SEAN CASEY'S JUST AS CLUELESS AS BOONE WHEN IT COMES TO VOLPE

Let’s not sugarcoat it: The New York Yankees are crumbling like a stale pretzel in the sun. This isn’t just about a team playing poorly—it’s about an empire collapsing under the weight of its own ego, its bad decisions, and its relentless marketing machine. The worst part? They’ve dragged a kid—Anthony Volpe—along for the ride, and now he’s faceplanting in real time.

You almost feel bad for him. Almost.

Here’s a kid who didn’t play college ball, who got fast-tracked through the minors like he was on an Amazon Prime conveyor belt. Why? Because some analytics geek scribbled down a Derek Jeter comparison on the back of Volpe’s high school graduation program, and the Yankees ran with it like it was gospel. We didn’t invent that comparison—the Yankees, the YES Network, and the media machine did. They were desperate for a new face. And Volpe? He was local... New Jersey. He was marketable. He was the “safe” choice. Never mind that Oswald Peraza—an actual top prospect—was standing right there, major-league ready.

Nope. That didn’t sell enough jerseys.

So what did the Yankees do? They chose the white kid from Jersey over the Dominican shortstop already on the rise. That’s not an accusation—it’s an observation of how this franchise works when branding matters more than baseball. Peraza had the skills, but Volpe had the narrative. And now that narrative is unraveling faster than the Yankees’ season.

Let’s get to the cold, brutal reality: Anthony Volpe is not elite. He’s not a prince in pinstripes. He’s not even a particularly good major league player right now. What he is? A kid who got sold a bill of goods by an organization that was more concerned with creating the next Derek Jeter than letting a young player become something real. And us fans were sold the same bill of goods.

And 2025? This might be the worst offensive season we’ve ever seen from a supposedly “franchise cornerstone.” He’s not treading water. He’s drowning. Volpe is lost at the plate, swinging through breaking balls like he’s never seen one before. (.176 against them this year, and dropping.) This isn't just a slump—it’s a full-blown baseball identity crisis.

Oh, but wait. Here comes Sean Casey, official Boone mouthpiece and word-salad chef extraordinaire, to sprinkle some more delusion on top of the pile.

“Anthony Volpe is going to be just fine,” Casey said on his podcast. “Nobody works harder than he does.”

Cool. And? Do you get an RBI for punching in early? A Gold Glove for having a “great routine”? If working hard was the goal, every guy hustling on a minor league bus to Altoona would be in the Hall of Fame, dummy. 

This isn’t high school gym class—this is Major League Baseball. Working hard is expected from every player. But the Yankees keep pushing this idea that Volpe’s effort makes up for his actual play. Newsflash: He’s getting worse. His defense? Regressed since his Gold Glove rookie campaign. His bat? A glorified wind machine. He believed the hype, and who can blame him? The Yankees handed him the keys to the kingdom before he learned how to drive.

And the organization? They’re too stubborn to admit they got it wrong. They won’t trade him, bench him, or even move him down in the order—because doing so would mean admitting they made a mistake. And heaven forbid Brian Cashman ever admit to one of those.

This is what makes it all so pathetic. Not just the bad baseball. Not just the lost games. But the fact that this team—the once-proud Yankees—has become a marketing firm in pinstripes. They sold us a hero, and now that the hero can’t hit a slider, they just tell us to clap harder.

Anthony Volpe isn’t a villain. He’s the symptom of a bigger disease. He’s the result of a franchise that prioritizes hype over development, PR over performance, and optics over outcomes. They wanted a Jeter 2.0. What they got was a well-meaning kid caught in a storm he never created—but one he’s not surviving either.

And Aaron Boone? Still trotting him out there every day like it's 1999 and we're all just too dumb to notice. Boone loves Volpe like he’s his long-lost nephew, and Sean Casey just joined the BBQ. It’s a weird little club of delusion, and the fans? We’re just left watching the wreckage.

I’m not spending a dime at Yankee Stadium while this clown show of a front office continues to pretend everything is fine. It’s not. We were sold a dream, and we woke up to a .212 batting average and a collapsing dynasty.

It didn’t have to be this way. But the Yankees chose the face, not the future.

And now we're all paying the price.