As the Yankees slog towards the end of their season, one existential question continues to grow...

It's coming...

Brace yourselves. 

Box the china, board up the windows, and inscribe Granny's SSI number onto her wrist, because a storm is brewing. Right now, it's out at sea, a fart of winds and barometric pressure, clunking along at the speed of Harrison Ford. And it's headed our way.

ETA: October. 

By then, the Jays will have easily clinched the AL East, so far above the Dunder-Mifflin, also-ran, chumps that they'll fear having too much rest. But they'll be snug in their beds when the skies darken and the roofs begin to buckle. 

If the storm gets a name, it might be "Luke," or "Devin," or simply: "The Pen." We know what to expect. Someone will enter a close game in the 7th. By the time they leave, Aaron Boone will be asking position players to pitch the ninth. 

It's coming: The end of the '25 Yankees. 

Last night, we saw another glimpse.  

We watched the Death Barge sleepwalk for nine innings against our usual cupcakes, the Twins - first leg on a National Lampoon vacation through Minnesota, Baltimore and the White Sox. In the 7th, the Yankees unveiled their amazing, Spinal Tap self-immolating-drummer bullpen. Kaboom.

Make no mistake: No lead is safe. 

Right now, the Yankees are playing for home field advantage in the three-game wild card series, the first round of October.   

But will it matter? Right now, they'd play Boston. In game one, that's Garret Crochet, likely winner of the AL Cy Young. Who feels hopeful about that? Raise your hand. Anybody? Class? Anybody? In game two, it's Brayan Bello. We finally beat him last weekend. Can we do it again? 

In every game, we'll face one existential question:

Who delivers the final 12 outs?

If we're lucky, our starter - Max Fried and Carlos Rodon - will go six innings and keep it close. That leaves nine outs. And then - uh-oh - he skies will blacken and the winds will roar. From there, it's the perilous pen. 

Two months ago, Cooperstown Cashman hoped to build a lockdown staff. He traded for Camilo Doval. Mark Bird (of Scranton) and David Bednar. It didn't work. Aaron Boone's "circle of trust" is now a dot. 

Does anyone think this bullpen will hold leads through an entire month, especially against solid lineups? Do you remember how last year ended, with a game on the line and Boone so desperate that he turned to - gulp - Nestor Cortez?  

Nope. Baton down the hatches. Write your phone number on the back of your hand. This bullpen cannot hold. 

The dog ate my homework

There is a simple reason--some might call it an excuse--for last night's terrible showing.

As it was stated in The Athletic:

The team didn’t arrive to its hotel until around 4 a.m. Monday with a 6:40 p.m. first pitch.

How, how, how, in the name of all that's holy, can a team be expected to beat a very weak opponent after such a gruelling physical ordeal?

game thread – september 15, 2025 ––– TOO MUCH (freaking) BOONE ! ! !

 

Do the math. The race in the AL East is over.

After a few shrooms, it's easy to fantasize a luxurious, 13-game, Calgon Beauty Bath Yankee win streak, running the table against the tomato cans of Minnesota, Baltimore and South Chicago. Anything can happen, especially with magical cupcakes involved. 

But last night's loss to Boston - ruined by Will Warren's inexplicable 1st inning -  effectively ended the 2025 AL East divisional race.

Forget the first-round bye and home field advantage. To reach Valhalla, the Yankees must beat one or all of their greatest modern nemeses - the Redsocks, Astros and Jays. Nobody will do it for us. We either avenge the last dismal decade or - as the Boss would say - waste a summer, praying in vain for a savior to rise from these streets.

Yes, we do have the clunker schedule, while Toronto faces Tampa, KC and Boston. But last night's loss, coupled with a Jays win, puts us four down in the loss column - five behind if you add the divisional tiebreaker. Remember those games we phoned in against Toronto? Our 5-8 record against them? They're coming back to haunt us. 

If the Yankees win ALL 13 remaining games, against the Twinkies, O's and White Socks, Toronto still needs only to go 7-6. Do the math. It's over. We went 9-17 against the Jays and Redsocks. That's humiliating. We earned this failure. Now, all we can do is chase the wild card participation trophy and, if we're lucky, enjoy  the home field advantage against Boston in the nasty. abbreviated opening round.

