How's 'believe & Hope' Working Out, Boone?

How many times do I need to say it? The Yankees’ mismanagement has been one long disaster this season, boxing the team into a corner where they have zero margin for error. They’ve been forced into this ridiculous situation where every night they need to play flawless baseball just to keep playoff hopes alive. That’s not “Yankee baseball.” That’s a self-inflicted wound.  

And when you’re the manager who misplayed his hand all year, that’s on you. Boone has flat-out screwed this team, Cashman is just as responsible. But Boone’s left them praying for perfection instead of actually building a team that can win with some breathing room. Fans don’t want to crawl in through the wild card like some half-assed charity case. We want the AL East crown, because that still means dominance, it still means Yankees. But Boone? He’s fine squeaking in through the back door like, “Hey, at least we got in!” This bozo would throw a party over leftovers.

Here’s the problem: Boone doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand winning, he doesn’t understand managing, hell, the guy probably couldn’t pick the right gallon of milk at ShopRite without asking Cashman for a spreadsheet. He’s fucking awful.

But don’t let the players completely off the hook either—the Yankees have played like absolute garbage. The bullpen implodes every night, and Boone only makes it worse by mismanaging them like he’s actively trying to blow leads. In two games against a playoff contender at home, they’ve been outscored 23-3. Twenty-three to three! And here’s the kicker: only four of those runs came off the starters. Nineteen came from the bullpen. Boone’s response? “Track record, stuff, who they are.” Translation: he’s crossing his fingers, hoping the same guys who keep shitting the bed suddenly turn into Mariano Rivera.

This is Boone-ball: built on “believe and hope.” It’s the dumbest philosophy imaginable. Baseball isn’t third-grade math, dude. You don’t just plug numbers into a calculator and pray. You have to feel the game. You have to notice who’s sharp, who’s gassed, who looks like they just rolled out of bed with a migraine. Stats won’t tell you that. Track records don’t tell you that either. But Boone would rather point to “track record” while watching his bullpen get their tits lit up like the Macy’s fireworks. Last night? An 11-1 embarrassment, courtesy of Boone’s special brand of bullpen roulette.

And don’t get me started on the players chirping. Austin Wells basically shrugged off the beating by saying, “You can’t make as many mistakes against good teams.” Thanks, moron—you’re batting .210. How about you shut up and focus on putting the bat on the ball? Nobody wants a lecture from a guy who couldn’t hit water if he fell out of a boat.

One small win? The front office finally forced Boone to bench Volpe. It didn’t matter last night—since the offense scored one run—but at least shortstop was clean for once, and Jose Cabellaro even picked up a hit. Imagine that.

The truth is simple: the Yankees are three games back of Toronto with 17 left. Time is running out. To even have a chance, they now need to play damn near perfect baseball. And guess what? Baseball is not a game of perfection. It never has been. This is what happens when you let Aaron Boone steer the ship: the Yankees end up taking on water while the captain is below deck drawing up more spreadsheets and blowing bubbles.

Can the Yankees still squeak in? Sure. But who the hell wants that? Fans don’t want to sneak into October. We want to storm in by winning the East—because that’s the Yankees way. That’s what this franchise is supposed to be. Boone doesn’t get it. And until he’s gone, we’re stuck with a team that keeps shitting the bed and a manager who thinks “hope” is a strategy.