Inquiring Minds Want to Know!

Now that Syndergaard has hand, foot, and mouth disease, is he going to have to be put down like Ol' Yeller?

"There's no hope for him now, Travis.  He's suffering."

"I know, Momma.  He was my dog.  I'll do it."

I can't help it.  These tragic scenes at Shea always make me cry.

Après Shreve, le déluge

Or as they used to say back in l'ancien régime, Spahn, Sain, and a day of rain.  ("German, Gray, and let the heavens spray"?)

I am ready to do a rain dance for tonight if Duque calls for it.  I have zero problem with taking a day off before we head to the Bastille in Tampa, rather than facing the Mets' hottest pitcher in over thirty years.  Who knows if he'll even be with the Mets, when it comes time for the off-day make-up game?

I suspect he will, though, despite all the rumors about him going somewhere, even the Yankees.  Never gonna happen, because this is the Wilpons' prevailing model for running their team:  keep it functioning just well enough to keep the money pouring in.

And who's to say it ain't working?  Even in this rancid dog of a year for Mets fans, almost 1.5 mill have already passed through the Piazza Metropolitana out in Flushing, or more than 29,000 a game.  Hope springs as eternal as an oil-streaked lottery ticket bought at a grubby desert gas station out in Queens, and the Wilponi will do nothing to quash it.

But also, who is to say the Mets SHOULD trade Legroom and Cinderella to the Yankees, or anyone else?

Hasn't this Yankees season proven that acquiring good young starting pitchers is the hardest thing to do?  If you've already got them, why get rid of them in order to "rebuild"?

The Yankees and Mets don't need to trade.  They need to merge.

Beyond that, the Metsies are, as usual, an object lesson in why depth matters.

Yes, the team has epic bad luck.  Probably the worst luck in baseball, over the years.  But as a great man once said, "Luck is the residue of design."

The Mets' season was all set up to go really well...if everybody played up to their potential, and no one got hurt.  That's been known to happen in baseball, once in a blue moon or so.

The Yankees, meanwhile, have seen their brilliant young catcher completely implode, their starting first baseman go do down with a devastating injury, their stud outfield slugger hit .205 on the road, their number five pitcher go down for the season, their number three pitcher's head explode, and assorted other migraines, concussions, and under-achievements.  And we're not even talking about whatever the hell's going on with Ellsbury.

The result?  They still have one of the best records in baseball, due to built-in redundancy.  The Mets never do, mostly because they are a front for a real-estate racket.

Notes heading into the rubber game/rain-out

1. Chasen Shreve's greatest moment as a Yankee came just as he is likely to be replaced by a trade for some badly needed LH relief specialist, which is what he isn't. 

2. On that front, supposedly, Houston and the Cubs are bidding for Chris Britton, an overpriced dice-roll, considering his injuries. You can never count out Stealth Cashman, who makes deals out of nowhere, but we know Baltimore won't trade with the Yankees unless it is a nightmare deal for us, and I'd have to say, Go Cubs!

3. Gleyber Torres, who started rehab yesterday at Single A Tampa, is the fourth-youngest player on the Tampons Tarpons roster. Only pitcher Rony Garcia, infielder Diego Castillo, and outfielder Estevan Floral are younger.

4. Blake Rutherford - the biggest prospect we traded last year for the Toddfather, David Robertson, et al - is starting to turn heads in Single A. He had looked like a clunker for a while, but now he's hitting .303 with six home runs and 11 stolen bases. Just sayin'... trade prospects, and it's only a matter of time before you pay the price. 

5. The notion that Humanus Centepedes apparently needs surgery on both heels is a reminder that the Mets are fundamentally cursed. If there's a lesson to be learned, I would suggest this: When you acquire an aging veteran in a pennant race, you must always remember that the former team was happy to let him go. Despite his obvious desire to stay with the Yankees, we did not sign Todd Frazier last winter, because of the clear decline in his skills. But two years ago, the Mets doubled-down on Cespedes, and now they're stuck. 

6. Last night for Scranton, Justus Sheffield went 5 and 2/3 innings, gave up one earned run and struck out four. I really don't understand why he doesn't get a call. Do they really think the starting pitchers on the trade market will do better? My best guess: He's on a pitch count, they're limiting him carefully, and if nothing pops at the trade deadline, he'll get the call. I cannot believe they would trade him, unless Bumgarner becomes available.

7. Five years ago, the Yankees outspent the world on 16-year-old international free agents - the eloquently named Dermis Garcia being top millionaire - and, from here, it looks like Hal wasted his money. Hardly any of them have sprouted - (Floral was in the class, but he was relatively cheap.) But in the last three years, they seem to have figured things out. Today, we have a surge of young talent way, way, way down in the system - Antonio Cabello, Eziquiel Duran, Everson Pereira, Anthony Garcia, Roberto Chirinos, et al - and in two to three years, after we have won a few rings, we might really have something. (Or maybe it's just the usual crapola hype, which is an earmark of the Yankees.)

8. Every Yank fan I know - bar none - is rooting for us to trade for Nathan Eovaldi. That the guy has made it back is a testimony to his guts and perseverance. We know he can do it in New York. We also know he might feel a twinge and be gone for good. Nobody wants this guy to pitch in front of the 500-person crowds in Tampa. He needs to be a Yankee again. Out of sheer blind fantasy romance, he's the one guy I'd be willing to give up a prospect for. I mean, seriously, who wants fucking JA Happ?

