"WEAR & TEAR" KEEPS SOFT WELLS OUT OF LINEUP

Ladies and gentlemen, the 2025 New York Yankees: home of the soft, sanctuary of the pampered, and unofficial rehab facility for men with slightly discolored fingers.

Austin Wells—the catcher who hits like a pitcher and blocks balls like he’s allergic to leather—is out of the lineup again. The reason? Not a broken bone. Not a concussion. Not even a foul tip to the face mask. No, the 25-year-old Wells has been sidelined because of a circulation issue in one of the fingers on his non-throwing hand.

Let that sink in. A guy who’s already barely hanging onto a roster spot is now missing games because of some finger discomfort caused by, as Aaron Boone delicately put it, “the wear and tear of catching.”

Wear and tear? This kid just got here. What wear and tear? He’s caught a handful of big-league games, hits .214, and somehow already needs a day at the spa because one finger got tired. Is this what the Yankees have become? A daycare for fragile ballplayers who flinch at adversity?

Austin Wells is not a major league catcher. He’s a part-time breakfast burrito salesman with a lefty swing and a laundry list of excuses. He’s got a noodle bat, shaky defensive instincts, and now, apparently, the hand circulation of a 92-year-old retiree. And somehow, he’s being protected like a franchise cornerstone.

It’s ridiculous. And you know who’s enabling all of it? You guessed it—Aaron Boone, the world’s most enthusiastic babysitter. Boone’s doing what Boone does best: shielding his guys from accountability with a smile, a shrug, and a stack of empty words.

“We’ve gotten good feedback from the tests,” Boone said, talking about Wells like he’s some war hero recovering from battle instead of a slumping backstop with a sore finger. “It’s not something that bothers him from a performance standpoint,” he added.

Wait… what performance? Wells is slashing .214/.280/.323 with all the impact of a folding chair. His defensive metrics aren’t saving him either—pitchers don’t trust him, runners don’t fear him, and fans barely notice him until he’s out of the lineup for another mystery ailment. This guy couldn’t hit water if he fell out of a boat. But sure, let’s protect him like he’s the second coming of Johnny Bench.

And while we’re here, let’s talk about what being a Yankees catcher used to mean.

 
Remember Thurman Munson? Yeah, the guy who batted .292 for his career, drove in over 700 runs, won an MVP, and played with a constant grimace and a permanent limp—but never came out of the lineup unless someone dragged him out. The only thing that ever truly kept Munson off the field was a tragic plane crash. I'm not being mean, the truth is he was a true Warrior. It’s not hyperbole. That’s truth. That’s toughness.

 
Jorge Posada? Criticized for his defense, sure, but he put up monster offensive numbers (275 home runs, .273 batting average) and never ducked a challenge. The man was a grinder. He took foul tips to the throat, stayed in. Bruised ribs, played through it. Dislocated fingers? Tape it up. Back behind the plate the next day. No excuses. No pampering. No Boone standing over him like a concerned helicopter parent.

Yogi Berra? That man caught Don Larsen’s perfect game with an iron jaw and a baseball IQ unmatched in the sport. He didn’t need circulation tests—he needed the ball and a win. And if you asked him to sit out because of a sore finger, he’d probably punch you in the face and go catch both ends of a doubleheader just to make a point.

But now we’ve got Austin Wells. Taking two days off while J.C. Escarra—who might’ve been bagging groceries last week—suits up behind the plate. The Yankees aren’t just soft—they’re running a clubhouse that seems more concerned with emotional wellness than winning baseball games.

How did we get here? How did we go from one of the toughest positions on the diamond—the catcher, the field general, the warhorse—to a pampered safe space where guys sit for finger discomfort? I’ll tell you how. It starts with Aaron Boone and a front office that treats players like fragile Fabergé eggs instead of elite athletes. They’ve built a culture of coddling. A padded, mollycoddled, media-coached, finger-scanning comfort zone where accountability has been replaced with carefully-worded injury updates.

And the fans? We’re supposed to just nod along and accept it. “Trust the process.” “It’s precautionary.” “We don’t want to rush him back.” Give me a break. You don’t need to rush Austin Wells back because the dude barely contributes when healthy. Again, more truth.

This is a guy who’s lucky to have a job. Instead of seizing every opportunity like a guy fighting for his baseball life, he’s riding pine for something a catcher with any real toughness would laugh off. This isn’t 162 games of grueling baseball—this is tee-ball with a medical staff.

Aaron Boone should be embarrassed. Brian Cashman should be ashamed. And Austin Wells? He should be grateful if he’s still wearing pinstripes by September.

Because at the end of the day, we’re not asking for much. Just a catcher who acts like a damn catcher. Wells isn’t that guy.  And the Yankees—once proud, once feared—are now a parody of themselves.

Bring back the grit. Bring back the fire. Bring back the days when you had to drag a Yankee off the field—not pamper him off it.