The greatness of Rickey Henderson was undeniable, even if it took baseball people longer than you’d think to recognize that Rickey could do more than just run. The Man of Steal burst on the scene with the Oakland Athletics not just by stealing more bases than anyone had before him, but by stealing more bases than anyone had thought possible. He bent reality in the way that only the greatest players can, but because people are the way they are, his early achievements were viewed from a deficit perspective.

Critics complained that he was selfish, that stolen bases in the ninth inning with his team down by four only tarnished the record, or they claimed that he was incomplete player, never mind the fact that at just 23 years old when he stole a preposterous 130 bases in that 1982 season, Rickey also scored 119 runs and led the league with 116 walks. The year before he had won a Gold Glove.

His greatest years, however, were still ahead of him. After being traded to the Yankees prior to the 1985 season, he thrived on the biggest stage in the game, becoming the only player in our lifetime to score more runs (146) than games played (143) while stealing 80 bases and slashing .314/.419/.516 only to lose the MVP to teammate Don Mattingly. Rickey would eventually get his MVP five years later after his return to Oakland when he stole 65 bases while hitting 28 home runs with a staggering 1.016 OPS.

How good was he? Without question, he was the greatest leadoff hitter of all-time. Bill James, the godfather of statistical analysis, once said that Rickey was so good that if you could split him into two players, you’d still have two Hall of Famers. (Here’s a discussion about that.)  To that point, if we disregard his slugging numbers and his 3,055 career hits and focus on the true through-line of his career, the stolen base, the numbers are mind boggling.

• His 1,406 career stolen bases is just one steal shy of being a full 50% better than Lou Brock’s second place total of 938. For perspective on that, the top four active stolen base leaders (Starling Marte, José Altuve, Trea Turner, and José Ramírez) have a total of 1,480 steals.
• During the twelve-year stretch from 1980-1991, Henderson led baseball in steals eleven times.
• Seven years after the end of that run, in 1998, Rickey again led baseball with 66 stolen bases for the San Diego Padres at the age of 39.

The statistics eventually become mind-numbing, but the true measure of any legend lies in the mythology that grows up around them. Did Rickey really frame his first million dollar check rather than cash it? (Yes, but still got the money.) Did he really tell Jon Olerud that he had once had a teammate who also wore his helmet in the field, forgetting that the former teammate was actually Jon Olerud? (No, but it’s a good story.)

Everyone in Rickey’s orbit had a good story to tell, even me. I collected baseball cards growing up, and when the hobby exploded in the 1980s, I began going to card shows, not just to grow my collection but to collect autographs. Rickey Henderson was a guest at a card convention in the spring of 1986 during his second year with the Yankees, so I drove down to the freeway so I could pay ten or twenty dollars for the autograph of one my favorite players.

Most of the players who appeared at events like this simply churned out one signature after another, earning their appearance fee by mindlessly repeating autographs on balls, bats, and photos for an hour or two. They were often bored or disinterested, sometimes surly and dismissive. Rickey was none of these things. He had far too much energy to be trapped in a folding chair behind a plastic table, and his eyes darted around the room, taking in everything, but connecting with no one.

When I finally made my way to the front of the line, Rickey’s eyes stopped on mine. We were in Orange County in the mid ’80s. If the world outside that hotel was predominantly white, that said nothing about the demographics of the hall we were in that afternoon. It’s likely that Rickey and I were the only two Black people in the room, and Rickey’s darting eyes were keenly aware of that. He took one look at me, extended his hand and said — and I will never forget this — “What’s happenin, soul brother?”

I was sixteen years old, filled with the typical insecurities of adolescence, but because I had spent my life growing up in places like Naperville, Illinois, and Irvine, California, I had never been comfortable in my own skin simply because that skin wasn’t the same color as the kids at school or the people in my neighborhoods. I was different, and it would be years before that discomfort would go away.

Rickey could never have known any of this, but he saw me. I didn’t quite know what to make of it in that moment, but it’s something that’s stayed with me in the three decades since. When I heard the news that Rickey had passed, appropriately dying the same year his Oakland A’s did, I eventually thought about the afternoon in Oakland when two friends and I sat in the right field bleachers and watched Rickey grab his 939th stolen base, but my first reaction was to think back to that day at the card show when a legend reached out and connected with me.

