Well, the Yanks were sloppy all season and it came back to bite them in agonizing, burn-in-your-brain-forever misery last night.

Surely, this was a Yankee series created by the fantasies of all true Yankee-haters. But our Bombers found cruel and unusual ways to lose this thing. You could call them chokers, but they’ve been sloppy like this all year. They weren’t in Game 6 or Game 7—their mistakes cost them them that chance. We’re left with 4 loses that could have all gone the other way, particularly Game 1 and Game 5.

Yup, nothing but pain and disgust for us Yankee fans.

Dag.

Congrats the Dodgers.

Could be the last game of the year, period. But at least the Yanks have lived to see another day, even if it is tonight.

I couldn’t believe Volpe’s base running gaffe last night. I bellowed and moaned and threw myself off the couch in despair. And then he goes and hits that homer, turns a single into a (lucky) double, steals third, and then beats a throw home on a grounder to second. I’d say a good way to make up for that mistake. Happy for the kid.

Hoping for more good things tonight.

Never mind oblivion:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

And the hits just kept coming in Game Three. More mistakes, all born of desperation, all too painful to recount here.

Now the Yanks are down 3-0 in this series of sadness.

Nothing to lose now. Go git ’em, boys.

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

Well, that sucked. Did it suck as much as Game 1? No, but it sucked all the same.

They’ve been down 2-0 before. Tonight in the Bronx will have us root-root-rooting for the home team.

Never mind the writing on the wall:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

Game One was a kick to the crotch loss if there ever was one; much will be forgiven if they manage to swipe a win today and leave L.A. with a split.

Lots to be pissed about but today is a new day.

Never mind the moaning’:

Let’s Go Yank-eees!

Yanks-Dodgers.

Hell, yes.

Yanks arrive in Cleveland up 2-0.

Wonder how they’ll leave town?

Never mind the memory of those little bugs:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

Alas, here we are again. The Yanks fighting for a pennant. Cleveland looking to get to the Whirled Serious and bring home their first title since 1948.

Never mind nuthin:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

I wouldn’t be a Yankee fan were it not for the Kansas City Royals.

In the summer of 1977 when I was almost eight years old, my family drove from Detroit to New York City for a vacation in the Big Apple. We saw dinosaurs at the Museum of Natural History, walked in Central Park, and went to the top of the Empire State Building. All the stuff. But the highlight of the trip came on the day when my parents let me choose what to do. I was a huge baseball fan, so I asked them to take me to a baseball game.

The Yankees were playing the Royals that day. Catfish Hunter got the start, and Chris Chambliss hit a three-run home run in the bottom of the eighth to give the Yankees a 5-3 lead that turned into a win when Sparky Lyle finished things up in the ninth. I hadn’t yet forged any bonds with the Tigers, so the die was cast that afternoon. I’d be a Yankee fan for life.

This matchup with the Royals in the ALDS is bringing up all kinds of memories, and not just my own. The game-winning home run that I witnessed wasn’t the first time Chambliss had broken Kansas City hearts. Just the year before he had led off the bottom of the ninth with the game tied in the decisive fifth game of the American League Championship Series and struck one of the most memorable home runs in Yankee history, sending the Bronx into bedlam — actual bedlam — and sending the Yankees to the World Series.

That playoff loss was the first of three straight the Royals suffered at the hands of the Yankees, one of which famously left Kansas City shortstop Freddie Patek crying in the dugout.

But revenge for the Royals would eventually come when they served me the first heartbreak of my Yankee life. After dropping the first two games of the 1980 ALCS, the Yankees took a 2-1 lead into the bottom of the seventh at Yankee Stadium. Tommy John got the first two outs, but after he yielded a double to Willie Wilson, John was lifted for Rich Gossage, hopefully for a seven-out save. But Gossage give up a single to U.L. Washington and then this happened.

As if that weren’t enough, then we had the Pine Tar Game three years later. All of this contributed to what was, for a time, the greatest rivalry in baseball. You don’t think so? Ask George Brett. Still don’t think so? Watch this absolutely insane clip from Game 5 of the 1977 ALCS.

This week’s matchup with the Royals might not include all this drama, but then again it might. Buckle up, everyone, and Let’s Go, Yankees!

