Unexepected injury? Check. Visit to the scrap heap? Check. Is this the meltdown year?

This is not good.

On April 11, Mark Teixeira turns 36. He'll be coming off a broken foot, and who knows what? He'll be nursing something. He is always nursing something. And he'll be our only pure 1B.

When Tex goes down - he always goes down eventually - we'll spit-glue something. Is Lyle Overbay still out there? We'll move Carlos Beltran to 1B, or Dustin Ackley, a 2B. We'll bring up Toby McRetread from Wilkes Barre - where's Kyle Roller - to fill the void, until Tex's gonad untweaks, or his whatever stops whatevering. We'll go from a switch-hitting Number 3 slugger to whatever Brian Cashman can find on the scrap heap.

Did I mention that, as you're reading this now, Cash is wandering the scrap heap?

That big Yankee 2016 youth resurgence now looks like Dustin Ackley and - wait - could we get Jesus Montero?

I still can't believe it. Greg Bird... gone for 2016. Greg Bird, the guy who would spell Tex, maybe outdo Tex... gone for 2016. Greg Bird, the next great Yankee, the next Core Four member, the guy who was going to keep us competitive with Boston... gone for 2016. And it's a shoulder, the kind of injury that can turn a future star into a Could Have Been... gone for 2016.

How do we check out of this hotel?

Ever get the feeling that this could be the Yankees' Bobby Valentine year?

Around this time last February, it was a catching prospect named Luis Torrens, plus a pile a pitchers in need of Tommy John. (That's the real problem: We don't know how many promising young pitchers will throw hard and then leave for surgery.) Torrens was being pushed by the Yankiverse propaganda machine... and then he was gone for 2015.

These things happen, of course. Injuries are part of the game, right?

But the worst part here might turn out to be that we traded Eric Jagielo to Cinncinati in the El Chapo deal. At the time, we rationalized giving up Jagielo because he looks like a future 1B, and thus, he'd be blocked by Bird. Now, Jagielo looks like the last guy we should have included in a four-prospect bargain bin, and all our well planned plans - we don't look so smart anymore, eh?

But this we know: At some point next year, Tex will get hurt. Maybe he'll play through it - a situation with its own set of consequences. (See Jacoby Ellsbury.) Either way, the big 2016 youth movement just blew a flat tire. Greg Bird... gone for 2016.

This is not good.

For Greg Bird

Aubade 
Philip Larkin

I work all day, and get half drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain edges will grow light.
Till then I see what’s really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.

Read more >>

Mayday

Greg Bird out for the year.

Calgon Beauty Bath, take me away...

CC is already throwing, but redemption is a long, long road.

Gammonitic reports out of Fortress Tampa say that CC Sabathia has begun throwing off a flat surface - (rather than throwing up off it.) That he is starting three weeks ahead of schedule offers a nice symmetry, because he fell apart last season with three weeks left in October. And the sting of that betrayal still weighs on every bubbly news report.

Listen: We're all rooting for CC to put his demons behind him and have one last great year. (Two great years would be even nicer, but let's not be greedy.) A season with - say - 18 wins and an ERA below 3.50? I'd take it in a heartbeat. One last run as an ace. Too much to ask? Probably. Too much to expect? Definitely.

Over the last four years, we have seen CC attempt to resurrect himself by 1) losing a vast quantity of weight, 2) gaining that weight back, 3) becoming a finesse pitcher, 4) using new knee braces and 5) drinking away the pain. Now and then, he's pitched well - always in advance of the next collapse. He's not getting younger. When Food Stamps Steinbrenner grumbles about waiting for the dead wood contracts to end, he doesn't have to name names. Everyone knows...

I don't doubt Sabathia's work ethic, leadership qualities, competive nature and fine personality. But in my life as a fan, I don't recall a Yankee walking away from his team on the day before the post-season, and certainly not because of booze. I can only imagine how horrible his life must have been for such a scenario to come about. Talking about hitting rock bottom? He must have burrowed into the dirt.

Well, let's be glad that he's throwing, and that the Yankees seem to be sticking with him. But whatever we get from the guy is gravy. He should be considered the fifth starter, if that. As far as I'm concerned, Sabathia must win back every shred of respect he once had, because he squandered last season. Three weeks ahead of schedule? Great. It's a start. He has a long, long way to go.