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]

When the New York Yankees arrived at the ballpark on May 17, 2022, they were on top of the world. Their record stood at a major league best 26-9, they were in the middle of a modest four-game winning streak, and — history tells us — they’d eventually climb as high as 38 games over .500 at 61-23 through 84 games. But history also tells us that they’d go 38-40 over the final 78 games and end the season with a disheartening four-game sweep in the ALCS at the hands of the Houston Astros.

As the 2024 Yankees head into this weekend’s three-game series with the Chicago White Sox, they are similarly positioned. At 30-15 they have the best record in the American League, just one game off the pace set by the National League’s Philadelphia Phillies, and while we might be wise to remember what happened two years ago before we begin making plans for October, something about this team feels different, doesn’t it?

We’re not quite a third of the way through the season, but we could be looking at something special. Let’s! Go! Yan! Kees!

[Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons]

In the spring of 1998 I was living alone in a small apartment in Long Beach, California. The internet was as awkward as a teenager back then, full of promise but lacking any direction or purpose. Radio stations were just beginning to stream their live content on line, and since Major League Baseball had not yet caught up with the technology, game broadcasts were available for free to anyone with an internet connection.

I quickly established a baseball driven routine. I’d get home by four or five o’clock each evening, log into AOL.com, and open their distant ancestor to today’s MLB Game Day. A tiny window no larger than two or three  postage stamps would keep me updated on the Yankee score as pixels danced across a miniature diamond to show me which runners were on base. Next I’d navigate my way to WFAN to listen to their live feed of that night’s game, not for a minute missing the irony that all this cutting edge technology was giving me nothing more than baseball fans had been enjoying for the previous eight decades — a simple radio broadcast.

Nineteen ninety-eight was a good year to be a Yankee fan, and as I listened to one win after another that spring, I came to know and love the deep tones of John Sterling. His radio partner in those days was a young Michael Kay, and while they worked well together, there always seemed to be the slightest bit of tension between them, with the younger Kay latching onto his three innings of play-by-play in the middle of the game with desperate ambition — or perhaps I was just imagining that.

Sterling, however, was the opposite of desperate. Perhaps it was a holdover from his brief time in Atlanta calling Braves games, but there was something in Sterling’s voice that brought to mind a tall glass of sweet tea, as unhurried as a summer afternoon. As such, his pairing with Suzyn Waldman, which began in 2005, made much more sense than his previous partnership with Kay.

Sterling and Waldman, he 85 and she 77, were often derisively referred to as Ma and Pa Kettle for their folksy banter and nostalgic view of the game, but none of that ever bothered me. I’ve been watching the Yankees on YES for about twenty years now, but one of my greatest pleasures is still listening to a game on the radio as two voices spin a description of the game unfolding before them.

Last week I got in the car and quickly found the game on the satellite radio, but someone different was talking to Suzyn, and it didn’t feel right. I wondered why Sterling would be taking off a home game, but now we know. John Sterling announced his retirement from broadcasting on Monday afternoon, and the booth will never be the same.

Sure, he’s tricked me dozens of times into celebrating a home run as he launched into his signature call (“It is high! It is far…”) only to have the ball fall harmlessly into a fielder’s glove at the warning track, but there’s far more that I’ll miss.

Each one of us has punctuated an important win by singing along, “Ball game over! Yankees win! Thuuuuuuuuh… Yankees! Win!” And don’t we all have a favorite individual home run call? (My favorite: “Downtown goes Frazier!” Simply a work of art.)

We’ll all miss those things, and if we’re being honest, we’ll even admit to missing his cranky nostalgia. “In my day, Suzyn, that ball was simply a ground ball to the shortstop, but now there isn’t a shortstop. There just isn’t a shortstop anymore!” Sure, sometimes it might’ve felt like you were listening to the game with your parents, but that wasn’t a bad thing.

I miss John Sterling already. I’m sure we’ll see him around from time to time, perhaps throwing out a first pitch or coming back to emcee Old Timer’s Day, and his trademark call will likely echo through the Stadium after Yankee wins for years to come, but it’s the natural progression of things. Veterans leave and younger players come along to replace them. That’s baseball, Suzyn.

[Photo Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.]

