This is a two-themed story. The two sports I avidly follow have resulted in resounding disappointments. Yet there is a silver lining in each one.
Fist, let’s start with the greatest disappointment. That would be the elimination from the playoffs of the New York Yankees by AL East foe Toronto.
Mercifully for me and perhaps for other ardent Yankees rooters like me, the series ended abruptly in the fourth game of the best of five. Because clinging to hope against a better team one hungrier than yours and with a different philosophy on how to play the game, is no way to cheer.
The fact that the Yankees won Game 3 with a display of power baseball after showing the Blue Jays that even in a losing cause in Game 2 the Yankees’ bats could still be potent, was a mirage at best. A mirage that covered up the glaring weaknesses which persisted throughout the season and contributed to why the Blue Jays had the home field advantage, convincingly winning the season series between the teams.
What shined in the first series against the Red Sox did not continue against the Blue Jays. The clutch starting pitching from the New York starters largely failed to stop the Blue Jays. Even rookie Cam Schlittler, with his record-setting performance in the winner-take-all Game 3 versus Boston, could not duplicate his mastery against a potent Toronto lineup which touched him for two earned runs in just over seven innings on Wednesday night; Toronto batters repeatedly fouled off pitches and hardly struck out.
Moreover, left-handers Max Fried and Carlos Rodon were torched by the Toronto hitters. It was no better with the bullpen, rebuilt for the playoffs with some bold moves by General Manager Brian Cashman at the trade deadline.
The only Yankee who shined throughout the playoffs was Aaron Judge. The reigning M.V.P. batted .500 and swatted a majestic, game-tying home run off the left field foul pole in the one contest the Yankees won, despite facing a 6-1 deficit. And his health for next season is in jeopardy, as Judge contemplates the need for surgery to his throwing arm elbow which he never fully recovered from injury.
So how do the Yankees pick up the pieces once more, with no World Series win #29 to add to the team’s illustrious portfolio? The fan base is adamant about letting Manager Aaron Boone walk. His 25-27 post-season record isn’t acceptable to a rabid, unreasonable group which expects nothing more than a championship every year.
Let’s remember that while Boone lost too many games with questionable pitching changes, his team, absent ace starting pitcher Gerrit Cole, managed to win 94 games, tying Toronto for the most wins in the American League. Had they not suffered through that horrendous streak of playing well below .500 in July and August, this team obituary may not have been written.
Expect Boone to return for 2026. He’ll have Cole around May. Fried, Rodon, Schlittler and Luis Gil are a formidable rotation. The bullpen needs revamping; Luke Weaver, the closer in 2024, became a mere shadow of his dominating form. Devin Williams could not sustain his career brilliance once he arrived from Milwaukee. Rolling with these two as two of the top bullpen arms is dicey. Current closer David Bednar proved to be very reliable, but remember his fragility—Bednar was actually sent to the minors earlier this season by woeful Pittsburgh.
As to the lineup, Judge remains the centerpiece—as long as he is healthy. After that, there are major issues. Should Ben Rice become the everyday first baseman with his powerful and improving bat, or should he remain a hybrid catcher and infielder? Jazz Chisholm, Jr. shows some bad tendencies in the playoffs regarding his hitting and fielding; if he stops trying to hit everything into the stands, he has a real shot at stardom. Shortstop Anthony Volpe is an enigma; his fielding improved to his previous Gold Glove caliber level, but his hitting regressed. Third baseman Ryan Mc Mahon is a magician in the field and his bat will come around. And Austin Wells may not hit for average but he still is among the best catchers in baseball, both offensively and defensively.
The outfield is the question mark for this team. Judge in right field is a mainstay, provided he is not headed to the Injured List. Trent Grisham had a career season with his 33 homers, but he showed his underachieving form in the playoffs. Cody Bellinger would like to remain a Yankee; his play became inconsistent as the year and playoffs progressed. Jason Dominguez needs time to play—center field beckons. And what about Spencer Jones at AAA? Does he get his chance? Are more trades or free agents signings in the offing?
So many questions remain. Don’t fret, Yankees Nation. How your team fares in the off-season compared to its rivals won’t be as bad as you think. You remain better than the Mets.
On Sunday, I took a close female friend who I have known for over 45 years to see the New York Jets host the Dallas Cowboys. She had never been to a pro football game, may have gone to a high school game and a Rutgers game while in college. Certainly they weren’t memorable. At least not like this past Sunday.