From now on, it's all about avoiding the next bullpen meltdown, scheduling our rotation, solidifying Jose Calallero as starting SS and convincing Jazz Chisholm to keep his mouth shut. We'll have to beat Boston. We'll have to stare down El Chapo. We'll have to deal with the return of Roman Anthony. Do the math. The AL East? It's over.

A humble reminder

After watching the highlights from last night, I noticed something.

You probably noticed it, too.

Boone is an idiot. 

I've lost count of all the games he's fucked up by leaving pitchers in too long, fielding a less than best team, resting guys when they're hot, resting guys so they can be fresher somewhere down the road when it may not matter, choosing the worst bullpen arm for a particular situation, being a player's pal instead of holding him accountable...

You know the list. If Boone was merely mediocre, we would have run away with the division. But he's not. He's often an obstacle the team has to overcome, in addition to the opponent.

I know I'm just rehashing what we've all been carping about for years. No great new insights.

But, in the immortal words of Joe Besser, he makes me so mad.

†he †hread – or ra†her – †he Yarn – Ge† your hooks up and s†ar† CROCHE†ING !

 My apologies but, uhm, like, you know there

were no patterns available for brooms

Secret to the Yankees' last ditch hopes? The Rays, Redsocks and Royals

 

Over the millenniums, I've generally hated ESPN games. 

They rattle me. 

It's their self-congratulatory, "Oh-Did-I- win-another-Peabody?" announcers, who claimed to speak for the Heartland, even as they carried water for poor-mouthing billionaire owners. Whenever the ills of The Game were discussed, there was one bogey-man: The awful Yankees, who were buying pennants. You heard it from Cowboy Curt Gowdy, from Joe Garagiola, from the ultimate critic, Peter Gammons. Later, Aaron Boone became an ESPN talker. A-Rod. Big Pappi. Youkilis. Pedro. The unwritten rule, "If the Yankees win, they bought it." You'd think the Ilitch family (Tigers) or Rogers Communications (Jays) were funding their teams through bake sales.

Maybe, they're improved. (David Cone.) Dunno. Maybe, tonight, we'll see. 

Tonight, the Yankees go into the black hole of Calcutta Fenway on ESPN, having won three straight without gaining a quark on Toronto. It's not a "must" win. Barring a meltdown, we will reach the postseason, (as Eduardo Perez will surely remind us, due to the big payroll, below only the Dodgers and Mets.)  

If we lose, so ends the race in the AL East. Though we're down by three in the loss column, we're actually four behind Toronto, because the Jays handled us all season and own the tiebreaker.  

If the Yankees sweep, they bury Boston and maybe cut another game from Toronto. That would leave them with one advantage: A cupcake schedule through the final two weeks, while Toronto faces a grinder. 

We play 13 games against Minnesota, Baltimore and the White Sox - hateful, pennant race malcontents who disappointed their fans and would kill a puppy to beat us. Still, (and there's no nice way to put this), they suck. If we can't win 9 of 13, we don't deserve to win a division. 

But even if we go 9-4, we'd still need Toronto to lose 8 out of 13.   

And if you're talking about hatefulness, think: Tampa. Toronto plays seven games against the Rays. Close your eyes. You can imagine them losing four. Then it's Boston for three. (Go 1-2?) And three against KC, who remain alive in the wild card race. It's almost impossible to make up four games in two weeks. But three - by winning tonight? - that's doable.  

So, tonight, it starts or ends. A Yankee sweep wouldn't be historic - no Boston Massacre II - (we'll probably play them two weeks from now.) But if we lose another game, the  AL East race is almost surely over. And it'll happen on ESPN. 

The Trump Bump?

 Three in a row. 

Game Thread – 09/13/25 – "The Yankees Medical Analytics Department concluded that Labrum tears heal within days if the current routine at the moment of player's injury is maintained at the same level throughout the post injury healing process. Data shows that higher stress levels in the brain release increased levels of neuromodulators which act as natural pain relievers and mood modifiers that help the body recover and heal at accelerated rates"

 

Game one, first blood, at Fenway: Ten Taketh-Aways

Epic Fenway thriller: Gil throws a no-no through six, gets Booned, and every God-fearing entity across the Yankiverse expected a bullpen meltdown, which somehow never materialized. 

Ten taketh-aways. 

1. Kudos to Luis Gil. His gutsiness - pitching out of two jams - challenged the bullpen to hold the line. When Cruz gave up that HR, the first hit of the night, the gravity of shame showed on his face. 