When I was a boy my dream was to attend a double header. A Yankee double header would’ve been the best, but to be honest, it was just the idea of sitting through two nine-inning ballgames that appealed to me. It seemed like Nirvana; it turned out it was just as unattainable.

I was the only hardcore baseball fan in my family. My parents would oblige my obsession by taking us to games often enough, but seven hours at the ballpark? That was a bridge too far. And by the time I was old enough to set my own agenda, the doubleheader had gone the way of the dodo. First it was the owners realizing they were giving away too much baseball, so they invented the split doubleheader — clear the park after the first game, take new tickets for the second. Then it was the players, who just didn’t want to do it anymore, and suddenly they were gone. The last scheduled traditional doubleheaders were in 2001.

But then…

Perhaps because baseball traffics so well in nostalgia, a few teams started bringing back the double dip. The Red Sox scheduled a single-admission double header last year, and as part of the 25th anniversary season of Oracle Park, the San Francisco Giants have their own traditional doubleheader planned for this July. The little boy inside me is hopeful, but I know I’ll never get two Yankee games for the price of one. The bottomline-conscious New York Yankees would never give this gift to their fans, and no opposing team would ever sacrifice the revenue they’d lose for giving away a Yankee game for free.

So I’ll have to live with days like today, a day-night doubleheader with the Cleveland Guardians. It’ll have to do.

[Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.]

[Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons]

‘Twas the first day of baseball, and in every town
Each fanbase was ready, and hope did abound.
The bunting was hung from the grandstands with care,
In hopes that the masses soon would be there.
The clubhouse was calm as the game time drew near,
The players all eager to begin the new year.
The fielders were ready and pounding their gloves,
And thrilled to return to the game that they love.
Then out on the field there arose such as clatter,
I sprang from the dugout to see what was the matter.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a team clad in pinstripes, unloading their gear,
Then onto the field not a moment too soon,
Stepped the team’s leader, our man Aaron Boone.
More rapid than Red Sox, his savages came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, DJ! now, Stanton! now, Judgie and Soto!
It’s time to line up and take the team photo!
On, Gleyber! on, Volpe! Let’s pick up the pace!
Stand shoulder to shoulder, don’t leave any space!”
Boone looked at his team, all lined up with big smiles,
And announced that they’d beat all their rivals by miles.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And his once curly locks were now sprinkled with snow.
But his faith in his team was so pure and so right,
I was stunned to admit that try as I might,
I just couldn’t argue or question his take,
And started to wonder if I was awake.
The dream of one hundred and sixty-two games,
Each one with an ending exactly the same.
The Bronx Bombers alone at the top of the heap,
Their opponents beneath them, their deficit deep.
The perfection of spring would extend to the fall,
A six-month long win streak, vanquishing all.
I struggled to shake off the grip of my dream,
To lower the hopes that I had for this team.
But Boone, he just stood there, shaking his head,
Wondering why I’d choose doubt, not belief instead.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work.
He hit a few fungos, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He winked and I wondered just what he might know.
He sprang down the steps, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he ran out of sight,
“Happy Baseball to all, the future is bright!”

[Logo Credit: Chlorineer via Wikimedia Commons]

If there was one thing that seemed out of place in 1996 and 1998 it was that people around the country seemed to be rooting for the Yankees. Ninety-six was the team’s first visit to the World Series in fifteen years and there was the feel good story surrounding Joe Torre and his brother Frank, and in 1998 there was an industry-wide admiration not just for the completeness of that team but also for the way it had been built, largely from within and with shrewd trades as opposed to the failed free agency buys of the late ’80s and early ’90s. These Yankees were beloved. And it didn’t feel quite right.

After four World Series titles in five years, however, the act wore thin. And when the Yankees lost to the Angels in the 2002 Divisional Series and responded by signing Japanese slugger Hideki Matsui and Cuban pitcher José Contreras, Boston Red Sox president Larry Lucchino had had enough. “The evil empire,” he famously said, “extends its tentacles even into Latin America.”

He was angry and defeated, so we’ll forgive his mixing of metaphors, but he gave yet another nickname to the team that already had more than any other in baseball. No longer just the Pinstripes or the Bronx Bombers, they’ve now been known as the Evil Empire for the past two decades, and for most of those twenty-one years, the name has made sense.

