It's great to be peaking, but the Yankee streak probably came too late to overtake Tampa

Yesterday, I gushed a hissy about the need to avoid our pet Putin poodles, the Twins, in the playoffs, so let's not go there again. Right now, the city of Al Franken and George Floyd remains our post-season destination. The playoff picture, as of today:

Jays at White Sox
Indians at Rays
Astros at A's
Death Star at Twinkies

To avoid Minnesota, we have two basic options: Run the table and catch the Rays - make up three games in seven days (four, if you consider the tie-breaker) - or strategically stumble and drop a spot, drawing the A's.

Obviously, we'd rather win out. We play:

Two with Boston (who are terrible but venomous)

Four in Buffalo v the Jays (whom we just embarrassed)

Two at home v the Marlins (vastly improved, Mattingly's homecoming; we probably won't face their stud pitcher, Sixto Sanchez, because he'll start the playoffs - but maybe not, because he's been whacked lately, so there's that.)

Our chances: Maybe seven of eight? 

Then there are the Rays. They play:

Two in Baltimore (can the out-of-it O's steal just one?)

Three in NY against the Mets: (De Grom? Hometown spirit?)

Three at home v the Phillies (who are fighting for the NL final seed; could Joe and Didi snag a couple?) 

That would be 4-4. We'd be tied, but they killed us in the regular season, so we'd still finish second.

The Twins play the Cubs (two), Tigers (two) and Reds (three.) 

Doesn't look good.  

Virtual Off-Day: Better to Run to Toronto, Than to Run to a Girl You Don't Want to! Or something like that. Yanks Slouch Toward Canada, Two Games Down.

By HoraceClarke66

The Yankees emerged from their virtual, three-game showdown with Tampa Bay two games out of first 

with just ten to play.  The team staggered on to Canada by bus again, plane travel in the Eastern

United States once again downed, this time by the clouds of smoke drifting from the ten 

different Western states all but consumed by runaway forest fires.

President Trump dismissed the billowing, choking clouds as they rolled toward the Atlantic.

"Hey, it smells like an intimate ski lodge, where I have been very, very intimate," the president

told the national press.  "Besides, the stock market is up."

The Dow Jones index had indeed rallied, rising to 30,000 again after a week of steady losses.

While the leading investment firms acknowledged that the market was now largely a 

fraudulent Russian trap, the country's physical environment was rapidly burning away, and 

the current administration seemed unable to cope with any of America's problems, they

maintained that they still felt optimistic about the future.

"Hey, c'mon.  It's not like there's a plague out there or anything," one trader who wished to 

remain anonymous said.

If the season ended today... the Yankees should be very afraid

Ten games left and, realistically, with almost no chance of catching mighty Tampa, the Death Star appears fated to take silver in the AL East. 

Here's the latest of those meaningless "If the season ended today..." (INSET) projections, which hold as much weight as a presidential poll.

ITSET... AL:

No. 1 White Sox vs. No. 8 Blue Jays
No. 2 Rays vs. No. 7 Indians
No. 3 Athletics vs. No. 6 Astros
No. 4 Twins vs. No. 5 Yankees

NL

No. 1 Dodgers vs. No. 8 Phillies
No. 2 Cubs vs. No. 7 Giants
No. 3 Braves vs. No. 6 Reds
No. 4 Padres vs. No. 5 Marlins

Why the Yanks should worry:
1. We face the Twins, our small market sex slaves, our Putin poodles, the team we always beat... until we don't.

What could go wrong? In the post-season, the Yankees are 13-2 against Minnesota. We've won 10 straight. We should celebrate, right? Two and out, right? But here's the thing: 

You cannot beat a good team forever. 

Remember the 1980s Royals? They were our crash test dummies, until the straps broke. Or the Redsocks of 2004? (Please, please, please, let's not go there.) This we have learned from 2020: Mother Nature is a maniac, humankind is stupider than we thought, and all it takes is one breakthrough screw-up for the Yankees to fall apart. One El Chapo meltdown, one night leaving 20 runners on base, one night of the Homer Happy Happ - one reversal of fortune - and we are the New York Knicks.  

2. Minnesota is better than we think. They have four hitters, each with more than 10 HRs. Nelson Cruz is quite possibly the AL MVP. Kenta Maeda would start game one. He is 5-1 with an ERA of 2.52 - numbers that beat our best starter (FYI: Cole is at 3.00.) Their bullpen is exactly the collection of young no-names that has shut us down all season.  

3. There will be no fans, which negates home field advantage. (They would have it, unless we overtake them.) FWIW: I cannot believe the crazy NYC fan base had nothing to do with our 10 straight wins. These playoffs will be entirely different. By now, teams have learned to filter out the fake crowd noise. 

4. It's two out of three. As Robin Trower would say, "Boom-boom, out go the lights." There is no chance for the deeper team to slowly exert dominance. Okay, when I say Boom-Boom, you all know what to say... Boom-boom... 

5. There's the cheesy media narrative - patsy team facing Goliath, the city stricken by protests over George Floyd, the Midwesterners facing Blue State coastal elites... dear God, it's just going to suck. Can you imagine the esteemed social psychologist and cultural historian John Smoltz analyzing this? Shoot me now.  

The Yankees would be better off facing any of the top three seeds. We need to see a divisional winner in a three-game set. 

Ten games left to stick this landing. Somehow, I dunno know how, it would be nice to avoid Minnesota.

Virtual Baseball: Disaster in the Dome! Yarbrough Unfair, as Yanks are Swept, Fall Two Back!

(From HoraceClarke66, whose computer is pissing him off.)

The Tampa Bay Virtual Rays completed a stunning, three-game sweep of the Yankees at the

St. Petersburg Chernobyl Dome tonight, dropping the Yanks two games back as they reeled

out of Florida.  

After polishing off the Yanks' two best pitchers the Rays were licking their chops—or more 

accurately, as Rays, gnashing their gill plates—to face J.A. Happ in the series finale.  But Happ

actually looked more like the unflustered veteran Happ of the first half of the season, and he

got some early support from back-up catcher Kyle Higashioka, who blasted a long, two-run

homer off Tampa Bay starter Ryan Yarbrough.

Yarbrough responded by hitting the next two Yankees batters, D.J. LeMahieu and

Clint Frazier, putting them out of the game.  Neither player proved to be seriously hurt, but

home plate ump Joe West promptly warned that any pitcher on the Yanks who dared to

retaliate would be ejected from the game.  

The Yanks protested the decision, but West added that not only would they be ejected,

but also swallowed and slowly digested in West's enormous, pelican-like throat pouch.

When Happ then plunked Ji-Man Choi anyway, West carried out his threat and tossed him—

though Happ was at least nimble enough to avoid a painfully slow ingestion.

