Brian Cashman Blows It Again

Here we go again. Another winter, another bullpen arm slips through the Yankees’ fingers while Brian Cashman stares into the middle distance like he’s waiting for the market to apologize to him.

Brad Keller—yes, that Brad Keller—was right there. A right-hander with mid-90s heat, a splitter that eats bats, and a career reboot that turned him from “rotation filler” into a full-blown relief menace. His 2025 season with the Cubs? A flat-out breakout. A 2.07 ERA, hitters pounding the ball straight into the dirt, and the kind of profile that should make the Yankees drool given, you know, their stadium.

And what happened? Keller signs a perfectly reasonable two-year, $22 million deal with the Phillies.

The Yankees? Missing in action. Again.

Yes, it’s been reported they were “interested.” Which in Yankees front-office language means they glanced at the name, muttered something about flexibility, and went right back to doing nothing. Interest without action is just PR, and Cashman has mastered that art form. Like, serious question… who is ACTUALLY making decisions in the Yankees front office? Feels like nobody.

Let’s take inventory for a second. Devin Williams is gone (don’t worry, we didn’t want him anyway). Luke Weaver is gone. Mark Leiter Jr. is gone. This bullpen has holes you could throw a rosin bag through. Logic would suggest the Yankees should be pounding on every agent’s door looking for high-end relievers who actually miss barrels.

Instead, Keller walks.

Empire Sports Media summed it up nicely—and painfully—when they peeled back the numbers:

“Missing out on Keller stings even more when you peel back the layers of his 2025 dominance. He wasn’t just getting outs; he was suffocating opposing hitters with a batted-ball profile that ranks among the best in the sport.

Keller ranked in the 99th percentile for hard-hit rate and the 95th percentile for ground ball percentage, a lethal combination that effectively neutralizes the home run ball. In Yankee Stadium, where fly balls go to die in the short porch, having a pitcher who keeps the ball on the ground 56.6% of the time is a luxury the Yankees let slip away.”

Read that again. A ground-ball monster. In Yankee Stadium. And the Yankees passed.

So what’s the plan now? Hope David Bednar and Camilo Doval can shoulder everything? That’s not a terrifying bullpen—that’s a prayer circle. Good arms, sure. Elite, depth-loaded, October-proof? Not even close.

Which brings us back to the same exhausting questions we ask every offseason:
What exactly is Brian Cashman doing?
What exactly is Hal Steinbrenner doing?
Why is this franchise allergic to urgency?
Why does “being competitive” always seem optional?

This used to be a serious organization. Now it feels like a brand that sells nostalgia while cutting corners everywhere else. A complacent GM. A manager who survives on loyalty instead of results. An owner who keeps cashing checks while telling fans to be patient.

And honestly? It’s getting hard to care.

So, here’s the uncomfortable truth: the only leverage left belongs to us fans. Stop showing up. Stop buying tickets. Stop buying the gear. Starve the machine until it’s forced to change. Blame the front office—never the players—and make it clear that this level of apathy is unacceptable.

Because right now, being a Yankees fan doesn’t feel like pride. It feels like endurance. And I’m tired of it.