" It’s not that we don’t want that fan to sell it, but that fan is sitting there having paid a substantial amount of money for a ticket and (another) fan picks it up for a buck-and-a-half and sits there, and it’s frustrating to the purchaser of the full amount … And quite frankly, the fan may be someone who has never sat in a premium location. So that’s a frustration to our existing fan base.”

There it is. The view from Mt. Olympus. The message clear...

The New York Yankees - owned and operated by billionaire siblings - don't want the bootless and unhorsed to ruin the game experience for their super-rich pals.

That's the quote from Lonn Trost - one of the suited Yankee senior vice-somethingorothers, who clog the team's upper masthead the way a disposable diaper does a toilet. He was speaking this week after the Yankees announced a novel new way to screw fans: They will no longer accept print-at-home tickets, which often come from StubHub - at times costing less than the market price. The team says it's fighting ticket fraud, but not everybody believes it.

Insert sigh here.

Listen: I don't want to write about "print-at-home" tickets. WTF? I want to write about rookies and veterans and who'll play 3B if Headley breaks a boner? Besides... the "controversy" here is overblown: StubHub will soon use smart phone tickets, ending the need for print-at-home. And frankly, I grew up in a world when scalpers were arrested, and I still view StubHub as lawyer-hacked, legalized scalping. What bugs me, though, is that apparently the Yankees aren't regulating "the secondary market;" they just want to do the scalping themselves. Hence the anger across the Yankiverse.

The truth is, I stopped going to Yankee games when they tore down their "cathedral" in the name of corporate luxury boxes. Ever since the 2009 World Series, when they shelled out for old George, the Yankee ownership has cynically played its fan base as a bunch of fools. Every winter, Hal Steinbrenner whines about the payroll, as if players were stealing kibble straight from his dog-dish. Folks on social security don't poor-mouth like Hal. And then Lonn Trost pops up to offer his view of letting in the riffraff.

Yesterday, I kicked around on a few fan message boards, trying to understand how Trost could spout such Jay Gouldian crapola. (I have no doubt he thinks it, but how stupid would anybody be to SAY it?) Apparently, some high-cost season tickets include access to food buffets, and when the rich put them up on StubHub, the buyers eat all the chicken-fried lobster. God bless those people. That's what I would do. But the Rockefellers hate it. And Trost identifies more with them than regular fans.

All of this poses a new reason to root for a day of reckoning - one that will never come. The Steinbrenners don't just own a team. They own a chunk of New York City. They own a slice of the American culture. They own The Babe, The Mick, Mariano, Jeter - the memory of Yogi, like the way Koch brothers own Kansas. All they need do is field a team that chases the Wild Card - that's a few games over .500 - and they can literally print money.

Also, they will always have me. I can't help it. I've been a Yankee fan all my life. As the days grow shorter, I'm too old to change. I'll die a Yankee fan, no matter who owns the team.

But this week, I learned something important.

They don't want me in Yankee Stadium. I might use the wrong fork. I might make a rich person uncomfortable. I don't make the cut.

Thank God for the Yankee Radio Network, driven by Cheap. Of course, one of these days, Trost will figure out how to squeeze it to death - maybe they'll have Ivanka Trump do a fashion report during pitching changes. But for all their woes, at least John and Suzyn still want us.

The owners wish all us angry fans just went away.

Uh-oh: "Chapman’s driver told the police that Chapman had fired the gun shortly after he punched the window of his car, lacerating his finger."

Lacerating the finger.

Let's not have a Jason Pierre-Chapman.

This will be Rob Refsnyder's year, and here's why

The whole world - even starving orphans in Ethiopia - are appalled by the Yankees' scandalous abuse of Rob Refsnyder and, for that matter, young people, since the dawn of civilization. The abridged version goes this way: We pissed away 2015 waiting for Stephen "Dizzy" Drew to hit, while Refsnyder toiled in Scranton. We yoyo-ed him up to the mother ship, where hit a home run to beat Boston and then disappeared, like a character in an HBO mini-series. He returned to start at 2B in the Wild Card Game, and then was seemingly exiled forever to the coal mine, after the Yankees traded for Starlin "Viva Fidel!" Castro.