Taking Happ's place was Adam "The Man Without a Move to First" Ottavino, who seemed

rattled when Choi then stole second, third, and home against him.  Two batters later, he 

surrendered the game-winning home run to Mike "Marcel Marceau" Brosseau, who after

completing his ten-minute home run trot stood in front of the Yankees' dugout and waved

his genitals at them for another ten minutes.

A Yankee protest to MLB Imperator Rob Manfredmannandthefamilyofman proved unavailing.

"Well, that's baseball," New York manager Ma Boone said after TB reliever Aaron "Garou"

Loup closed out the Yanks for a 3-2 win, then howled in the direction of where the moon 

was for the next half-hour.  "Or more accurately, that's getting really fucked in baseball."

A very personal take on our peculiar catching "star"

When I was in Catholic grade school, the nuns were fond of saying how well I was doing academically, but still not living up to my potential. 

As I advanced through high school, I realized that if I didn't get a subject easily, it probably wasn't worth much more effort. I graduated in the top 15% of my class, around 50th out of 300 or so. Fine.

In college, my GPA went up with the number of classes I missed and drugs I indulged in. Fewer classes, more drugs, higher GPA. Every semester for four years. I graduated cum laude, but the nun in the back of my brain (there's a scary image) knew that if I had made a bit more of an effort, it could've been magna cum laude. Or so I flattered myself to think.

Then I got into advertising. My first Creative Director said I was the greatest natural talent he'd ever seen. It became difficult to fit my head through doorways. I found that my initial take on most assignments was the best, and there was a point where it wasn't worth trying too hard. If it happened, it happened. It came from the subconscious, so forcing it wasn't going to do much good. With a little experience, I was able to churn out something acceptable, or better, on demand.

I did pretty well for about 40 years. Not great, but pretty well. And I never fulfilled my potential.

I'm probably wrong, but I think I understand Gary Sanchez. I was him in a parallel universe, minus the sports ability and Hispanic heritage. Sometimes I really buckled down and work very hard, but those times were relatively few. Mostly, it just came to me, and I was ultimately content to be good enough and not great. I could be better than a lot of people without trying too hard, or so it seemed, and never got fired or demoted. Never. 

If that doesn't make sense out of what we see with Sanchez, I don't now what does.

The impossible may have happened: Gary Sanchez might be looking over his shoulder

For much of this season, catcher Gary Sanchez had an insurance policy for any cold streak that fate might serve. Its name was Eric Kratz.

Kratz is the 40-year old lug nut who occasionally spelled Sanchez for four weeks, performing admirably: 8 for 27, a .296 average. Also, he shepherded Deivi Garcia through his MLB debut, supplying a book-jacket worthy quote about "going out to play catch with my son." It's revealing that the Yanks kept Kratz as a third catcher, a rarity for them. I think they see Kratz as a clubhouse chemistry guy, maybe a future manager. 

But not as Sanchez's replacement.

No way. Kratz might outhit Gary - as has everybody in baseball - and offered solid defense, but our starting catcher was Sanchez, no matter what. And maybe - just maybe - that was the problem. 

Sanchez's woes this year are famous across the Yankiverse. He's been terrible in nearly every aspect, except for something called "exit velo." (Basically, he hits long HRs rather than multiple HRs.) Without competition, Sanchez even received reps as DH, reflecting the team's mounting desperation, as articulated by breathless YES announcers, who somehow foresee a "big breakout" looming in his every long fly or base on balls. 

Well, here's a thought: 

Last night, Gary Sanchez didn't sleep well. 

The reason: Thirty-year-old Kyle Higashioka belted three HRs in a rollover of the suddenly collapsing Blue Jays. Unlike Kratz, Higashioka has an actual future, and an interesting recent track record. Twice in the last four years, Higgy hit 20 HRs in the upper minors. Last year, he hit 20 at Scranton (plus three for the Yankees) and batted .278. Over the next three to five years, he is positioned for a lucrative MLB career. 

Throughout his minor league career, Sanchez never hit more than 20 HRs for one team. The reason: He was a golden boy, a millionaire at 16, a super-prospect perpetually rising through the ranks. He erupted on the Yankee scene in 2016, hitting 20 in a half-season and batting .299 - far higher than anything he'd done in the minors. Since then, his starting credentials have never been challenged, even as Austin Romine evolved into a fine MLB catcher. 

Until maybe now. 

This wretched half-season has conjured the perfect opportunity to ponder a Yankee future without Sanchez behind the plate. For the first time in his baseball career, Sanchez ought to be looking over his shoulder. The playoffs loom, and considering Higashioka's show last night, he could easily become Gerrit Cole's personal catcher. But wouldn't Deivi Garcia also benefit from his defense? Or Masahiro Tanaka? Another homer or two, a few more lightning throws to second, and we could see a changing of the guard. 

No chance, you say? They'll play Gary, no matter what? You could be right, but Joe Torre used to say, "The playoffs are no time to make friends." When he makes out his lineup card next month, Aaron Boone better take those words to heart. And Gary better stop striking out.

A night of pure pleasure: Celebrating the joyous 20-run game

I used to joke that the Yanks could lead by 15, but if Jorge Posada bounced into a bases-loaded DP, the entire night was ruined. 

Still, nothing beats a laugher. It comes in that glorious moment: The opposing pitcher, stunned by what's happening, looks to the dugout, and his manager looks away. The infielders slouch. The outfielders kick at the grass. The Yankees lead by 10, still pouring it on, and - as I march circles in the living room - I tell the TV, "This is the greatest night, ever." 

Fun Fact: Gio Urshela went to work last night hitting .272. He left at .290. 

DJ LeMahieu entered at .350, went to bed at .363. Between them, that's 31 points. It's money in their future bank accounts. But wait... there's more: Clint Frazier gained 12 points; Luke Voit, up 10. Tyler Wade jumped by six; Gary Sanchez up four; Brett Gardner up two, and Aaron Hicks, just one. But Hicksy hit a homer. Hicks hits one to the Sticks.

That's an overall gain of 71 batting points, though it was nearly halved by Giancarlo Stanton's 0-4, which dropped him by 30 points - (his height is not measured by sample size) - to .263. But Stanton needn't worry; he's paid for life. All the other Yankees, by what happened last night, enriched themselves and their families. 

Trouble is, the day after a laugher, we face the realization that:

a) it was just one game 
b) we must play again tonight
c) by tacking on those four late runs, we might have kicked a hornets' nest in the Jays clubhouse. 

Still, a blowout... a feast, a gusher, a wipe-out, a yawner, a snoozer - help me, Mr. Roget - a whupping, a thrashing, a shellacking, a drubbing, a thumping, a throttling... yes, a luxurious four-hour trip to the Orgasmatorium, for emotional and physical self-enlightenment.  