Abe Vigoda is dead, Howie Kendricks is signed, and Hal Steinbrenner lost $30,000 gambling on baseball cards.

This week, the Yankee Code Red Terror Alert finally ended.

Howie Kendricks finally signed with the Dodgers.

It's over. The kidney stones passed. Count your toes. Bring the kids up from the basement. And count the kids. Remember: There are things worse than death, and there are things worse than going a winter without a free agent... things such as, well, signing Howie Kendricks.

And now we know why Hal Steinbrenner is so reluctant to spend money: He just got swindled.

Hal was more interested in old baseball cards than another Brian Roberts/Stephen Drew at 2B. Did you hear that Food Stamps lost $30,000 on a baseball card scam? (To a Steinbrenner, $30,000 is the Clam Dip Fund. Hal wouldn't bend over to pick up $30,000 on a streetcorner.) It must have been exciting, buying packs of unopened baseball cards and thinking he might get a Mickey or a Roger. And that's what he's done all winter - signing the Kirby Yateses and Lane Adamses, hoping to get the next Steve Pierce.

The terror has passed. Howie Kendricks has signed. And now we know why Food Stamps is holding onto his money.

In MLB's Ranking of Top 100 Prospects, the Yankees are, again, looking like a Wild Card

Imagine a FOX Sports Game Break, the glitzy graphics exploding, and then beloved announcer Al Forehead says, "Yanks at Boston, score after three, Yankees 3." And Al never gives Boston's score. Crazy, right? Sort of like political coverage in America, eh? But that's what happens in the Yankiverse this time of year, when various propaganda mills put out their Top 100 prospect lists.

This week, Yankee bloggers jubilantly reported that we have three prospects in MLB's "Top 100." They are Jorge Mateo (30th) Aaron Judge (31st) and Gary Sanchez (59th). Cause for celebration, right? (Yes, it is. I'm not putting us down.) Trouble is, if you add the other scores, we're in second place in the AL East.

Here's the breakdown in our Division, with the number of prospects on MLB's Top 100.

Boston 4 prospects (ranked 7th, 17th, 25th, 39th)
Yankees 3 (30th, 31st, 59th)
Tampa 3 (14th, 43rd, 81st)
Toronto 1 (42nd)
Baltimore 1 (85th)

Other AL teams with more than three: Minnesota (6), Houston (5), Texas (5). Don't get me wrong: Three prospects isn't bad. It's just middle of the pack, that's all.

The difference-maker here is a name we mention way too often, Yoan Moncada, the 7th best prospect in baseball. (Alas, why go there again?) But one point, constantly made by Yankee enabler websites, is that this list underestimates our youth movement, because it does not include Greg Bird and Luis Severino. Both accumulated too much MLB playing time last year to still be considered "prospects."

Trouble is, if you compare our youth wave with Boston's - Betts, Bradely, Swihart, Bogartes, et al - we're still running behind. Every team has a Greg Bird and a Luis Severino. The Yankees only look exceptional when they compare this year's roster to those of previous years, when the farm system was sucking air.

There is hope. Three kids on the list, plus Bird and Severino. But right now, if you're looking for the next Core Four, a better place to look would be in Boston. And that should be cause for alarm.

The Yankees are reaching the end of the Ivan Nova Marching Trail

Yesterday, the human embodiment of inconsistency, Ivan "Super" Nova, avoided arbitration and settled on a $4.1 million one-year Yankee deal, producing the loudest cry of "MEH!" since Britney Spears married Kevin Federline (or, for advanced geezers, since "Password"'s Allen Ludden shacked up with Betty White.)

I can't think of any reason to be excited about Nova. Nor can I think of any reason to trade him.

He is what he is. And so it goes. That's Chinatown, Jake.

Here's what going to happen.

In late April, Ivan will march out of the bullpen and shut down some team. This will prompt Joe Girardi to give him a start. He will dazzle, toss a shutout into the Chappy Mill-Tances innings. (Or the Del-Mil-Rodys, or whatever.) This will prompt Joe to give him more starts. Ivan will throw splendidly. This will prompt Joe to install him in the rotation. We will say that "Super Nova" has finally arrived!