It's possible that Refsnyder will end up with a fat wife and a coal truck, and spend his future Sundays drawing finger pictures into pretzel dust on some laminated Elks Club bar top in Moosic, a place that is as close to Syracuse as it is to New York City... But I say no.

This is going to be Refsnyder's year.

Of course, much depends on Dustin Ackley, the ex-prospect we sluiced from Seattle at last season's trade deadline. Ackley looks like the 23rd man on the 2016 Yankee roster. He can play 1B, 2B and OF, bats left, and if he hits, he could bury Refsnyder in Scranton for yet another year - at age 24.

When Mark Teixeira or Castro need a day off, Ack will handle it. But if someone gets hurt - let me rephrase that - WHEN someone gets hurt - it will dictate a Rube Goldberg chain of events, culminating with Refsnyder's ascension. Here are some scenarios.

1. Tex goes out for a month.  First, why would we not expect this? He's old and fragile. I was surprised when the Yankees didn't chase Ike Davis harder, because right now, they have no pro 1B at Scranton. Ackley is a stopgap 1B, not a six-week replacement. But... there is someone who can play first base.

It's Chase Headley. He moves to first. and Castro moves to third. (Girardi has said he wants Castro to learn the position.) That would mean the Yankees bring up Refsnyder, who could platoon with Ackley. Or maybe it's just Refsnyder at 2B.

2. Headley gets hurt, misses a month. Headley was a workhorse last year, one of the few to not miss much time. But hey, shit happens. We have no backup 3B at Scranton. So... Castro moves to third, and - yep - Refsnyder gets the call.

3. Gregorious gets hurt, misses a month. This is unlikely but... you know. Once again, Castro becomes the lynch pin; he moves to his old slot with the Cubs, and Refsnyder plays 2B.

4. Castro gets hurt, misses a month. Need I say it?

5. Refsnyder works in the OF. It's his natural position. Right now, the Yankees don't need another fly-chaser in Scranton. They already have four. But if Refsnyder makes the big club, playing the OF occasionally would be a big advantage.

OK, if everybody stays healthy all season long, Refsnyder does a Jimmy Hoffa. But that's not gonna happen. This is going to be his year. And if he makes himself into a major league 2B, he could become an important homegrown Yankee or - at the least - a future trade chip.

Let's hope. You can get pissed at the way the Yankees do business. But you can't root against guys like Refsnyder. They are the reason we come back.

Have we yet figured out what happened to the 2015 Yankees?

Last August, the Yankees became baseball's Cinderella - or, at least, its Goldilocks. Everything was just right. Headley was deadly, Gregorious was glorious, and Gardy was hardy. On the night of July 28, we trundled off to our beds, hugging our teddy bears and leading the AL East by seven games. Seven. Fricking. Games. Then the universe changed its mind. The coach turned into a pumpkin. Tex was hexed, Drew was poo, and even Miller was filler.

In August, we went 14-14, then we did the same in September. We barely crawled to the finish line - losing six of our last seven.  We looked like Trenton against the Redsocks, then couldn't even beat the horribly slumping O's. If the season had lasted one extra week, we might not have made the Wild Card - oh, that wonderful night when we scraped out three hits. Three. Fricking. Hits. 

All of which begs one still-unanswered question: WTF?

I believe Yankee fans still suffer from 2015 PTSD, based on the team's Met-like collapse. There are several theories of what happened. Each is suitably terrifying.

Theory Number One: They were old, gassy and decrepit. 

This is popular among End of Yankee Days evangelicals. Certainly, A-Rod looked ready for the turpentine factory. But the fact is, old man Beltran was streaking, and young Greg Bird - whom we'll next see play under the administration of President Trump - was on fire. It was Ellsbury and Gardner, who turned into Abe and Zolio Almonte - leaving two rally killers atop our lineup. Were they old, or hurt, or both?

