In the big rock candy mountain.

 

It's amazing how fast you lose your moral compass when everything is free.

Wednesday night, I went to see your New York Yankees courtesy of my brother-in-law, a very nice guy and someone who has arranged his entire life better than anyone else I know. He has made a very good living, and raised a wonderful family, all by giving only the most worthy and deserving people in the world, their day in court.

Do not ask me how he has managed this. If I could figure it out, I would try to emulate him. At least, I like to tell myself that.

Anyway, my brother-in-law had tickets about two rows from the field, a little bit above third base—some of the very best seats I've ever sat in. 

(No, he hasn't made that much money defending only the righteous and the holy. They were a freebie from the bank that handles his firm's accounts. But I digress.)

The most stunning thing about these seats...was the complete access they give you to the Legends Suite Club. This is a two-level restaurant where everything except the alcoholic beverages, is free.

And this is...weird.

For instance, I went up to the lobster tails section (actual picture, above). I'm not making this up, there is a lobster tails section, between the crab legs and the mounds of shrimp. The incredibly cheery person behind the counter—the service is also amazing—asked me how many I would like.

"Uh, a couple," I mumbled. (Hey, they were relatively small lobster tails.)

"Okay, here ya go, love," she said—sweeping five lobster tails onto my plate. (No, I did NOT eat them all. What do you think I am? I gave one to my nephew.)

It was like that everywhere—and had quickly reduced normal human society to something out of a science fiction movie. In the bathroom, I noticed, someone had left their hot dog, in the little cardboard hot dog container they give you, next to the sink.

That's the thing: when all your food is free, you can just, you know, drop it anywhere and get some more.

And they had everything. Prime rib, sliced steak, those mounds of shrimp, all sorts of dessert pastries, ice cream sundaes. The proverbial works.

Probably the craziest feature—like something out of a Homer Simpson dream—was the Wall of Candy. Endless miniature M&M's, Snickers bars, Milky Ways, etc. All for free. Just take as many as you like.

It was nuts (you could get them, too). And so was the game.

The Yankees were playing out of their minds. I mean, this was on a 1998 level of total domination.

Rodón, you'll recall, was pitching a perfect game through five-and-a-third, with nine strikeouts.

The glove work behind him was as good as I've ever seen it from a Yankees team. Verdugo making that great, nose-into-the-fence catch in left field. Soto went up into the stands to make another outstanding one in right. Volpe with a great stop and throw, Rizzo picking a couple balls at first in a way that reminded me of the old Rizzo.

The hitting was just as good, line drives all over the yard. Soto seemed like he was everywhere at once, like a hero in some medieval battle saga. Pumping his chest, cheerleading, racing all around.

Judge was more locked in than I have ever witnessed. He hit that bases-loaded triple right past us, then on the next play beat a great throw to the plate, thundering down the third-base like a runaway freight train. When he slid across the plate there came an atavistic bellow from the crowd—something raw and primal and predatory. The Yanks were up, 8-0. With half a game still to go.

And for a moment there, I believed.

I suspect I was befuddled by all the free food. (Did you know you can also order anything from your seat down there? Like even two more lobster tails? NOT that I did that!)

But I have never in my life seen a more dominant half-game of baseball by your New York Yankees, and I thought—just for a minute!—Good Lord, maybe they ARE for real!

Outside the big rocky candy mountain, on a D-train full of contented Yankees fans, though, reality slowly slipped in like a deadly, noxious fog. 

Thing was, none of all that free food was all that great. It was just okay. And the Legends Suite level?  It was the only part of the Stadium where there were empty seats, all around us. All of this luxury around us was a sham—and so was this paper-thin ballteam, delightful as it could be.

I knew then, I knew somehow that I had witnessed the inflection point of the entire season. That things would never be that great again.

Now here we are, a few nights later, with Soto out—Was it that leap into the stands? One exuberance too many?—Schmidt on the DL for months still to come, Rizzo maybe soon to follow. The Stanton machine rusting up again, Gleyber back to being Gleyber.

This team is as real as the big rock candy mountain, inside the Legends Suite Club. It's fun, it's dazzling—and it's so many empty calories. We should enjoy it while we can, because it's going to melt away like those five, perfect innings.

 

Forget last night. Three takeaways from Kevin Baker's great book

If you haven't grabbed a copy, you are missing out. 

Three little gems from HoraceClarke66's book.

3. In the summer of 1869, the barnstorming Cincinnati Red Stockings crossed America. When they reached a new town, each player sang. The team's official went like this...

We are a band of baseball players
From Cincinnati city,
We come to toss the ball around
And sing to you our ditty...

