5 in a row. 23 to go.
Thursday, September 7, 2023
Wednesday, September 6, 2023
Game Thread: Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was.
Keynan Middleton landed on the 15-day injured list Wednesday, retroactive to Sunday, with right shoulder inflammation.
That's right. The ONLY trade that Cashman made at the deadline was for a pitcher who barely lasted a month before getting injured and shut down.
Same. As. It. Ever. Was.
"Still I look to find a reason to believe..."
So for a few precious moments in the Yankees' seventh inning last night it seemed like it might really all come true—like we were already living in a better future that came straight out of the past.
We'd already seen Cole gutting through a start when he didn't have his best stuff, and Giancarlo hitting his 400th homer, and if his curtain call had to be manufactured by Stanton jumping out of the dugout before anyone was really applauding that was all right, too. The Stadium crowd was in a good enough mood on a sultry night that they gave him a hand anyway. Or maybe they just didn't want to argue.
Jasson Dominguez stood in centerfield, like a miraculous visitation, smiling like a blessed child and making ET signs to the Bleacher Creatures.
Came the seventh, and Judge led off with a walk. The Martian, adjusting beautifully, stroked a double into the gap in right, actually running as fast as a fast human being can.
The Gleyber, our hottest hitter, batting fourth, then lined another double down the left field line, and just for that instant, it looked as though a good-old-fashioned, gratuitous, spirits-raising beatdown of a visiting tomato can might actually be underway—and who knows what the years ahead might hold?
Maybe there even would be a trip to blue Hawaii. I certainly didn't want to stop it...
But then Giancarlo struck out on a pitch a yard out of the strike zone that would've been ball four, and The Gleyber got picked off second, leaving early on a meaningless attempt to steal third, and in the blink of an eye the big rally was over.
The Yanks and Tigers wrapped up the next two innings as if they couldn't wait to get out from under the intolerable burden of having to play baseball for tens of thousands of dollars on a sweaty night. Back to the clubhouse, where Ma Boone could aim another of his minuscule darts at Brian Cashman, remarking about how it would have been nice to know that his first baseman had been playing for six weeks with a concussion, as if everyone in the greater metropolitan area hadn't figured that out on their own.
Oh, Ma. You're gonna have to come a lot bigger than that to penetrate the hide of our Machiavelli of the front office.
But in the fun house...how do you know who's really crazy?
69-69, for the first time since 1969. Gotta be a meaning in there somewhere. Right?
Celebrate! The Yankees have reached the incredible summit of .500
If somebody said last spring that these plucky overachievers would be sitting at 69-69, only 7.5 games out of the wild card, wouldn't we have burst into a Starr Insurance acid dance? If we can win, say, 20 of our remaining 24, who knows?
In case you're wondering, that's sarcasm. That's mean old Mr. Glashaffempty, complaining, even though his team has won four straight, and the YES-verse is trying to drool day-glow plasma over this infusion of youth. So here I am, whining about the divisional standings. We should mount the bandwagon like Cocaine Bear, and post memes about The Martian and Giancarlo's 400th: Why, over these last two memorable weeks, he's hitting a Ruthian .255, raising his seasonal average to .205!
More sarcasm. Sadly, that's all I got. Aside from rambling about Gerrit Cole and Aaron Judge, hopefulness is a lie. If I find it hard to go all-in on The Martian, it's because we went there full-scale last September with Oswald and Oswaldo.
Yeah, it's nice to see the kids play. But right now, every tomato can in baseball is flush with Double A upstarts. Yeah, we have an interesting player in Jasson Dominguez, but the biggest parts of his identity remain his nickname and the amount of money they originally bestowed upon him. Three years ago, we were groomed to think of Estevan Florial as The Future. Now, the Yankees won't even return his calls. Sorry, if I can't get excited about the future. It's because I remember the recent past.
Okay. some non-sarcastic remarks:
1. Anthony Rizzo is done. That's probably a mercy-killing, but it leaves everybody with no sense of whether he can return next season, or if he's done done. I sorta thought they'd bring him back for a few swings, hopefully just to assure himself that he still can do it. Nope.
I don't know what to make of this, except to assume that he's still exhibiting symptoms of his concussion. That's awful. I cannot remember when the Yankees more screwed up on the health of a player. This guy played six weeks with a concussion, and nobody noticed? I know it's not easy. But how does this happen? I guess it's something for Hal's What Went Wrong Winter Investigation Ninjas to probe. I'm sure they'll write a 280-page report.