Lies! And the Lying Liars Who Tell Them

That is to say, Ma Boone with his postgame press conference today, saying that he would see, but he thought Chapman's outing was "just one of those hiccoughs that happens in the season."

Machine Gun himself kept telling reporters, "It was just a bad day."

Right.

16 balls in 19 pitches, including walking Reyes on four straight pitches with the bases loaded, and with his velocity down 5-10 mph.  If Chappie is not on the DL before the end of the week I will eat that hat I gave to Shreve.

Of course, let's not forget that the pitching started to unwind with Sonny Gray.  Top of the sixth, up 4-1 with one out and nobody on, the Gray Lady is cruising.  Then—two straight walks.

Ma made the right call with the quick hook, I thought, but thanks to a bloop single and that error on the pickoff throw, they both scored anyway.

Here are some more weird and wild stats from today's game:

—Would you believe, batters are only 3-36 against Chasen Shreve with the bases loaded?  I would not have.  But it's true!

—Braveheart Gray's outing is being lauded as a continuing improvement.  But here's the real deal:

Against sub-.500 teams:  6-1, 3.84 ERA, .242 batting average against, 0.9 homers a game.  Not exactly Sandy Koufax, but fine.

Against above-.500 teams?

1-6, 8.27 ERA, .317 batting average against, 1.7 homers a game.  Thank goodness we won't be seeing any teams like that in the playoffs.

—We'll give Judge his props today.  Three more hits, a homer, and he's now hitting .371 at home, tops in the majors.

Which led me to think, what's he hitting on the road?

It's not pretty:  8 HRs. 17 RBI,  .205/.308/.373/.681

In fact, that's almost historic.  I don't know what the hell that is even about.

Last year there was a big differential—33 homers to 19, and .312/.440/,725/1.165 at home, .256/.404/.531/.935 on the road—but not all that untypical.  Now...

And finally, a tribute to Matt den Dekker, the Mets centerfielder, for all he did for us today, courtesy of "Old Man Tucker":

Hit that ball to ol' den Dekker
He's the Mets' latest outfield wrecker
Can't come in an' he can't run back
Go right ahead an' take your hack.

Hurl that ball in to ol' den Dekker
He couldn't hit the side of a double decker
Fanned three times before they got smarter
Set him down like he was Chris Carter. 










 

Know What You Want and Work For It

This, it seems to me, is the key to life—and, more importantly, baseball.

In the last 15 years or so, it has rarely been the Yankees' approach to anything.

Unlike some here, I didn't necessarily mind the Yankees throwing what was in many ways a spring training lineup out there last night.  Sure, the continuing presence of Neil Walker is absurd, but I'm not against giving Sevvy and CC more rest.

But then, don't do what Coops Cashman is about to do next, which is trade perfectly good young players and prospects for some tomato can.

To paraphrase Lincoln, all thoughts are anxiously directed to this impending trade.  All dread it, all seek to avert it (except a bunch of bored sportswriters).  And the trade will come.

The trade will come because Cashman will fall, once again, for the press box argument that it is necessary to give the Yankees a real shot at the World Series.

But if that is the case—if we really believe that this is our year, maybe our only year, so much so that we have to sacrifice a significant part of the future to seize hold of it—then why in the name of Jehoshaphat are we lining up our rotation and putting out lineups like we are against the Mets?

If this is REALLY a balls-to-the-wall, pedal-to-the-metal, breakneck dash down the steps to the subway platform (only to be told the next train will arrive in 22 minutes), then why are we playing the first games of the last half like it's March in Tampa?

It's this sort of confusion of purpose that will always kill you, in any endeavor, baseball or otherwise.

Frankly, this team to me seems now to lack a great deal in the way of desire, and like most of us here I think it's ludicrous to continue with a hitting approach that demonstrates night after night how inadequate it is.

The Yanks right now are only 5.5 games ahead of Seattle and 7.5 games ahead of Oakland, and I could easily see both young, hungry teams blow past us like we were standing still.  How a team like ours, where the average regular is only 27, the average pitcher less than 29, is NOT young and hungry escapes me, but there it is.

Having a Seattle-Oakland play-in game is just the sort of event that the soulless corporate entity known as MLB deserves.  It's also what this Yankees team and management deserves.

It would not bother me.  I would much rather see September devoted to sorting out what the future holds, and re-emphasizing such traditional baseball activities as drawing up rational lineups, hitting to the opposite field, and showing up everyday.

But instead, here will come Happ or Hapless, another good-looking kid, or three, tossed to the winds, and our on-again, off-again, Neil Walker-led, tiptoe to the Play-In.  O!  Joy!

And the lonely voice of the Yankiverse asks, "Where is Justus?"

Last night, after being embarrassed at home, the Empire banished Domingo German to Coal Country, and unless he gains command of his fastball, we won't see him again until the rosters explode in September. Next up will be Luis Cessa, looking to fill the widening sinkhole otherwise known as the Yankee pitching rotation. And at some point soon, some form of trade deadline Judgement Day might move German, or someone like him, to Texas or Toronto for a veteran tin can, such as JA Happ or Cole Hamels. 

An exciting outlook, no?

We are now 5-and-1/2 games behind Boston, and one bad road trip from reducing the rest of the season to chasing home field advantage in the Wild Card game.

Comrades, this is the most dire situation we've yet faced in 2018. 

We have only one - one - truly dependable starter. We have a "star" catcher who can't seem to raise his average above .200. We're on the verge of losing a weekend series to the Misery Mets. Boston keeps winning, and the days are getting shorter.