Then "Super" will suck. He'll have one mediocre outing. We'll say, "That's OK, everybody has one bad day." Then he'll have another. Then another. And then will come the burning of Rome. Nova's once respectable ERA will be soaring like the stock market after a Republican election. Nova will be banished to the bullpen.

And then, like an M.C. Escher etching, the cycle will repeat itself.

This isn't just me being cynical. (OK, maybe it is.) This is what every Yankee fan instinctively knows. Bird gotta fly, fish gotta swim. It's not that Nova is a bad guy, or the worst pitcher ever. He is what he is. And if $4.1 million feeds his family for the rest of his life, good for him! But unless he someday shoots a politician, or invents a cure for Restless Leg Syndrome, his tombstone will say: R.I.P. - Really Inconsistent Pitcher.

So we have Super Nova for another year. Altogether now...

Meh!

Off Yankee topic: One of these days, pro football will get a true glimpse into the reality of concussions, and nothing will ever be the same

They'll never end concussions in pro football. Ever. They can ditch the kickoff. They can penalize players for helmet hits. They can coach differently. It won't matter. Football is hitting, and hitting is concussions.

And someday, the NFL will face a reckoning for what has happened to generations of players. It's not the league's fault. It's the game. Football is hitting, and hitting is concussions.

I'm saying this because, as you've probably heard, ex-Giant Tyler Sash just died at age 27. He died of brain complications from concussions - four known, plus thousands of jarring tackles that no doubt were sledge hammers to the head. You don't make the NFL by hiding out there. It caused brain damage - called C.T.E. - which left Sash hopeless and helpless. And dead.

Currently, doctors can only diagnose C.T.E in an autopsy. Thus, Tyler Sash's family learned too late what it surely suspected, too late to do any good.

One of these days, this will change. Somebody will build a brain-scanning machine that identifies C.T.E. in living people. That day, football - as we know it - will end.

Think of it. Every NCAA school will owe it to student athletes that they be tested once a year, or after every concussion. Remember, these are amateurs. You can't expect a kid to put his future mental well being on the line for next to nothing. If a young man shows any sign of C.T.E. - even a sure NFL first round pick - could the school morally allow him to play? Imagine the ramifications, legally, ethically, financially...

Folks, it's going to happen. Once they invent the C.T.E. machine, college football will see a turnover of talent unlike anything before it. Who wants to play for Northwestern, knowing the next hit might mean that 20 years from now, you won't remember how to drive home? And the NFL will see a huge change as well. How much is it worth to you, if you know you've got the beginnings of brain damage?

One of these days, the scanner will be invented. The NFL - and boxing - will get a full glimpse of the damage being done to its participants. And the players will, too. This will cause incredible disruption. Iceberg, dead ahead. The only downside is that it won't happen fast enough to save the Tyler Sashes.

Walt Williams, the one and only No-Neck (1943-2016)

Scooter used to love him. 

Nobody ever played harder. 

The Last New York Yankee Fan

I'm not smart enough to write a book like el duque, but if I did write a book about Yankee fandom, it would go something like this.

As the Yankees' bargain basement winter continues, a question: How did we get this way?

Yesterday, the Retrieval Empire added journeyman catcher Carlos Corporan to the Scranton playlist, continuing our K-Mart austerity plan in a time when every other MLB franchise is buying at Bloomingdales.   

For the record, I wish Carlos luck. He's 32, a career .212 hitter, and a few years ago, he and his wife suffered a terrible tragedy, when their 16-month old son died from heart complications. He deserves nothing but respect. And the fact is, add a tweaked gonad to spring training, and you can see Corporan on the opening day roster. His signing is another case of Brain Cashman doing what he does best: Picking through the scraps. And these days, that's the Yankee improvement plan. 

Corporan's signing came as the Mets added Yoenis Cespedes, the O's Chris Davis, and the Tigers Justin Upton. In each case, up until the very end, hopeful bloggers suggested the Yankees might vault in suddenly and surprise everyone. These people take LSD. We vaulted in suddenly and surprised everybody by getting Carlos Corporan. 