2. John McGraw, the great NY Giants manager and scion, grew up in tiny Truxton, NY, a 25-minute drive from the big city of - gulp - Cortland. He never forgot his roots. He named his dogs Truxton and told them each night, "Truxton against the world!" After his died, the NY Giants came to Truxton to play a team of locals. They celebrated a memorial to McGraw, erected in the exact spot where he ran away from home, after a beating by his alcoholic father.

 1. In his late years, Bat Masterson - the legendary pal of Wyatt Earp - left the wild west and became a sportswriter for the NY Telegraph. He died at his desk. His last typed words: "There are those who argue that everything breaks evenly in this old dump of a  world of ours. I suppose these ginks who argue that way hold because a rich man gets ice in the summer and a poor man gets it in the winter, things are breaking even for both. Maybe so, but I'll swear that I can't see it that way." 

What a line. There are gems on every page. Read it with a whisk broom. 

Somewhat premature game thread

 

Thank you, Minnesota. But what about Juan? Ten nervous takeaways

1. Let's be honest, real, scientific - without resorting to baseless hysteria. Why spread unnecessary fear and anxiety? Baseball should be fun, a joyous game of pitch and hit, and rooting for the Yankees should be a stress-free romp, not a nightly slither through the flaming jaws of Hell. So, in a loftier sensibility, let's happily accept one simple reality:

If Soto is hurt, it's over. 

The season. The dream. The hope. Forget about it. Forget 2024. Forget the decade. Forget baseball. Maybe someday, around 2050 - when we're  sitting, like Eleanor Rigby's face, in a jar by some door - the Yankees will rise. If we're lucky enough to have grandchildren who remember us in videos- they'll be in their 50s - someone will say, "Hey, wasn't that Old (insert your name's) team?" 

Last night, Soto left with a tight forearm. In my life, I cannot recall leaving anything because of a tight forearm. I don't know what such a thing feels like. But I do know that the Yankees always soft-soap injuries, like John Wayne shrugging off flesh wounds, and lost days quickly become lost months.  

If Soto is hurt, well, there goes the lineup. Here come the dominoes. Soon, Stanton will tweak something. Then Judge. Then Gil, then Rodon - then the avalanche, like those doomsday glaciers at the poles, always the size of Delaware, which will slide into the sea and swamp New York all the way to Binghamton. 

It's over, that's all. If Soto is hurt...

Via ABOVE AVERAGE

2. Tonight, it's Cody Poteet v. Yoshi Yamamoto, a phrase that would have been incomprehensible last year. Poteet is the most unlikely Yankee scrapheap find in 2024. Yamamoto is the one that got away - but not from us. We came in a distant third in last winter's auction. It's the Mets who were dissed. They shot their wad, financially, and the guy simply didn't want to pitch for them. 

Thus far, he's been a decent starter, an expensive version of Marcus Stroman. Not a superstar. Not even a Luis Gil. But but but... it doesn't matter. 

If Soto is hurt, we will lose. We'll see a big 0-for-4 in the two hole, and if the Dodgers score one run, it's over - the way it's been in BS years - that is, Before Soto. 

3-10. Really, do they matter? Should we care that Judge looked lost last night in LF? He gave up on a pop fly that bounced in for a double, showing no sense of LF, having almost never played there. 

But if Soto is hurt, he'll be moving to RF, anyway. 

The Anthonys - Volpe and Rizzo - will both suffer. Volpe won't have the protection of two great sluggers behind him. Rizzo won't have the  baserunners. 

Why go on? What's the point? If Soto is hurt... well, we know what's going to happen. And it won't be pretty.

Yankeeblog

The Yankees are playing so well lately that they are becoming harder and harder to criticize and make fun of. While on one level I’m happy because, let’s face it, I’d rather spend three hours a day enjoying the game as opposed to, say, watching them lose. Cough. NY Giants. Cough.  

In fact, between the Yankees, the resurgent Knicks and the President’s Cup winning Rangers it’s getting tougher and tougher to sit down in the AM and complain about them. So, I’ll complain about that.  

        Yankeeblog 

(To Aqualung)

Sitting on my snark bench.

Looking at the Yanks with mild laments.

No more looking down my nose.

Wondering if I… should break out… branded clothes.

Hey Yankeeblog!

 

Searching for a cheap pun…

While Soto drives in, another run…

Hey Yankeeblog…

Feeling like a lame schmuck.

Forced to heap praise on Brian Cashman’s luck…

Whoa Yankeeblog…

--- 

Streaking not cold… sadly making fun of Rizzo.

But it’s not his fault… because he’s old.

Missing the times, when Sanchez ran like Lizzo.