Today, the Yankees stand a half-game ahead of Toronto/Buffalo, and - for now, anyway - the fifth seeded team in the AL. A week ago, we stood three games behind the Jays and looked ready for the glue factory.

Tonight, Aaron Judge could join the team. Gerrit Cole will pitch. The bullpen is rested. The beer should be cold, the hot tub at 103. There is no excuse, unless we are simply weak-kneed from all our self-pleasurement. Don't expect a laugher. But now is the time to beat them by one, to steal a thriller. Because if anything beats a blowout, it's a walk-off. 

Is this the face of the man who will make the Yankees great again?

 By HoraceClarke66

Well, we can dream, can't we?  That all the ill-gotten loot this Wall Street rapscallion has

made over the years will be pumped into his late-life dream project, your New York Mets.

Thereby forcing Hal and Family into meeting the challenge, lest the Yankees be 

overshadowed and profits drop so low so as to threaten the wealth of every Steinbrenner

in the 25th millennium...

Some of us had similar hopes for this couple a crazy kids when they first pried the Flushing 

Folderols from the dead hands of Joan Payson:

Little did we know that Nelson Doubleday was only about as interested in baseball as his

illustrious ancestor, or that Fred Wilpon and Saul Katz were just another pair of Long Island

real estate grifters, off to wreck the world.  

If any remaining proof of that was still needed, it was provided in today's Times, which noted 

that Wilpon was still claiming he had lost a fortune to Bernie Madoff and that the Mets were 

losing millions over the last few years.  

Neither of those claims are true.  Wilpon and Katz leveraged Bernie's pyramid scheme to

take over the Mets and build fortunes for themselves, and it is mathematically impossible

to lose money in baseball today.

But I digress.

For those of us who dreamed that Mad George would finally be forced to get a grip, and hire

and keep real baseball men to run his team, now that the Mets finally offered some serious 

competition...well it didn't quite work out that way.  What looked like a Mets dynasty for the 

ages dropped behind a distance outfield fence along with Mike Scioscia's 1988 home run in the

playoffs off Doc Gooden.

When Jeff "Fredo" Wilpon, the Jimmy Dolan of baseball, was then placed in charge of, well, 

anything, it was the last straw.  And now, after winning all of one (1) World Series ring over the course 

of thirty years, the Wilpon family is bowing out, having failed to force George and ilk to up their

game by one iota.

Oh, well.  Maybe Cohen will fare better, and force the Yanks to really compete.  You never can

tell, as Andy Williams once lip-synced for Lauren Bacall.  But somehow, I doubt if it will 

work out.  These are, after all, the Mets.

Virtual Baseball: When It Rains, It Pours! Morton, Usual Suspects Knock Yanks from First!

By HoraceClarke66

Virtual Yankees nemesis Charlie Morton, despite a difficult year that has seen his ERA

approach Dow Jones levels, managed to shut down the Yanks for five innings last night,

and the usual Tampa Bay array of eight relievers finished the job, as Tampa Bay knocked

off the Yankees again, 3-2, to move into sole possession of virtual first place in the

American League East.

Morton was in trouble early on, but a spectacular diving catch in center by Kevin Kiermaier off

Gary Sanchez, followed by a tremendous peg home—from his knees—that just nipped Clint

Frazier at the plate, pulled him out of a bases-loaded jam at Tampa's Chernobyl Dome.  

Frazier, who had forgotten to slide, told reporters, "I was going for home, when I suddenly

remembered my cats' names again!  You'd think Fluffy and Furrball wouldn't be so hard, but

there ya go.  I was so astonished that I forgot all about sliding.  Well, at least now that I know

their names again, I can get them to obey my every command."

Masahiro Tanaka pitched a gutty seven innings for the Yanks—gutty being the only kind of

game he does pitch—but an early home run by Kiermaier and a late one by Marcel Brosseau

put paid to his effort.  

Brosseau did raise some eyebrows by running around the bases 

backwards, waving a small American flag above his head, turning cartwheels down the 

third base line, and sticking his tongue out at the Yanks the entire time.  But Commissioner

Rob Manfredmann called it, "Just good, clean highjinks."

The Yankees clubhouse appeared somber or even depressed after the game.  In the Kars for

Kats Radio Booth, beloved Yankees announcer Suzyn Waldman could be heard gently 

singing, "Where have you gone, GIancarlo?  The Yankees turn their lonely eyes to you..."

At which point Clyde Frazier chimed in, "Woo-woo-woo."

Virtual Baseball: Battle of the Titans! Cole Comes Out Dealing, But Rays Release the Kraken (Blake Snell)!

From the bat of HoraceClarke66...

In the first game of a virtually epic, three-game battle for first in the virtual American League East, a capacity crowd of 48,000 Yankees fans in Tampa Bay's Thunderdome turned out to see a pitching duel for the ages.

The Cole Train was firing all boilers tonight, as the Yanks' big ticket starter struck out 12 Baymen, and allowed only two hits and a walk.  But Blake Snell, "The Kraken of Tampa Bay," was just a little bit better, blanking the Yanks on three hits for a 1-0 victory that pulled "the Parking Lots by the Bay" back into a tie for first.

The only run of the game scored when Ji-Man "The He-Man" Choi led off the seventh inning with a bunt that caught the Yankees off-guard, then raced for second on the next pitch with all the grace of a wounded hippopotamus.  Choi should have been caught dead to rights, but catcher Gary Sanchez's throw sailed into centerfield, and instead he rolled on into third.  

The very next pitch, a slider from Cole, got past the Sanchise, allowing Choi to thunder home with what proved to be the winner.  After the game, manager Ma Boone dismissed worries about the division title race, but did express concern over Sanchez.

"He's been such a key element for us all year," Boone said.  "Thirty-six homers, more than any other catcher in baseball.  The way his arm has come back this year, all the runners he's gunned down.  The obvious improvement in blocking low pitches and his 

first-rate pitch framing—you can't argue with the job he's done to turn things around."

But in recent days, Sanchez has been slumping both at the plate and in the field, his batting average dropping to a mere .288, the lowest it's been all season.

"It is concernful," said Boone.  "I just don't know how we can win it all without Gary Sanchez."

Tonight, Deivi Garcia faces an MLB team for the second time; is he our October Surprise?

Breaking News: There might be life on Venus! 

Somewhere out there, in the dense Venusian atmosphere, microbes might be cruising the clouds, looking to hookup within their alien ecosystem. (Yankee connection ahead; wait for it.) An entire planet, long believed dead, could in fact be the home to teething, unimaginable life forms that will someday reconfigure our view of the universe, of God, of humanity, of destiny - (I swear it's coming) - in the way that Deivi Garcia has remade our view of October.