2. So, correct me if I'm wrong, but Luis Severino is going to have a strong final month, and we will then offer him a contract, right? He's a lifelong Yankee, thick and thin, yatta yatta, and they'll have him back, right? It's like the love letter: Come back, Randy, you didn't fracture my skull, you just broke the orbital.
In fact, let me state what everybody most fears: Sevy signs with Boston and becomes Nathan Eovaldi. That's because, somehow, the Yankees have become a toxic workplace, which somehow brings out the worst in practically everyone.
If that's the case, we're in trouble. If that's the case, imagine The Martian's future. Our biggest fear should be that he fails to live up to this ridiculous hype, then is discarded (like Florial), goes to a rival and turns into the player we dreamed of. That is a very real possibility. It is the downside of hype. He's four seasons away from age 25, the age when most players break out.
A terrifying question: If Dominguez goes through three lousy seasons, will he even be a Yankee by 24?
3. If the Yankees win, say, four more games in a row, they could cut the Wild Card margin down to five or six. Future generations could look back on this season and think this was actually a decent team. Gerrit Cole might with the Cy Young. Aaron Judge might hit 40 HRs. Two great players in their prime.
It reminds me of the 1984 Yankees, when Don Mattingly and Dave Winfield battled for the batting crown until the final day. Mattingly won. The Yankees finished 17 games out. And it would be 10 years before they made a postseason. The shitty team with a big story to tell...
Tuesday, September 5, 2023
To revive the Yankees, Hal Steinbrenner will have to do something entirely new: He will have to outbid Steve Cohen. (Unless, of course, they can reach an agreement)
Check out our lineup. Assuming that we stick with Anthony Rizzo at 1B, I count five positions locked in: Judge in RF, Volpe at SS, Gleyber at 2B and Jasson Dominguez in CF. (There is no turning back from The Martian.) That's five of nine - a batting average of .555! And we haven't even pondered the staff.
Already, voices across the Yankiverse are calling for the signing of Cody Bellinger, who at 29 will be coming off perhaps his best season. Bellinger is hitting .320 with 23 HRs -following a three-year sojourn into Gallo Town, when he hit .239, .165 and .210. He also carries a slight whiff of Giancarlo, that is, of a slugger whose career year might just have happened.
But here's the rub: To make Bellinger a Yankee, Hal Steinbrenner will have to outbid not only the West Coast and the Cubs, but also his fellow NY billionaire codpiece, Steve Cohen. Last year, he did just that... albeit in a strange way.
Last year, Cohen chased every big name free agent like a beagle after the garbage truck - except for one: Mr. Aaron Judge. Cohen sat out that auction, in the same way that Hal barely nibbled on Max Scherzer and Justin Verlander, who signed with the Mets.
Before going further, let me assure you that I would never EVER suggest collusion among owners: That's unethical! It simply does not happen among principled luminaries, such as Cohen and Steinbrenner. If you even thought that such moves might be made, you should be ashamed. You should be banned from this blog - from all Yankee blogs. I can tell you without a doubt that all bidding was conducted with the utmost integrity and honor. The owners do not collude. If you're reading this aloud, wash your mouth out with soap.
Also, whatever happened last winter, it didn't help either owner, whose teams shat the beds. Therefore, this winter, if and when Bellinger comes into play, Hal will have to outbid Cohen. Right?
Hmm. Wait a minute. There is another factor. Shohei Ohtani. He might be a free agent. Certainly, a non-collusionary spending truce would benefit both owners - if one chased Ohtani and the other got Bellinger? Of course, that cannot happen, because of the ethics involved.
Because here's the real rub: For either the Mets or Yankees to win a pennant in 2024, they'll need both.
So, let's be real here: Hal won't outbid Cohen for Ohtani. He'll wave some money around and talk tough, Joe Rogan-style, but then he'll do what he always does: Finish second in the biding. That would leave Bellinger.
Insert sigh here.
Well, they'll have to find someone to play left field. For all his hope, Pereira has six hits in 46 at bats. And no matter what they do this month, our three "Baby Bombers" have been rushed through the system, perhaps to their detriment. Five weeks ago, they were all in Double A. They ripped through Scranton with barely one visit to the Dollar General. The grim truth is that every MLB team has a September wave of youth, and unless The Martian turns out to be a monster, the Yankee crop looks rather average. One player exceled at Triple A this year, but they want no part of Estevan Florial. A year from now, will they be giving any of these guys the Florial Treatment?