When the team missed the playoffs in 2008, they opened the vault and spent quickly and decisively, signing free agents Mark Teixeira, C.C. Sabathia, and A.J. Burnett. The result was beautiful on field and off. They won the 2009 World Series, and they were the villains again. Order was restored to the universe.

So after last year’s disappointing season it wasn’t surprising that Brian Cashman pulled the trigger on the Juan Soto deal, and most expected the 25-year-old Japanese superstar Yoshinobu Yamamoto to be next, simply because that’s who the Yankees are. They are the Evil Empire.

But suddenly they aren’t.

No one was the least bit surprised when the Dodgers signed Shohei Ohtani, but there were some audible gasps when word of the $700 million contract — by far the largest ever — was announced. It was a big number, but it didn’t really change the expected narrative of the post season. The Dodgers got their man, and soon the Yankees would get theirs.

Everything changed, however, when we learned that Ohtani would be deferring a staggering 97% of his salary. The Dodgers were getting a Rolls Royce for the price of a Pinto, so why not go shopping for a Maserati?

By following up the Ohtani deal with Yamamoto, the Dodgers did more than just strengthen their rotation while stealing a pitcher from the Yankees. They announced to the baseball world that they are the new Evil Empire. Not satisfied with being the best regular season team in baseball over the last several seasons and apparently no longer willing to subject themselves to the random chance of the postseason, the Dodgers used their deep pockets and their deep farm system to bolster a team that won 100 games in 2023.

With Ohtani, Mookie Betts, and Freddie Freeman, the Dodgers lineup will feature the reigning A.L. MVP and the second and third place finishers in the NL MVP voting, and Yamamoto will headline a rotation that also includes another newcomer, Tyler Glasnow.

That embarrassment of riches would be enough to turn the stomaches of every small market fan in America, but the truly evil — or genius — aspect of all this is the subversive innovation of Ohtani’s contract. Ohtani has been called a unicorn for his unprecedented combination of hitting and pitching, but he’s also unique in another sense. With an endorsement portfolio that dwarfs every other player in the game, he is one of the few athletes in the world, certainly the only baseball player, who doesn’t need a salary. There will be at least twelve Dodgers who will earn more money than Ohtani in 2023.

All of this is something the Yankees might once have been expected to do, but times have changed. As news broke of Yamamoto’s signing, criticism of Hal Steinbrenner and Brian Cashman immediately swelled, but I find it difficult to lay any blame on them. Reports indicate that the Yankees offered a ten-year contract for $300M, less overall money but with a higher annual average and an earlier opt out than the Dodger deal. If had only been about the money, that Yankee offer would have made more sense.

Some fans have suggested they should’ve gone to $350M or higher, but it’s understandable that Steinbrenner and Cashman showed some restraint. It isn’t my money, but thirty million dollars a year already seems a bit high for a player who has neither stood on a major league mound nor held a major league ball. Also, there have been reports that Yamamoto simply always wanted to be a Dodger, and that the large Japanese community in Los Angeles as well as the shorter flight home to Japan both played a part as well. It’s highly possible that he was never going to sign with either New York team.

The question now for the Yankees is simple. What next? With Gerrit Cole the only sure thing in the starting rotation, will Cashman pursue Blake Snell or Jordan Montgomery? Will he instead try to build a super bullpen to cover for rotation deficiencies? Will he do both?

Only time will tell, but there’s one thing we know right now. The Yankees are no longer the Evil Empire.

[Photo Credit: Ryan Casey Aguinaldo via Wikimedia Commons]

The Yankees, it seems, are still the Yankees.

After watching along with the rest of us as the Yankees slogged their way through an 82-80 season, general manager Brian Cashman took the first step towards a return to relevance by swinging the deal that he had to make, sending Michael King, Jhony Brito, Randy Vasquez, Drew Thorpe, and Kyle Higashioka to San Diego for Juan Soto and Trent Grisham.