2. Aaron Judge crushed the longest HR this season at Fenway, an estimated 480 feet. It's a wonder the US Air Force didn't try to shoot it down. 

3. Giancarlo with a 114-mph line drive single to right. I believe something has happened this season to the relationship between Stanton and diehard fans. In recent years, he was mocked for his fragility and taken for granted when he does play. Last year, when he couldn't run, everybody thought he was done. Now, he could be a candidate for Cooperstown. All he needs is a ring.  

4. Until further notice, Jose "the Gay" Caballero needs to play SS. I don't understand the double-lined facial markings, but I love the guy. Last night, you felt the tension rise across Fenway whenever he came to bat. Everybody knows: If he gets on, he'll steal second and maybe third. And in doing so, he disrupt the pitcher, catcher and infield. The guy brings chaos.

5. As for Anthony Volpe, the more I hear about his partially torn labium, the angrier I get. Last year, the Yankees let Anthony Rizzo play two months with the lingering effects of a concussion. His game suffered, and his career went into the crapper. Did they do the same with Volpe? I get it that Volpe wants to play and he gives his all, but he should not start another game at SS until Caballero proves to be deficient. In fact, if there's an all-purpose utility man at Scranton, the Yankees should bring him up and put Volpe on the injury list. He's washed out an entire year.

6. Last night, Bednar looked solid. One two three. It's been a while since a Yankee "closer" - Bednar included - shut down the other team without subjecting us to a heart attack. Remember how Mariano used to do it? 

7. Speaking of closers, the Yankees still need to address one key element of our Vendetta List: El Chapo. We haven't gotten to Aroldis all season. It's time for the Cuban Water Cannon to meltdown, and to rejoice as the gallons of sweat pour from the open beer tap of his visor. We endured him for four years. It's time for Boston to catch a glimpse of our past.

8. No nice, unminced, non-juju enflaming way to say this, but without Roman Anthony in the lineup, the Redsocks just don't look all that scary. I have dark fears about the next few seasons, as Anthony grows into a star. I don't wish injury on any player - (actually, that's a lie, but fuckit) - but I really hope Anthony is not in the lineup when we face Boston in October (because I think we're going to face Boston in October.)

9. The Apple TV announcers last night talked up Ben Rice's "breakout" season, and you know what? They're damn right. I think we've sorta overlooked how central Rice has become to the Yankees, not just as a 1B but as a backup catcher. He bats third. We can worry about Anthony in the future, but Boston fans have to fear Rice.

10. Just win today, and gthen, against Crochet Sunday, spring a surprise on dear Aroldo. Wouldn't it be nice? 

Friday Night Game Thread – 9/12/25 – Back to Boston

Looks like we picked the wrong century to be Yankees fans.

 

Yesterday, I came as close to dusting the dirt from my feet and turning my back on the New York Yankees as I have since sometime in 1984, when they traded Graig Nettles and I tried to become a Mets fan. Didin't take. 

It's not that the Yankees have been a model of integrity, well, ever. This was a team, as Robert Penn Warren once wrote that was conceived in sin and born in corruption. Its original owners were the nation's leading gambler and the most corrupt police chief in New York City history, which is saying something.  

The very best of the team's owners was a cold, ruthless son-of-a-bitch who publicly humiliated Joe DiMaggio. Most of the rest have been, to quote Lady Caroline Lamb, mad, bad, and dangerous to know. Same goes for so many of the racist, incompetent front office people the Yankees have employed. 

Old George was no exception, a greedy, whining, scheming, bullying nepo baby, who at various times professed a willingness to move the team to Denver or sell it to the Dolans. It was, never let us forget, in Yankee Stadium that a baby-shark Donald Trump cut his teeth not only on the ways of only George, but also his greatest mentor, Roy Cohn, the gift who never stops giving, and who Trump would come to ignore and humiliate like everyone else who has helped him along the way.

Even so, events of the last couple days have marked a new low for our team. 

First came the announcement about Anthony Volpe. The fact that he has been hurt since May is something that many of us here have suspected...since May. 

I agree that Volpe's problems extend well beyond this injury to his non-throwing shoulder. But still: to put him out there to face ridicule from the hometown fans and the further diminishment of his confidence is beneath contempt.

It is also, I'm sorry to say, par for the course for our thoroughly loathsome general manager, Brian Cashman, whose quest to build himself a new Jeter has made him oblivious to basic human decency.