Last time the Yankees won anything - 2009 - Hal courageously signed CC Sabathia, Mark Teixieira and AJ Burnett - baseball's three top free agents. Five years later, he tried to repeat it: Carlos Beltran, Jacoby Ellsbury and Brian McCann. It didn't work. Ever since, he's let the players go and, instead, chased the money.
To revive the Yankees this winter will require a shit-ton of spending, and probably the eating of at least one giant contract. (Looking at you, Giancarlo.) And unlike 2009, this time, Hal has competition from his own back yard.
So, would he give Cohen a call and talk about - oh, I dunno - the price of tomatoes?
Monday, September 4, 2023
Down in JuJu Land.
August 27, 2023.
Dr. Ogdu and Dr. Bogdan materialized as usual next to the nondescript warehouse by the Bronx River. The homeless guy they had scared witless before was still there—but now he was fast asleep on his stool, next to a stand selling a giant pile of Aaron Rodgers Jets jerseys, with a "Second Coming of A-Rod!" cap on his head.Dr. Bogdan and Dr. Ogdu looked at each other and shook their heads. Then they proceeded into the warehouse.
Inside, the local JuJu station looked as though it had been hit by one of the new, warm-water hurricanes that everyone at Headquarters was so proud of. There were empty whiskey bottles and fast food wrappers scattered everywhere. There was ham and there was turkey and there was caviar. There were long tall glasses of wine up to y'ar. There were sox and various items of underwear hanging from the overhead ceiling fans, and an odor in the air that was a somewhere between that of a brothel, a slaughterhouse, and the Newtown Creek.
All of the JuJu imps lay in a stupor, wherever they had curled up to sleep (or, more accurately, pass out). Their contented snoring filled the room, emanating wafts of garlic-infused bourbon with each exhalation.
The only sign of semi-conscious life was the computers system in the back of the room, hammering out streams of box scores and game summaries.
Dr. Ogdu and Dr. Bogdan looked at each other and shook their heads in disgust.
"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS???" thundered Dr. Ogdu.
The JuJu imps struggled into something resembling wakefulness, the chief imp pulling up his pants from his knees, and making his way over to the surprise visitors, trying to perform something resembling a salute.
"So sorry, sir! Didn't know you were coming—"
"NO ONE knows we're coming on a surprise inspection visit! What is going on here? WHY AREN'T YOU ALL AT WORK???"
"But sir, you see, we don't have to work! Our new AI program does it all for us."
"What??"
The imp-in-chief struggled over to one of the computer servers, pounding so hard it seemed likely to tear itself out of the floor, and returned with a mass of ticker tape.
"The new AI program that I...uh, that my second-in-command discovered in a small tech shop downtown. See how it works? Constantly learning and improving. Look: we—uh, the chief petty officer—programmed it, and it started producing results—and how!
"We started with the Yankees recommitting to Aaron Hicks and Josh Donaldson, and went straight on from there! Injuries to the whole starting staff, Stanton unable to so much as run, Higgy hurt, Rortvedt up, the Oswaldii hitting lower and lower!"
"In a straight progression," Dr. Bogdan said, through gritted teeth, barely containing his fury. The chief imp, oblivious, babbled on.
"Yessir! Rodon comes back and blows kisses to the fans! Judge rips up his toe making a great catch in Dodger Stadium! I was particularly impressed by that one. And then the different ways it had the Yankees blowing games! Gleyber on the base paths, Gleyber in the field. Clay Holmes unable to field!"
"'Turning and turning in the widening gyre,'" quoted Dr. Ogdu.
"Oh, you betcha, sir! We got widening gyres, if you want them. Why, one is programmed to swallow up IKF next week. This AI program has anything you want—no need for us to work!"
"I see," hissed Dr. Bogdan. "And the program just found more and more ways for the Yankees to lose, the season getting worse and worse."
"Yessir!"
"Don't you understand how this works?" Dr. Ogdu sighed. "That's not JuJu torture. If the Yankees simply keep suffering one horrendous loss after another, their fans will suffer at first. But then they'll become accustomed to it."
"Inured," chimed in Dr. Bogdan.