Last week, "Li'l Pedro" threw a mini-masterpiece against the Toronto Blue Jays of Buffalo. He pitched 7, surrendered 2, won our only game and treated those Tonawandans like the faux Canadians that they are. 

Ever since, across the Yankiverse, Garcia has taken on the aura of our long anticipated October Surprise. Could he be the short-season pitching version of Shane Spencer? Could 2020, the most miserable year on record, someday be remembered for the deathly pandemic, massive wildfires, wicked hurricanes and the sweetly enjoyable emergence of Deivi Garcia?

Tonight, we might just learn. The Jays will see Garcia for their second time. They will know that he pitches deliberately: two out of his every three first pitches are strikes. They will know that lefty batters do better than righties - a 3.38 ERA, rather than 2.79. They will know his pitches, his moves, his devilish grin... having seen them all before.

But here's the thing: Garcia will know that they know. 

Thus, maybe he'll alter his pitches in a way that turns their expectations against them.

Then again, they might expect him to change, and refuse to bite on his anticipated alterations, which - (stay with me) - could allow him to pitch the same as before, which nobody would expect. I mean, it would be inconceivable!  

Around now each September, fans have a tendency to proclaim every series as "the most important of the season." There is a small crap of truth to it. If, say, the Yanks blow all three - in front of their home fake fans - it would be a legitimate, steel-booted kick to their nuts. If we win three, the Jays would limp from NYC in third place, chasing a wild card. 

But none of this might matter. The playoffs will happen without screaming fans and, later, inside a neutral "bubble" site, expected to be Texas. Thus, the entire 60-game season served merely to winnow out the most wretched teams and the self-tankers, such as Boston. 

Frankly, this week's three-game set means little. Both teams should make the playoffs, and from there, who knows?

But tonight - ah, tonight - we will get our first true glimpse of what Deivi Garcia could mean to October. If he gets whacked, well, maybe J.A. Happ becomes Plan B. But if he succeeds, the Yankees would suddenly look quite scary. Aaron Judge, Giancarlo Stanton and Gio Ursela should soon return - Ursela maybe tonight - remaking the traveling train wreck that recently went 5-15.

And we might even have an October surprise. A Venus fly trap?

Virtual Baseball: Yanks Drop Another to Jays, Lead Shrinks to a Single Game!

By HoraceClarke66 

The exciting virtual rookie Clarke Schmidt was a surprise starter against Toronto today at Yankee Stadium III—and to the chagrin of the capacity crowd was quickly belted around by the tree-dwelling team, as the Jays glided to a 10-4 win.

"The Gene Team" romped, as Vlad, Jr., Lourdes Gurriel, Jr., Cavan Biggio, and Bo Bichette all homered, in a win for the new generation.  Meanwhile, Hyun Jin Ryu was touched up early on for a grand-slam homer by Gleyber "El Conquistador" Torres, but otherwise shut down the Yanks for his seven innings of work.  

The loss dropped the Yanks' lead over the second-place TB Rays to just one slim game, with three games against Tampa Bay about to begin.

"Don't worry," Ma Boone assured the New York media.  "We got this."

Trouble in Paradise? The Yankees have no place for Giancarlo Stanton

Supposedly - let's agree to believe it when we see it - Giancarlo Stanton and Aaron Judge will return this weekend for a Fenway frat house trifecta against the last place, surgically tanking Redsocks. 

Theoretically, our two beloved behemoths - their state fair-sized, tightly tuned and highly financed leg muscles having healed - will be ready and raring to go, having played simulated games in Joe Biden's Scranton.

Remember: We'll believe this when we see it.

The addition of Judge and Gio will give the Yankees seven (7) outfielders. The lucky number, one OF for each day of the week: If you're scoring at home, that's Judge, Stanton, Hicks, Gardy, Tauchman, Frazier and Andujar, and we won't count Tyler Wade, who can also patrol the pasture. How they'll all fit is 2020's final Cashmanic paradox, or riddle of the Yankee Sphinx. 

For now, let's go with what we know. If Judge is healthy - we'll believe it when, aw, you know - he will play RF, where he is entrenched and, frankly, deserves a Gold Glove. For better or worse, Aaron Hicks will probably stay in center, though he looks better coming off the bus than striding to the plate. And then there is left field - an enigma of hope and mixed opportunities. 

At this point, I'd like to indulge a personal bias: I want Clint Frazier in left. He's hitting .280 with 5 HRs. His hits have come in big situations. He hustles; yesterday, his perfect slide into home gave us a huge two-run cushion. Plus, his backstory - losing a year to concussions, being mocked for faulty fielding, persevering through the farm system - makes him one of those rare players - a Pinella or an O'Neill - who might become a lifelong Yankee, even though he started elsewhere. We've watched him evolve. This is my hunt for Red October. (That's a joke. Sorry.)

Will he get the shot? Maybe.

It's hard to imagine Stanton patrolling left. Too much leg stress. He'll probably move into the DH slot, deleting Gary Sanchez's miserable extra at-bats, and endangering Miguel Andujar. Stanton's numbers - frozen since his injury - had been solid: .293 with 3 HRs in 41 at bats. Trouble is, Andujar has finally heated up (.375 this month.) He entered September at .156; he's now .242. How do you sit an emerging talent like that? 

Tauchman seems to have fallen back to earth. Still, he's an excellent fielder, steals bases and hits LH. Same with Gardy. One of them may have to go. And everything becomes more complicated if Luke Voit's foot forces him into a DH role. How could you sit the Yankees' best power threat this season? 

Well, I dunno. Starting tomorrow, we play three against Toronto. Judge and Stanton will watch from the stands. For the seven-man Yankee outfield, these three games will be a case of musical chairs. Friday or Saturday, the music will stop, and maybe two of the seats will disappear. In the meantime, here's where everything stands:

 

Virtual Baseball: BJ's Stun Yanks at Canadian Biodome. Mets Move a Game Up on Atlanta!

By HoraceClarke66

Despite a virtual stellar effort from Jordan Montgomery today in Toronto's glorified hotel, the Yanks managed to drop a game to the Blue Jays.  The big blow...was not a blow at all, but a steal of home by the Jays' Sunday Beer League slugger, Rowdy Randy Tellez, whose bold move so startled Yankees catcher Gary Sanchez that he let first the ball and then the 255-pound Tellez to slip between his legs.

The steal came against Yankees reliever Adam Ottavino, who has become notorious for his inability to keep anyone from stealing.  After the game, in fact, Ottavino reported to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police that his comb, five dollars, and two sticks of chewing gum had been stolen from his pocket while he was on the mound.

Rowdy's steal, and a pair of solo home runs by Vlad, Jr., negated a fine effort by Monty, who fanned 12 in six innings of work, and homers by Luke Voit and D.J. LeMahieu.  The Bombers' lead over Tampa Bay was reduced to 2 games, with 14 still to play.