And Chapman’s entrance felt… like… a defeat.

 

Nothing left to mock. Just a few middle relivers

Even Stanton hits like it’s… on a tee.

Having this much success, well it starts to make me queasy.

Watching Volpe go… three for three.

 ---

But I still remember.

Past October’s foggy freeze…

When umpires called Aaron Judge out.

On balls below his knees.

(Hey)

And ground balls turned to double plays.

And DJ’s hurt again…

And the Autumn, it looked nothing like the Spring.

Oh-no Astro-ohs.

 

(Guitar Solo)

Dee-dee-dee-dee.
Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee
Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee
Dee-dee-dee-dee

 

But this run will end. I won’t let it drive me looney.

The manager’s still Booney… so we’ll see.

---

Sitting on my snark bench.

Looking at the Yanks with mild laments.

No more looking down my nose.

Wondering if I should… break out branded clothes…

Hey Yankeeblog.

 

Searching for a cheap pun…

While Soto drives in another run…

Hey Yankeeblog

Feeling like a lame schmuck

Forced to heap praise on Brian Cashman’s luck…

Whoa oh oh oh  Yankee…blog.

The Yanks have won 7 straight. But they're not shaking Baltimore.

Hot scoop: The Death Barge last night finally gained ground on Baltimore - home of Jimmy McNulty, Stringer Bell and Omar -  opening a two-game bulge in the AL East (loss column, that is.) 

Let's face it: Both teams are de facto shoe-ins for the 2024 postseason - fatted and drunken - able to infuse late summer rosters with prospects and returning vets. Cleveland may run away in the rot-gut AL Central, but the Yanks and O's will jockey through September, down to - nyuk, nyuk, nyuk - the Wire.

We'll host them June 18 with three games. They took three of four in early May, when Aaron Judge was hitting .198. 

So, how do we match-up? As Warner Wolf, now 86, might say, "Let's go to the ether..."

Power couples: Rest assured, Baltimore has nothing like Soto-Judge. (SoJu?) But SS Gunnar Henderson has 19 HRs, two below Judge and two above Soto. With gimp-legged Giancarlo Stanton - the Smokey Burgess of modern times - the Yankees can start three hitters with 10 or more HRs. Baltimore can bring four. (The teams are tied for the MLB lead with 92 HRs; the Yankees have two more RBIs.)

Breakout stars: Anthony Volpe is quietly conjuring memories of Jeter.

(Your honor, I object. Invoking Derek Jeter can only prove detrimental to our subject. Why are we doing this to a fine young man?

Objection sustained. The blogger shall not raise needless comparisons with Hall of Famers. Strike the previous statement from the record.)  

Anthony Volpe is quietly reminding us of Didi Gregorius, in a good way. Baltimore has Henderson, Ryan Mountcastle and 3B Jordan Westburg - basically, the entire team is comprised of potential breakout stars.

Reinforcements: We have The Martian - Jasson Dominguez, rehabbing in Scranton - and Gerrit Cole, best pitcher in baseball. They have the entire Norfolk roster, which includes three of the International League's top hitters. 

All-Stars: We have Soto and Judge. They have catcher Adley Rutschman and probably Henderson at SS.  

Disappointments: We have Gleyber Torres and Anthony Rizzo, both who have stumbled offensively and defensively. They have Cedrick Mullins (.178) and Austin Hays (.209.) Dunno what happened, but it's hard to imagine them staying down forever. Baltimore also has Jackson Holliday, supposedly MLB's best prospect, who was sent down after hitting .059. I gotta a sick feeling he'll be back in September.

Starting pitchers: You'd think the Yankees had a huge advantage - four strong with Cole soon to return. (Fingers crossed.) Plus, the AL's breakout pitching star, Luis Gil. But - damn - they have six decent starters, including ace Corbin Burnes (2.26 ERA) and head-turning Albert Suarez (1.83 ERA).

Closers: As much as Clay Holmes can be shaky, (17-of-20 in saves) I'll still take him over the 36-year-old, creepy bird-postured Craig Kimbrel, (13-of-16.) Kimbrel hasn't struck fear in an opposing lineup since 2020. If he comes in with a one-run lead, I like our chances. 

But but but... if we learned anything over these two glorious weeks, nobody else will tame Baltimore. To win the AL East, we gotta do it ourselves. They are for real. Are we? 

Game Thread: The Twins Look Worried.

 

Another win over the Twinkies. Ten happy takeaways.