"Resigned."
"Accepting. CON-TENT-ED!" roared Dr. Ogdu.
"Soon they'll stop watching the games altogether, or even checking the score. Next thing you know, they'll be talking about how the Jets and Giants are going to do, and musing over the chances of a Subway Super Bowl. Worse—worse!—they'll start paying attention to their friends and family again, and taking long, pleasant walks with their wives, and musing over what a wonderful season the fall is. And THEN what?"
"What?" asked the chief imp, shaking.
"Then there will BE no torturing them!" screeched Dr. Bogdan. "Dammit, man, why do you think Headquarters keeps breaking down? Because people can get used to any torment, if it's unrelenting! A thousand years in the fiery pits—and they yawn! Centuries of being sliced into little pieces—and they chuckle! Hell doesn't work, you morons! If it's straight hell."
"Don't you understand? AI be damned! This isn't a job for computers! Only human beings can truly torture other human beings! Raise their hopes then wreck them, make them believe then shatter that belief, over and over again! Do you think Brian Cashman is a machine?"
"No?" the imp asked uncertainly.
"NO! That's why he's perfect!" yelled Dr. Bogdan.
"Look, I want this place cleaned up immediately! Everyone back to work. First...I know! Bring up all the kids. Bring up The Martian! Have them go on a winning streak—six of seven, say. Maybe even contend for the wild card play-in spot!"
The imps rushed about, taking notes and mumbling incantations.
"Soon, I want all those Yankee fans out there wondering if, somehow, there will still be an October!"
"Sir, how can they possibly believe that after—"
"If they don't, at least they'll be talking again about how great next year will be! About how the kids can't miss, and the new dynasty! Soon, they won't even be calling for Boone and The Brain to be fired anymore. They'll pay the 10 percent seat increase without a murmur, and HAL will close the book on his 'evaluation.'"
"And then? And then?" the imp asked, dancing a little jig in his excitement.
"Then...then we got 'em," Dr. Ogdu said, with just a touch of evil animating his smile.
Yuts Rhymes with Putz
Hey, just a quick ego thing here because I often wonder who in the Yankee front office or YES reads this blog but...
On August 31 I posted a blog titled "Youts". Two days later Micheal K called them "Yuts" during the broadcast. Now they are doing it on ESPN.
Two things...
1) Not saying they lifted it. I understand that if you say the phrase, "The Yankees are going with youth." and have a NY accent, (As I and many, many others do - otherwise it wouldn't BE a regional accent.) it comes out Yout, and from there it's an easy association to "My Cousin Vinny".
Still... we had it first by a couple of days so that's cool.
2) It's YOUTS. NOT Yuts. Yuts rhymes with Putz. Actually yutz is a Yiddish word of disparagement all on it's own. As in "Aaron Boone? That yutz? He keeps letting Albert Abreu pitch in important moments."
Youts is the word youths where the accent lets you drop the h.
If they are going to use it they should spell it right. Then again, what do you expect from a bunch of yutzes.
Yanks sweep Astros, maintaining their Tragic Number at 17. Could a late, youthful surge save Cashman's job?
The Starr Insurance Warriors have 25 games remaining in this season from Hell. If they win, say, 15 straight, holy crap! they could vault right back into that final Wild Card berth sweepstakes. Greatest finish in history?
And if The Martian (note the capital "T," which for future reference, should appear in the AP Rule Book) belts two HRs in every three games, he'll finish the season with 16. Yumpin yiminy! Rookie of the Year?
Yeah, and I'm Taylor Fucking Swift. If you can figure out the following chart, you're a 5-fool fan. Right now, we're merely tailgating Boston, as the frat boys descend into September, still awaiting Chris Sale's revival. (Note: He just pitched 5 innings of two-hit ball! Against the Royals, no less!)
Look: We all want The Martian to be the next big thing. We could use another Mickey. But if his once-around-the-league phase results in a celebration of the status quo this winter, it could be the worst thing that happens. Hal Steinbrenner has vowed to do a "deep dive" into the 2023 disaster. He doesn't need a spreadsheet. All he needs is a mirror.
Crazy dreams from Germany
We swept the Astros. Decisively. Our new kids are looking like world beaters (shades of 2016). We've cleared out some old, dead wood.