If Theory Number One holds, well, Houston, we have a problem... basically because the essence of this team will be to have aged yet another year. Why would we think A-Rod can go the full season, when he couldn't do it last year? But with regards to Gards, we do have one advantage: Several young OFers - Heathcott, Williams, Gamel and Aaron Judge will sit at Triple A. Plus we have Aaron Hicks from Minnesota. Any one of them might step in and provide a jolt.

Still, if the Yankees are playing well in July, can we have faith in the team lasting through October? The answer - right now - is, no.

Theory Number Two: Tex's injury.

The 2015 Yankees were two teams: With Teixeira, and without. Tex got his last hit for the team on August 15. He fouled a ball off his foot, broke something, struggled, rested, and then got an MRI and said goodbye. Even with Greg Bird hitting well, we were never the same.

This theory terrifies us because Tex won't be any less brittle, and we no longer have Bird. It's a crazy stretch to think that Dustin Ackley is our backup 1B. Right now, that's the plan.

Theory Number Three: CC's collapse.

The idea goes that one of the team's spiritual leaders was falling apart, even if his pitching was improving. Clearly, something was seriously wrong inside Sabathia. You just don't check into rehab on the eve of the playoffs unless something is has gone kaput in the universe.

I can't begin to fathom the personal issues Sabathia was facing, but it had to affect his teammates. I don't think an entire team should fall apart because of Sabathia, but the street fight incident in Toronto obviously was a harbinger of unanswered problems.

Theory Number Four: Girardi bungled it.

Some of you are ardent Giradi bashers. I've not been one - I think he's a stand-up guy - but there's no way anybody can spin 2015 as a good year for management.

Meltdowns are supposed to happen to other teams - not the Yankees. Girardi owned this one. Once he lost faith in his middle-innings bullpen - sometime in July - he started overusing Betances and Miller. By August, he was abusing them. This year, the Yankees have given him the best bullpen threesome baseball has seen in many years. How will he use it?

Will our three-stopper system be cracking under the strain by mid-August? And why, why, why did we trade Justin Wilson for two middling Triple A pitchers? How bad is the rotation? Does Cashman know something we don't?

Girardi looks more and more like Tom Coughlin of the 2015 Jersey Giants. He may have the faith of the organization, but how many seasons can a New York team finish out of the running, before the fan base - and YES ratings - demands a change? We are not the Knicks, but we are turning into the Giants. And Coughlin is no more.

So WTF happened?

Bucky? Aaron? Bambino? Forget it. Here's the shot heard around the world.

What's the greatest all-time Yankee home run? Buck Dent? Aaron Boone? Chamblis for the pennant? Leyritz v. the Braves? Ruth's 60th? Ruth's called shot? Maris' 61st? Jeter's 3000th? Jeter's shot v. Jeffrey Maier? Scott Brosius on the second night? Mantle off Barney Schultz? Mattingly v. Mariners? Slade Heathcott last September? Or how about this...

Because in the end, it's What have you done for us, lately? 

First, let's dispel once and for all this fiction that Hal Steinbrenner doesn't know what he's doing. He knows exactly what he's doing. He is undertaking a systematic effort to change this team, to make the Yankees just like the rest of baseball...

And that's why he has refused to spend money on even just one free agent. It is no less than a systematic effort to remake the Yankees into just another franchise. And darn it, it's working.

As the 2016 team gathers in Tampa, aside from the bullpen - which, despite sporting three closers, still has no proven innings-eaters, due to the trades of Justin Wilson and Adam Warren - there is no credible argument that the Yankees are superior to the Blue Jays and possibly even the Redsocks in the AL East. We're sitting around in our homes, waiting for Terry Bradshaw to knock on the front door and warn us about shingles, and we're wondering whether CC Sabathia will answer the bell? Of course, he will answer the bell! He'll think it's the dinner bell! The problem is, like Sabathia, the Yankee core players simply will be one year older, one year more brittle, and one year closer to retirement, due to policies instituted by Steinbrenner.

