A Bronx Fail
Monday, July 19, 2010
As I wiped my forehead clean of what I hoped was water raining down from the overhead subway passing through the intersection of East 161st Street and River Avenue Saturday in the Bronx, I thought to myself, “This experience can’t possibly be more disgusting.”
To my surprise, watching A.J. Burnett schlep his way through another start turned out to far less palatable than getting showered in God knows what standing outside of the “House the Boss Built.” And nothing ruins a 16-hour day sandwiched between two mildly-uncomfortable bus rides like an unwatchable game against a division rival (Tampa Bay).
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The way I see it, the New York Yankees have three reliable starters in C.C. Sabathia, Phil Hughes and Andy Pettitte, each of whom are a safe bet to provide a quality outing whenever they take the mound. For argument’s sake, let’s call Javier Vazquez a toss-up and Burnett an unmitigated disaster, which, by my fuzzy math, means there’s approximately a 70 percent chance of seeing a decent pitching performance from the home team if you take a day-trip to the Bronx.
Naturally, our group fell into the 30th percentile, so instead of seeing a 12-game winner in Sabathia or one of two 11-game winners in Pettitte or Hughes, we endured a three-hour bus ride to watch Burnett, who had lost five of his last seven starts entering Saturday.
Our trip, organized each year by my father’s cousin, Richard, for the past 18 years, departed Western Hills Middle School in Cranston shortly after 9 a.m. and arrived around 12:45 in the Bronx. After a long walk in the hot sun from the parking lot to Gate 6, we took our seats in section 405, which is located in the upper deck beyond the right-field fence just inside the foul line.
Unlike the old stadium, which featured an upper deck so steep you could fall down the stairs just reaching for your wallet, the sightlines in the new park are perfect. The rows aren’t nearly as steep and every seat is angled toward home plate, so you don’t need to crane your neck to see the action.
Throughout the Old Timer’s Day festivities, which featured tributes to recently-deceased public address announcer Bob Sheppard and principle owner George Steinbrenner, the sun remained behind us covered by the upper-deck façade. I thought we were in luck until it began drifting toward the infield shortly before the first pitch
With the heat quickly becoming unbearable, my father and I retreated to the concourse for most of the game, watching from the proverbial sidelines while staying covered in the shade, which, thankfully, forced us to miss most of Burnett’s latest meltdown.
Burnett allowed a run in the first inning, two more in the second and fell behind 4-2 in the third before the Yankees pulled him out of the game due to an injury.
At the time, I thought it was a clever rouse by manager Joe Girardi, who had no one warming up in the bullpen at the start of the inning, but felt the need to make an immediate change after Burnett opened the frame by hitting a batter, uncorking a wild pitch and allowing an RBI single. Since you can take all the time you need to warm up a reliever if a pitcher leaves the game with an injury, I figured Girardi just made up a story about Burnett to get someone else in the game before his starter completely unraveled.
Come to find out, Burnett had lacerations on his hands. The crazy part is this meathead sustained the injury by slamming both hands against a set of double doors in the Yankee clubhouse after allowing a two-run home run to Reid Brignac in the top of the second. The worst part is he lied to trainer Steve Donahue about the injury, initially claiming he cut himself bracing a fall down a flight of stairs.
The Yankees ultimately lost the game, 10-5, which wasn’t too big a deal since they rebounded Sunday to win the rubber game and maintain their three-game lead over Tampa in the A.L. East, but Burnett’s struggles are a major problem.
Last year, Burnett was part of a standout trio with Pettitte and Sabathia that carried to the Yankees to their 27th World Series title. Thanks to a three-game sweep in the American League Division Series and an additional off-day added to the ALCS, the Yankees avoided having to use a fourth starter, which, at that point, was struggling right-hander Joba Chamberlain. They rode their three horses through 15 games – albeit on short rest at times – and won 11 times to capture the title.
Assuming they make the playoffs this year, they won’t have the luxury of the extra off-day in the ALCS, which means there’s a strong chance they’ll have to use four starters in the postseason. With Burnett pitching like garbage, who do they turn to? Vazquez? Despite calling him a toss-up, I have little faith in Vazquez’s ability to win an important game, and I obviously don’t want Burnett anywhere near the stadium in October, let alone on the mound.
In fact, I’ve seen about enough of Burnett in New York. Considering he can’t win on the road (ERAs of 4.59 and 6.06 away from Yankee Stadium in 2009 and 2010, respectively) and refuses to play nice with veteran catcher Jorge Posada, I have no choice but to label him high maintenance. And with his childish temper tantrum costing the Yankees at least one game – and possibly more if he can’t make his next start – it’s quite clear he’s the second coming of Kevin Brown.
Those who’ve chronicled New York’s epic collapse in 2004 remember Brown for not only breaking his hand by punching a wall, but for his equally-gutless performance in Game 7 of the ALCS against Boston. At least Burnett is still in his prime (I think). The only thing that superseded Brown’s 10-cent head was his washed-up, five-cent arm.
Whether they win or lose this year, the Yankees need to find someone dumb enough to take Burnett off their hands this winter, even if that means paying some – if not all – of the money remaining on his contract. Not only would dumping Burnett send the message that idiotic outbursts will not be tolerated, it would also open up a spot in the rotation for Joba Chamberlain, who clearly can’t pitch out of the bullpen anymore without wetting his pants.
Burnett’s selfishness forced us to spend most of our afternoon slamming down five-dollar Gatorades to avoid dehydration while watching Dustin Moseley (who?) throw 75 uninspiring pitches out of the bullpen. If I wanted to see minor-leaguers, I’d have driven to Scranton.
Thank you, A.J., for ruining an otherwise perfect afternoon with family and friends. I’d rather stand under the subway outside the stadium with my head back and mouth open than watch you throw another pitch for the Yankees.
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