Watching her take in all of the sights and sounds of the day, from the time I picked her up at Newark Penn Station until I deposited her back there 6 hours later, was rewarding and beautiful. Unlike the game, which was another Jets disaster, lowering their 2025 record to 0-5.
The drive up Highway 21 to Route 3 opened her eyes to parts of Newark neither she nor I could remember. There is actually a beautiful river running south through Belleville which looks almost picturesque among the urban setting.
When we approached Met Life Stadium on this cloudless Sunday just before 11:00 am with temperatures in the 80’s, the traffic from the highway to the stadium was backed up as if this was a sellout and the patrons were actually coming to the game. That confused me, as the Jets were not favored to win this game. But I figured that the legion of Cowboys fans would be there in full throat, having purchased tickets from Jets season ticket holders who had seen enough and felt they could get something back on a bad investment while not spending their time roasting in the heat through another unbearable loss.
I knew that this wasn’t going to be a Jets victory when the parking lot attendants gave me a bit of grief on which lot I could go to. I found plenty of spaces where I wanted to be.
So what did a neophyte think about the tailgating surrounding us? She was truly amazed at the sights and sounds surrounding us. The undeniable smells of barbecue, sausage and peppers made her think how her husband would love this scene. Kids tossing footballs. People clad in team colors parading around the lot or just taking it all in from a chair comfortably positioned. She sąw what a pre-game was like for a NFL Sunday. And its hordes of fans.
I was surprised how well she threw and caught the wiffle football which always accompanies us to the games, to be tossed by those who join us. Then again, she does have two male grandchildren and she is most capable of holding her own with them—for now.
She endured the ugliness of Porta Potties like regular fans have for so many years. On our march to the stadium gates, she was amazed at the complexity of some tailgates, some catered, with huge vans to lug patrons and food, refreshments and even big screen TV’s.
We made it into the stadium without any hassle, hauling our clear bags. Our food from the Millburn Deli safely was ensconced within, ready to be eaten once seated (For the record, she loved her salad with some added tuna while I devoured a sub rather quickly).
She enjoyed the in stadium pre-game activities. We were treated to fireworks with the Star-Spangled Banner, sung beautifully by a Broadway actress. There was even a helicopter flyover by the New Jersey Forest Service.
Then the game began and it became a rout. The Jets have never played well versus Dallas and this trend continued. The team displayed no cohesion on either side of the ball. The disparity between the two squads was evident—and Dallas is far from a powerhouse like Buffalo, which I saw take down the Jets in September.
My friend asked a bevy of questions in her attempt to understand a game which was foreign to her. She was amazed about the strategy from both sides. Some of the rules I tried to explain would actually trouble some veteran fans in their complexity.
The poetry in motion on the field along with the highly physical nature of the sport impressed her. She loved that from our seats in the third tier she was able to see everything evolve, almost in slow motion.
We stayed late into the game even as the outcome was a foregone conclusion. I remained with her because I wanted her to see an onside kick attempt by the Jets in a belated attempt at a comeback.
The seats that were filled (Met Life was maybe 65% full at one point) had nearly emptied. My legs cramped a bit from not drinking enough water and age. It was time to leave.
After a routine bathroom stop for people our age, I hobbled to the elevator for those who needed to avoid the escalators or stairs to exit the building.
That’s where I had my biggest surprise of the day. We entered the car at level 7. At the next level, the doors opened. In strode three nicely dressed gentlemen with press credentials.
One of them was Tim Cowlishaw, a veteran sportswriter for the Dallas Morning News. I knew of him as a guest on ESPN’s now defunct Around The Horn program. I was standing next to a media giant (that was me in the white #13 NYJ jersey, Tim, a gift in 1993 when I became a bar mitzvah 30 years late) whom I followed from afar and even read his columns periodically (the next day he wrote a report card for the Cowboys, skewered as it was from playing the mediocre Jets). Wow.
So there you have it. I am resigned to the Yankees trying once again to win it all. As much as the Jets, in my 49th season as a season ticket holder, are showing no more promise as I finish another lost season and probably have the losing extend into my 50th season when I will make a decision if I want to continue this bad investment for another luckless season).
At least there is hope for the Yankees. I was thrilled how my friend, who also edits this blog, went outside of her NYC comfort zone to see a real NFL game and understand what the heck I am writing about. And there was Tim Cowlishaw. In the flesh.
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