Some will say he doesn't know what he's doing. I disagree. I say Hal Steinbrenner knows exactly what he's doing. He is undertaking a systematic effort to remake the Yankees into a team just like those which play European soccer. Look at Chase Headley. Why do we have Chase Headley? We spent most of last winter harping over long-term contracts, and then - as if to stick it personally to A-Rod - we gave Headley a four-year-deal, and now we're stuck with him. This week, two Cuban brothers defected to America. They want to play for the Yankees. One is 31 and a genuine star in Cuba. He could be a Martin Prado type. The other is low-20s, an infield prospect, and seeing as how we have nobody playing third at Scranton, it's a natural fit, but will we do anything? Of course not. And you ask why? I'll tell you why.

Let's dispel the notion that Hal Steinbrenner doesn't know he's doing. He knows exactly what he's doing... 

They are worse than we are

A Boston website trowels out a 1,000-word manifesto of excuses on why Yoan Moncada isn't rated quite so highly by one scouting system. 

Pathetic. (But I still want him.)

Will Comcast be the first hammer of karma to hit the Yankees for their boring team?

Did you hear about those two black holes that swallowed up each other deep in interstellar space, helping some lab coats prove Einstein's theory of gravitational waves?

A similar event happened last fall in the tri-state area.

Since November, Comcast and Fox - the Sunnis and Shiites of TV - have played chicken over YES broadcasts, creating a tiny wrinkle in the Yankee time-and-space continuum. As a result, 900,000 suburban rec rooms have been denied daily simulcasts of the Michael Kay Show. Hard to believe that weed-whacker-wielding mobs of Yank-Kay fans haven't marched on City Hall, eh? They must be drinking Flint water, and it made them sluggish.

But today, as the Daily News' Bob Raissman reports, the all-important March 2 Yankee Spring Training TV Opener - yes, against those dreaded Tigers! - could be a victim of this blood feud. (We'll have to listen to the Yankee Radio Network, driven by Cheap.)

It started when Fox-YES demanded a 33 percent increase in cable broadcast fees. Every Comcast subscriber - whether they follow the Yankees or not - pays almost $5 per month into the Steinbrenner Family Dynasty Trust. But this year, Comcast fired back. Says Raissman:

Comcast fired high-heat, saying most of its subscriber base was not even watching the Yankees on YES. “....Over 90% of out 900,000 plus customers who receive YES Network didn’t watch the equivalent of even one quarter of those (130) games (on YES) during the season,” Comcast said. “Even while the Yankees were in the hunt for a playoff berth.” Simply put, Comcast was saying the Yankees product in 2015 was more irrelevant than compelling.

"More irrelevant than compelling." Yeow, kitty like to scratch! Of course, as Raissman says, this is probably just another bucket of brinksmanship. At the last minute, the suited elephants will cut a deal, and nothing will change. Or maybe no. Maybe the suits noticed something:

The 2015 Yankees were boring. 

Yeah, boring. Fans were tired of watching the same aging, skill-eroded players, especially when management has no option other than to play them. The two most exciting things that happened last season were Greg Bird and Luis Severino. They almost balanced out the everyday dreariness of Carlos Beltran and Chase Headley, even though both players posted their usual numbers, more or less.

Old guys make boring teams. Boring teams make lower ratings. Lower ratings should mean lower fees. The 2015 Yankees were all of the above. The Mets enter 2016 owning New York, and Food Stamps Hal didn't shell out to sign a starting pitcher - the one ingredient that could have vaulted this team to the top of pre-season predictions.

One of these days, viewers across America will be free from the shackles of cable TV packages, which force them to pony up vast monthly sums for ESPN, YES, the Food Channel, whatever - for programming they don't watch. That doomsday judgement will affect Comcast, Fox, YES and Hal. I say, let the black holes converge. For better or worse, let's surf the waves...

Disturbing Nostalgia Yankee Picture of the Day

Beholdeth:
The 2011 Baseball America Top 5 MLB Prospects List

Yankees win one, lose and tie, as the Dice of God start to roll on 2016

Yesterday, down at the Tampa Sink Hole, the Retrieval Empire went 1-1 and 1.