I really don’t care that the Orioles celebrated their playoff clinching in the Bronx, and I only marginally care that Gleyber Torres continues to remind me of perhaps my favorite Aaron Boone quote of all time. (Name that quote in the comments for extra credit.)

Here’s the one thing I truly care about — the Yankees will clinch tonight. Book it!

[Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons]

With just nineteen games left to play, the American League East, inexplicably, is still completely up for grabs as the Yankees and the Orioles are locked in the most polite game of musical chairs you’ve ever seen, with each team standing back and doing its best to usher the other into the lone chair remaining. There’s been some good news recently from the Yankees, with the return of Luís Gil and Clarke Schmidt from the injured list and the return to form of Gerrit Cole, but with each step forward comes a step back. Aaron Judge has been wearing a Kryptonite necklace for the past two weeks, Clay Holmes has finally lost his closer job, and Alex Verdugo is still playing left field instead of Jasson Domínguez.

So what will these next nineteen games bring? Pull up a chair, and let’s find out.

Whatever happens over the next five weeks and hopefully more, please take a minute to appreciate something we might never see again, or, more optimistically, something we’ll be watching for the next ten years. There’s been nothing in my lifetime quite like the combination of Juan Soto and Aaron Judge, two otherworldly talents hitting back to back in the order. I once wondered what it would’ve been like to watch Ruth and Gehrig every day, and now I know. It’s pretty, pretty, pretty good.

[Photo Credit: WikimediaCommons]

[Image credit: Wikimedia Commons]

Okay, hear me out.

What if these are the glory days, the good old days, and the beginning of a golden era all happening right before our eyes? What if in December when Juan Soto signs a mega deal to stay in the Bronx he says something like, “Winning the World Series was great, and I can’t wait to win a few more, but it was during that run in early August when I realized that I never wanted to play anywhere else, that I wanted to listen to the Bleacher Creatures chanting my name for the next fifteen years, that I wanted all of my at bats to come with Aaron Judge standing in the on deck circle. This is home for me.”

With the June swoon seemingly behind them, things are looking up for the New York Yankees. Sure, there are still huge concerns about Clay Holmes and Marcus Stroman and Nestor Cortes, but there are encouraging signs elsewhere. Anthony Volpe seems to have found another serving of chicken parm, as evidenced by his 1.026 OPS since the all-star break; Austin Wells looks more and more like the best catcher on the roster, slashing at .340/.444/.520 during that same stretch; and even though his Yankee stats are dramatically skewed by two games, Jazz Chisholm has a nice .300/.364/.700 line since he arrived.

Meanwhile, Aaron Judge is Aaron Judge. The run that he’s on isn’t just about the last three months, it stretches through the last three seasons. During that time he’s slashed at .302/.429/.670 and averaged 47 home runs and 103 RBIs (with 49 games left to play this season). Aaron Judge isn’t hot, he’s just Aaron Judge. This is who he is.

So maybe we’re through the hard part. Maybe.

Let’s go, Yankees!

Saturday afternoon’s debacle was the 100th game of the season for the Yankees, and they now sit at 59-41, but that obviously doesn’t tell the whole story of this seesaw season. So let’s take a deeper look by the numbers.

1
The leadoff spot in the order has been a problem for the Yankees for quite a while now. Brett Gardner held the job for years, DJ LeMahieu was great in 2020 and 2021, but this year has been a struggle, with five different players hitting at the top of the order, Gleyber Torres, Anthony Volpe, Alex Verdugo, LeMahieu, and finally Ben Rice. Anthony Volpe seems to have the tools to do the job for the next ten years, but right now the Yankees are struggling to find someone to hit in the coziest spot in all of baseball.

2
The Yankees are two games behind the Baltimore Orioles in 2nd place in the American League East.

3
We’ve only seen three wins from Gerrit Cole, but in his last two starts he’s thrown 12 innings, allowed 11 hits, 2 walks, and 2 runs while striking out 15 in wins over the Orioles and Rays. He seems like the the Gerrit Cole we remember.

4
Here’s the most perplexing statistic about the team that’s scored more runs than any team in baseball. Juan Soto and Aaron Judge lead the major leagues in on base percentage by a long shot, but the spot behind them has been absolutely anemic. No team’s cleanup hitters have been worse than whichever player Aaron Boone pencils into that slot.