Meanwhile, across town in Queens, the New York Mets, led by centerfielder Brett Gardner, who has been hitting .387 since coming over to the National League, won yet again, to move into sole possession of first place.  

Gardner has been joined in leading the Mets' risorgimento by former Yankees Robinson Cano—now closing in on the National League batting title—and bullpen aces Chasen Shreve and Justin Wilson.  

"We're going to win it all.  There's no way we're going to wear penises on our shirts," Gardner told the press afterwards, referring to the promise made by Mets owner Jeff Bezos not to force the team into uniforms bearing the distinctive Amazon logo, if they win the World Series.

After 46 games, the Yankees are exactly where you might expect: In mid-to-late May form

We've won four straight, after losing eight of nine. Our once marque catcher is hitting .125. We await the return of key players. Yeah, Yosemite is shaking, the West Coast is on fire, no-name weather systems are churning in the Gulf of Mexico, and if the world just survives 2020, it should consider itself lucky. 

But let's not forget: In the real time chronology of the Yankees, this isn't a true September. It's on or about May 24, the 19th day of Ramadan, National Brothers Day, a day when Ecuadorians remember the battle of Pinchincha, great name for a salsa band. And in this true timeline, the normal pennant race would merely be warming. 

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I direct your attention to Mr. Brett Gardner, seated in the corner, banging his bat on the courtroom ceiling. Thank you Mr. Gardner, you may sit down. This season, the beloved, hairless man known as "Gardy" has achieved exactly 18 hits in 100 at bats, for a paltry batting average of .180. Time for him to retire you say? I see several of you nodding. 

But but BUT... show the charts, Miss Bixley... if Mr. Gardner here were to go 4-for-4 tomorrow, his average would rise 31 points. Thirty one points! Can you believe it? We're sitting in mid-September, the season is winding down, and if Mr. Gardner here - you may stop banging the ceiling, please - goes four for four, he would be hitting .211. And then, if he goes four for four again - thank you Miss Bixley, you may sit down - then, the following day, he would be hitting - please stop banging the ceiling, sir - he would be hitting .240, two-forty, which for the Yankees is Rod Carew territory. PLEASE STOP! Excuse me. Where were we?

Wait. Someone mentioned Mr. Gary Sanchez, the Yankees' official 2020 Whipping Mule. If Gary goes four for four today, his average will jump by 25 points. Yes, I understand it will still be terrible. But even though it's September, we're seeing situations where every single base hit can bump a batting average by six to eight points. In one week, a hitter can go from a horror show to respectability. One week.

The pandemic shutdown has forced September judgments onto May timelines. As  the regular season ticks down, we see streaky players being cruelly defined by slow starts or routine slumps. Meanwhile, we must wonder if our saviors - for example, Luke Voit - could stay hot through July-August. (Certainly, if this were really May, Voit would have gone on the IL by now, so his bad foot could heal for summer. Instead, he's playing through it. There is no more time for injuries.)

Through the first 30 games, Gleyber Torres looked awful. Yesterday, he was batting .253. A four-for-four today, and he'd hit a respectable .282. 

I know what you're thinking: Jeeze, Dookie, weren't you the one who just last week was screaming bloody murder? WTF? You called for a winter tear down! I come to this site for a dose of doom and gloom. Now, look at what you've become: You're shilling for Gary Sanchez? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOU? WHAT DO THEY HAVE ON YOU? WHO GOT TO YOU? WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?

What happened? I'll tell you what happened. Four in a row, baby. Four in a fucking row. The Yankees needed a winning streak, and they got one. Maybe it was just playing Baltimore. Or maybe it's just the vagaries of real time in late May. But every spring, the Yankees blow cold for a week or two. Then they heat up.  

What's next? Who knows? But I do like the idea of playing Tampa in a best-of-three, right off the bat. The Rays have owned us all year, but it's hard to continually dominate a good team, and in their hearts, the Rays surely know this. The question: Are the Yankees a good team? Four in a row, baby. Hottest team in the AL. Today, make it five, and we could be the hottest in baseball. So long, Baltimore. Next up, the Blue Jays of Tonawanda. 

Virtual Baseball: Yanks Bash Blue Jays, Extend Lead. Russian Bear Market Stabilizes.

 (Posted on behalf of HoraceClarke66)

Even a Domingo German start could not slow down the red-hot Yankees, as they crushed Toronto, 13-4, to widen their lead over the TB Rays to three games. 

German was hit hard early, but managed to stay in the game, as the Yankees' bats broke loose again.  While German fell behind by 3-1 in the second inning, home runs by Gleyber Torres, Aaron Judge, and (two! by) Luke Voit, powered the team to yet another win.  

The Yanks are now 101-46, with just 15 left to play and a 3-game lead over the Rays.  As general manager Brain Cashman said yet again, "What can POSSIBLY go wrong?  Why, I outright defy all of the juju gods that exist—and I doubt their existence!—to do anything to stop us.  They can't do it, they can't do it!"

Meanwhile, the Red Bear market stabilized at around 36,000 today, leading President Trump to announce, "Hey, that clinches it!  I'll win re-election easy now.  It's over.  It's over.  What could possibly go wrong?"

Voit hobbles his way into a leadership position on the Yankees

These days, those aren't "boos" you're not hearing from Yankee Stadium's phantom fans. It's the nonexistent-chorus of "LUUUUKE," which is what we'd be hearing in normal times. The pandemic has conspired to deny Luke Voit what should have been the greatest future memories of his career: Being feted by a delirious Yankee Stadium crowd.

Last night, in a regular Yankiverse - a long, long time ago, and far, far away - after hitting his second three-run HR, Voit would have been pushed from the dugout, cap in the air, blushing a tomato, as 55,000 nut-jobs verbally elongated his name. Instead, some stoner in a sound booth jimmied up the cheer knob, producing noise that, by now, even sounds phony on the radio. Fake cheers for fake games. 

I get it that MLB wants to project a semblance of real games before actual, nachos-eating people, and the fake crowd noise worked... for a while. But these days, the excitement comes in the shouts of teammates, and that Memorex-induced roar just gets in the way.

But that's not why I'm mentioning Luke. 

If you watched last night's home run trots - (btw, he is now tied for the MLB lead with 16) - you saw him hobbling, slightly but noticably. The first thought, "Uh-oh, another one." But then you realized that, no, he's got a bum hind-paw, but he's playing through it. 

What a concept: Playing through an injury.

Then you remember those who have witnessed most of 2020 from the hot tub. 