We won one - Masahiro Tanaka's elbow didn't bark after his first throwing session since off-season surgery. That's a huge, though transitory, victory. Lost amid the excitement of being the only MLB team to not sign a free agent this winter was the Yankee news that Tanaka had gone under the scalpel... yet another another reason for Food Stamps Hal to have considered signing a Price or Greinke. Ah, but why say those names, they are just this year's Yoan Moncada. (YOAAAAAN MONCADA... SLOOOOOWLY, I TURN... STEP BY STEP...)  

We lost one - or Scranton did. We didn't sign Ike Davis to some piddling, middling deal. I thought we would. He's the kind of reclamation project Brian Cashman usually snags - a former top prospect, now tarnished (and cheap.) Also, he is the son of former Yankee bullpen lug nut Ron Davis. I always figured he'd end up with us. It's no big loss, but when Tex gets hurt - (and we all know Tex will get hurt) - we have Who on first. (Technically, it's Dustin Ackley.) Jeez... It's either Who or I Dunno...

Then there was a tie: Mookie Betts, the reincarnation of Kenny Lofton, drove a golf cart into a water trap. No biggie. And the Redsock Nation will tsk-tsk about Mookie being Mookie, about the madcap joys of youth, all that crapola they trowel out when one of their players just peed in the punch bowl. But the guy drove his golf cart into a pond. I've known guys who do things like that, and some are fine, and some have one cog always turning in reverse. How do roll your cart into a pond? Beats me. Today, beneath the joyful smirk of every Redsock fan, there lurks a silent terror that 2016 might have a tweak in the matrix.

Soon, the Dice of God will start rolling every day. Right now, our only injured player is Greg Bird. By the Ides of March, there will be others. They could be 20-year-olds slated for Charleston. They could be A-Rod and Tex. Guys get hurt. That's baseball. That's the Dice of God.

Boston has yet to feel that kick in the groin. But they have a team much like ours, based on thirtyfivesomethings, guys who can tweak a gonad while taking a crap. The Dice of God have already taken Bird from us. But the truth is, we are deeper at Triple A than we've been in the past. We have young replacements at most positions - we're knee deep in the OF - except pitching, (And nobody can withstand injuries to a pitching staff.)

Boston has energized its 2016 fan base. They signed David Price, traded for Craig Kimbrel, and are marketing their young stars - Xander Bogartes, Jackie Bradely Jr. and - of course - Kenny Lofton Betts. If all goes to plan, they could run away with the AL East. Then again, the Dice of God are about to roll.

And their golf cart could still end up a water trap.

There is hope, after all

They'll spin this as just another sign of wacky, mad, impetuous, devil-may-care adventurism. O, to be young and kookie, like Mookie!

But it's a bad sign.

Which is a good sign.

Now, if Moncada can ran a Segway into a crowd of senior citizens...

The Yankee 2016 hope: Somebody Darwins up from the ooze

In lieu of signing a stud free agent, the Yankees have assembled a handful of unfulfilled former future stars, ex-can't-miss prospects, hoping to snag another Amos Otis.

Yes, Amos Otis. The Elevator.

Sherman, set the Wayback to 1969. Otis was the future of the Mets, a 22-year-old CF who had failed in his first incarnation, at 20. He comes up, hits below .200, and is dealt to Kansas City for the great Joe Foy. As a Royal, Otis blossoms, epitomizing a common event in the 1970s and 1980s - the former hot prospect who is a bust with the first team, then explodes in another setting. Randy Johnson, for example. The decades were full of them, and the Yankees - think Doug Drabek, Jay Buhner, et al - led the way in giving them away.

But then GM's began to wise-up. Nobody wanted to be the guy who traded Jeff Bagwell for Larry Andersen, a player whose name in Boston remains synonymous with a bucket of fried chicken. But the trades still happen. And Cashman is sifting for his Amos Otis.

Last year, he pried loose Didi Gregorius from Arizona. Gregorius started horribly, then did very well. If he further evolves, he could be a star.

Here are the Yankee Darwinian Hopes for 2016:

1. Aaron Hicks, former Twins first-round pick. He's 25, hits both ways, is solid defensively, and has Paul Molitor as a fan. To get him, we gave up John Ryan Murphy - who could turn out to be the one that got-away. If Hicks evolves...