Not much better was the reaction of Aaron Boone. I know that Boone's endless, drivelous attacks of words are his way of avoiding accountability—or perhaps evidence of some terrible brain disease, God forbid. But his answer to questions about Volpe—something along the lines of "I think they learned that the tear was an old injury..."—went beyond his usual absurdity.

You think they learned? What is wrong with you???

Either Boone really can't remember just what happened to his young starting shortstop, or his evasions are in service of his masters. For God's sake, Mr. Boone: stand up and be a man, and stop covering for people. Can this job really mean this much to you, under these circumstances?

Far worse, of course, was the team's collective decision to piss on the memory of the heroes and martyrs of 9/11 by making the commemoration of the day a stage for Donald Trump—one more stop on his endless road tour of Revenge and Destruction. 

I don't expect ballplayers to stand up to a president, especially once as vindictive and thin-skinned as this one. I don't expect ballplayers have very good politics at all. 

(Although, come to think of it, why should that be? These are fantastically wealthy, grown men who made their fortunes by maintaining the most successful union in world history. Time, maybe, for someone to at least ask them about the massive contradictions in how they cash in and how they tune out?)

But their playing the simpering, smiling, grade-school audience for this awful excuse of a man was unpardonable. So was the reaction of Randy Levine, of course, but then who doesn't expect that squalid collection of hair dye not to bow and scrape to anyone with power?

All in all, it was a disgrace—crowned by Trump declaring himself the team's good-luck charm. Yeah? To that I say, "Go, Mariners!" Or somebody. Not, I'm sure, that whoever wins it will be much better, in this supine excuse for a republic.

On the matter of Anthony Volpe, maybe it's time to ponder the great neurotic Larry Sanders

One of the funniest and most overlooked satires of the 1990s was The Larry Sanders Show, a look into the machinations behind a paranoid late-night TV host, played by the late Gary Shandling. If you never watched it, I heartily suggest a weekend binge, maybe starting tonight.

As the King of Late Night, Larry Sanders suffered numerous anxieties. But his worst fears surfaced each summer, when the network sought his vacation replacement. Larry lived in terror that somebody - Carrey, Seinfeld, anybody - would come on and be funnier than he. It drove him - and his staff - sorta crazy.

So, today, why am I thinking of Larry Sanders?

Obviously, it's Anthony Volpe.

By now, you know the latest: The Volp has a partially torn shoulder ligament - possibly hurt last May -  and this weekend, he received a cortisone shot after reinjuring it.  

So... for the last three months, he may have been playing in pain. 

I can almost hear the studio audience chanting... "Larry, Larry, Larry..." 

Dear God, where do we start?

Well, to begin with, nobody should question Volpe's grit. He always answers the bell. But but BUT... if he's played in pain for the last three months, maybe we should question his intelligence. 

Since May, when he jammed his shoulder and felt a pop, Volpe has been MLB's worst starting shortstop. By a mile. By ten miles. The lack of offense and defense at SS is the biggest reason why the Yankees are three behind Toronto in the AL East, and barely a spring of nasal hair ahead of Boston in the wild card.

And now, we learn he's been playing hurt? 

Shoot me. That's some serious Larry Sanders-level paranoia: That he refused to sit out of the fear that Oswald Peraza would take his job? WTF? We're two weeks from the clang ending the regular season, Volpe's year has turned to shit, his career is hanging by dental floss, Yank fans have been booing him - (a Jersey boy!) - at home... and now, now, NOW we hear he's been playing in pain? Who is running this operation? Brian Daboll? 

Full disclosure:  I'm a secret Volpe fan. For three years, I've been Volpe's Pavlov's dog. If he goes 2-for-3, I drunkenly leap into the Happy Pit of Hope, thinking he's turned the corner and will become the Second Coming of Jeet. My second greatest fear - after being outed as a Roan Chappell stalker - is that Volpe gets chased out of NY and lands in, say, Tampa, where he turns into an all-star. I don't want to live in that world. 

But whadda we make of this? He's been playing hurt? Did nobody on the team notice? Did the coaching staff know? It's three effing months. NOW they tell us? Has everything about Volpe since May been a lie? I believe that's called "gaslighting?" WTF? Next time they press Larry's APPLAUSE button, maybe we - the studio audience - should just go silent. And for god sake, sit this guy down until he's pain-free. 

9/11/25 Game Thread – Broom and Gloom ?

