are you shitting me?  Cito Gaston and Mason Williams?  Give me an aspirin.  Tyler Austin?

There is no one there.  The house is empty.  There are dust balls on the floor.

Here is the memo:  this organization needs a re-make from top to bottom.

Everyone must go.

Looks Like Alphonso Called It ( Again)

Click on photo of Alphonso ( right ) "in re"; which Yankee loss cost us the season.

It is a sad, but true, story.  One that gets sadder by the game.

Yankeetorial: As the reality of A-Rod's physcial issues settles in, we will learn a little about ourselves

I always considered Alex Rodriguez guilty of one crime:  Failing to hit with runners on base.

Last night, for reasons I'll need therapy to understand, I interrupted the regular flow of my life - I'm talking artistic activities, such as monitoring Mike Rowe voiceovers for Shark Week - to stand by the TV and watch A-Rod come to bat.

Four times. Three strikeouts. One pop fly to right. Big swings. Not a clue. The long walk back to the dugout. The glance over his shoulder. Nothing to show for it.

Yep, he's back, all right. Be careful what you wish for. The juju gods love practical jokes.

Listen: I never really thought A-Rod could return to greatness. Two major hip reconstructions and the ravages of age are too much. But Monday night in Chicago, he was swinging hard and creating a stir - boos and everything - and I briefly bought into the notion that A-Rod is A-Rod, and his mere presence could change the Yankee fortunes.

What a joke. Seriously: I'm too old to be so naive. But that's what we fans do, eh? We believe. In the face of reality, in the jaws of every loss, we somehow gin up hopes that Phil Hughes will turn it around, or that Ichiro will find a light. Idiots. Fools. That's what we are. Suckers.

Last night, A-Rod looked made of tin. He looked like the old man that he is, as did Vernon Wells, Ichiro, Hafner and the others - even Jeter and - God I hate to say this -  Mariano, of late. So here we are, needing to win 35 out of 45 games to salvage this season, this miserable hopeless season. If it were the Giants of the NFL, I'd start rooting for the higher draft pick. And maybe that's where we should start putting our juju.

God, he looks old. He looks sad. In the span of a week, my hopes for his return have shrunken like Kanye West's post-Kardashian reputation. 

Still, I can't bring myself to hate him. He looks so alone. He looks so lost. When I see him out there - yeah, I know he's rich, obnoxious, blablablah - but I see a bull in a ring with four swords sticking out of his neck, and a seething crowd that is demanding blood. They'll revel in his demise. They cheered his beaning in Chicago, and we never even retaliated.

How bad will it get when his average is under .200? Stay tuned.

"That was Sinatra's favorite drink, by the way, so I'm very hip to Jack Daniel's."

Live from The Axe Body Spray Broadcast Booth, John shows the young guys how it's done:

We interrupt this Yankees blog for a column-writing quiz ...

Sorry for the non-Yankees related post, but sometimes we need a distraction to take our minds off a disaster.

So, it's time for today's column-writing quiz (otherwise known as "what the fuck was this person drinking/smoking/snorting when they wrote this?")

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to read the following lead two paragraphs from columnist Jen Floyd Engel, and then guess the topic.


Once upon a time in this country, there were ugly, racist, tyrannical rules dictating where a black person could sit on a bus. There were all kinds of these laws, actually, created and defended by the racists who benefited from them.

What kick-started change was an average, everyday woman named Rosa Parks, who had grown tired of being tired. Hers was not the first protest, nor was it particularly the best. It was merely the tipping point for many Americans long since tired of these immoral laws.


Give up? Click below to find out the answer ....

Read more >>

Yankeetorial: Young bloggers are about to experience their first long-term Yankee meltdown

We butchered five out of six to the Triple A Padres and White Sox. Now, we face the mighty Tigers - with a lineup as strong as the city of Detroit's finances are weak -  and the only question is whether they'll play with their food - go 2-1 - or just gulp us down whole, with a sweep.

Either way, we'll fall below .500 with less than 50 to play, and you can spin numbers until Kate Upton's beautistics resemble Mr. Bean's, but the reality is that the great Yankee run of the millennium-change has ended, and our next tryst with respectability - you know, chasing pennants rather than a one-game wild card gimmick - might not come until 2016.

Listen: I'm old, ancient, decrepit - (but not as bad as Alphonso, heh heh.) For me, one point of interest will be reading mainstream bloggers of the Yankiverse. For many, if not most of the writers and commentators, this will be their first true Yankee meltdown. Oh,  they heard about Danny Tartabull and Mel Hall, but they never experienced it. Now, we'll see.

Let's hope they put pressure on the ownership, rather than whip a bunch of aging players for the crime of having grown old. A-Rod makes a nice, fat, juicy, stationary target. It will be fun to stuff all our woes into his image, and then set fire to it.

The greatest fan moment of the last meltdown era came when Reggie Jackson of the Los Angeles Angels homered in Yankee Stadium, prompting a huge crowd to chant "Steinbrenner Sucks." At some point between now and 2016, I hope the Yankee world will present such a consciousness. Yes, we had bad breaks. But this massive collapse - and the corner into which we've painted ourselves - didn't have to happen. A-Rod did not do this to the Yankees. The Yankees shot themselves.

There you go, young bloggers. From an old-timer.