How did we get this way? How did the wealthiest franchise in American sports - heir to the NYC money-making market - become penniless? And why are we doing this?

On the day he was born, Hal Steinbrenner had pretty much the same net worth as today: It's infinite. It's uncountable. When Hal earns another dollar, he's now worth Infinity-plus-1!

Obviously, Hal is cutting costs because that is the metric by which he has chose to judge himself? He could be trying to set personal records on the treadmill, but that's not doing it for him. His goal is to make the Yankees sleek and profitable. To win as many games as possible while spending as little as possible. And he can't do the former until he has first accomplished the later.

Will that be his legacy? Will the baseball historians someday say Hal Steinbrenner brought frugality and humbleness to the Yankees? 

Or is this just a passing phase of somebody born with too much money at his disposal? After all, two years ago, Hal - seemingly on a whim - larded up the Yankees with three of the most questionable long-term contacts in recent history: Beltran (3 years), McCann (5) and Ellsbury (7). Ever since the reality of those deals became apparent, Hal's plan has been to wait until around 2020, when everybody is off the books and he can press reset. 

Which leaves us with Carlos Corporan.  

Back when the Yankees were great - the days under Torre - now and then, when things were going bad, Paul O'Neill would smash up a water cooler. I wish there was a way we could that now. Yesterday, my fave Yankee blogger, Mike Axisa, wrote about this Yankee winter...

I am more excited about watching the current Yankees than I have been at any point since 2012. 

If you think about it - "since 2012" - that's not saying much. But still... I wish I felt it. But all I see is Carlos Corporan, and it hurts to laugh.

These Are The Times (Well, Actually, It's Not The Times, It's ESPN) That Try Men's Souls

A giveaway suggestion for 'Big Papi' David Ortiz Day at Yankee Stadium

It's only a rough draft, needs a little work ... but how about a poster?

Just a suggestion.

And a pregame ceremony suggestion ... how about having CC Sabathia bean Ortiz and have Papi bitch and whine about it, just for old times' sake?

The new Grandy Man Preservation Act? MLB owners may shrink the strike zone to add HRs and eliminate Ks

As a Yankee fan, one of the saddest memories in recent times was the career track of Mr. Curtis Granderson. He arrived as a 5-tooler, a guy who could beat out a nubber, then steal his way to third. The Grandy Man can! The Master would shout, 35 times a season. But the Grandy Man didn't... about 200 times. I still see him trudging back to the dugout, bat in hand, and grumble about Ian Kennedy, Austin Jackson and Phil Coke.

Well, maybe the historians will say that Curtis came too early.

An idea under consideration by the League of Extraordinarily Rich White Men - aka the MLB owners - would raise the current strike zone a few inches, above the knees. Like hemlines. Showing some thigh always gets attention, right?

Basically, the move would shrink the zone, adding HRs and eliminating Ks. This is Commissioner Rob Manfred, talking yesterday to the AP:

"I think that the interest in the topic is really driven by the fact that if you look over time there has been a movement down of the strike zone, largely as a result of the way we evaluate the strike zone with umpires."

The old fan in me, he dunno about this. If you look over time, the movement in MLB has been toward HRs rather than Billy Ball. The AL East last season was a strikeout/hit-it-out division. Not one of our "sluggers" hit .280, and both Tex and McCann were in the .220s. More hitting would be great. But the old fan dunno.

Whenever the lords of baseball want to boost attention, they look for HRs. In the mid-90s, they turned their heads so a few steroid-built Sasquatches could rescue the game from the seething fan anger caused by the strike. When it was over, the most iconic records in sports were gone, and to this day, I can't tell you what the single season HR mark is, because - frankly - I've tried to block it out.

So what are the Great Men thinking? That they can tweak up a couple season-long HR derbies - with Trout and Harper chasing 80, maybe 90? Would that finally exorcise the names "Bonds" and "McGwire" from their shitlist? The old fan... he dunno. Somewhere, the ghost of Charlie Lau is watching and shaking his head. So, will they just shrink the strike zone and unleash the Krakens?

The old fan dunno.