Oh, and one other thing... Down in Scranton, with an ERA of 2.53, our best pitching prospect is twiddling his thumbs, awaiting the phone call that will change his life. Across the Yankiverse, fans are clamoring for Justus Sheffield, the 22-year-old lefty, while the Yankees dick around with David Hale (now headed to Japan), AJ Cole, or anyone else who fills out a jersey. What gives?

Okay, look: I certainly don't know more than the Yankee pitching coaches and scouts. So don't bite off my nose. Obviously, the brain trust doesn't think Sheffield is ready. That, or Cooperstown Cashman intends to trade him, perhaps for another of Cash's legendary "power" arms, who are always fraying. I dunno. There has to be a reason. But in his last Triple A game, Sheffield went 5 and 1/3 innings, gave up one run and struck out seven. He's pitching well. He hasn't had a clunker start since June 2. What more does he need to prove?  

We have a steadily sinking barge for a rotation, and the best prospect in our entire system is knocking on the door. We are about to make a series of trades that could reshape not only the current roster, but the long-term future of this team. I wish somebody could tell us what the hell is going on. My fear: That person doesn't exist. 

Speed Bump Ahead

For all that we'd like to hit the ground running in the second half...fudgeddaboutit.

This weekend, lads, we run smack into what the good folks in guerrilla campaigns like to call asymmetrical warfare.

That is, while this weekend in the Bronx against the Mets will be treated as just another series by our boys, the Mets will play it as the continuation of their annual Little Metsies World Series, necessary to justify their continued existence and the IV drip of dollars to Wilpon Real Estate Development that their whole, sad franchise has become.

They've set up their pitching perfectly, including deGrom and Syndergaard, recently activated after months of agonizing agony with the finger ligament that just would not heal.  (Too busy, no doubt, popping it at any club official or reporter who came within flipping-off distance.)

For that matter, Cespedes is supposed to be back, and we can count on the Toddfather, too, raising himself from his deathbed like Jim Bowie at the Alamo and taking aim at our right field porch on every at-bat.

Hell, if the Mets could reanimate Gil Hodges and lure Tom Seaver back from his vineyards for this series, they probably would.

This is beyond pineapples, folks.  Expect genetically altered, spiked watermelons.  Tormented by days of tabloid back pages about how they need saving, the Mets are rarin' to get out there and give their fans another year of bragging rights in barrooms, construction sites, gentlemen's clubs, and handball courts all around the city, before they nod back off for the rest of the season.

"Yeah, sure you guys won the World Series.  But who took the season series?  Huh?"

Well, this is what they need to live on, I suppose.  And what are we responding with?

Domingo German, Sonny Gray, and Tanaka.  Greeeaaat!  Can't wait to see THOSE match-ups, along with our whole, slumping lineup in one of the especially thick fogs that seem to envelop them whenever they have a day or two off.

Forget pineapples, watermelons or any other fruit.  These will be three, mangy dog losses, not even close.

Hey, I can't really blame Ma Boone for holding back Sevvy and CC for extra rest.  They both sure look like they could use it, and I'm glad he's thinking of the long term.

But all that will get us is wasted starts in the dank, gloomy precincts of Tampa Bay's Bastille-like dome, against their parade of random pitchers.  Oh, that will be fun.

Seriously, if we win two of the first six out of the gate, it will be a major victory.  I'm sure Boston will go 6-0.

I had a dream

Honest, I really did have a dream this morning that left me shaken to my core.

In the dream, I somehow had access to rooms at Yankee Stadium where George Steinbrenner and his "baseball people" were meeting to assess possible trades. I got a look at a binder that had several trade options listed--who we'd get and who we'd give up.

Unfortunately, I can't remember a lot of the details. But one possible trade was to get Carl Pavano back in pinstripes.

My dream self (looking suspiciously like me circa 1988) was appalled. To be fair, there was another pitcher also under consideration who was just as bad (the name lost to my alcohol-damaged memory), but the Pavano trade made me go marching right up to old George to object.

"Mr. Steinbrenner," I said in agitation, "you can't bring back Pavano! He's terrible! And you shouldn't trade away your young players for any reason!"

George looked at me, slightly puzzled, and replied, "Look, I have three different people telling me that Pavano has adopted a new system, and that he's a changed man."

Well. Three different people (Curly, Moe, and Larry, perhaps). Who was I to convince George otherwise? How could I point to the names of the young tradebaiters and prove it was better to keep them then chase terrible pitchers?

So I adopted a more respectful tone. "Sir, really. I'm just speaking out of concern for the team. We've been burned by Pavano before. And the young kids really do look like they could be stars." There were, by the way, lists of who we'd give up to get Pavano, or for the other lousy pitcher, and for somebody else I can't remember but who didn't seem very important. At the top of the list for one trade was the boldfaced name "Kelly" at the top of a list of prospects. Was it the immortal Pat? I don't know. Maybe.

George and I started walking through several rooms where people worked quietly at desks as we talked. I kept up the respectable bit, calling him "sir" and "Mr. Steinbrenner" as I tried to win the argument. Albeit very politely.

For my troubles, I was spotted through a large plate glass window by some reporters, one of whom said, "Oh, there's John M again, kissing up to Steinbrenner. What a wuss."

And then I woke up.

What does it all mean? I don't know. Obviously, my subconscious is alarmed by the trade deadline. (I read on ESPN's site that "the Yankees really wanted Marchado." OMG.) I don't want to give away any kids. I don't want Carl Pavano or his modern-day equivalent.

But in the dream, George didn't get swayed by my heartfelt case. Three of his baseball people knew otherwise.