Are we really going to get swept? At home? By Gleyber?

 I mean... seriously?

The IT IS HIGH A.I. BOONIE CHATBOT explains what happened last night

"Well, by golly, those late innings were certainly gut punches. I mean, you're in a tight game, up for grabs, down by two, nip and tuck, up and down, surf and turf, inky-blinky, higgety-piggety, and then things sorta unraveled, in a way you just don’t see very often. I mean, our bullpen has been solid all year, but I guess you'd have to say they just couldn’t get it done, and they'd be the first to tell you that. Wait. I'm sitting on a tack. Who Ed Whitsoned my chair?

"So, where was I? Rody gave us a chance. Six strong innings, kept us in it. You gotta like that. And I do. But you know, we just didn’t back him up. Offensively, we’ve got to do more. I can tell you that, in this league, one run just isn't gonna cut it, especially when the other side scores eleven. Jesus H. Christ, who thumb-tacked my bunster?

So, all in all, you gotta tip your cap to Detroit. They put together some good at-bats, found holes, and took advantage of every mistake. And from our side, the mistakes are not acceptable. We’ve gotta be better. We’ve gotta execute pitches, to make plays, and keep the game in front of us, full-frontal, boob city, va va voom, Bob's-yer-uncle! That's Chinatown, Jake. And we will. But last night, we didn't. I mean, make no mistake: That was a loss. And that loss is on us. We’ve gotta own it. We've gotta hang it on the wall, gotta set it at the dinner table, and then we gotta flush it down the Jimminy spigot. Gotta learn from it, gotta get some good swings, gotta stick to the plan, and gotta come up with the plan. That’s what we gotta do, and we will, because we gotta." 

Seventeen games left. 

The wheels are falling off.  

Game Thread – 9/10 – It really can't get much worse than yesterday . . . can it ?

 Happy Trails Rizzo - Wish your days with 

the Yankees were healthier . . . 

Grace, thy name is Anthony Rizzo

Don't think. Just click this link.

https://twitter.com/i/status/1965571869207367919

It's time for Yankee fans to channel Ed Ames

There's this existential song that Ed Ames - (yes, Mingo!) - recorded in 1968, called "Who Will Answer?" It was originally written by a Spanish poet and translated into English, one of those hippie-era downer tunes - (i.e. "Is that All There Is?" by Peggy Lee) - that sorta sums up human history. Here's my fave verse...

High upon a lonely ledge
A figure teeters near the edge
As jeering crowds collect below
To egg him on with "Go, Man, Go,"
But who will ask what led him
To his private day of doom,
And who will answer?

Okay, I know what you're thinking: The 2025 Yankees, right?

Listen: Every now and then, the universe blows its nose with you. Last night, for example, when all of NYC realized it's time for Jason Dart. Today, we're out on that ledge.

Make no mistake: Boone is a dolt, and Anthony Volpe may suck - (last night, he added to his list of maladies, "CAN'T BUNT") - but our 2025 apocalypse is the bullpen. 

Last night, on full display, came a meltdown worthy of Chernobyl, if it hosted the New York State Fair. The seventh inning became an hour of torture that, in terms of jaw-dropping awfulness, rivals a Morris Dancers street show I witnessed 20 years ago, which still pops up in nightmares. Nope. In the circles of Hell, last night falls near the 2024 World Series Game 5 Inning 5, which peaked with the Pointer Sister, Gerrit Cole, teaming up with Anthony Rizzo to egg us on with "Go, Man, Go! 

Nine runs, all earned, on five hits and five walks, in one inning. Most came with no outs, as the Yankee bullpen sank without a bubble.

Last night, we saw our destiny.  

In three weeks, this creaky roller coaster will slide into the postseason, probably against Boston, and it will require somebody - God knows who - to get the last nine outs of multiple games. The bullpen phone will ring - at one end will be a shrieking, murderous Aaron Boone - and we must wonder: Who will answer?

I believe it will be Mingo. Take it away, chief...

'Neath the spreading mushroom tree
The world revolves in apathy
As overhead, a row of specks
Roars on, drowned out by discotheques 
And if a secret button's pressed
Because one man has been outguessed

WHO WILL ANSWER?

Donno. But it won't be Mark Leiter Jr. I can tell you that.

The Thread – Haiku Tuesday Continues – Can't get enough of that Young, Dapper Intern !

 MOTOR CITY SLICK !