YANKEES EVEN MISS A SHOT AT MICHAEL KING

My mind is blown. I mean, is Brian Cashman even working?

The Yankees actually had a lane to bring Michael King back. Did I personally want him? No. Was I lighting candles hoping for a reunion tour? Absolutely not. But the idea of King stabilizing the rotation while Gerrit Cole and Carlos Rodón rehab their way back to relevance? That at least made some sense.

Let’s be clear: Michael King was never some ace savior. He’s not walking in as a No. 1, or even pretending to be one. But as a No. 4 who eats innings, keeps games respectable, and prevents the bullpen from spontaneously combusting? I had zero issue with that. And yet—shockingly—Brian Cashman couldn’t land that either.

Instead, King is staying right where competence exists: San Diego. Three years. Seventy-five million dollars. Deal done. West Coast sun, Padres uniform, problem solved—for them.

King gets a $12 million signing bonus, pocket change by modern baseball standards. He’ll make $5 million in 2026, then holds all the cards with player options worth $28 million in 2027 and $30 million in 2028. Flexibility for the player. Commitment from the team. You know—basic front office functionality.

Meanwhile, the Yankees get nothing. Again.

So, I’ll repeat the question, louder for the people in the executive suites: what the fuck is Brian Cashman doing? Because whatever it is, it’s not building a contender. It’s not supporting a rotation held together with medical tape. And it sure as hell isn’t acting like a franchise that supposedly expects championships.

At this point, fans need to stop playing along.

Boycott.
Boycott.
Boycott.

Cancel the tickets. Skip the games. Stop lying to yourself that it’ll magically fix itself. It won’t—until Hal, Randy, Cashman, Boone, and the bloated analytics department finally feel something they haven’t felt in years: fear.

Let them panic. Let them sweat. Let them realize Yankee fans aren’t loyal to pinstripes out of habit—we’re loyal to excellence.

And excellence?
It doesn’t live in the Bronx anymore.

Oh—and before anyone asks? You know I’m right.