I'm really scared now.

If Clint Frazier is concussed, the Yankee trade deadline plans just went poof

Today, the Yankiverse poses the most troubling question of 2018:

What are the names of Clint Frazier's cats?

If Clint can't answer, or if he slurs his words, or if he must read the lingering Sharpie-inked response he once wrote his forearm, the Yankees' trade deadline hopes just got a nose job from Dr. Lizzie Borden. 

This spring, after hitting a wall in a Grapefruit League game, Frazier famously couldn't recall his cats' names, the result of a concussion that forced him to miss April and May. Last night, after diving for a ball in Scranton, he left the game with concussion symptoms, creating uncertainty on so many levels that I can't remember where to start. Wait... what's this blog about, anyway?

Let's probe the clouds around Red Thunder's potential injury, and it's possible effect on the Yankee second-half.

1. It might be just a scare. He might be reciting phone books, performing Kreskin-like mental feats, and easily describing the furry ways of Mister Mestophiles and Mungo Jerry. This could blow over, and we'll laugh about it tomorrow. 

2. If it is his second concussion in six months, this is bad. Really bad. Repercussions-beyond-baseball bad. Studies of athletes with repeated concussions raise serious flags. I pulled this off a medical site.

A 2009 study ^[1] of high school soccer players, for example, found that athletes with a reported history of concussions performed significantly worse on tests of memory, visual processing and reaction time using the ImPACT computerized neurocognitive test battery than those who reported no prior concussion

That means longer recoveries. If it's another concussion, Frazier might be done for the season.

3. Obviously, this compromises his short term trade value. In the old days, you'd think it ended his trade possibilities, but the Yankees last year dealt James Kaprielian and Dustin Fowler to Oakland, and both were hurt at the time... so, me... know... nothing. For the record, I still want Frazier to stay a Yankee. Good grief, he's only 23. If he misses the season, he can return next year, wiser and more reluctant to coco-butt subway cars. All of NYC will be pulling for him. He is not done. 

4. A concussion would thin the Yankee OF. We might need Billy McKinney (.235 with 13 HRs at Scranton) or even - gulp - Jacoby Ellsbury (293 lattes, 12 beach novels at Tampa.) We'll need somebody. Historically, Aaron Hicks is a tweak waiting to happen, and Brett Gardner is 34, though he has learned to avoid walls. Frazier was our fifth OF. We'll need a replacement.

5. Now, in trade talks, GMs will press deeper into the guts of the Yankee farm system. I can imagine them calling today to tell Brian Cashman that Frazier is off the table, and they now want Justus Sheffield, Estevan Florial and Albert Abreu - and maybe even others - all for a three-month rental on a spare tire named Cole or J.A. The big fantasy deal Cash was secretly concocting - the one for Bumgarner or Thor - may have just died. 

You know what? I've barely scratched the surface on the implications. They say the butterfly flapping its wings in China creates the tornado in Topeka. The butterflies are working hard. Our short and long-term chances may have just suffered a calamity... all over a fly ball in fucking Scranton, where Frazier doesn't belong, anyway. The real takeaway here: The juju gods are dicks. And between now and October, more tornadoes will be coming.

Ah, hell

It's reported that Clint Frazier left a Scranton game in the second inning after he failed to make a diving catch.

He was said to feel "light-headed," and the fear is that he is suffering new concussion symptoms.

And Still ANOTHER Thing...

Everybody see all those ads for cable vs. Direct TV vs. Fios?

I don't have an opinion on which service is really better.  (Me, I still rely on my parents' 1965 Philco black-and-white, with the vacuum tubes and the tin foil wrapped around the rabbit ears.)

But I gotta say, in the ad competition, cable is kicking it.

For a long time, Direct TV liked to show ads of people hurting themselves and laughing.  They got a little better recently, with one that has lawyers fighting—but it still makes out that astronauts are lousy moochers on society.

What's up with that?  Who doesn't like astronauts?

And Fios?  That kid with the weird head is beginning to freak me out.

But the cable ads have that suburban neighborhood full of "evil" characters—Death, Mr. and Mrs. Wolfman, the Mummy, a living ventriloquist's dummy, a mad scientist, Dracula and Bride, some guy with horns, etc.—sharing how it's really Direct TV that's evil.

In one of the newer ones, they're all barbecuing, and the Wolfman is explaining to the Mummy how you don't have to put any cheese on the burgers he's doing, they already come with cheese in the middle.  The Mummy gets so excited, he starts to do a little dance next to the grill.

Now that's entertainment!

And Another Thing...

What's going on with all the ads about how you can really do best by obtaining pretty much any and every service yourself, online?

The most mind-numbing have to be the ads for the new "Purple Bricks" website, which revel in what they call the "real misery" people have when their overly intrusive neighbors tell them they COULD have saved thousands of dollars, if only they had hired their real estate agent online from Purple Bricks, to buy and sell their large suburban homes.

Uh, say what?

That's like saying we experience real misery here in New York when that shady, pushy guy in the next apartment tells us we could've got the same engagement ring for thousands less:  "There's this guy I know, works out of the trunk of his car..."

An online real estate agent?  Right, and I'm sure their resumés online tell you too about how they're now over that pesky cocaine habit that got them fired from their last agency job, or why they slept with that client's wife.

In the same vein are those very funny ads, to the tune of "The Banana Boat Song," about really old people having to keep working because they don't have sufficient savings or pensions plans:  "I'm 85, and I wanna go home."

The solution?  Go trade stocks online!