5
The Yankees are averaging (just a touch under) five runs per game — actually 4.95, which is among the best in the game. No team, in fact, has scored more than their 495 total runs.

6
Carlos Rodón’s last six starts have been awful. He’s 0-5 with an ERA of 9.67, and he’s allowed 55 baserunners (including 9 home runs) in just 27 innings. Batters are slashing .336/.410/.656 over that stretch. If I hadn’t watched all this, I wouldn’t believe it.

7
There have been seven different starting pitchers — Nestor Cortes, Carlos Rodón, Marcus Stroman, Luís Gil, Clarke Schmidt, Gerrit Cole, and Cody Poteet.

8
When Oswaldo Cabrera finished a blowout game on the mound, it was the eighth position that he’s played as a Yankee, all positions but cacher and designated hitter.

9
Carlos Rodón has nine wins; Nestor Cortés has nine losses.

10
Ben Rice has ten extra base hits — four doubles and six home runs — and his three home run game earlier this month was one of the highlights of the season.

11
Clarke Schmidt only had 11 starts before an injury sidelined him for a few weeks, but he was good while he was out there. His return, hopefully next month, would be a nice boost for a rotation that’s been struggling.

12
Even though there’s been a lot of concern about the Yankees’ inability to throw out opposing base stealers, they actually rank 12th in opponent steals per game.

13
The Yankees have hit 13 triples, which is sixth in the American League.

14
Aaron Judge has grounded into 14 double plays, most in baseball.

15
Marcus Stroman arrived with the reputation of being a ground ball pitcher, but he’s struggled with the long ball this season, coughing up 15 home runs and headed for what will easily be the highest home run percentage (3.4%) of his career.

16
Trent Grisham has walked 16 times.

17
Marcus Stroman has been good, probably about as good as most were hoping. How could? His ERA+ of 117 tells us that he’s been 17% better than league average, which isn’t bad for a fourth or fifth starter.

18
The Yankees are currently 18 games over .500 — which means they’d finish 90-72 if they go .500 the rest of the way.

19
Luís Gil has been the surprise of the season for the Yankees. He didn’t project to be in the rotation, but he’s made 19 starts, and about fifteen of them have been brilliant. He had three straight bad starts from June 20-July 2, but in his last two starts he’s looked like the world beater that he was in April and May.

20
Carlos Rodón has twenty starts and has given up twenty home runs.

21
Clay Holmes has 21 saves and went to the All-Star Game, but it’s the blown saves that we remember. If the Yankees have plans for October, they’ll need to upgrade the bullpen.

22
Gleyber Torres strikes out 22% of the time (22.4%), which slightly below league average.

23
Gleyber Torres has 23 extra base hits — 15 doubles and 8 home runs. In his first few seasons it looked like Gleyber was on his way to the Hall of Fame, but this appears to be who he is now.

24
Aaron Judge leads the team with 24 doubles.

25
Austin Wells has scored 25 runs. He’s not Mike Piazza, but he’s beginning to look more and more like the catcher of the future.

26
The Yankees have used 26 actual pitchers this season, plus two position players.

27
José Treviño has 27 RBIs.

28
Giancarlo had 28 extra base hits (18 home runs and 10 doubles) before his current injury. His bat has been missed, even if his baserunning hasn’t.

29
Anthony Volpe has walked 29 times.

30
Jahmai Jones has appeared in 30 games.

31
Gerrit Cole has allowed 31 hits.

32
Giancarlo Stanton has a strikeout rate of exactly 32%, which is the highest on the team.

33
The Yankees have hit 33 sacrifice flies, which is second best in the league.

34
Aaron Judge is the most fearsome hitter on the planet, but his 34 home runs tell only part of the story.

35
Reliever Jake Cousins leads the team with a strikeout rate of 35.2%.

36
The organization continues to build its reputation for finding and fixing relievers. This year’s success story is Luke Weaver. He’s appeared in 36 games and posted a 2.47 ERA.