The great LA Times sportswriter Jim Murray once said of Rickie Henderson, by the way he crouched in the batters box, that he had a strike zone "the size of Hitler's heart." No owner had to help him. Back then, they simply didn't swing for the fences all the time.

One of the best memories I have of last season was Greg Bird's first MLB at bat. He hit a liner to left. It was caught. But he hit it to left - to the opposite field. Nobody had to shrink the zone to let him do it. He put the bat on the ball, rather than trying to drive it to Mars. If Bird becomes another Grandy Man, if that right field porch hypnotizes him, as it did old Curtis... they can make the strike zone the size of Hitler's heart. It won't matter.

Could unheralded New York City win the Golden Snowball?

The battle to be called New York's snowiest city is one of the grittiest competitions in all of urban badmouthing. But over the years, one city has dominated in the "Golden Snowball" race. Syracuse has won it 13 out of the last 14 years.

When it comes to clearing snow, Syracuse is "the city that never sweeps."

Once again, Syracuse has opened a sizable lead over perennial "allsnow-rans," Buffalo and Rochester. Even in a down winter - 28 inches below average for this date - the Salt City has a comfortable, Trumpian lead. It looks like the city that invented air conditioning will soon have another Golden Globe.

And yet...

That annals of sports are full of Cinderella stories, where small town teams rise from nowhere to defeat Goliath. And this year, one such city has emerged.

Little New York City, a minor snow league franchise that is not even allowed to compete for the Snowball, just finished a weekend that Binghamtonians can only dream of.

This weekend, JFK Airport recorded 30.5 inches of snow - (and it's airports where the official Golden Snowball numbers are taken.) That total alone would vault NYC into second place for the 2015-16 crown. Normally, that would be it for New York City, a one hit wonder.

And yet..

Another Nor'easter could be coming this week.

Could unheralded, little known NYC - a Division III snow town - find itself suddenly challenging for a Snowball? Maybe it's time for Albany to be demoted to some Virginia or North Carolina snow league, where it has a chance. Give the people of New York something to dream of. It's time to put them in the Golden Snowball.

"The recent comments by owner Hal Steinbrenner regarding club payroll and the future elucidate the seriousness with which the club is taking its goal of winning within the confines of fiscal responsibility. It also creates a concern that the team’s focus on winning at all costs is gone."

PAUL LEBOWITZ NAILS IT.

A plan that changes based on the latest fad and arbitrary results is not a plan at all. Had they hired a new GM – one who has a history or resume in building a club based on financial constraints, developing prospects, and making shrewd deals – then there was an excuse to follow this scheme. They didn’t. They kept the same people in place and told them to do it differently than they’ve done it for almost 20 years and are, for some reason, thinking they’ll get a different result...

Hal Steinbrenner’s comments are worrisome to Yankees fans who want passion and are instead getting a synthetic, robotic imitation of that passion. If the Yankees are looking across town at the Mets with numerous factions wondering why the Yankees can’t do what the Mets are doing, then there’s a problem that Hal Steinbrenner’s step-by-step rationality can’t solve. There are times that the “What would George do?” lament is totally ignorant of the destruction that the late Boss’s acts created. This, however, isn’t one of those times.

In John Sickels' grading of Yankee 2016 prospects, we are a Yoan Moncada light year below Boston

A constant lament across the Yankiverse is that our prospects always get dissed by the Gammonites at ESPN and other dog-and-pony-show rating services. "If Austin Romine was in the Redsock system," the line goes, "he'd be a number one!" That the Yankees over the last 30 years have projected Number Ones such as Eric Duncan, Brien Taylor, Ruben Rivera, Drew Henson and Jesus "Ice Cream" Montero - none of which beat Luis Polonia in service time - doesn't matter. The Yankees get screwed, and it just ain't fair.

Well, today, John Sickels named his top 20 Yankee prospects. He's a former gopher for Bill James, an ex-ESPN columnist with a 1990 degree in philosophy from a place called Northwest Missouri State University. Unlike other sites and services, which simply rank Top 10s, Top 20s, or Top 50s, Sickel painstakingly grades each prospect. This must be grueling, like painting uniforms on a miniature Civil War diorama made of toothpicks. It's completely arbitrary, and it's actually pretty stupid, but it's one of the rare opportunities to compare the Yankees' system to others. (We get so excited about the arrival of Andrew Brackman, while the Rays have a nobody named Chris Archer.)