So...maybe your already low salary and lack of any benefits or savings does NOT make you the perfect candidate to go make money trading online?  Maybe you should try one of those magic SUVs that take you to your dream job, in a cubicle under the desert?

Have You Ever Wondered...

All right, in a final, desperate stab at entertainment, now that we've gone yet another day without real baseball, I offer these Jerry Seinfeld/Andy Rooney-style questions about the commercials one is subjected to most often during sports events.

To wit (or not to wit, that is the question!):

—What's with the theme in car ads of comely young women walking out of their office jobs so they can go drive somewhere in a perfectly ordinary looking SUV?

In one of them, the young woman in question is fatally disillusioned because she hears an older male executive talk about golf.  Oh, honey.  That's the least of it.

But nonetheless, next thing we see she's shoved all her possessions into a box and is grinning as she marches off to find what she has scribbled down as her "perfect job."  Her fellow employees are all applauding as she walks, perhaps because they will no longer have to deal with her constant whining about how it is she does not already have her dream job at 23, or snapping "Oh that's so bougie!" at them in the lunchroom, anytime they mention something so mundane as golfing, or shopping for lawn furniture.

What's happening here?  Has she suffered some sort of traumatic head injury that makes her believe her lumpish, oversized car is a magic career machine that will take her automatically where she wants to go—vocationally?  Wow, that's some GPS!

On another one of these, a woman—even prettier and more stylishly dressed—leaves her cubicle and actually climbs up a metal fire escape ladder, pushes aside a manhole cover there, and finds an SUV waiting for her on a deserted road, in a gleaming white, desert landscape.

I mean, WTF?  Where is she working?  NORAD?  Area 51?  What kind of cubicle job does she have,   fifty feet under a desert, with an escape hatch only accessible by a metal ladder?  And why is she wearing heels?

How does she leave work most days?  Is there bus service out there?  Or is she supposed to be the first young woman, years later, after her magic SUV has taken her to a job hacking the Democratic National Committee?  Where is she off to now, a secret rendez-vous with Julian Assange?

What's going on here???

Performance Review for Management, Too! Part 2

Okay, time for Brian Cashman, whose Cooperstown plaque has been steadily burnished by the local sports literati—or literatty—this year, despite how assiduously he has ignored most of their advice.

His midterm from me may surprise you:

COOPS CASHMAN:  B

This is, mind you, a midterm, and it is in honor of what he has done—and not done—so far.

We give Coops his props—if not yet his plaque—for NOT pulling the trigger on one lame-brained trade after another espoused by the Knights of the Press Box.  (And, okay, yours truly.)

We still laud him for NOT acquiring Gerrit Cole.  Yes, Cole has flourished down in the Land of the Magical Fountain of Pitching Rejuvenation, but that doesn't mean he would have done so in New York.  (Sure, it was all about getting him to throw more breaking stuff.  Uh-huh.)

Thus far, at least, there has NOT been a trade for Happ or Hapless, no inordinate number of prospects swapped for this year's Sonny Gray or Jaime Garcia.  And so far at least, none of the sacks of young players he gave away last year have really panned out or even displayed much promise—something that could change in a heartbeat, of course.

Coops' biggest deal was for the Trojan Horse who is Giancarlo Stanton.  As we can now see, he would have been much better off forgoing Stanton's mind-numbing contract and outbidding the Sox for J.D. Martinez.  But still, Stanton has proven not to be the utter disaster he looked like at first, and he will probably continue to be at least a respectable addition to the lineup.

The worst things that Coops DID do were the panic grabs of Drury and—need I say it?—that Walker man.

Drury was picked up for very little, and may still have some use—though I worry that Coops and those around them are busy convincing themselves, with no real evidence, that he is somehow worth keeping over Andujar.

Walker has been the real disaster, not just for how wretchedly he has played, but also for keeping young players we desperately need to see from more at-bats.

All told, Walker has had 216 plate appearances this season.  Combine that with the 208 plate appearances Chris Carter got last year, and we're talking almost two-thirds worth of a season full of absolutely disastrous play from guys who were here solely on the basis of Coops' ingrained bias for veterans over young players.

Carter's extended presence last season almost certainly kept the Yanks from beating out the Red Sox for the division title, and who knows what difference that might have made in a playoffs where we missed the World Series by a single game?

Will Walker make a similar difference this year?  And who have we missed out on seeing, how much more uninformed will we be going into the postseason thanks to all of his at-bats?

Aside from that, there has been what we can only assume is Coops' all-out embrace of the New Baseball, with its inane dictum to swing for the fences, first time and every time.  Oh, except when you're daring to take a called third strike.

The farm system, too, as we have seen with all the injuries, is not nearly as deep this year as our local pundits would have it.  That is due in part to so many good young players having recently been called up, but there are glaring and serious shortages in majors-ready pitchers, catchers, and even outfielders.

Finally, with an exception here or there, such as A.J. Cole, there has been fairly little of Coops' famed dumpster diving.  Where are the bargain basement deals—never mind a truly bold and brilliant trade?

But hey, this team is good enough NOW that we don't necessarily need brilliance—just steady, careful, continued rebuilding.

The general manager's oath should be that of the physician:  "First, do no harm."  And so far this season, Coops has done very little harm indeed.  We salute him.

We also understand that this could turn on a dime, and we'll be back to the sentiments so nobly expressed in our current masthead.  Remember:  these are only midterms.

Or to paraphrase Kipling:

"Though we've beaten ya
And flayed ya
By the livin' God that made ya
You're...not too terrible a general manager this year, Brian Cashman."