2. Michael Pineda, Nathan Eovaldi. We all know them by now. They should be hitting their peak years. They've both flashed signs. Maybe we've already seen all there is to see. If either evolves...

3. Dustin Ackley, former Mariners' first-rounder. We got him at the trade deadline. This is the guy who disappeared when Robbie Cano came to town. He was supposed to be the next Dustin Pedroia. He is NOT the next Pedroia. But if he evolves...

4. Slade Heathcott, Mason Williams, former top Yankee prospects. Basically, they are the same player - (25 and 24, respectively) - fast, injury-prone, LH bats who play good defense, might hit .280 and maybe 15 HRs. For either to evolve, somebody has to get hurt. What are the chances of that happening...?

5. Luis Severino. Saved the best for last. Practically every hopeful 2016 projection involves this guy evolving into a top starter. He's 22. Two weeks ago, we were stunned by the news that Greg Bird will miss the season. The only thing more disheartening would be an injury to Severino. If he evolves...

I'd say for the Yankees to win the division, three of the above seven names has to make that step. Of course, there are many other factors. But if someone evolves... the elevator will be going up.

For CC Sabathia, the great optimism of February can only be one-day-at-a-time

CC Sabathia says he feels great.

The knees: Great! The elbow, great, the shoulder, great, everything, great. He's thinking clearly, and smiling. We should all feel great - for now.

Sabathia is a great Yankee. Six years ago, he pitched us to a World Series. Thus, he has a leg up on Beltran, Ellsbury, McCann et al, - and frankly, that might never change. Right now, he seems to have kicked his alcoholism. But warm days and meaningless games in February will be easy. It will be the grind of July and August that brings the test. It will be the night after he's knocked out in the third. It will be the morning when his arm hurts. It won't happen in the sunshine of Tampa. But in a rain delay in Boston... well, let's keep our fingers crossed.

One thing Sabathia has been saying - and it's good to hear - is that he recognizes the battle ahead: He will be fighting this war for the rest of his life.

I can't remember the last time a Yankee star came to camp so nakedly with a substance abuse problem. Well - actually - I can: I just wanted to block it out.

It was Steve Howe. The late Steve Howe. One of the great could-have-beens of his generation.

Over 17 years in baseball, Howe was suspended seven times for drug violations. But his teammates loved him. The Yankees stood by him, again and again - even when his recurring suspensions became an unfunny joke - that is, when it became clear he was not going to win the fight. Howe retired in 1997, leaving the Sioux Falls Canaries in an indie league. Nine years later, he rolled his truck - he worked in construction - and died. An autopsy showed meth in his blood. Gone at age 48.

So this year it's Sabathia, and nobody needs me to tell them what it could mean to the Yankees if he returned to 2009 form. He's 36. Today, everything feels great. The skies are sunny, and the outlook is for seventies and soda. This time of year, the world always looks great in Florida. Let's just hope...

With a two-year deal, will The Master announce lazy?

You see it with some "star" players. They reach a certain level of fame and self-delusion, and then decide not to run out grounders, or to show loyalty to their home city. They square a 10-year, gazillion dollar deal on the other side of the country, just to please Beyonce, and if there is a God in heaven, they'll never be never heard from again, and yes, Smiley, you know who you are.

Well... ahem...

John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman have been calling Yankee games since anyone can remember, and they've been doing it on a year-to-year basis. Every season, never knowing whether it would be their last, they went out day to day, laced up their cleats and talked.

This time, they somehow managed to score a two-year deal, which means - what? - complacency? It better not, because they're taking the hard-earned dimes straight from Hal Steinbrenner's pocket... at a time when the plucky owner can't even afford one free agent.

A two-year deal? They better talk their A-game.

If you're riding on a two-year cream puff, the WinWarbles need to hit 7.00 seconds. No more 6:20 second Sterl Hurls. You gotta be like that Latino soccer announcer, the one who goes Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooahl.