It's easy to draw a vicious red line between Voit and - ahem - those who will remain nameless - wait, no, fukkit: their names are Judge, Stanton and Paxton - and ask why one guy is hobbling while the others are reading The New Yorker. Look: I'm not here to judge. Every injury is different, and strained muscles - especially when they are the size of small children - certainly suck. For all the missing time, nobody to my knowledge has suggested that any of the currently Yankees are faking it. In fact, the saddest player of the last 20 years has to be Jacoby Ellsbury, and for all his money, I wouldn't wish his nonstop train of injuries on anybody. 

Still, make no mistake: If the Yankees make the playoffs with a newly healed lineup, the heart of our batting order should remain the gimp at first. 

And if it turns out that Luke's bad foot keeps him from playing first base, well, old Giancarlo better fucking learn to play LF, or he should spend October in the Scranton complex. (If Clint Frazier keeps hitting, I'm not sure we have a place for Stanton anyway.) 

They used to say that a player is never supposed to lose his job because of an injury. Well, that was a Yankiverse long, long ago and far, far away - in front of real crowds instead of cardboard pop-ups. 

The 2020 Yankees have found their leader, and one day, we will properly shout his name: Luuuuuuuuke.

How It's Gonna Work......

News flash......dateline, MLB Commissioner suite at the Ritz Carleton Hotel, Paris, France.......

If teams do not have 60 games completed by September 30, due to inclement weather or inclement health, the following will occur during the final week of the regular season:

Innings become games !  They shall be called, Big Innings.

As an example; if the Yankees need 9 games to finish their year, they will have " Big Innings " scheduled with other teams also lacking completion. 

Each Big Inning will count as a game.

So a 9 inning game could make up, in theory, nine missing games.  Winner take all.  Big Inning by Big Inning.

If no winner is declared after each team has three outs ( eg it is a tie after one Big Inning ),  the " extra " inning starts with the bases loaded, and the manager can select whomever he wishes to be the batter. Said batter may hit as often as desired. And you can change batters, at will, as well.

 DJ Le Mahieu, for example,  could stay up until he can no longer swing, or their are three outs, whichever comes first.

Or Gary Sanchez could. 

Or Tyler Wade.

Anyway, this is official. No shit. 

"It’s an unconventional season, so unconventional things are happening. I’ll say this — I think the last two weeks of the season bodes well for them because they should be at full strength."

 Buck Showalter tells all. 

The Yankee rotation in a three-game playoff just became simpler and - yes - more complicated

Today's Daily Death Star reports that - gasp! - James "Big Maple" Paxton, our eternally rehabbing No. 2 starter, has a newly barking wing and, thus, has been shut down. So much for Trump's hope that Pax could pitch by Election Day. 

So, in case you're scoring at home... Justus Sheffield, the lefty we gave up for Paxton two years ago, is 2-3 this season in seven starts, with an ERA of 4.34. That's better than J.A. Happ, Jordan Montgomery, Michael King, Clarke Schmidt and - of course! - Big Maple. In May, Sheffield turned 24. Remember how we congratulated ourselves last year, when Sheffield needed extra seasoning? We had bamboozled them dumb, stupid Mariners and practically done stole ourselves a pennant, we did! We are fukkin smart goobers, we are! 

Insert sigh. Once again, we experience the Skinner Box electric shock, reminding us of the pitfalls of trading young for old, especially shoulders and elbows. Oh well... this fall, when you visit Kenosha, Portland or Rochester - or whatever lucky next city makes the shit list - join in as protesters chant about the Yankee plight: "No Justus, no peace! No Justus, no peace!" Bring your can of soup.

Okay, I know what you're thinking: "Duque, you can't count Paxton out of the playoffs. He might return." Yeah, and Mitch McConnell might get laid. Listen: The First Rule of all Yankee injury announcements is to triple the rehab time. Imagine Randy Levine as Trump - the hair-plugs nearly match - as he claims nothing is wrong, and the player will return by Easter Sunday. If Trump/Levine says a week, expect a month. If he says a month, make it six. Big Maple is Yankee history, folks. And we are the saps.

So, in a three-game playoff, here is our likely rotation:

1. Gerrit Cole. No-brainer. His entire first Yankee year - maybe his Yankee career - will be judged on what he does in Game One. This could change if Cole must pitch, say, the final weekend of the regular season, to secure a playoff birth. If that happens, abandon hope. This is Cole's Judgement Day.  

2. Masahiro Tanaka, who is a) our certified No. 2, b) sort of our big game pitcher and c) probably a loss. Which sets up...

3. Deivi Garcia, the latest Li'l Pedro to roll out of the Yankee publicity assembly line. This, of course, is to pile incredible pressure - dangerous pressure - on a 21-year-old. By Oct. 1, he would maybe have maybe MLB six starts under his belt, still be going once through the league. The stuff of legend? Or could we destroy him? 

Probably doesn't matter. By game three, Boone will have tried every bullpen lug nut, searching for the hot hand. Happ or Montgomery will always be warming.  The season will probably boil down to which Green shows up: Mean Chad Green, or Lean Cuisine Chad Green? 

Wait, you think it's folly to project the playoffs, when we could still crumble? No worries. As you can see, MLB is on the verge of granting a post-season birth to cheating Houston, still a game below .500. The bar has never been lower for a losing team to steal a ring and embarrass the game of baseball forever. 

It would be vintage 2020, eh? 

No Justus, no peace. No Justus, no peace...

Oh, and one last thing: 

Rest in peace, Diana Rigg. 

Mrs. Peel, you are needed... still.

Virtual Baseball: Yanks Rise, Stocks Sink!

 J.A. Happ turned in...well, enough of an effort to get by, as the virtual New York Yankees continued their utter dominance over Boston this season, with a 14-7 throttling of the Carmine Hose. 

Despite Happ's desultory six innings, home runs by Gleyber Torres, Miguel Andujar, Aaron Hicks, and Thairo Estrada drove the Yanks to a win so one-sided it even had Yankees fans yawning in their extortionately overpriced seats at Stadium III.

The mood was considerably different down on Wall Street, where the Red Bear Market once again had traders scrambling under their desks for shelter.  The Dow plunged back down to 38,000, as all the world markets wondered what was a solid investment and what was just a dodgy Russian fraud.

President Trump was uncharacteristically quiet, as polls showed Joe Biden's support shooting up to 25 percent.  Inside sources at the White House did report that, oddly, Mr. Trump was apparently practicing snorkeling in the executive mansion pool.

Happy Dyngus Day! Another Fun Buffalo Fact!

 By HoraceClarke66

 

As our boys leave Buffalo for the first and last time, tails tucked firmly between legs, it is time to look at yet another charming feature of the Empire State's second largest city.  That is, the old Buffalo Central Terminal, seen here today looking like a hallucination on a prairie, or a set in a post-apocalyptic movie:

It sort of looms grimly over the existing Amtrak lines as you approach and leave Buffalo.  But the train doesn't stop there anymore.  