Performance Review for Management, Too! Part I

Don't think we're letting the usual suspects off the hook!  Time to grade management.

Unfortunately, the Steinbrenner family and its notorious "baseball people" have grown too opaque to really judge from the outside.  So we'll confine ourselves to manager and general manager:


MA BOONE:  C

As we hoped, Ma has lowered the temperature in the locker room by about twenty degrees.  No more worrying that our manager was going to pop a thromboembolism during a presser following a midweek win over the Blue Jays.  This has probably been good for team unity and concentration in general, and it's hard to argue with the results.

The Yankees are 62-33 after 95 games, as opposed to 50-45 last year, a 12-game improvement.  Should they finish the same way they did in 2017—41-26—they will have 103 wins.  Still probably not enough to catch the Red Sox, but the most victories the team has run up since that championship season of 2009.  Considering the number of injuries—big injuries—in the first half, they might do even better.

What's not to like?  Some have pointed out that, according to baseball reference's "Pythagorean record," the Yankees underperformed badly last year, with a team that "should" have won 9 more games than it did.  This year?  The club has OVER-Pythagored by 1 win—something that should reflect well on the manager.

And yet...

Things are maybe a little TOO cool around the Yankees.

Too often this season, the Yanks have seemed to mail it in, particularly after a day off.  This might have been due to how the incessant rainouts have hurt the pace of the season.  But isn't it a key job of the manager to keep guys motivated, as well as contented?

For all that Boone has ceased the public torture and humiliation of Sanchez, for instance, the results seem worse than ever.  This might just be due to Sancho's injuries, but there sure isn't any extra effort evident.

The Pythagorean record, for that matter, is a rather crude measurement, one based solely on run differential.  If you win a lot of blowouts, for instance, but lose a lot of close games, then you're seen as potentially all the better a team.  But these days, especially, the final score can be decided by so many things:  a tired pen on the other side, a lack of days off, opponents tanking, etc.

The record for Boone would seem to indicate that his team is winning the close ones, but that certainly doesn't seem to be very true of late.  Nor does he seem to be doing the little things that are how a manager contributes to play on the field.

When was the last time, for instance, the Yankees started a runner?  Or put on any kind of play?  When was the last time Ma jumped out of the dugout and got all over an umpire for the ludicrous ways in which they continue to call Judge's strike zone?

What's with all the silly lineups, insisting on batting our best power hitter second, then backing him up not with our next best power hitter, but a badly slumping Didi?

To be sure, much of this might be attributed to "the Presidential Factor"—the way in which Boone is, in the end, hostage to the whims of an infinitely more ruthless and Machiavellian force.

Hence his witless, muddled repetitions of the party line about how Yankees hitters need to "dare to take a close third strike" and how "you can't beat Verlander with singles."  Hence writing Neil Walker into the lineup.  Over and over again.

Hey, we longtime Yankees fans understand Stockholm Syndrome.  But it's time for Ma to be his own,  nurturing, highly evolved man.

Could it be that the dynasty begins next year?

First off, nobody's conceding 2018. Barring a complete, Harvey Weinsteinesque collapse, the Yankees will make the 2018 post-season. From there, with a little fairy dust, anything can happen. The Great Modern Age of the Yankees could definitely begin this fall.

But what if it's just not meant to be? 

Let's face it: Boston has a better rotation, Houston is rolling, and now, the Dodgers have Manny Mucho. The post-season is a crap shoot, but maybe the wisest Yankee policy would be to calculate every trade toward 2019, the year we take over.

One recent positive is the sense that both Manny and Bryce Harper would love to be Yankees. Twice, Machado said as much online, and his nephew wished for it. Harper has always edged toward the Yankees, who he loved growing up. Some suggests the shaving of his beard shows his desire, (though that's probably a stretch.)

Next winter, the Yankees should be well under the MLB payroll threshold, resetting their luxury tax liability and freeing Foodstamps Hal to spend, spend, spend... especially if we fail to win the 2018 World Series. He could sign one or two major stars - (maybe three, if he relives 2009, with CC, AJ and Tex.) If a player peaks between 26 and 32, here's next year's lineup (with next year's age.)

Infield
c Gary Sanchez. (26.)
lb Greg Bird. (Assuming he sticks, 26. If not, a big free agent.)
2b Gleyber Torres (22.)
ss Didi Gregorius (29.)
3b Miguel Andujar (24.)

Prognosis: Probably the best infield in baseball.

Outfield
Aaron Judge (27)
Giancarlo Stanton (29)
Aaron Hicks (29)
Clint Frazier (Assuming he's not traded, 24; if he is dealt, it would be for pitching.)
Brett Gardner (likely lost to free agency, 35)
Jacoby Ellsbury (traded, released or disappeared, 35.)
Bryce Harper?  (26, potentially moving Stanton or Judge to 1B)

Prognosis: With Harper, the most celebrated outfield in baseball, if not the best. 

Rotation
Luis Severino (25)
Masahiro Tanaka (30)
Sonny Gray (Assuming he sticks, 29)
Domingo German (26)
Free agents and youngsters, such as Justus Sheffield (23)

Prognosis: With one or two free agents, far better than this year.

Bullpen
Aroldis Chapman (31.)
Dellin Betances (31.)
Free agents and youngsters.

Prognosis: Stable.

Listen: We want to win now. But we also want multiple championships. And whatever happens in the next two weeks, trade-wise, we must consider that the Great Modern Age of the Yankees is still in sight for 2019... if we don't do something stupid.