1. Big Yankee win. (Note: Every Yankee win is a big Yankee win.)

2. Giancarlo whacked an insurance HR. Second deck. Not sure how to process a big Stanton night. On one hand, we're getting something. On the other, it just lengthens his tether toward the inevitable slump/injury. We cannot trade him. No one will bite. At some point, we'll cut him. But as Arya Stark responded, during the final battle, to Melisandre's question, "What do you say to the God of Death?" Not today.  

3. Gleyber homered. Okay, I'm gonna play Dershowitz. Considering the revival of Aaron Judge in May, the Death Barge must give Torres at least the month of June. He's spent two months in the shitter, but he recently cracked .230. Over the last 14 days, he's hitting .268 with 2 HRs. That's a Gleyber season. Yeah, there are the troubling brain farts. But to deal him at his absolute lowest trade value? That's a bad idea. 

4. Glad that Boone pulled Luis Gil after six innings, 88 pitches. Yeah, he was throwing a one-hitter. And yeah, Kahnle gave up a quick HR. But the Yankees must not overuse Gil. Right now, he is a precious toy. They better not leave it out in the rain. The big fear: Our Yankee bullpen implodes, pressuring Boone to push Gil deeper and deeper. That's how we'll wreck him.

5. Last night in the minors, Gerrit Cole threw 3.1 shutout innings. He hit 97 mph on the gun. That makes today the most important day of his year.  Will he feel weird pain? That's what shut him down - troubling pain afterwards. Whatever Cole feels - or doesn't feel - rest assured the Yankees will claim all is groovy. They lie to the fan base. 

6. Anthony Volpe recently called Soto and Judge the two best hitters in baseball. Jose Ramirez might not like it, but - damn - check out the leaders. The kid has a point. 

7. Watching Soto kibbutz with the ump last night, laughing during a key at-bat - (he worked a walk) - boosts my sense that this guy won't fold in October. No Grandyman. No Ellsbury. He has the look. Next winter, the Mets will dispatch the hordes of Hell to sign him. We must never let up on Hal. 

8. Jose Trevino legged out a grounder last night, reminding me what a gritty player he is. He was ruled out on the replay - originally, he was called safe. But it conjured memories of him legging out a DP grounder this weekend, opening the gates for a Yankee rally. By now, I figured Austin Wells would be our starting catcher. Well, Wells has flopped, and Trevino - hitting .268 - is one of the great successes of 2024.

9. DJ LeMahieu is hitting grounders, a DP ball waiting to happen. It's too soon to draw conclusions. Surely, he'll heat up. But last night, the idea that he'd lead into the Yankee big three - it didn't work.  

10. Temps in Phoenix hit 104 yesterday. Big heat dome. Fuckem. I'll never forgive the Diamondbacks for derisively playing "New York, New York" on the loudspeaker moments after the 2001 world series ended. Let'm fry. Vengeance is a dish that is best served scalding hot, like the asphalt in your driveway.

A modest proposal.

 All right, here it is. 

Right now, both New York baseball teams are stuck with problematic free-agents-to-be who, not so long ago, were supposed to be the key to their revival.

I say...time for a deal.

The Yanks send The Gleyber to Flushing, straight up, for Pete Alonso.

I know what you're thinking. 

Alonso's BA has plunged since he hit .262 and then .271, in 2021 and 2022, respectively—down to .217 last year, and .234 so far in 2024. 

But his power numbers have generally held up, with a slugging pct. of .504 in 2023. Sure, he's a righty—but he's always been a better hitter against right-handed pitchers, and on the road. He's also a decent fielder, if no Anthony Rizzo at his prime. But then, sadly, Rizzo is not at his prime anymore, either.

And don't forget: this would mean getting rid of Gleyber!

(Seen here urging his teammates not to tell him how many outs there are—he wants to be surprised.)

Why would the Mets do such a thing? Why not?

Jeff McNeil, NL batting champ just two years ago, is tanking royally at second for them. Gleyber, right now, makes $6 million a year less than Alonso does.

Alonso, meanwhile, is bound to do better in the Yankees' lineup.

But the best part of the deal? It's not forever!

If The Polar Bear sinks—or if, miracle of miracles—Gleyber shines over in Queens, either team can dump them on the market at the end of the year. If they don't—they can just sign them back up!

Anyway, just a suggestion...

Above Average's Haiku Tuesday: The "When I'm 64 - 24" edition

SOTO, VOLPE, JUDGE

HAL HAD BETTER F*CKING BUDGE

ENOUGH CASHMAN FUDGE

The Yankees are a mile ahead of everyone but the team they fear: 10 takeaways from a seemingly quiet off-day

As Hoss expertly noted yesterday... with the Knicks, Rangers, Mets and even Springsteen on the shelf, the Yankees now walk alone through the storm, dreaming the impossible dream, on behalf of the oppressed, downtrodden, loveable, Leo Gorcey Jr. street urchin billionaires of Gotham. Climb every mountain, ford every stream...