Trains are another one of those things Buffalo failed to master, back in the days when it was the City of Light and another bustling port on the Great Lakes, its docks filling up with the steamers owned by the Steinbrenner in-laws who were about to die in a freak shipwreck and leave everything to the Luckiest Family What Ever Was.  

As early as 1889 the good burghers of Buffalo, like good burghers everywhere in the U.S. of A., were saying why don't we consolidate all the miserable little, separate train stations around town into one big "union" station, and make it an architectural marvel at the same time?  (Americans used to do stuff like that back then.)

As Buffalo would have it, though, the city stalled and debated, and didn't get around to finally building its station until 1929.  But hey, things were still booming.  In fact, they were going so well that the good burghers decided to build the new station NOT downtown but 2 1/2 miles away, sure that booming Buffalo would grow into it.  

(What makes me think a Steinbrenner had something to do with that decision?)

What's more, they didn't exactly get one of the premier train station architects that in those days were roaming around the country in greater numbers than Yankees relievers.  But still, they managed to put up a station that served 200 trains a day, including maybe the greatest train ever, the 20th Century Ltd., making the water level route from NYC to Chicago in just 16 hours.  

At its best, Buffalo Central looked something like this planned restoration:

Well, that's pretty cool, right?  And what could go wrong?  In 1929?

Anyhoo, in 1979 Amtrak abandons the station, just as it does the great stations all over the country to save money and because of our inability to make incredibly small technological adjustments in rail, power, etc. 

Instead, Amtrak starts building what "foamers"—train enthusiasts, so nicknamed by the Amtrak staff that despises them and depends on them for their jobs—call "Amshaks," lousy little stations closer to downtown.  

Even though the roof actually caves in at the Buffalo Amshak in 2016, still nobody will shell out for reviving the Central Terminal, which continues to rot away.

Hey, don't laugh.  In our own city we tore down maybe the greatest train station ever built nearly 60 years ago, and have yet to build anything beyond a nice tax break for the Dolans.

There HAVE been thoughts of maybe restoring/making Buffalo's over into a popular array of shops, businesses, museums, and even a commuter train station, just as the burghers of Cincinnati—

and Cleveland—

—managed in their burgs.  But no can do.  Due to various reasons having to do with how government works in New York State and our general, technological regression as a people, some 15 years of restoration work have succeeded mainly in bringing back the station's clock:

But hey:  unlike with the Yankees, all is NOT lost.  

Buffalo has managed to hold various public celebrations and festivals out there, including the 2007 Dyngus Day festival.

What IS Dyngus Day? I hear you ask.  

Well, according to wikipedia, Smigus-dyngus is a traditional Polish holiday, celebrated on Easter Monday:  "The festival is traditionally celebrated by boys throwing water over girls they like and spanking them with pussy willows."

Which, coincidentally, is sort of what happened to the Yanks in Buffalo this week.

 

Happy Smigus-dyngus!

Eternal hope? Thy name is Gleyber

Once upon a time, the mighty New York fucking Yankees were always led by their shining star in CF: Joltin' Joe, The Mick, Mick the Quick, Bernie, even Johnny Damon, for a blip in time. If you wanted to gauge hope with the Yankiverse, you looked at CF. "Put me in coach," John Fogerty sang in 1984, the year that Omar Moreno patrolled our sacred ground. Even with Omar the Out-Maker, we could close our eyes and know Fogerty was singing to us. 

In this millennium, the Yankee CF buffet turned into a salad bar, thanks to what I call "Aaron Hicks & his Hot Licks." We've endured - (if you're squeamish, look away) - Melky Cabrera, Curtis Granderson, Bubba Trammell, Jacoby Whazzizzname, even - gulp - last night's keeper of the key: Gardy, himself. 

It's been a toxic wasteland, which is why the Yankees are shamelessly promoting Jasson Dominquez, the 17-year-old bonus baby they're comparing to Mickey Mantle and Mike Trout - a kiss of death for any prospect. They call him "The Martian," because - aw, damned if I know - but let's be honest here: With that kind of ink, he can never meet expectations. Another Jackson Melian? Another Jose Tabata? To quote Bill: It just doesn't matter. IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER. 

So... CF? Let's dismiss the abyss. That ship has sailed. For the last quarter century, the Yankees have been led by their shortstop. It began with Jeet, who begot Sir Didi, who has now turned over the sacred chalice to Mr. Gleyber Torres. (Not without issues, though: "Like a good Gleyber, Torres is there..." the worst John Sterling call in history?) Make no mistake about the importance of Aaron Judge, DJ LeMahieu or even Gerrit Cole: The Yankee future hinges on whether Gleyber can hit and play SS simultaneously. 

Thus far in 2020, the lost time colony or Roanoke, he has not. 

But but BUT... last night, he did. 

Gleyber went 2-4, raising his paltry average to .234, with his 2nd HR of the season. Later, he doubled-in in two runners with two outs - something the Yankees haven't bothered to do this year. He fanned once, because - hey - on this team, everybody fans once. (But wait... Gary Sanchez did not strike out last night! He's on a roll!)

Today, we wonder if last night's Gleyber is truly here, or it was just a cat turd mirage on the welcome mat of our psyche. Let's not forget: Torres is 23, three years from peak foliage, and last year, he whacked 38 HRs with a .278 average. Those are MVP stats. He is destined to bat second, because he's better than Judge and certainly more tread-worthy. He is the central cog in the Yankiverse, and best of all, he replaces either Tyler Wade or Thairo Estrada, two lingering disappointments, who must always bat ninth.

Last night, Gleyber's hits produced what might be the season's most important victory. Of course, we can say that about any win. This weekend against Baltimore is critical; so could be the final weekend of the season, against the miserable Redsocks. The Yankees have been a horror show since the Subway Series was ditched due to flu and rain, and rescheduled as a bunch of seven-inning pot luck suppers.

If Gleyber hits, we have a chance. Because the juju gods might be reading, and we don't need another popped gonad, that's all I'm gonna say.

  

Virtual Baseball: Yanks, Tanaka, Back Up and Run Over Sox Again! Lead Up to Two Games!

 By HoraceClarke66

Virtual Masahiro Tanaka did not have his best virtual stuff today, surrendering 3 runs in the first inning.  But it was more than enough for his virtual teammates to hang an 11-4 loss around the necks of the Beantowners.

Home runs from D.J. LeMahieu, Aaron Hicks, and Miguel Andujar, and a grand slam from Gleyber Torres salamied the BoSox to another humiliating loss at Yankee Stadium III, and pushed the Bombers' lead over the TB Rays to two whole games—the Yanks' biggest margin of the season.

Even the luxury boxes were rocking tonight, due no doubt in good part to an unexpected rally on the Street led by "mystery buyers" that shot the Dow back up over 40,000.  

