Soto's About To Get Destroyed In The Bronx

I’ve got to say, there’s something poetic about watching Juan Soto flounder in Queens. A year ago, he was mashing baseballs in the Bronx, putting the Yankees on his back during a World Series run and soaking in the love from fans who thought he’d be a franchise cornerstone. Fast-forward to today, and he’s in a Mets uniform, underperforming, overpaid, and—ironically—getting “rest days” like he’s 38 and made of glass.

Let’s not beat around the bush. Steve Cohen made what might go down as the single worst investment in the history of baseball, and that includes Bobby Bonilla still cashing checks. Cohen tossed 15 years and $765 million at Soto like he was buying a piece of rare art, not a player already showing wear and tear. This wasn’t a calculated gamble. It was a billionaire fantasy—impulsive, reckless, and rooted in ego more than baseball sense. He didn’t sign a generational two-way superstar. He signed a one-dimensional bat with declining mobility and a growing list of mystery “maintenance days.”

And what exactly has that fortune bought the Mets so far? A guy batting .255 with eight homers and 20 RBIs in mid-May. A .845 OPS sounds nice on paper—until you realize it’s propped up by a few hot weeks, and most of his damage comes when the game’s already out of reach. Clutch? Not this year. Elite? Not lately. Worth nearly a billion dollars? Not even close. He’s been, at best, “pretty good”—which is just another way of saying “not what we paid for.”

Now, here comes the kicker. Just before the Subway Series, in the biggest emotional moment of the season so far, Soto gets benched. For rest. Before a scheduled off day. Before facing the Yankees. At Yankee Stadium. Where boos will rain down like biblical plagues. Is it a physical issue? A mental reset? Or just the Mets doing Mets things? Either way, it’s soft. Inexcusable. You don’t sit out this kind of moment unless something’s really wrong—or you can’t handle the heat.

Soto says he’s excited. He says he’s ready for the boos. “I don’t mind,” he told reporters. Cute. But anyone who’s watched this city long enough knows—those jeers will be unrelenting. They’ll remind him of what he walked away from. The energy, the pressure, the expectations. He’s no longer a Yankee star—he’s the villain in Queens, getting paid like a superhero and playing like a sidekick.

And let’s not pretend Yankee fans have forgotten. This guy was a monster in pinstripes—.288 average, 41 home runs, 109 RBIs, and a trip to the World Series. He had it all right there. Then he left. For the Mets. For money. For Steve Cohen’s Monopoly cash. And now he’s coming back to the Bronx wearing orange and blue, thinking the crowd’s going to treat him like anything but a traitor? Please.

Subway Series weekends are always intense, but this one has some extra juice. Soto is front and center—overpaid, underwhelming, and walking into a stadium full of fans ready to let him have it. And whether he admits it or not, it’s going to get to him. Because this year? He’s not the guy. He’s not carrying a team. He’s not feared. He’s getting clowned on sports radio and whispered about in clubhouses. That stuff sticks.

And while we’re at it, let’s end the myth once and for all: Juan Soto is a great hitter. That’s it. He’s not a five-tool phenom. He’s not a game-changer with the glove or a burner on the bases. He’s not a clubhouse leader. He’s a bat. An expensive one. And unlike Aaron Judge, he doesn’t wear the moment like armor. He folds when the lights get hottest. Judge is New York. Soto rented the role for a year and couldn’t wait to jump ship the second the check got bigger.

Bottom line: Steve Cohen bought himself a name, not a legacy. And Juan Soto is learning the hard way that in this city, production matters more than potential. The Subway Series is here, and for Yankee fans, there’s only one sweeter sight than beating the Mets—watching Juan Soto melt under the pressure.

Let the drama begin.