Ten takeaways from the non-day, yesterday...

1. This season remains a long, hard death march, evidenced by the mosquito's butt-crack of space between the Yanks and Baltimore, whom we cannot shake, like a coal miner's cough. In theory, we have two impact players on the way: Gerrit Cole and The Martian, Jasson Dominguez. Unfortunately, the O's have four of the top hitters in the International League, including a RF named Heston Kjerstad, challenging for a Triple Crown, and Jackson Holliday, 20, supposedly the best prospect in baseball (though recently demoted after hitting .059.)  They have enough young talent for a massive infusion, either from fresh legs or trades. We should be at least five games up. We're one, in the loss column. 

2. Redsock fans still have the Celtics. Tampa and Toronto are watching cornhole. 

3. Yesterday, the Yankees promoted Dominguez to Scranton. He's 21. Right now, there is no place for him at the Show. That will change with the next injury. He was destroying Double A pitching. Dare we dream the impossible dream: What if he's for real?

4. Modern comparisons to Ruth & Gehrig, or Mantle & Maris, are always toad-licking, full-gone bonkers. But - damn - if Hal opens his wallet, the Yankees could have Judge & Soto at their career peaks for the next three years. (Judge turned 32 in April; Soto is 25.) And if Dominguez is for real...

No. I am not thinking such things. It does no good to write of such things. FOR FANS, NOTHING GOOD EVER COMES FROM BEING OPTIMISTIC. 

5. On that note, I cannot believe Luis Gil is for real. He cannot be that good. I see him as a Nasty Nestor 2022 type, who will make the all-star game and then falter due to the workload. The Yankees will hand him the ball until his arm hurts, and then yelp, "Who thought this could happen?" 

6. The Yankees will need to fortify their bullpen for the stretch run. But I don't seem them benching or trading Gleyber Torres, unless his game further degrades, or the team slides into a deep funk. Our most intriguing replacement, the tiny Caleb Durbin, is injured, and there is no solution on the way from Scranton. They'll go with Gleyber for at least another month, probably two. (By the way, he's hitting .250 over the last 15 days, .246 over the last 30. Not a streak, but a sign of life?) 

7. The most beautiful moment last week came in Juan Soto's late-inning bunt single against Frisco. They used to say Mantle could hit .400 if he bunted all the time. I get the feeling Soto can break out of any slump by laying them down the third base line. Moreover, it speaks to the quality of the player. When Soto came from SD, I think Yankee fans expected a raw, undeveloped, unrefined talent. He's a disciplined, cerebral, skills hitter, far more than we anticipated. Lock. Him. Up.

8. Nothing succeeds like success. If somebody suggested Cody Poteet would pitch well, I'd have said he had as much chance of succeeding as a Jewish lady has of winning the Mexican presidency. 

9. I cannot remember the last time a Yankee starter got blown out - a full-scale bombing. We have seen bullpen meltdowns, but who hasn't? An earmark of Yankee disappointments over the last 10 years is the sense that, when we fell behind 2-0, the game was over. With this team, right now, they can overcome almost any setback. 

10. Springsteen out until June 12 with "vocal issues." If he were on the Yankees, that would mean he'll be gone through July. 

A Shattered City Sends Out a Desperate Plea for Help.

 

Gotham City needs a hero.

The usual Jokers have left Madison Square Garden a ruin, as the Knicks' and Rangers' 13-2 playoff start crashed to a 4-10 finish. 

Their grand total now stands at 3 championships in 161 seasons.

The Penguin Polar Bear has the Mets slumping toward fourth place, as usual, while The Riddler is baffling the Giants' and Jets' seasons already. 

Elsewhere in this vast metropolis, The Sandman has put the Nets, Devils, and Islanders to sleep. Or, to be honest, kept them in their decades-long slumbers.

We need to send out the beacon. No, not that beacon. This one:

All right, so it's not really a beacon so much as a neon light, between what looks like a house plant and maybe a canary cage.

Still. It all comes down to us. 

Since the Giants' last Super Bowl triumph, New York's pro teams have gone a combined 122 seasons without winning a ring. 

Back in the day, fans used to rush out to the airport to greet their heroes when they came back from a road trip like the one your New York Yankees just returned from. In certain, much-slandered, New York cities they still do that.

We need to rally the whole city behind our only remaining Bat heroes. The time is now. Or, you know, in October.

It's time to start the chant: "LOCK HIM UP! LOCK HIM UP! LOCK HIM UP!"

 

Yankees are best team in baseball. The only problem? It's June 3.