Closing Grades

First, I just want to alert you all to the fact that today is "Wrong-Way" Corrigan Day—something that I thought Alphonso would want to know, especially considering his pending departure for the British Isles.

Yes, on this day, 80 years ago, Corrigan landed in Ireland, after claiming he got lost on a Long Island-California flight.

As we all know, he later flew on to Gilligan's Island, where The Professor built him a SuperSonic Transport out of some jungle vines, several coconuts, and one of Mary Ann's tie-off blouses, and sent him on his way.  Unfortunately, he accidentally ate the paper which held the island's coordinates on his way back to civilization—something the castaways heard about on the iPhone The Professor made out of crab shells and one of Lovey Howell's broken high heels.

This year, we've been lucky enough to have relatively few wrong-way appearances by our relief corps...

Okay, okay!  That doesn't work as a segue at all.

But the bullpen—now the majority of the staff by far, has been doing pretty well.  In fact, the whole staff has.

The Yankees' run production after 95 games is actually down a tiny bit:  499 in 2017, to 493 this year.    The reason the team is better?  Pitching, the reason for most things in human existence.

The Yankees have allowed only 362 runs so far this season, as opposed to 403 at this point last year.  That's due to an improvement by the starters—down from 2.75 runs a game to just 2.57—and the relievers, who have gone from allowing 1.33 a game to just 1.23.

So how do they stack up individually?

AROLDIS CHAPMAN:  A

"Machine Gun," as we affectionately call him, has been just short of Mariano magnificent, save for an unfortunate little misfire here and there.  Our only fear is that barking knee—yet another reason for the team not to go hard down the stretch, as if this were our only chance for a championship.  Without Aroldis, who knows where we could be?


DELLIN BETANCES:  A-

One of the most pleasant surprises of this season.  He has really turned his head around, after a start that made it look as though things were going to be just as horrible as much of last year was.

There's still a bit of panic when anybody gets on base, of course, but you can't argue with the overall results.  Betances seems to have really benefited from Ma Boone's tender loving care, as opposed to the Randy Levine, "I'll give you something to cry about" approach.


CHAD GREEN:  B

At the beginning of the year, the main debate seemed to be over whether the Yankees should make Chad a starter, or begin grooming him to succeed Machine Gun as our closer.  So far...he's been a little bit of a disappointment.

He's still a valuable piece out of the bullpen most days, but there seems to be a little less velocity, a few more hittable balls every appearance—culminating in his pre-break inability to hold the Indians last Sunday.  Let's hope this is not the beginning of a steeper decline.  The Yanks need him bigly.


DAVID ROBERTSON:  B-

Houdini still delivers most of the time, but he's definitely fallen off from last year, leading to a couple disasters when we needed him most.  He does seem to know how to get by—usually—even when he doesn't have his best stuff, which is more and more often.


TOMMY KAHNLE:  INC

Anybody know what's going on with his status?  His loss has been a big one, seriously diminishing the bullpen's depth.  Let's hope he can come back, but I wouldn't bet on it.


ADAM WARREN:  INC

A very valuable, very versatile performer when he's healthy, and right.  If he's both down the stretch, it will be a huge boon for the Yanks.


CHASEN SHREVE:  F

He's been even worse than his very bad statistics show—and as a rare lefty, we really need him to succeed.  No can do, it seems.  I cringe whenever this guy comes on, and at 27, he's rapidly running out of time.


A.J. COLE:  A-

Another Cashman salvage prize from the junk pile.  A very nice performance in limited action so far, and the early injury is a concern.  But still, a nice pickup.  We clamor for more


JONATHAN HOLDER:  A-

Looks to be pitching over his head, but we'll take it.  A blow-up here and there, but generally a plugger, and a good one.  A pleasant surprise.


GIOVANNY GALLEGOS:  INC

Didn't expect much from him, and didn't get it, even before the injury.  Really, isn't there anyone else in our much vaunted farm system to give a whirl around the show?  Oh, right, David Hale.  Not even worth talking about.

September, at least, would be a nice time to give the kids a go.

Heaven Awaits ( this is a play off of a certain new comic series )

The All Star break has created a certain wanderlust.

No longer chained to a real baseball game, that matters, I have heard the clarion call.

For the next two weeks I shall be scouting,

Here 

And Here 

They don't strike out in cricket, do they?

The pubs stay open don't they?

England is in a good mood due to the relatively surprising success of their national futbol team ( 4th in the World Cup), and the departure of a certain ugly American.  One who, they claim, threw his country under a bus at Helsinki.

I am not mentioning any names, because politics are not kosher here.

I just have to find some white pants, a stupid hat and a bat.  Should be easy at Herod's.

If the Yankees do manage to win three in a row during my absence, I shall line-up the Spanish victory ladies.

But they have all been feasting on paella in Marbella.

Feel like a pint?

Starting Grades!

This is the real grind of the yawning All-Star Gap:  the day AFTER the game.  Which is why we're here to entertain you as best we can.

(No, that doesn't mean more Spanish ladies!)

The grades for our starting pitchers:

LUIS SEVERINO:  A

What's not to like?  He has very much blossomed into the pitcher we all hoped he could be.

Another telling stat from the All-Star Game last night, in which he pitched a scoreless frame:  Sevvy has reached 99-mph or more on 128 pitches this season, as opposed to just 47 for Chris Sale.

That's impressive—maybe TOO impressive.

This grade would be an A+, but for the fact that Sevvy's velocity and his performance have plummeted in his last few outings.  Maybe this is just hot weather or the usual fatigue of the long season.  But management ought to watch him like a hawk down the stretch.