37
The Yankees have played 37 games against the American League East, compiling a disappointing record of 17-20.

38
The Yankees have stolen only 38 bases this season. Only the San Francisco Giants are worse, with 31.

39
LeMahieu’s OPS+ is 39, which is preposterously low. This means he’s a staggering sixty-one percent below league average. His slash numbers are somehow even uglier. Since he has fifteen walks but just three doubles, he somehow entered Saturday’s game with a lower slugging percentage (.207) than on base percentage (.275), which is hard to do. I’d guess there are at least five players in the Yankee system right now who could play third base and top these numbers. It’s time to stop running him out there.

40
Closer Clay Holmes leads the team with 40 appearances.

41
The Yankees have 41 losses this season.

42
Yankee fans were spoiled by Mariano Rivera, and we knew it.

43
Ian Hamilton has a ground ball rate of 43%. (Well, actually 43.8%, but we aren’t rounding.)

44
DJ LeMahieu has a wRC+ of 44, which is 56% lower than league average. This is the worst on the team.

45
Forty-five different players have appeared in pinstripes this season.

46
The Yankees have played 46 games at home, compiling a 26-20 record.

47
Oswaldo Cabrera has struck out 47 times.

48
Number 48 on the roster, Anthony Rizzo, was a drag on the lineup when he was healthy. Ben Rice isn’t exactly Don Mattingly, but I don’t think he’s Kevin Maas, either. It would be disappointing to see Rizzo back in the lineup this season.

49
On June 12 the Yankees finished the day at 49-21. They’ve won ten games  in the five weeks since then.

50
Oswaldo Cabrera has made 50 put outs at third base.

51
Oswaldo Cabrera has 51 base hits.

52
Trent Grisham has appeared in 52 games, which is far more than expected. He’s been solid in center field, but hasn’t produced much at the plate. (.188/.292/.376)

53
Oswaldo Cabrera has started 53 games at third base.

54
The Yankees have played 54 games on the road, compiling a 33-21 record.

55
Judge has cooled off recently, but he’s still on pace to hit 55 home runs this season.

56
Gleyber Torres has 56 singles.

57
Aaron Judge has played 57 innings in right field.

58
Luke Weaver has 58 strikeouts.

59
As Aaron Boone is fond of saying, the wins in April and May count just as much as the ones in August and September. He’s not wrong.

60
Sixty percent (60.7) of Aaron Judge’s balls put in play have had an exit velocity of 95MPH or higher.

61
Anthony Rizzo has 61 assists.

62
Yankee pitchers have hit 62 batters, most in baseball.

63
Nestor Cortés has given up 63 earned runs, already the most of any season in his career.

64
Luke Weaver and Michael Tonkin, two of the hardest workers in the bullpen, have combined for 64 appearances.

65
Game 65 was once of the best games of the season. The Yankees and Dodgers were scoreless all night until Teoscar Hernández doubled in two runs in the eleventh. Aaron Judge drove in a run in the bottom half, but the Dodgers held on for a 2-1 win.

66
Juan Soto has 66 RBIs, ninth most in baseball.

67
Clarke Schmidt has 67 strikeouts.

68
Aaron Judge has 68 unintentional walks.

69
Jose Treviño has 69 total bases.

70
Juan Soto has struck out 70 times, while walking 80 times. If this trend continues, it would be the fifth straight season with more walks the strikeouts, an impressive feat in this day and age.

71
In Game 71, the Yankees suffered a walkoff loss to the Royals. It seemed like nothing at the time, but it marked the end of a brilliant start and the beginning of a five-week malaise.

72
In Game 72, the Yankees beat the Red Sox 8-1 in Fenway Park. Alex Verdugo went 3 for 5 with a double, a home run, and four RBIs. It was clear in that moment that the Red Sox had made a huge mistake in trading him, as Verdugo was a key part of the best offense in baseball. And then Verdugo completely disappeared.

73
Aaron Judge has played 73 games in the outfield, 4 in left, 63 in center, and 7 in right.

74
Aaron Judge has walked 74 times this season, second best in baseball.

75
The Yankees have spent 75 days in first place.

76
The Yankees have played 76 games against right-handed starters, going 48-28 in those games.

77
Anthony Rizzo’s OPS+ of 77 is by far the lowest since his short rookie season of 2011.

78
Marcus Stroman has 78 strikeouts.

79
Juan Soto has an OPS+ of 179, which means he’s 79 percent better than league average. Aside from the Covid-shortened 2020 season, this is the best season of his career.