So here's where we stand.

Under Sickels' analysis, we don't have a Grade A prospect. We have four B+ players - Gary Sanchez, Jorge Mateo, Aaron Judge, and James Kaprielian (our top pick last year). After that, it's Bs and Cs. We wouldn't make the Dean's List. Again, this is ridiculously arbitrary, the kind of work you'd expect from a philosophy degree at Northwest Missouri State. But today, let's play along, as a parlor game. Here are Sickels' Yankee Top 20 prospect grades, compared to Boston's.

Yankees v. Boston
A+: 0 - 0
A:  0 - 1
A-: 0 - 2
B+: 4 - 1
B: 0 - 2
B-: 5 - 2
C+: 13 - 12

You can argue the systems are too close to call. But you cannot argue the Yankees are winning. No way. And here's our turd in the lemonade: Boston's A prospect, the one that sets them ahead of us - perhaps for years - is Yoan Moncada, the Cuban free agent that Food Stamps Steinbrenner couldn't afford last winter. Of Moncada, Sickels writes:

... Hit .310/.415/.500 in last 56 games. Needs to reduce errors, may not stay at second base, but I totally believe in the bat. Power, speed, strike zone judgment, switch-hitter, complete package.

We have nobody like Moncada. And when people wonder why the Yankiverse seems in such a malaise, chinzy decisions like the one last winter always rise to the forefront.

As spring training nears, some personal announcements...

First, I'm excited about coming back in 2016. Over the winter, I've dedicated myself to a hard physical workout regime, the likes of which I've never done before. The results have been astonishing. I feel like a new blogger. I've never felt better, and I believe this Yankee season shapes up as the best of my career.

Secondly, I've done a lot of thinking about my breakdown toward the end of last season. I fell into a prolonged slump and was not helping the team. Over the winter, I made some critical adjustments in my typing. On the advice of Mike Lupica, I moved myself a few inches closer to the keyboard. The results have been astonishing. I feel like a new typer. I've never keyboarded better, and I believe this new sitting stance is going to change everything in 2016.

Thirdly, I've done some hard thinking. Over the winter, I dedicated myself to the team. Total commitment. I cut down on the Twinkies, the Snyder's of Hanover and the Old Milwaukee, and for the first time since fifth grade, my blood pressure is below Rosie O'Donnell at a Trump rally. The results have been astonishing. I feel like a new fan. I've never peed better. I'll blogging blog spring training in the best bloggng shape of my blogging life.

I can't wait. I'm expecting a roll out year with Joe, A-Rod, Tex, CC, Mustang, Alphonso, John, KD, I'm Bill White, maybe even Whitey Fraud, and all the commenters. I smell Wild Card! Excuse me, it's time for my enema.

As Mets strengthen their grip on NY, the Yankees do what comes naturally: They pass on Cespedes

Wednesday, Hal Steinbrenner made a rather comical remark to reporters while entering the Bohemian Grove East conference of the Loyal Order of Illuminati, aka the MLB owners' meetings. Food Stamps suggested the Yankees might still be in on free agent Yoenis Cespedes because, "You never know with the Yankees. We've surprised people in the past." 

Quickly, cheerleader squads across the Yankiverse started projecting our lineup with Cespedes aboard - a concept that makes about as much sense as President Palin. Having passed on three aces - Price, Greinke and Cueto, none of which would cost a draft pick - arguing why we should sign Cespedes is a task worthy of a 10-part Netflix docu-series, The Making of a Malady. Clearly, the Yankees had zero interest in Cespedes, no matter how low he was willing to go to stay in Gotham.

The fact is, the Retrieval Empire has always passed on Cespedes. They passed on him as a free agent escapee from Cuba. They passed on him at numerous trade deadlines, when he was passed around like a plate of liver. Somewhere within the Yankee cortex, the Grand Nameless Scout - the ghost of Billy Conners? - sees Cespedes as the second coming of Danny Tartabull.  Why bid on him now? To add a fifth OF and force a deal with Brett Gardner?