One key to life is knowing when you got it good... because, as every practicing fan knows - it won't last. 

So it goes with the '24 Yankees. We now possess MLB's best record, three up on Baltimore - (still the team to beat) - with Gerrit Cole's return maybe weeks away and an emerging Jasson Domiguez, raking - (.333 with 4 HRs in 51 ABs) - on rehab in the minors. 

It won't get better - which raises an existential question: Will we blow it... again? 

We face parallels, terrifying  omens, with 2022, when we washed ashore at the disastrous Aug. 1 trade deadline. Two years ago, a splotch of woeful deals kicked this team in its balls. The feeling still persists.

Then: The team was running away in the AL East despite an open sore in LF named Joey Gallo. Eventually, we traded him to LA for a lottery ticket named Clayton Beeter (now injured). Gallo briefly revived with the Dodgers, then returned to his uppercut malaise. (He's currently hitting a sad .141 with 4 HRs for Washington.) We went with a pile of players - Oswaldo Cabrera, Harrison Bader, Aaron Hicks -none who succeeded.  

Now: The team is in first despite growing concerns at 1B, where Anthony Rizzo has gone stone cold. Over the last 30 days, he's hitting .219 - with the second lowest OPS (.571) in the AL among first basemen. His fielding seems to have degraded. MLB is full of expensive, underwhelming first basemen, which opposing GMs would love to send to the Yankees for a workable prospect. In a nutshell, be afraid.

Then: Giancarlo Stanton was hitting HRs - (he'd finish with 31) - but was increasingly marginalized because of his inability to play the field.

Now: Giancarlo Stanton is hitting HRs - (he has 14, projected to hit 37) - but is totally marginalized because of his inability to run.

Then: An unexpectedly bad Josh Donaldson was stumbling and fumbling, with the YES team constantly assuring us he was coming around. He never did.

Now: Gleyber Torres cannot seem to get his act together. He's hitting .230 with 4 HRs and a series of on field blunders worthy of the Savannah Bananas. 

Then: Defying the laws of random sequence, every deadline deal Brian Cashman made blew up in our noses. (It should be noted that none of the prospects we dealt away became a big star; but that simply might free up the GM to... dear God...) 

Now: Will he attempt to restructure the bullpen and infield? And this time, will we give away the future? If you continually trade away the seed corn, eventually, you hit a famine. 

I know what you're thinking: Jeeze, Duque, be happy, for once. The Yanks just shredded the AL West - on a road trip, no less. They have baseball's best pitcher rehabbing, and maybe the game's best young pitcher leading the rotation. On a day devoted to Lou Gehrig, you could argue that we have the modern equivalent of Ruth and Gehrig - Judge and Soto. For God sake, cheer up. Because this can all go poof in one outfield collision. 

Yeah, that's it, eh? Celebrate while we can. But as a practicing fan, never let down your guard. Beat your chest, and the juju gods will take notice. That's when Judge will step into a wall. We're four months from October, a long hard slog. We might be peaking. It might never get better than what we just saw. Be happy. But don't let your guard down.

"Now we are become Death, destroyer of worlds."

 

Which is what we Yankees fans prefer, of course.

Saw a stat the other day that I could barely believe. For 16 straight games, May 12th to May 29th, Yankees starters pitched at least five innings and gave up no more than two earned runs.

This is a record. Quite a record. In fact, it's never been done before.

At least according to that unimpeachable source, the YES channel scroll, it's never happened before in the history of major-league baseball—going back to at least 1893, before which the rules of the game were considerably different.

Never done before. Not in the Deadball Era. Not in the Power Pitching Era of the 1960s, when pitchers threw bullets off a mountain top.

Sixteen straight games, every starter throws at least five innings and allows two or fewer earned runs. 

It went: 0, 1, 0, 0, 0, 1, 2, 1, 2, 0, 0, 0, 0, 1, 2, 1. 

The streak only ended when Carlos Rodon gave up all of 3 earned runs in 6 innings against the Angels. Had Boone pulled him a batter earlier, the streak would still be alive, at 19, after Reet Poteet gave up just 2 in 5 innings last night.

I mean...WTF?

Okay, granted: through almost all previous eras of baseball, a starter was supposed to go longer than they are today, which must have affected the ways they pitched. But still. This is ridiculous—and hey, whattaya know, it's resulted in a lot of wins.

Your New York Yankees are now 41-19. Those "Terrible Thirteen" games, most of them on the West Coast, that I thought were going to be a hidden sandbar to the Yankee Clipper of our dreams? The Yanks are 8-4 in them, with one more to go this afternoon.