80
Juan Soto leads all of baseball with 80 walks.

81
Marcus Stroman has stranded exactly 81% of the baserunners he’s allowed.

82
Anthony Rizzo has a wRC+ of 82 according to Fangraphs, which is much lower than Ben Rice (118) and lower than all but two Yankees with significant at bats (Oswaldo Cabrera, 79, and DJ LeMahieu 44).

83
Tommy Kahnle has faced 83 batters in his 23 appearances.

84
Alex Verdugo has 84 hits. But not many of them have been recently.

85
Alex Verdugo has an OPS+ of 85, and his abysmal stretch over the past five weeks has been a big reason why the Yankees have struggled during that same period. He peaked when he hit a home run on the first pitch he saw upon his return to Fenway Park, and he’s been statistically the worst hitter in baseball since. He’s probably also cost himself tens of millions of dollars.

86
Aaron Judge leads all of baseball with 86 RBIs.

87
Ben Rice has 87 at bats, roughly 87 more than expected.

88
Gerrit Cole has recorded 88 outs.

89
Probably the most significant under-the-radar injury the Yankees have suffered this season was to #89 Jasson Dominguez. Were it not for his oblique injury, he’d likely be DHing in the Bronx right now during Giancarlo Stanton’s absence.

90
Giancarlo Stanton has struck out 90 times.

91
Ian Hamilton has an ERA+ of 91, nine percent below league average.

92
Juan Soto has played 92 games in the outfield, 89 in right and 3 in left.

93
Fangraphs currently projects the Yankees to win 93 games. (Actually 93.6)

94
The Yankees have hit into 94 double plays, the most in baseball.

95
Anthony Volpe has struck out 95 times, more than anyone but Judge. This is obviously a problem.

96
The average exit velocity of the balls put in play by Aaron Judge is 96MPH. (96.2)

97
According to Fangraphs, the Yankees have a 97% chance to make the playoffs. (Actually 97.9%)

98
Game 98 was the worst loss of the season for the Yankees. They had appeared to right the ship and were a pitch away from sweeping the Orioles and moving into first place heading into the all-star break. But Anthony Volpe bobbled a routine ground ball to allow one run, and then Alex Verdugo misplayed a routine fly ball into a two-run, game-winning double. It was a devastating loss in the final game of the first half.

99
No matter what happens, there’s still Aaron Judge, #99.

100
One hundred games down, just 62 (and hopefully a dozen or so more) to go. Let’s go, Yankees!

With apologies to Elizabeth Barret Browning, I offer a sonnet to sum up where we are right now…

How do I worry? Let me count the ways.
I worry to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, with losses every night,
To Sox and O’s and then to Jays and Rays.
I worry to the level that every game
Is life or death, revelation in plain sight.
I worry truly, hoping I’m not right.
I worry darkly, with each runner left on base.
I worry with the scars of twenty-two,
That fiery start mere ashes in my mouth.
I worry with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost heroes. I worry they’ve gone south,
And lost their way; and, beneath the boos,
I shall but worry deeper after death.

On June 13 the Yankees led the Royals 3-2 in Kansas City with two outs in the ninth inning and closer Clay Holmes on the mound. With two strikes on the batter, Holmes appeared poised to secure the save, and the Yankees appeared poised to sweep the series and earn their 50th win. But Kyle Isbel singled, and three pitches later Maikel Garcia doubled in the tying and winning runs. It was disappointing, but all it really meant was that the Yankees were 49-22 instead of 50-21. It didn’t matter at all, because they were still the best team in baseball.

Since then? Not so much. How bad have these Yankees been? Since that afternoon, they’ve posted a 7-17 record and lost seven of eight series. (They split a four-game set with the Blue Jays.)

Aside from the feel-good story of Ben Rice, there have been no bright spots. The starting rotation has been in a shambles, players who were exceeding expectations have regressed to the mean or even below, and even the mighty Aaron Judge has disappeared, going eight games and counting without an extra base hit or an RBI.