It's September, I'm in Germland with the in-laws, we're incredibly far out of even the schmuck wild card (fun fact: in German, schmuck means jewelry), and only when incredible failure hit did our illustrious leaders make the moves that are making the game fun.
Now the days dwindle down...to a precious few...
We have no chance of realistically making up the 8 1/2 games between us and Texas and Houston. It's insane to even think so. Why, we'd have to win all 25 of the rest of our games, making for a run of 28 straight wins to finish the season, leaving us with 93 wins. Impossible.
Can we win 20 out of 25? Don't make me laugh. 19? Surely, you jest (and don't call me Shirley).
And yet, in a hopeless season of a lousy team, the kids have given us a jolt. Judge is back, full force. If Gleyber can stop throwing games away--which means he'll have to stop being a fucking idiot--who knows?
Look, this is the only bright spot I've had this season except for the IIH game at the Stadium. I'm willing to suspend disbelief for awhile longer, as long as we keep winning.
And if we keep winning, well, crazier things have happened. As Brian Wilson once said, wouldn't it be nice?
Sunday, September 3, 2023
Hooray for the youngsters. But wherever you look, the Yankees are mired in the middle of nowhere
They are out of the wild card race, nine games behind Houston and Texas.
And they probably won't draft in the Top Ten.
Thus, depending on their payroll, they might not even have a first round pick.
Saturday, September 2, 2023
All summer in a day.
"I used to watch sports in New York City.
Every club there was disappointing,
With a Yankees team that only hit .230.
Young guns are coming to the canyons,
I can see them bangin' on my TV... "
—With apologies to the Mommas and the Poppas.
Okay, so we were manipulated once again, by the Machiavelli of the Office Suite. But last night still felt like a dive into a cool mountain lake, after this dreadful Death March of the 2023 season.
I missed the games, but SNY's nightly sports wrap-up was full of ecstatic families celebrating as The Martian went galactic, Ronny Mauricio smacked what was reportedly the hardest-hit ball of any Met this season, and Austin Wells got his first major-league hit. Their loved ones in the stands kissed, hugged, high-fived, and bounced around like little kids in, well, a bounce house.
Shamefully manipulative as this was, coming from two teams that have egregiously spit the bit this season...it can only be described as, well, heart-warming.
Is this all just an illusion out of the mottled September sunshine? Most likely—though Ronny Mauricio (formerly an aria from Rigoletto) looks like the real deal.
No doubt, The Brain is even counting on our (supposedly) rejuvenated football teams to sell his revival story. A September filled with dreams of things to come, followed by a rollicking pigskin season, culminating in...a Subway Super Bowl???
Why, come next March we will have forgotten all about the last five months of this miserable campaign, and be more than ready to fall for the usual lies.
El Duque is right. None of this should make up for our summer of misery. And four more weeks spent watching the likes of Cantrun and The Gleyber get their numbers in good working order will be more galling than anything else. Hell, maybe Tumbly Wumbly Rodon will pitch a no-hitter!
But...for one night...I gotta say it was pretty special.
Okay, a nice victory over cheating Houston. A nice debut for The Martian. A nice night, overall. But have you noticed who is tanking?
In this millennium, Boston has tanked five times, finishing last in the AL East and retooling its roster. In doing so, the Redsocks have won four world championships.
They tanked last year, and now, after a brief and sickly wild card run, they're doing it again.
I suppose we should always savor a win over Houston, especially considering the rarity of them. But victories in September get us nowhere. That's the reality of being a tomato can.
The Yankees need a systemic overhaul - the kind of organizational restructuring that cannot be done by the same people who got us here.
The Yankees want the YES September narrative to be "Look at the Martian and the Baby Bombers!"
That must not happen.
The story in New York needs to be an overwhelming, unforgiving anger at the Yankee ownership and front office. Year after year, the owner spends just enough money to compete - and then pulls out his pockets and poormouths. Year after year, the Yankee front office acquires players with the assumption that, simply by donning pinstripes, they will improve their game.
This isn't about a few trades that went bad and, "Aw, shucks, that's baseball." This is about a top-down hubris that faces no accounting from the media, which it predominately owns. The experts on YES commonly challenge the play of Yankee batters and pitchers. They never, ever, criticize the owner or GM.
Yeah, nice win last night. Hooray for Jasson Dominguez. Great moment, yatta yatta. We gained in the wild card race: We're now only 10 games out. So... now, what?
