Dear Hal Steinbrenner, Stop Hiding & Start Leading!

When a team loses its fan base, there’s only one person who can change the temperature of the room—the owner. The man who signs the checks. The man who’s supposed to set the tone. That means you, Hal Steinbrenner. And right now, you’re nowhere to be found.

You’ve ducked behind closed doors while the Yankees collapse under the weight of their own incompetence. Radio silence. No leadership. No statement. Nothing. And let me tell you, Hal: it’s sickening.

Meanwhile, we’ve watched Aaron Boone suck the life out of this franchise year after year, handing him extensions like participation trophies while he delivers absolutely nothing. Boone’s in-game management has bled this team dry of millions, and in return? Smiley faces on the lineup card and excuses in the postgame pressers. He should be thanking you for his job security every day, because the fans sure as hell aren’t.

Then there’s Brian Cashman. Oh, Brian. The man who strutted out of the trade deadline acting like he just cracked the code to baseball itself, only to deliver a worse team than the one we had before. His grand plan? A spit-and-duct-tape rotation that can’t get past the fifth inning. A Frankenstein pitching staff that collapses nightly. Even Max Fried—when he’s on the mound—looks exhausted from carrying this circus. I wonder if this poor guy wishes he never came to the Yankees.

And so, my question is what’s the approach here? What’s the strategy? Because from where the fans sit, there isn’t one. It’s pathetic.

And again, where the hell are you, Hal Steinbrenner? Do you even care?

This is the Yankees we’re talking about. The franchise of Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, Jeter. The pinstripes that once struck fear into opponents. And yet, we just dropped three straight to the Red Sox. We are 1-8 against Boston this year. Let that sink in: one win, eight losses. These are games you absolutely must win, and instead, we’re getting humiliated.

Yesterday’s loss was maybe the worst I’ve seen in 15 years of covering this team. And the most insulting part? Nobody in that clubhouse seemed angry. Nobody smashed a bat, nobody flipped a table, nobody even looked ticked off. No fire, no edge, no pride. Just another day at the office for these guys.

You know it’s bad when even the broadcasters can’t hide their disgust. Michael Kay and Paul O’Neill could only sit there and watch in horror as the Yankees melted down in real time:

“It can’t get much worse than this,” Kay said.

“Every once in a while, you get embarrassed on the field and this game has just snowballed…” O’Neill admitted. “The Yankees have absolutely fallen apart here in the last couple innings.”

“Quite frankly, the Yankees are getting schooled by the Red Sox…” Kay jumped back in.

That’s your brand right now, Hal: embarrassed on national television. Schooled by the Red Sox. Fallen apart.

A few weeks ago, I did something I never thought I’d do: I wrote, HEY HAL STEINBRENNER, WE HATE THIS TEAM RIGHT NOW. Guess what? Nothing’s changed. In fact, it’s gotten worse. I’ve reached a point in my 15 years of Bleeding Yankee Blue where I flat-out don’t give a damn anymore. That’s how far this has gone.

I haven’t been to Yankee Stadium in almost two years—and it’s not because I don’t love baseball. It’s because I refuse to spend a dime on this embarrassment. Not on tickets. Not on food. Not on merchandise. Nothing. Why should I? Why should any fan bankroll this clown show while you sit in silence?

Hal, you need to speak. You need to act. You need to care. Because right now, Yankee fans are losing their minds as they watch the team they love sink deeper into mediocrity while Cashman counts his job security and Boone happily sharpens his pencils for tomorrow’s lineup card.

We’re furious. We’re exhausted. And yes, we HATE this team. Not because we’ve stopped being fans—because we are fans. Because we know what this team should be, what it once was, and what it’s failing to be now.

This? This ain’t it.

Fix it. Fire someone. Light a fire. Make a statement. Do something. Because if nothing changes, then what’s the point? What the hell are we even doing here?

We are the Yankees. Start acting like it.

And here’s the thing, Hal—it’s not even the roster. On paper, this team should be stellar. It’s not the players, it’s the philosophy. The Yankees have become slaves to numbers, strangled by analytics, blinded by spreadsheets. They’ve let computers replace common sense and they’re dying by their own algorithms.

Clint Hurdle once described what’s missing in baseball these days: “guts and nuts.” The intangible traits that actually win games. He’s right. You can’t measure heart, toughness, or ice in your veins on an Excel sheet. You need guts. You need balls. You need a front office willing to trust its instincts instead of its calculators.

But guess what? We’re running out of time. The postseason is slipping away fast, and honestly? I don’t see this team making the playoffs. And maybe—just maybe—that’s exactly what needs to happen.

Maybe missing October is the only wake-up call that’ll force you to fire Boone. Maybe it’s the only thing that’ll make you finally show Michael Fishman and his analytics cult the door. Maybe it’s the only thing that’ll burn this failed philosophy to the ground and let real baseball people take over.

Because right now, Hal, this isn’t baseball. This is an embarrassment. And it’s happening on your watch.

So, I’ll ask it one last time: Where the hell are you, Hal Steinbrenner?