A Yankees Eulogy

Written by Worm on October 25, 2006

When the Yankees went out with a whimper in the fourth game of the ALDS to the Detroit Tigers, I was pretty shocked. And it wasn't for the reasons repeated ad nauseum by the Fox broadcasters that game, who, by the way, conspired to pull off just about the worst announced game I have ever witnessed in all my years of watching baseball. Sure, the Yankees have the payroll, they have the big names, and they have all the playoff "experience." But, as we all figured out long before now, that doesn't guarantee a win in any short series.

The mere fact that the Tigers won didn't shock me, particularly. They have a talented team, and in baseball, that's really all you need to win. The day-to-day upturns and downturns of the regular season are simply magnified on the postseason stage, and it reasonably shouldn't surprise anyone that ANY team can pull off an upset in a short, five-game series.

And, until the final game, I saw nothing in the matchup other than a fair contest, and the challenges ahead that one learns to love in watching a perennial playoff contender. As a Yankees fan, I could only bow and offer my highest praise to Kenny Rogers' masterful performance in Game 3. It may be the highlight of the entire postseason, and there is no shame in losing a game that would probably have been lost by even the hottest offensive ballclub.

The real shame was the next game.

By the numbers, Jeremy Bonderman appeared to be pitching an even better game in Game 4 than Rogers had in Game 3. But the numbers were lying. While Rogers' perfect pitches shredded solid at-bat after solid at-bat by the Yankees hitters, Bonderman appeared to be facing a Little League team. He rarely had to throw more than three pitches to a batter in the first six innnings, and even more rarely had to throw a quality strike to induce the Yankees hitters to flail madly, impatiently, moronically. By the time the Yankees hitters decided to try to figure out where the ball was going before offering at it, in the seventh inning, the Yankees pitching had left too deep a hole to be overcome in the last three innings of the series.

The most obvious offender was Gary Sheffield, who started swinging the bat as soon as Bonderman lifted his shoulder. His at-bats were quintessentially pathetic, but it was a theme that was repeated up and down the Yankees lineup. The Yankees approach to begin Game 4 made them look unprepared and unprofessional. It made them look scared, and that is the greatest crime of all, in championship sports.

This has happened before to the Yankees, in recent years. Gone are the days of 1995, of 1997, when the Yankees were eliminated in spite of their hard-fought, heart-rending effort. Since the famous flare that ended the Yankees World Series run in 2001, Yankees postseason memories have routinely, systematically, ended with this kind of a whimper, a questionable effort, and the very spoiled and wealthy, but beaten dog, returning home with its tail between its legs.

But this year was supposed to be different. It felt different. After multiple seasons of a team built by tacking on former All-Stars and future Hall-of-Famers, perpetually making the team more confusing, and its performance more embarassing, we were finally treated to a team allowed to develop its own identity. Through adversity, new players were able to develop their roles, and a sense of interdependence, so long lacking, again began to emerge. Not only did the Yankees start winning games at a renewed clip, but they began to look inspired to do so, not instructed or expected.

Perhaps, in a peculiar twist of fate, the Yankees were damned by their own seeming good fortune. With a month left in the season, suddenly the two big names that had long been missing, Sheffield and Matsui, were returning to the team. Once again the talk shifted back to its early-season mode: "Just look at all those NAMES in that lineup! How can you lose with all those NAMES?" But lose they did. Matsui played well, but was hardly in mid-season form, and Sheffield never appeared to get beyond early Spring Training form. And gone were Melky Cabrera, Bernie Williams, Andy Phillips and Miguel Cairo. The heroes of the summer were replaced by the traditional Yankees Big-Names-That-Never-Win. When Melky finally got to play in the final Game 4, he was one of the few players not ggiving his at-bats away over the first six innings. But he wasn't expected to be the man. He had nothing to be afraid of.

Maybe, When A-Rod has moved on from the Yankees in his search for self-fulfillment, when the Randy Johnsons and the Gary Sheffields have moved on into retirement, and been replaced by a new young crop of self-made Yankees stars, this team will be able to identify itself as a team again. And even if it does lose, as most teams do, after all, it may lose honorably, with dignity. Until then, Yankees fans must watch on, ever hoping that The Joke That George Built may yet be saved from itself, as it nearly was this year.

-- Written by Worm on October 25, 2006