A reassured President Donald Trump issued a statement saying that this was all due to the tenacity and brilliance of the American people.  He also ordered Attorney Slave/General William Barr to look into whether the Constitution contained any provisions allowing him to declare himself the King of Everything—or if that was just a song lyric.

Baseball Activites Almost In Full Swing

I don't understand all the consternation. 

 Our "A" team players are all getting close to ready again:

- Judge was seen hitting plastic  balls off a tee in Yankee stadium on Tuesday afternoon.

- Stanton was seen jogging the bases on Monday morning, before hitting the ice tub.  He'll do it again on Sunday.

- Saxton was seen throwing large round ( brightly colored ) hoops off level ground, this morning, after a hearty breakfast of steak and eggs. 

-  Urshela has been wearing a damp warm towel on his elbow every day from 1:00pm to 1:45pm.  I have it on inside information that said warm towel will be applied to his throwing arm, as soon as this week.

Meanwhile, in Buffalo, you will today experience the time-delay effect of the Cashman locker room speech.

We are back.  It is Devei Day.

Have no fear.

Relax, Yankee fans: We can either steal this year or embrace the collapse

The iconic scene in Meatballs, Bill Murray's 1979 one-man movie, comes when he rallies the future computer nerds of Camp North Star with the chant, "IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER! IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER!" And whenever life goes blooey - when the songbird craps your windshield, when the PBS fund-raiser pre-empts Ken Burns' 10-part salute to potatoes, when the Yankees slip below .500 - I relive that epic moment: It just doesn't matter. Because - pssst, pass it along - it doesn't.

Today, as the Death Star wobbles in orbit, let us breathe deeply, congratulate ourselves for surviving this wretched year, and celebrate - yeah, celebrate - the 2020 baseball season. 

Two months ago, I'd have bet the chicken coop that, by now, this season would have collapsed into a round-robin of the few cities still fielding a lineup. But here we are, watching an authentic Yankee collapse, just like the other great meltdowns that have punctuated this new millennium. And it didn't even take 162 games.  

So, buckle up. Seems to me, Yank fans have two paths ahead, and both can be quite enjoyable, if we achieve the proper mindset. With two weeks left in the regular season, here are the roads:

1. We steal the election season. This preferred option is simple and oh-sooo delicious. Here's what happens: We troll the league at .500, as we have done, until Stanton, Judge, Urshela, Paxton et al return, and the others awaken. We snag the final playoff spot in the AL. That means a three-game series against Tampa or Oakland, the best teams out there, with a fresh lineup, and when they are most vulnerable. With no fans in the stands, the home field advantage means nothing. We run the playoffs and steal the season. As villains go, we'd be just a notch below Houston, cheating with their garbage cans. Can you imagine how pissed off the rest of baseball would be? Ahhh... Calgon Bath Oil Beads, take me away!

2. We embrace the meltdown. Why not? It's been a-comin' for a while. We've watched the Yankees evolve into a string of tiresome, homer-happy whiffers, who cannot solve an over-shift or bunt a runner to second. A complete collapse would clean out the stables, from top to bottom. And who cares? The 2020 and maybe 2021 seasons will be remembered in the way we now see baseball during World War II, when stars like Ted Williams, Hank Greenberg and Joe DiMaggio joined the service, and the number of minor leagues collapsed from 44 to 12. 

When this pandemic ends, assuming we're here to monitor it - (hey, let's make a pact to do just that) - baseball will be vastly changed in ways that we cannot yet know. You can't predict baseball, Suzyn. But here's one: Gary Sanchez will no longer catch for the Yankees. 

So, oh, no, the sky is falling! We're collapsing, eh? Well, bring it on. You know what I say? It. Just. Doesn't. Matter. And, in fact, it could still be fun.

I'm Going to Miss Ma Boone When Cashman Comes for His Head.

Sure, he's not really a manager at all (How's that trip to Buffalo going, Bri?  Amazed your pep talk tonight didn't turn the team around?).

But he's trying so danged hard!  You just gotta love what he told the press yesterday about the possible return of the Judge and Giancarlo Show this season:

"I don't have a timetable on you, but I do feel like we're inching closer to starting to get really ramped up."

Wow.  Let's parse that for a moment, shall we?  Unless I have miscounted, I think we're talking 7 caveats in a 22-word sentence:

—"I don't have a timetable on you":  What he really means to say is, "for you," but unconsciously, yes, he's saying, "It's on you, scribes, asking me something you know is unanswerable."  And of course, there is no timetable.  That train been gone a long time.

—"but I do feel":  "Feel," not know.

—"like":  He doesn't definitely "feel," but it's like a feeling.

—"we're inching":  Suddenly, it's not even about the actual Judge and Stanton anymore, but all of us together.  And we're only inching, moving oh-so-slowly.

—"closer":  We're not there.  But we're closer.  By inches.

—"to starting":  So, we're getting very slowly closer to starting.  Wow, that is slow.  We're really not even close to starting yet.

—"to get really ramped up":  Mind you, not to necessarily get to a point where Judge and Stanton are actually back on the field yet, but to get to where their rehab might be ramped up.

In other words, Ma hasn't really been told anything, but he's got this crazy optimistic feeling that—who knows?—pretty soon, well, maybe they'll really get into getting better.

Bottom line:  The Twin Towers are inching toward 2021.  Maybe.

Virtual Baseball: Cole Train Hits the Express Track, Pathetic Sox Tied to Rails! New York Back in First!

In virtual baseball tonight, the Yanks and Gerrit Cole chugged right through the festering Dead Sox, as the Yanks steamrolled Boston, 12-0. Cole picked up his league-leading, fourth complete game of the season, even though manager Ma Boone had pledged to limit his innings as much as possible this September. Nonetheless, in striking out only 4, Cole was able to pitch the entire game with just 76 pitches. "It was something Giancarlo taught me, something called, 'Pitch to contact,' that he said was an ancient Hopi Indian concept," Cole told reporters afterwards. "Boy, I miss that guy! He was truly a man of knowledge." Home runs by Clint Frazier, Miguel Andujar, Gleyber Torres, and Aaron Judge blasted the Yankees back into first place, a game ahead of the Tampa Bay Ray-Rays. Yet for all the festive atmosphere in the upper decks of a packed Stadium III, the game was overshadowed in the luxury seats by the fact that the stock market dropped another 9,000 points today, finishing at just 36,000, as "the Red Bear" continued to run amok on Wall Street. Some Yankees' luxury box magnates were so overcome with despair that they actually hurled themselves from the moat that protects their exclusive seating bastion. The fall was not long enough to seriously injury any of them, although several suffered boos and scrapes on their knees and shins that Yankees creature Lonn Trost personally kissed to make all better. They were also served more complimentary lobster rolls.