If there’s anything close to a silver lining, it’s this. The Baltimore Orioles haven’t taken advantage. During this same four-week stretch the O’s are only 12-13, going from 2.5 games behind the Yankees in the A.L. East to only two games ahead, which means that even after all of this time wandering in the wilderness, the Yankees could actually emerge from this weekend’s three-game series in Baltimore alone in first place.

It’s not impossible. Is it?

Image courtesy of WikiMedia Commons, public domain.

Let me give you something good to think about.

We’ve never seen a player like Aaron Judge. Never.

Buckle up! Here’s hoping our man is on his game!

Two great men who were born within weeks of each other in 1931 passed away recently. The one you know is Willie Howard Mays, Jr., one of the greatest players who ever lived.

We’ve been measuring baseball players for a hundred and fifty years, first counting the things we could see, like balls hit over a fence or the number of times a fly ball was picked out of the sky, then eventually with mathematical equations that would’ve made Babe Ruth shrug and then slug another beer.

By any measurement you care to use, Willie Mays was elite. If the folks in Cooperstown ever decide to create an inner circle, a Hall of Fame Hall of Fame, Mays will be a first ballot selection. With 660 home runs, twelve consecutive Gold Glove awards, and 24 All-Star selections, this kid from Alabama by way of the Negro Leagues was more than just great. He did things on the field in the 1950s and ‘60s that no one had ever seen, at least not in the white major leagues.

But nothing on the back of his baseball card can begin to define Mr. Mays. He is among that handful of players who seems more mythology than history, but with Mays the stories are generally true. He really did stop to play stick ball in the streets of New York as he walked home from the Polo Grounds. He really did run out from underneath his hat each time he rounded second. (Never mind the fact that he wore that hat a size or two large to be sure it happened that way.) Even his nickname, “the Say Hey Kid,” was better than everyone else’s.

Mays was only three years into his career, just 23 years old, when he produced arguably the most famous play in baseball history. In the eighth inning of Game 1 of the 1954 World Series, Cleveland’s Vic Wertz launched a rocket over Mays’s head, a ball sure to find the depths of the Polo Grounds’ cavernous center field. Many have said that it wasn’t Mays’s greatest catch, but it happened on the game’s greatest stage, so that was enough.

With the 24 on his back facing the plate, Mays outran the ball, the ball fell into his glove, and America fell in love with Willie Mays. The iconic play was captured in Arnold Hano’s seminal book A Day in the Bleachers, a fan’s eye account of that entire game. When I spoke with Hano about that play as part of a larger interview, the writer explained it simply. “He outran the ball, I mean that’s what it amounted to. In fact, I write in the book that he started to look over his shoulder and then thought better of it. I think what he did, he probably had great peripheral vision. He probably looked over his shoulder just to make sure the ball was where it should be. I think that’s what happened, now that I think back on it.”

Now that I think back on it — and it says something else about Willie Mays that I can think back on a play that happened fifteen years before I was born and remember it as if I had been there — I see Mays racing back and making the catch, but before anyone can appreciate what he’s just done, he’s already spun back around like an Olympic discus thrower and fired the ball back towards the infield, finishing the play on his hands and knees, his hat lost somewhere behind him.

Mays was in the first wave of Black ballplayers raised in the Negro League era to become superstars in the white major leagues. Though he arrived four years after Jackie Robinson, his journey was no less fraught. He was already one of the most famous men in America when his New York Giants moved to San Francisco in 1958, but in the eyes of many he was just a boy. He fit in New York City, but when he and his wife drove their Cadillac into the nicer neighborhoods as they searched for a home in San Francisco, they were met with resistance. They were met with reality.

When Black baseball fans across America looked at Mays, they saw not just a hero of mythical proportions, they also saw themselves. They might not have been able to smash a ball into the seats or glide effortlessly into the gap to watch a triple die in their gloves, but they knew the same discriminations and indignities that he knew.

Maybe that was why my father was drawn to him. In the late spring of 1969, my Black father and white mother drove from their home in Detroit for a vacation out west. They’d been married less than a year, they had a child on the way, and all was good in their world.