MASAHIRO TANAKA:  B

There are few guys you'd rather see on the hill for a big game—even if his conditioning is such that, as a 29-year-old professional athlete, he pulls hamstrings in both legs while called upon to sprint for 90 feet.

The "B" is mostly for the astonishing fact that he has managed to keep his arm, reportedly dangling by a thread for over three years now, still attached and useable.

Someday, somebody ought to open a Hall of Fame of Sports Ligaments, one that would feature most prominently Tanaka's arm and Mickey Mantle's torn ACL, reportedly never fully repaired after being ruptured at the START of an 18-year, Hall-of-Fame career.

That said, Tanaka has settled into a prematurely aged career as a sort of late-model Catfish Hunter, a home-run machine able to surrender most of the many blasts he does with nobody aboard, thanks to his pinpoint control.  He is also still able to get key strikeouts when he needs them, averaging a K an inning.

How long can this—or the arm—hold up?  The barking hammies might have been a blessing in disguise, saving him three weeks on the back end of the season.  We shall see.


CARSTEN CHARLES SABATHIA:  A-

This is another guy doing it with mirrors, and who can fail to admire it?

At the same time, his outings are getting shorter and shorter, and as some here have pointed out, why would a team NOT bunt on him repeatedly at the start of a key game?  (Why would we NOT have bunted on Schilling in Game Six, 2004 ALCS?  Why, that Torre— #@!%)

But I digress.  We love The Bear, and just hope he can endure.


SONNY GRAY:  D-

What's left to say?  He doesn't quite fail, because of his decent work on the road...but that just underscores how much of his floundering in the Bronx is due to nerves.

Fact is, Sonny Boy is not going to be corrected by changing his delivery, or his grip on the ball, or any other quick fix.  Currently, he lacks the confidence and intestinal fortitude to pitch big games in a big market, and unless that changes—fast—he always will.

A perfect candidate for a trade, but our GM doesn't think like that.  Coops is just lucky the prospects he dealt for Mr. Softee here aren't panning out—so far.


DOMINGO GERMAN:  C-

He's a rookie, so we allow for rookie blow-ups, and there have been flashes of brilliance.  On the other hand, the guy is 25 already.  He needs to show consistent improvement down the stretch.


LUIS CESSA:  C-

How does this guy keep getting back in the mix?  He turned in that very nice outing for us, when we badly needed it, in the back half of a twin bill against the Birds that was fast going south, so we give him his props.

Is this just a repeat of last year, when he pitched surprisingly well against another very bad team—the Mets—then got hurt?  We shall find out, I think.  And again, it's about time:  Cessa is 26, though I know it seems like we picked him up with Bob Turley.


JONATHAN LOAISIGA:  INCOMPLETE

Sad to see him get hurt so quick.  Anyone heard an update?  Let's hope it's not the knife; the kid looked like he had something.


JORDAN MONTGOMERY:  INCOMPLETE

I never really thought he had major-league stuff, but he surprised us last year, and the injury is a crying shame.  Let's hope we have not seen the last of him.


J.A. HAPP:  GOT YA!

What stands out from all of this:  how thin our staff really is.  No one quite seems ready in our supposedly bountiful farm system.  Or are they?  Another reason to stop worrying about the One-Game Wild Gard Play-In, and try out everything we have in Scranton, and maybe in Trenton, too.

Next up:  Closing grades!  Get it?  Huh?  Uh, boy.

Manny moves, the Happ trade looms, and the Gray Lady loses her mind

This morning, in an amazing fourth-grader multiverse fantasy, Billy Witz of the NY Times suggests the Yankees trade Aaron Judge for Jacob deGrom and Noah Syndergaard - the Gammonite equivalent of The Poseidon Adventure, where everything turns upside-down, forcing Gene Wilder to climb the bowels of an overturned ship. Dear God. Somebody shoot me. This is why smoking is banned in the press box: Sportswriters cannot be allowed to play with matches.

What is it in the human psyche that compels us to conjure such doomsdays? Why must we always lean over the precipice, just to hawk and drop a loogy? Why in the world would the Yankees trade a generational star of Judge's magnitude for two pitchers who have Matt Harvey written all over them? Insane. 

My best guess: The Mets possess a pee tape of Witz, forcing him to make such arguments. 

Today should otherwise bring hugs and kisses to the Yankiverse, in that we seem to have escaped a Manny Machado deal, which could have haunted us for a decade. It's not that Manny isn't a great player; it's that we had absolutely no place to put him, we can sign him next winter, and then there is that disturbing little part where he demands to play SS, despite showing the range of a concrete guardrail. Best, he goes to the NL West - as far away as possible without choosing Japan - where he cannot kill us 19 times per season. If we see him again, it's the World Series, and I'll take my chances. 

So... Cooperstown Cashman keeps a full larder of prospects, plus the money to spend on accessories. Clearly, the Commissioner had put the blocks on the Machado trade until the All-Star game - avoiding the chaos of deciding which league he should play for. My guess is the same happened with JA Happ, the lone Blue Jay on the AL roster. Had Happ been dealt over the weekend, the league would have had to scramble to find someone from Toronto - Yangervis? - and the cupboard looks bare. 

Now that most unimportant professional sports event after the Pro Bowl is over, there is no reason for Toronto to keep Happ for even another day. All he can do is tweak a cabbage roll. Buckle up, folks. The deal dam is about to burst. And let's just hope Cooperstown Cashman isn't in a Queens hotel room, watching hookers pee with Billy Witz.