If you're sitting pretty on a two-year pact, the Homer Hollers need to be crisper than "Gardy goes Yardy." I still can't even remember Beltran's call, though that's probably due to Beltran not hitting enough HRs to deserve one.

If you're in this for two years, that law firm that does the work on asbestos victims had better get a busload of viably sick clients, and the Little Debbie Snack Cakes will have to fly off the shelves.

Two years? Fine. But we cannot accept complacency from our tethers to the Yankiverse.

The pre-season NothingSpeak begins: Cashman says Yanks will contend... if nothing bad happens

Yesterday, Brian Cashman told reporters the key to 2016 is the Yankee rotation staying healthy.

He added that the sun is warm, 2+2=4, and he hoped that we still feel small when we stand beside the ocean, that whenever one door closes, we'll see one door open, that we'll promise to give faith a fighting chance, and if we get a choice to sit it out or dance... he hoped we'll dance.

Write this down: The key to 2016? No injuries. Got it?

If nobody gets hurt, everything A-OK!

“Our starting rotation’s health is really the keys to the kingdom for us,” Cashman said. “It normally is for anybody, but I believe when we’re able to run out our healthy starting rotation that we have on paper, we can match up with anybody.”

In other words... GOD HELP US! MAYDAY! WHO'S GOT THE SHOE POLISH, 'CAUSE THE BATHROOM CLEANER ISN'T STRONG ENOUGH.

Okay. Get a grip. Take a pill. It's just the NothingSpeak that comes every February. It's just Cashman saying things to say things so the things that get said say nothing.

But... for the sake of saying things... let's play out this baby: Tell me a Yankee starter whom we should expect to go the season. CC? Uh-huh. He'll be 35. Last year, he crumbled like a chunk of bleu cheese. Pineda? Tanaka? Eovaldi? Granted, they're young. Each missed time last year. Severino, at 22, gives hope. He threw 62 MLB innings. How far do they stretch him? Above 150? If this guy ends up in TJ surgery... I cannot be held accountable...

Bullpen? That's our wheelhouse. But both Miller and Betances missed time last year, and whenever a guy throws 100 mph - as Chapman does - you wonder how long? (He's only 28.) After those three, it's all scrap-heapers and kids. Bob Shirley, you jest.

The OF? Gimme a break. Neither Ellsbury nor Gardner can be counted to play 140. Beltran at 39? Tex at 36? On any swing, poof. A-Rod's hips and knees belong in a freak museum (along with Cashman's mustache.) Didi and Castro could go the season. Headley looked older than 31 last year. McCann will be 32. He's a work horse, but we're already thinking about Gary Sanchez...

Conclusion: I agree with Cashman. If nobody gets hurt, we'll be okay. And if you get a chance to sit it out or dance... um... keep it in your pants.

The annual debunking of the myth

You know, the myth that the NFL is more competitive than baseball. 

From The ESPN Article About Sabathia And The Yankees' Rotation

 "From what we know of Cashman, it seems likely that the best five starting pitchers to come out of training camp are the ones he will take to Yankee Stadium, regardless of resume, length of service, or size of paycheck."

While fans zone-out on long-range strategies to land Bryce Harper, Yankees penny-pinching extends all the way to the bargain basement

Yesterday, the Atlanta Braves outbid the Retrieval Empire for a flea-market, spare-tire ex-Met named Carlos Torres, proving that when the Yankees go cheap, they go cheap from the top of the penthouse all the way down to the bodies in the bottom of the sinkhole.

This happened as River Ave, the pre-eminent Yankee interweb lug nut, fulminated at length on whether the top brass has committed the Empire to some secret Blofeld-level scheme to obtain Bryce Harper three years from now. This is the new parlor game for Yankee fans who see little hope for 2016.

The notion goes this way: Three years from now, Harper will be a free agent, so the secretly smart Yank brain trust is sitting on its cards, letting fat contracts die, so we can make Harper a $500 million Yankee. That's where the dream sequence ends, because it's hard to decide whether investing so much money into one player is a winning strategy. But - hey - when your team can't outbid the Atlanta Braves for Carlos Torres, you need something stronger than mouthwash to get through the slush of February. You need shoe polish, if not LSD.