They travelled up the coast to San Francisco, and they saw all the sites. They walked along Fisherman’s Wharf, they rode the street cars, and they went to Candlestick Park to see Willie Mays. Growing up in an American League city long before interleague play, this would’ve been my father’s first and only chance to see Mays. Going to San Francisco without stopping for the Say Hey Kid would be like visiting the Louvre and skipping the Mona Lisa.

Somewhere on a hard drive I’ve got the scan of a picture my father took that night. The photo is blurry, but it shows a right-handed batter in a Giants uniform, so it can only be Mays. Not as blurry is the image I imagine on the other end of the camera. My father is looking at a legend, my mother is sitting beside him, and I am the dream that floats between them.

Less than a week later, my father had a heart attack and died during the night in a motel room in Seattle. His last baseball game was my first, and even though I wouldn’t come into the world for another five months, I like to believe that my love of the game began that night in San Francisco.

Four years later, in October of 1973, my mother remarried. His name was Frank, but he was always Dad to me. My father had passed away before I was born, but my dad raised me to be the man I am today.

When a friend texted me on April 27th to tell me that Willie Mays had gone into hospice, I got the news while sitting alone in the Oakland airport just six hours after my dad had died, his own hospice journey having ended that morning. As I sat there waiting to board my flight home, a circle closed.

In 1972 the 41-year-old Willie Mays was traded from the Giants to the Mets, allowing the legend to return to the city where he had first become a star, but he was far from the player New York fans remembered. That final season and a half was notable only because it gave reporters a reference point any time any aging star reached the end of their career. Even fifty years later it isn’t unusual to read that trite admonition: “You don’t want to go out like Willie Mays, dropping fly balls in Shea Stadium.”

It always seemed such a self-centered observation, as if the decline of a legend had anything to do with the player he once had been. Wasn’t it more admirable to hang on to the game you loved? Wasn’t there something beautiful in a desperate devotion to linger years after many thought your time had passed? If Mays wanted to keep playing, let him. I simply couldn’t understand why anyone might have thought otherwise.

And then my dad fell into the cold grip of Alzheimer’s, and suddenly it all made sense. Intellectually, he had always been Willie Mays, but then one day he began dropping fly balls.

Quite simply, he was the smartest man I’ve ever known. At about the time Willie was travelling from Alabama to New York, my dad was taking a train from Pennsylvania to Cal Tech, sharing a berth with a young actor named Leonard Nimoy who was on his way to the Pasadena Playhouse. (But when my dad told the story, it was always Lenny Nimoy, which somehow made it better.)

After Cal Tech he went on to earn a PhD from Case Western Reserve and embark on a long career as a chemist. As I was growing up, there was no question he couldn’t answer and nothing he couldn’t fix. One of my biggest regrets is that with all the hours I spent as a child “holding the light” as he worked deep into the night on one repair or another, I never bothered to pay attention. I still can’t fix a damn thing.

I still remember the cruel realization that my dad had slipped away. It was probably ten years ago, and there was something scientific that was bothering me. It might’ve been a question about how long it took my cell phone battery to charge or something similar, but when I picked up my phone to call him and ask, I put it back down before dialing. He wouldn’t know any more. He had been dropping fly balls for a while at that point, forgetting even the most important people in his life. The last time my family and I visited, he didn’t know us. We were just five nice people who stayed for a while and gave him a hug when we left. I cried as we pulled out of the driveway and headed home, not because he was dead but because he wasn’t. He was already gone.

When it was clear last month that his final days had arrived, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to see him. But when my mom told me he had only another 48 hours or so, I got on a plane.

He hadn’t been conscious for a while, but my mom and I sat with him during those final days and hours, as much for each other as for him. She asked me what my favorite memory was, and several came back immediately.

There were general memories, like the dozens of baseball games he took me to, including the game at Yankee Stadium when I was seven, the game that made me a Yankee fan for life, but there were others. We entered the Pinewood Derby when I was six or seven, and it wasn’t even fair. The other dads dutifully carved their block of pine into something that resembled a car and slapped on some paint, but our car was serious. My dad bored two holes in the bottom and filled them with solder for extra weight, then took apart the wheel casing and dusted the axles with graphite to reduce friction. There were hundreds of other competitors, but they didn’t stand a chance. I’ve still got the car and the 1st place trophy it earned packed away in the garage.