"You never know with the Yankees? We've surprised people in the past."

What a boatload of crud. Was Hal being whimsical? He must be wearing super-comfortable Haines briefs. Maybe next time, he'll burst into song, like an episode of Glee. I'm thinking he was stoned. It was a 10 a.m. "wake and bake," and he thought he was on the Charlie Rose Show.

Wait. I take it back. There is some truth here. Around this time last year, the Yankees surprised everyone with one of the cheapest decisions in the new Millennium. We let Boston outbid us for Yoan Moncada. Hey, you never know with the Yankees.

For the record, I'm not whining that Food Stamps sat on his hands with Cespedes, though the Mets sure got him at a NY discount: $75 million over 3 years. But this winter, our wacky, madcap, irrepressible owner has done nothing to improve this team. I'd love to think there will be a better era someday, that the Yankees are truly building from the bottom, but I'm not convinced. We've heard that line for 15 years. This owner seems more interested in making money than winning. Nope... the Yankees are not the Yankees, the Mets now own New York, and most of the surprises... they are bad ones.

The neutering of the Yankees has been completed: They will host a day to honor Big Papi

Today, I planned a drunken, happy-worded barf-festo celebrating the face that Howie Kendrick is signing with Arizona, ending the nightmare scenario whereby he would join the Yankees and create a Brian Roberts/Stephen Drew/Kendrick trilogy - a move as hotly anticipated as Land Before Time 3. I've waited all winter to write this words: Howie Kendrick will not be a Yankee. We're safe. It cannot happen. Sleep, child, and dream the dreams of happiness. The threat has passed... Now it's here, and frankly, it doesn't matter.

Then I was going to rail about a recent spate of articles mouthing YES/Gammonite propaganda, suggesting that the Yankees "can have it all" - that is: maintaining their status as contenders, while rebuilding. This narrative - marveling that the Yankees hadn't gone an off-season since 1990 without signing a major free agent, yet look, they could contend! - conveniently ignores the expanded Wild Card playoff system. These days, any team playing .500 ball in late June is a contender. Last year, Texas and Toronto were huge disappointments until loading up at the trade deadline, while Detroit cut and ran. Of course, the Yankees can contend! Unless the team bus crashes, everybody stays in the race.

I was going to bloviate hard about that... then this caught my red-ringed eyes.

OK, take your blood pressure medicine. Breathe...

This was confirmed yesterday by Hal Steinbrenner during "Food Stamp"s pilgrimage to the Great Man Summit, aka the owner's meetings. We're actually going to do this.

Insert barf here.

Of course, you should not be surprised. The Yankees would retire Rupert Murdock's home defibrillator if it guaranteed a sellout. (Let's hope Jerry Hall knows how to run it.) And honoring Big Papi is karmic payback, right? After all, Boston played nice with Mariano and Jeter, right? We know how "rivalries" work, right?

Well, I'm not buying it. Throughout his career, David Ortiz has never been a Mariano or a Jeter. He's been a foul, completely disagreeable human being, spun into a smiling Shrek figure by a Boston media machine that desperately wanted a popular, black-Latino star, so it could ignore the Redsocks' dismal history on race relations. When Ortiz was caught juicing - (and when, beyond any quick look at the NFL, was there been a more obvious lab-created humanoid in sports?) - Boston sluffed it off, conveniently forgetting the things its frat boy fans screamed at Roger Clemens and A-Rod, and anybody in a Yankee uniform. When Big Papi said "fuck" on opening day a few years ago, it was just the happy uncle in the attic, bringing mirth to the world. Great hitter, granted. Great player, are you kidding me? A full-time DH for 15 years.

I greatly fear that Boston will rise this season. A recent Fangraphs analysis - if anybody gives a damn - projected them to be baseball's second best team (after the Cubs.) (The Yankees are middle of the pack, which means - you guessed it - Wild Card race!) They come to NYC in late September, their last road trip of the season. If they have clinched the AL East, our transition to a small market, meaninglessness franchise - our Padres-ization - will be complete. We'll be groveling midgets, shrinking before our conquerors and honoring Big Papi at the same time. If that happens, I only hope we make it a embarrassment trifecta. Let's trade for Howie Kendrick!