Final note: How sad was it that The Master couldn't be there to call The Martian's first HR. Let's hope Dominguez gives him a few chances in NYC.
Final final note: Once again, even without an October, the Yankees seem fated to win the Tabloid Back Page Race. How sad and mediocre is NYC sports?
Friday, September 1, 2023
Game Thread: MARS ATTACKS
8:20, Amazon Prime. Helping the Jasson Dominguez hype, Doug K. last night posted my three favorite Martian things: The Martian Manhunter, Mars Bars, and Mars Attacks. With game time speeding toward us, I seek to raise the Yankee delirium to Mitch McConnell-levels and beyond with a gluttonous orgy of Mars Attacks—all 54 cards! 
Breaking News! Fourth Part of Cashman Indictment Drops! 2017-2023
In fact, the “crowds” seemed to consist mainly of local sportswriters, openly bemoaning and bewailing the fact that “The Brain” might no longer be around to give them “access” and ghostwrite their books. Before the afternoon was over, though, they were pelting the Yankees GM with rotten fruit as he left the courthouse.
Pressed for comment, Cashman answered tersely, “There are more teams looking for pitchers than there are pitchers. That’s why it’s pricey.”
Many noted the absence of Cashman’s attorneys, a.k.a., unindicted co-conspirators, Lonn Trost and Lon Nol Randy Levine, and speculated whether this meant that they intended to turn state witnesses against the Yankees GM. But The Brain’s new counsel, Steve Phillips, denied the rumors, and insisted that what his client was being charged with was not really a criminal offense.
“Hey, if being an obnoxious, incompetent ass is a crime, how could I be walking around free?” asked Phillips—an argument that silenced his questioners.
The fourth indictment covers the last seven seasons, in which Cashman continued to up his game, muscling into entire new areas of incompetence. These included persistently choosing the wrong free agents and trade targets, signing mediocre and injured players to long-term contracts, mishandling analytical data, and refusing to remove training and coaching staffs that repeatedly ruined the best new Yankees prospects.
Some “highlights”:
2017—A rejuvenated Yankees team comes within a game of the World Series, barely losing to Yer Cheatin’ Heart Astros. But even here, Brian Cashman makes several critically awful moves.
First was the replacement of injured first baseman Greg Bird with Chris Carter, who fielded poorly, hit worse, and was never heard of again.
Top prospect Dustin Fowler was brought up and placed in right field in his first game in Chicago, in order that perennial invalid Jacoby Ellsbury could play centerfield and not have to deal with the assorted generators, hack saws, and bear traps the White Sox wisely kept on their playing field.
Fowler was injured almost immediately, go to Oakland, and never be heard of again. Neither would Ellsbury.
More disastrous by far, though, was when Cashman ignored Justin Verlander to trade for Sonny Gray down the stretch. Verlander would not only get Houston to the World Series, but would win the ALCS MVP in going 2-0 with an 0.56 ERA…against the Yankees.
2018—Cashman trades Starlin Castro to the Marlins for NL MVP Giancarlo Stanton, and is so excited that he tells Bob Klapisch all about how he hoodwinked Miami GM Derek Jeter, for the hagiography Klapisch is writing on The Brain.
Ignored is free agent basher J.D. Martinez, who will hit 37 doubles and 43 homers, drive in 130 runs, and bat .330 for the Red Sox. He will continue to torture Yankees pitchers for years to come.
Gary Sanchez’s hitting mysteriously collapses, his average dropping to .186 for the season. Cashman reportedly has a chance to trade him for the Marlins’ J.T. Realmuto, a soon-to-be free agent who is the best catcher in baseball. The Brain refuses. Realmuto goes to Philly, where he has only made 2 All-Star games, and won 2 Gold Gloves and 2 Silver Sluggers.
In the ALDS against Boston, coulda-been Yankee Chris Sale wins the first game, and used-to-be Yankee Nathan Eovaldi wins Game Three, 16-1—their worst playoff loss ever against the BoSox—after a bizarre incident in which Luis Severino supposedly does not know what time the game is starting. Sevvy never really does arrive, surrendering 7 runs in the first three innings.
In the dramatic ninth inning of Game Four, Giancarlo Stanton strikes out swinging against Sox closer Craig Kimbrel, who cannot find home plate with a compass. Shortstop-of-the-future Gleyber Torres seems about to get on with an infield squibbler, but decides to go for handicap points by running to first with concrete bags tied to each leg.