When I once told him that I had waited until the last minute to do my science project, he didn’t blink. He went to the garage for some supplies and together we built an electromagnet. Years later I’d guide my daughter through the same project.

He had always been a better dad to me than I a son to him, and one way he showed his love was by constantly looking for opportunities to spend time with me doing something that I loved. My favorite memory came when I was much older, during a time when I was pulling and away and was trying to keep my close. While I was home during a break from college, he suggested we go to the driving range. It had probably been forty years since he had swung a golf club, but since I had been playing fairly regularly, he knew it would be something we could do together. We got a bucket of balls and took two spots on the range. He teed up with his back to me, took a mighty swing, and completely missed the ball. He pivoted a hundred and eighty degrees as the momentum of his swing spun him around so he was facing me, and I’ll never forget what came next. He laughed with a huge smile on his face, and while it might’ve been triggered by embarrassment, it quickly dissolved into pure joy, the joy that can only come from time spent with your son.

These two men, my father and my dad, somehow linked by Willie Mays, made me who I am. Nothing makes me happier than when my mother or someone who knew my father points out a physical similarity that’s been passed down through our shared DNA, but I’m old enough now to admit there’s a lot of my dad in me also.

When we’re driving somewhere and my wife asks me why I’m taking a strange route to a familiar place, I know it’s because of my dad. When I carry my shoes to the car and tie them at the stop lights, I know it’s because of my dad. When I tell a story that takes longer to get to the point than my listener might like, I know it’s because of my dad.

But when I sit with my son in Yankee Stadium this week, I know it will be because of both of them. I’ll think about my father making a pilgrimage to see Willie Mays, I’ll think about my dad playing catch with me in the front yard, and even though I’ll try not to, I’ll think about my son and the games he’ll watch without me after I’m gone.

With the Yankees in the middle of one of the more interesting stretches of their season (Dodgers-Royals-Red Sox-Orioles-Braves), things are looking good, even if we disregard Saturday night’s loss in Boston. Aaron Judge is the best player in baseball, Juan Soto is the best Robin in the history of Robins, and the Yankees have the best record in baseball. Oh, and the best part? Gerrit Cole will soon throw his first major league pitch of the season. As the weather’s heating up, so are the Yanks!

[Photo Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons]

There are any number of alternate Yankee Universes that still cause me to shudder from time to time. What if the Houston Astros had listened to Hal Newhouser and drafted Derek Jeter with the top pick in the 1992 draft? What if Gene Michael had traded Mariano Rivera in 1995? What if Bernie Williams had signed with the Red Sox before the 1999 season?

The repercussions of any one of those scenarios would have changed the course of baseball history, but none of them would’ve been as emotionally devastating as a more recent near disaster.

On December 6, 2022, Jon Heyman cemented his name into Yankee lore and internet infamy when he tweeted, “Arson Judge appears headed to Giants” — he couldn’t even be bothered to use a period, so frantic was he to break the news. Roughly twelve hours later the Yankees had re-signed Judge and named him Captain, but the half-day I spent wandering in limbo felt much more like Dante’s ninety-ninth circle of hell than Purgatory. I saw the future, and it was bleak.

I’ll admit that I’m still scarred. Even as I celebrated Judge’s Opening Day home run against the Giants in the spring of 2023, there was part of me that knew he could easily have been making a right turn towards the visitors’ dugout after crossing home plate. And when he pummeled the Giants on Friday night, going 3 for 4 with two no-doubt home runs, I half imagined him in a Creamsicle San Francisco uniform, being hailed as the prodigal son. I may never get over it.

Ah, but here’s something that helps remind me that Aaron Judge has always been a Yankee and will never leave. After an historic month of May that will surely earn him his eighth career Player of the Month Award, Judge has made those April concerns seem even more ridiculous than they were at the time. As his numbers became more and more historic this month, each night we were given a different Yankees history lesson, along with statistics and names from Monument Park. There was Judge alongside Ruth and Gehrig one night, then Maris, DiMaggio, and Mantle the next. Instead of joining Mays and Bonds and Ott and McCovey, he’s right where he belongs.

[Photo via Wikimedia Commons]