Yankees & Giancarlo Stanton On Repeat

 Here we go again. Same script, same spreadsheets, same stunned look when reality barges in and flips the table over.

The New York Yankees — yes, the mighty, historic, allegedly buttoned-up New York Yankees — are once again trying to out-math the human body. Spoiler alert: ligaments don’t care about your stupid spreadsheet projections.

Last year, Giancarlo Stanton’s elbows barked. Then they quieted down. And the Yankees’ brain trust probably leaned back in their ergonomic chairs, tapped a few keys, and declared: “Issue resolved.” The spreadsheets said his exit velocity still sparkled. The hard-hit rate looked sexy. Therefore, problem solved. On to the parade route.

Except elbows aren’t Excel formulas.

Now Stanton is being brutally honest again:

“I can’t open a bottle,” he said. “I can’t open a bag of chips … a bag of anything. That’s the way it is.”

Read that again. The man can’t open a bag of chips — but sure, pencil him in for 162 and call it a bounce-back year.

He says he wants to play a full season. He hasn’t reached 140 games since 2021. He’ll mostly DH in 2026, maybe sprinkle in some outfield “as health allows.” That’s not a plan. That’s a hope and a prayer wrapped in medical tape.

And then this gem:

“That’s not going to be fixed in surgery, and I don’t care what any doctor says because they don’t know what’s going on,” Stanton said. “What’s written is what me and the Yankees give you.”

Translation: nobody really has a grip on this thing. But sure, let’s forecast 35 homers and act shocked when the elbows flare up again in July.

Since 2019, the injury log reads like a CVS receipt — elbows, hamstrings (multiple times), foot, Achilles, calf, quad, knee, bicep. Courtesy of FOX Sports, it’s basically a rotating tour of the lower half and now the arms too. At some point you stop calling it “bad luck” and start calling it a pattern.

And here’s the uncomfortable truth: when Stanton is healthy, the guy absolutely rakes. The ball sounds different off his bat. It’s thunder. It’s violence. It’s why you keep convincing yourself this will finally be the year.

But betting on a full season at this point? That’s a long shot. A big one.

What makes it worse is that this feels like the same organizational blind spot we’ve watched for years. The Yankees fall in love with data. They worship at the altar of projected WAR. They convince themselves that if the numbers say it should work, it will work.

Meanwhile, the human condition — aging, pain, recovery, mental grind — sits there waving frantically.

This isn’t fantasy baseball. These are human beings with tendons that fray and muscles that scar. You can’t just CTRL+ALT+DELETE chronic inflammation.

And honestly? It’s getting embarrassing. The Yankees keep selling “this is the year” while ignoring the obvious red flags. At this point they’re starting to feel less like a ruthlessly efficient empire and more like the Mets with a bigger payroll.

Look, I feel for Stanton. I really do. I love watching him when he’s right. Few things in baseball are more electric than one of his moonshots disappearing into the night.

But pretending that durability isn’t the defining issue here? Pretending that last year’s flare-up magically means this year will be smooth sailing?

That’s not optimism. That’s denial.

And until the Yankees start acknowledging that spreadsheets don’t ice elbows, we’re going to keep having this exact same conversation — every single spring.