Stanton ends up with 4 singles and no ribbies in the series. Martinez homers, drives in 6 runs, bats .357 with an OPS of .992, and goes on to lead Boston to another title.
2019—In the off-season, Manny Machado reportedly comes to New York and offers to take a discount on a free-agent contract if he can play with the Yankees.
Cashman refuses, quietly telling the press that the team is saving its money to go big after free-agent Bryce Harper.
Bryce Harper reportedly comes to New York and offers to take a discount on a free-agent contract if he can play with the Yankees.
Cashman refuses, quietly telling the press that the team is saving its money to go big for the horde of free-agent shortstops due to appear on the market over the next few seasons.
Instead, Cashman signs already injured Luis Severino and constantly injured Aaron Hicks to lucrative, multi-year contracts.
Soon after the season begins, doubles-machine Miguel Andujar dives back to third base early in the season, injures his chest, and is never heard from again.
Brian Cashman promises to look into the Yankees’ training and coaching methods.
Hicks plays 59 games. Severino goes 1-1 on the season. Stanton plays 18 games, and opts out of the ALCS after hitting a home run.
Astros take the pennant again, led by failed Yankee acquisitions, Verlander and Cole.
2020—Covid! Even so, no Yankee manages to play all 60 games. Giancarlo Stanton appears in 23 contests. Sanchez hits .147. Shortstop-of-the-future Gleyber Torres is installed at shortstop—where he hits 3 home runs, and makes 9 errors.
In the ALDS, ace closer Aroldis Chapman gives up the season-ending home run for the second year in a row.
2021—Yankees play lackadaisical ball most of the season, somehow not inspired by the addition of Viking chieftain Rougned Odor.
Cashman looks to spark the team in the second half by bringing in Anthony Rizzo…and Joey Gallo.
Gallo hits .160, but Yanks make the one-game wild card play-in game, anyway, and embarrass themselves in Fenway Park. Gerrit Cole breaks Chapman’s season-ending home run streak, getting pummeled in the first three innings in Boston.
Stanton distinguishes himself by watching as his long flyball…bounces off the Green Monster, for a single. Gallo bats fourth—and goes 0-4.
2022—Cashman starts the offseason by re-signing oft-injured first base fill-in Anthony Rizzo and passing on future Hall of Famer, Ironman Freddie Freeman.
Freeman leads the NL in runs, hits, doubles, and OBP, and slashes .325/.407/.511/.918. Rizzo hits 32 homers, slashes .224/.338/.480/.817…and leads the league in absolutely nothing.
The Brain decides to pass altogether on the herd of free-agent shortstops, loudly telling everyone that the Yankees’ can’t miss infield prospects, Oswald, Oswaldo, and Volpe, will soon be in the majors.
Lefty World Series star Corey Seagar signs with Texas, where this season he is leading the AL in batting. The Brain even aids and abets Houston star Carlos Correa in signing with…Minnesota, when he deals perpetual problem child Gary Sanchez and plucky third base fill-in Gio Urshela, for third baseman Josh “Flipper” Donaldson, third baseman Isiah Kiner-Falafel, and body builder Ben Biceptvedt.
“We appreciate what Gio has done, but he’s not Josh Donaldson,” says Cashman of Urshela, who will outplay Donaldson in the field and at the plate for the next two years, even when injured.
Cashman, disappointed that he could not get a third third baseman out of Minnesota, puts IKF at short, where he goes from Gold Glove to Iron Glove.
Joey Gallo cannot reach 2021’s lofty heights of a .160 batting average with the Yankees, batting .159, and is traded for a pitcher with a joke name. Through 2023, he has kept alive his streak of 4 straight seasons batting under .200.
Then, in The Night of the Long Knives, The Brain trades Jordan Montgomery and a bevy of pitching prospects for The Invalid Corps, four players who are injured and will remain injured throughout their tenures with the Yankees: Harrison Bader, Frankie Montas, Lou Trivino, and Scott Effross.
The team collapses, nearly loses the division title, and is swept in the ALCS by…Houston, of course—the first time that a Yankees team has been swept in a best-of-seven playoff series since Cashman’s 2012 team. Versus the other leading teams in the American League—Houston, Boston, Detroit, Tampa Bay, Texas, and the Angels—the Yankees are 2-14 in playoff series over the past 20 years.