Aaron Judge is hitting like the Judge of yore (2022). Juan Soto is playing like a multi-armed, fire-breathing deity of yore. The Yankees lead the American League in home runs, walks, OBP, OPS, OPS+, OPS+ or - (all right, I made that up), ERA, shutouts, saves, etc.—and are close to the lead in everything else.

I know, I know. It can't last. Not like this.

The depth is as thin as the crust of a crême brulée. The bullpen is surviving on smoke and mirrors—or maybe a smoky, mirrored crême brulée. 

Forget "The Terrible Thirteen." Waiting just ahead is "Baseball Blackjack." Twenty-one straight games against the Dodgers, Braves, Orioles, plus the sorts of teams that tend to play their series against the Yankees like their own, personal World Series: KC, Minnesota (hellbent on revenge—again), Boston, and that rapidly deflating team in Queens.

And we haven't even made it to where Brian Cashman decides to put the team "over the top" with his genius moves at the trade deadline.

Still...it's nice to dream, isn't it? A little dream of total dominance and destruction? What's so wrong with that? 

Oh, and happy Lou Gehrig Day. This is the day, 99 years ago, when The Iron Horse ("Biscuit Pant" to his teammates), started on his 2,130-game streak. 

May our pitchers' streak last as long!

 

"Cody Poteet Is Very Neat," the poem. (And other matters)

CODY POTEET IS VERY NEAT

Cody Poteet
Is very neat.
When he pitches
He brings the meat.

Cody Poteet
Is very sweet.
When he pitches,
He grabs the teat.

Cody Poteet
Is not discrete.
When he pitches,
We can’t be beat.

Other notions following last night's Big Yankee Win. (Note: Every Yankee win is a Big Yankee Win.) 

Also... 

--- If Aaron Judge keeps hitting 14 HRs per month, he will hit 78 HRs, obliterating Barry Bonds' single season record of 73, which is the second least-admired record in sports, after OJ Simpson's 2,000-yard rushing record with the Buffalo Bills. 

--- So this Godzilla punk has a new movie out? I could care. I lost interest when he called himself "King of Monsters," an obvious dig at King Kong. Guy should shut his fat, ugly mouth. Kong beats his rubbery lizard ass every time they meet. He wants to be a big time monster? Let him fight Jake Paul. 

--- Speaking of movies, apes on horseback! Dear god, is there anything more thrilling! Count me in!

--- Speaking of apes, true story. In the 1970s, a Syracuse movie theater held "Ape-O-Rama," three Planet of the Apes flicks, back to back to back. Halfway into the second movie, the power went out, the place plunged into darkness. The viewers began making ape sounds, so the police were called. This is the second greatest story ever to sum up Syracuse, NY. 

--- The first greatest story? In the mid-80s, a Yankee game was supposed to be NBC's game of the week. Instead, the local TV network affiliate aired some local Syracuse event. A few Yankee fans went to the station to complain. Police were called. THIS is the true glimpse into Syracuse's soul.

--- Those pilgrims who attacked the TV station are the 2nd greatest Yank fans of all time.

--- The G.O.A.T. Yankee fans: The ones who put the nails on Ed Whitson's driveway.  

Please understand, I am not trying to get you to stop hating the Yankees' enemies...

 ...But this week the Angels and the Giants did this: 

     

Game Thread: Cody Poteet vs. Logan Webb

The Big Strawberry fills in for Schmidt.

Putting the game thread up early so I can concentrate on the Rangers.

Here are some little known facts about Poteet.

1) There is a town named Poteet.

Poteet, Texas

City in Atascosa County, Texas, United States

 • poteettx.org

Poteet is a city in Atascosa County, Texas, United States. The population was 2,795 as of the 2020 census. It is part of the San Antonio Metropolitan Statistical Area. It was named for its first postmaster, Francis Marion Poteet. Wikipedia.

2) Probably has some kind of Strawberry Festival.

3) Marion was John Wayne real first name. 

4) Cody is the last name of Buffalo Bill.

5) Poteet is best known as the birthplace of country music star, George Strait.  It is also known for its "Poteet Strawberry Festival”. HA! I knew it!

 

This is what it means to be a Mets fan.

 

You know, sometimes in this weary old world of ours, I try to take time and look around, and appreciate how much worse some people have it than I do.

Sure, it's fun to fill the hours complaining about Hal and The Brain. But during those dwindling times when I'm at least partially sober, I try to acknowledge that my life could be so much harder, and there are so many worse things I could be.

Such as a Mets fan, for instance.

Even as I write these words, the Mets are retiring the number of one of their all-time greats—a man who won three times as many World Series rings for the Mets' hated, crosstown rival, as he did for them.