Yesterday, Mike Axisa devoted about 1,200 words to the Harper "Endgame," eventually reaching one point: It's pointless. If the Yankees do have a secret Harper strategy, it will be irrelevant, if not incoherent, by 2019. In three years, Harper could be injured. Or a head case. Or a lifetime Nat. The most likely scenario: Washington trades him in his final year for a mountain of prospects that wrecks a team's farm system for a decade. He's being represented by Scott Boras. Do we need to think any more? Between now and then, there's a lot of bones to be put into the sinkhole.

So yesterday, the Yankees missed out on Carlos Torres. I won't pretend to care. The guy is 33, was ditched by the Mets, and got cuffed around pretty badly last year. He's no Justin Wilson. He might not even be Nick Rumbelow. If anything, it's sort of nice to think Cashman was even involved in a bidding party. The free agents still out there seem almost as pointless as pondering Harper, yet one could be the next Yangervis Solarte - the poster child for Cashman's scrap heaping.

We're a week away from the annual avalanche of crapola about players who have worked harder than ever before, found God, grown up, gone gluten free, whatever - the annual glut of gobbling. Bring it on. Anything beats this cheapo winter, when we couldn't even outbid the Braves.

Donald Trump's victory speech last night, refitted to the Yankees

Let's face it: Donald Trump should own the Yankees. 

These are his closing words from last night's victory speech in New Hampshire. My edits, of course, are in blue.

We are going to start winning again.
We don't win anymore.
As a country  team, we don't win on trades,
we don't win with the military bullpen,
we can't beat ISIS Boston.
We don't win with anything.
We are going to start winning again
and we're going to win so much,
you are going to be so happy,
we are going to make America the Yankees so great again,
maybe greater than ever before. 

In exchange for doing everything the Yankees want, gracious Andrew Miller might still get traded

Yesterday, Andrew Miller once again said he's fine, just fine, with being moved from the closer role, where last year he was the best in baseball. He told the Murdoch Mud:

“I will show up and be ready to pitch in whatever role they ask.”

So here is Miller - who kept alive the last great Yankee tradition: closer - saying and doing all the right things, while the franchise 1) Replaces him with a volatile, NL-tested, potential whack-job, who might be suspended for the first month, 2) Traded a valuable innings-eating chess piece, Justin Wilson, for two potential fifth starters in 2017, 3) Continues to eye potential deals for him.

We know why the Yankees must shop Miller. The owner, Food Stamps Steinbrenner, nixed spending on any of the big free agent pitchers, who didn't carry a draft pick price tag, and the Yankees (wisely) won't sign anybody who costs them a first-rounder. The franchise is playing Moneyball, not Yankee ball. Thus, to get a good starting pitcher, they must trade something of high value, and Miller is baseball's best closer, even though he won't be closing for us.

Some of you (rightfully) are shaking your head right now, thinking that spoiled Yankee fans squawk when they don't sign every free agent on the market. And you're right: In my perfect world, we would sign every player, and then cut the ones who don't measure up. Once upon a time, the Yankees were unique among American pro sports teams, and for reasons that might involve genetics as much as socialization, we are hopelessly drawn to the team.

Those of you who vow to not watch YES next year, or to boycott games, I say this: Don't kid yourselves. You're one five-game win streak from vaulting back onto the liquor wagon, just as the wheels tumble off. If you think you can walk away from a lifetime habit, you must be taking advice from Girardi's binder.

The 2016 Yankees, as they straggle into Tampa, look like a potential Wild Card team. They are one solid pitcher shy of winning the AL East, and the pathway to that one pitcher was simple: It required an owner who would to step to the plate. Instead, we have Food Stamps, who banks his money and talks long term strategy, like a 14-year-old with a pack of Strat-O-Matic cards.

As a result, Andrew Miller - the best closer in baseball - may still only know one year in pinstripes. Cities can trade players, but not owners. That's a shame, because Tampa would be a perfect fit for the one we have.