Capping the season, Aroldis “Sweats” Chapman refuses to pitch in the postseason, and is released.
2023—People of all shapes, sizes, creeds, colors, and denominations note that the Yankees don't have a left fielder for the season.
While the Cubs sign Cody Bellinger at a bargain rate, and the Red Sox sign Masataka Yoshida from Japan, the Yankees stick with...Aaron Hicks. Instead, Cashman prepares for the season by…signing free agent Carlos “Wubbly Tum” Rodon for $162 million over 6 years. Rodon adjusts to his new situation by adding obnoxiousness to his ineffectuality and invalidism.
Anthony Rizzo is concussed, something it takes Yankees doctors over a month to discover. He sits—but provides much hilarity on the bench as the team crumbles. (Freddie Freeman reaches 51 doubles—by the end of August—and is hitting .338.)
After severe injuries not only to Rizzo and Rodon, but also Jose Trevino, D.J. LeMahieu, Josh Donaldson, Aaron Judge, Giancarlo Stanton, Harrison Bader, Cashman…remains silent about the Yankees’ training methods. By mid-August, the New York Yankees have run out of starting pitchers—but they do set a team record for most games using a position player to pitch.
Bader is simply released for nothing. So are Hicks and Donaldson. Yankees make no move of any significance at the trade deadline, as the team lurches toward its first losing record in 31 years.
At a hastily called press conference, Cashman claims that no one could have seen this coming, including players on other rosters in the league—a move that prosecutors characterize as "blatantly, annoyingly false."
Dates for a trial have not yet been established, though many have pointed out that all of October will be free.
Yankees’ First-Round Draft Picks, 2017-2023:
2017—Clarke Schmidt, RHP
2018—Anthony Seigler, C (Second-round pick Josh Breaux…is also a catcher)
2019—Anthony Volpe, SS
T.J. Sikkema, LHP
2020—Austin Wells, C
2021—Trey Sweeney, SS
2022—Spencer Jones, OF
2023—George Lombard, SS
Dear Yankee veterans: Don't you DARE go on a hitting streak now
Autumn is in the air. The golden harvest! The apples are crisping, the trees are changing colors, the Kardashians are choosing new nipple attachments, and the postseason is winking at us like a cow halting traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike. In most years, this would mean it'll soon be time for the playoffs! This year, however, you'll get to go home and watch October horror movies with the wife and kids. Enjoy the carnage!
But but BUT... there remains one final, glorious month - September! - and that's why I write.
Listen: This is no time to get hot. This is no time to go on a tear and pad your personal stats.
Be honest.
Either suck or go home.
You know who you are. You are the stars who failed in 2023. This is no time to belt 10 HRs and buttress the illusion that you had a decent year. Nope. Let's be truthful to ourselves. The season is over. You sucked. So did the Yankees. No 10-game hitting streak can change what happened. The team collapsed. A few big hits now won't save your legacy.
Why lie to future generations?
We will have plenty of time - a whole winter, in fact - to ponder the owner and his cadre of front office brownnosers, the wonky country clubbers who assembled this disaster. Trust me: We will discuss them vigorously. (They will be better off not visiting this website. We might need to buy a sound truck and cruise their neighborhoods in Westchester County, reading aloud our posts.)
But let's keep this simple: This is no time for you to start hitting with runners in scoring position. That ship sailed in July.
Again, you know who you are. For example, there is a certain DH who recently lifted his batting average to above .200. Sir, this needs to stop. We admire your personal pride, which shows up whenever you jog the bases in stilted pain, or freeze like Mitch McConnell at a strike three fastball down the middle. But you spent most of 2023 batting below .200, and that fearsome number belongs on your record. To get hot now and achieve - say - 30 HRs on the year - that would be a boldfaced lie. Future generations would say, "Wow, he hit 30 HRs on that terrible team. He must have had a great year." Do you want to lie to your grandchildren? Of course, not!
This is no time for any of you to start hitting. What's done is done. See those youngsters around you in the dugout? They're here because of all your strikeouts in June and July, when you swung for the fences and missed, and when you couldn't lay down a gimme bunt against defenses situated on the outfield grass, because you never practiced bunting, because such things were beneath you.
Nope. Don't you dare get hot now. Don't you dare.
It's time to be honest. And, honestly, in 2023, you sucked.
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