Darryl Strawberry never did make the Hall of Fame, or fulfill all that amazing potential. (No greater curse in this life, I think, than "potential.") Before walking away to play for the Dodgers, Straw did become the franchise's all-time home-run leader...with 252. 

It was thought that he would soon be passed on the club home-run list by another can't-miss superstar, Pete Alonso. That seems less likely now, with The Polar Bear mired in another slump and fast approaching free agency.

But this is what I'm talking about: How hard it is to be a Mets fan!

We have no real conception, we proud, snooty Yankees fans. 

I mean, consider: before the Mets retired Darryl's number 18, the last number they retired was that of a player who...won twice as many rings with the Yankees as he did with the Mets.

Before that, they retired the numbers of:

—A guy who also won a ring, an MVP award, and a batting championship before becoming a Met...and was traded to New York because he was a pusher.

—A Hall-of-Fame catcher...who has his best seasons, and two All-Star MVP awards before becoming a Met. And was cashiered by the Mets organization because he didn't want to go manage in Binghamton.

—Another Hall-of-Fame catcher who was nothing but a creature of the juice...and had his best years before becoming a Met.

—An outstanding pitcher, who won the final game in the Mets' only other World Series win...and ended up quitting the team in disgust, as a free agent.

—A terrific, all-time great of a pitcher...who was chased off the team by an insane Mets general manager. Then was left off the team by accident, by another Mets general manager.

—One of the very greatest players of all time—maybe THE greatest ballplayer of all time—who had all those great years with the Giants, before stumbling through the end of his career in Shea.

—An outstanding Mets manager who was known mostly for being a beloved member of...the Brooklyn Dodgers.

—A New York legend, an outstanding player and probably the greatest manager of all time...who set a record for losses in Queens.

That's what it's like to be a Mets fan, people. 

Think of it for a moment. In their 63rd year of existence, in 1965, your New York Yankees had already the greatest dynasty in sports history.

In their 63rd of existence, the New York Mets...are still largely an object of reflected glory, a franchise whose greatest players overwhelmingly had their greatest years elsewhere. A team that has not won a World Series in 35 years, and counting.

God bless, Darryl, a man who had to struggle with many things, right from the beginning—starting with a violent, dangerous, abusive father, and forging on through serious addiction problems, a near-fatal cancer and a heart attack, and all the usual demons of this life.

He persevered—and gave us some nice moments as a Yankee.

As for the Mets...well, that's just sad. 

 

The numbers surrounding Aaron Judge defy human comprehension

I cannot fully imagine the numbers that regularly swirl around Aaron Judge. I don't need a laptop, or a calculator, or a scratch pad. I need a drink. To fathom these abstractions, you need not only an Albert Einstein, but a Yogi Berra.

Consider these imaginary numbers:  

--- In December of 2022, Judge signed a 9-year, $360 million deal with the Yankees. Three hundred sixty million dollars. To count to 360,000,000, adding one digit per second, it will take you 13 months. To travel 360 million inches, you must drive from NY to LA, then turn around and shuttle back to Indianapolis, a trip that raises the existential question: What's the point?  

--- That month, the Padres offered Judge $400 million, and the Giants were said to have conjured even more. But what are these numbers? They're like infinity-plus-one. They can only be fathomed by supercomputers and toad-lickers. After a certain point, who cares?

--- On April 27, Judge was batting a woeful .190 - below Mendoza, in the province of Zolio Almonte - and Yank fans were openly wondering if he were hiding an injury, and whether he'd hit a lick this season. He looked terrible, and he was costing us games. It was time to think about dropping him in the batting order. 

--- In the month of May, Judge compiled an OPS of 1.472. What does this mean? Nobody knows. It's just a bizarre number. But it was the largest OPS in MLB, and more than 200 points ahead of the OPS runner-up, Jose Ramirez. It's double the OPS's of both Mookie Betts and Randy Arozarena. It's - oh, fukkit - it's a goddam big OPS. 

--- Over the last 30 days, in all of baseball, Judge leads in HRs (14), is 2nd in RBIs (27), and 2nd in batting average (.387). This is a supernatural output, in the mystical realms of Ruth, DiMaggio and Mantle. Not long ago, the baseball world was extolling the greatness of Shohei Ohtani - and I do not mean to disrespect Ohtani - but there is no one in the game like Aaron Judge, and I thank God, or the algorithms of Destiny, that he is a Yankee. 

But there is something missing here, and unlike Judge's numbers, it is quite easily understood. What's missing is a world series ring. And it better happen this year, because come October 30, if the Yankees aren't preparing for the Canyon of Heroes, all these fancy numbers will be in the distant past.