That’s a big haul for San Diego, and it’s a shame that we won’t get to watch the continued development of Michael King, but think about this. The Yankees entered the off season needing to fill a hole in left field and get a left-handed hitter, and on Wednesday evening they acquired not just the best available player fitting that description but one of the best young hitters in the history of the game. There are six players in baseball history with a .940 OPS, 150 home runs, and 500 runs all before turning 25 — Jimmie Foxx, Mel Ott, Mickey Mantle, Albert Pújols, Mike Trout, and Soto. Want another fun statistic? Soto has 640 career walks and only 577 career strikeouts. This kid is different.

This is a player who would fit nicely in any lineup in any city, but think for a minute about what the Yankee lineup will look like with Soto. If we assume that Aaron Boone will pencil in Aaron Judge in the second spot in the order as usual, that puts Soto hitting third, Giancarlo Stanton fourth, Anthony Rizzo fifth, and Gleyber Torres sixth. Those five hitters, alternating right-left-right-left-right, will strike fear into the heart of any opposing pitcher, and I can’t wait to watch.

If there’s a criticism of the deal, it’s that it comes with no guarantee that Soto will be a Yankee for more than just the 2024 season. He’s certain to test free agency, but that’s a year from now. Tonight, he’s a Yankee. And that’s a pretty good thing.

If we are to see a different version of the New York Yankees in 2024, the puzzle pieces will begin to fall in place this week and next. Everyone in the Yankee Universe seems to be on edge, most notably general manager Brian Cashman, who’s been uncharacteristically explosive recently, choosing for some reason to speak his true feelings about Giancarlo Stanton just days before entering into negotiations with a franchise-changing player who happens to share the same agent as Stanton. It’s one way to go, I guess.

Anyway, in the coming days and weeks, a few things will become clear…

Will the Yankees be able to sign Yoshinobu Yamamoto?
The best pitcher in Japanese baseball officially posted on Monday, meaning that negotiations will open on Tuesday and close after 45 days on January 4th. The usual suspects will all be in on this, with the Yankees, Mets, and Red Sox reportedly leading the way. I know the Yankees need a left-fielder, preferably one who swings from the left side of the plate, but signing Yamamoto has to be a priority. Slotting him in as the number two starter behind Cy Young Award winner Gerrit Cole would make a lot of other things possible. Including…

Will the Yankees trade for Juan Soto?
If it’s at all possible, the Yankees MUST make this trade. I hope that Jasson Dominguez is off the table, but everyone else should be in the discussion. I’m not as down on Anthony Volpe as many are, but if he (or maybe Clarke Schmidt) can be packaged with a couple other minor leaguers, I’d be thrilled. There’s a Bryce-Harper-shaped hole in this lineup, and Soto would fill it for the next ten years (assuming the Yankees sign him to a long-term deal) while hitting 400 home runs or so. Sign me up.

Will the Yankees sign Cody Bellinger?
If you look deep into Bellinger’s numbers there is cause for concern. The statheads will tell you that his hard-hit percentage last year didn’t match his actual production, which means he might regress. It was only four years ago that Bellinger won a Gold Glove and an MVP, but in the years since he’s been a bit of a mystery. In 2021 he hit .165 with an OPS+ of 44. (The league average is set at 100.) He rebounded a bit in 2022, but suddenly hit .305 with the second highest OB% of his career and an OPS+ of 133. It’s a shame that he had his peak year in his age 23 season, but he fits a need for the Yankees. He can play centerfield until Dominguez is ready to take over, then he can finish his contract out at first base after Rizzo is gone. There’s risk involved with any signing, and there’s probably a bit more risk here, but he won’t make this team worse. It’s too obvious for Cashman to pass on this.

Will the Yankees do something crazy?
Well, probably not. But there’s a possibility that Stanton would waive his no-trade clause to go back home to California, so if the Yankees want to eat the majority of his contract and include him in a deal for Soto, that would also open up the possibility of pursuing Shohei Ohtani, especially if what we’re hearing is true and Ohtani would be open to a shorter-term deal. The only downside is that if the Yankees had a lineup with Judge, Soto, Bellinger, and Ohtani, Major League Baseball might decided to cancel the season and just send the trophy to New York.

I keep thinking about the winter of 2008. After missing the playoffs in the final year of the old Yankee Stadium, Cashman responded by rebuilding the Death Star by signing CC Sabathia, A.J. Burnett, and Mark Teixeira. All of that spending translated into the 27th (and last) World Series championship. Here’s hoping all this brings number 28.