CASHMAN WON'T ACTUALLY DO ANYTHING TO IMPROVE THE YANKEES...

Cheap, cheap, cheap. 

If Brian Cashman were a bird, he’d be a bargain-bin parrot squawking “familiarity!” every offseason. The man treats the free-agent market like it’s a clearance rack at a yard sale: “Who can help the Yankees win—but only if they’re dented, dusty, or someone we already know so I don’t have to, you know… scout?”

Let’s be real: there is no master plan in Cashman’s office. There’s barely a Post-it note. And with Hal Steinbrenner clutching his checkbook like the Yankees are one bad quarter away from holding a bake sale, fans are stuck listening to the same tired sermon: “We’ll be competitive.”
Competitive with who? The Toledo Mud Hens?

We’ve got a shortstop who plays like a malfunctioning Roomba, two top starters rehabbing like full-time hospital residents, and Max Fried stranded on an island staring at the ocean like he’s trying to Morse-code for help. Meanwhile, the Yankees are out here praying Cam Schlittler is the next secret weapon—as if that’s a strategic plan and not blind optimism dressed in pinstripes.

And poor Aaron Judge. The man is aging like fine wine—except the Yankees are storing him in a paper bag under the sink. No rings, no support, just an MVP dragging around a roster held together with discounted duct tape. It’s the biggest waste of generational talent since someone let Mike Trout live in permanent baseball purgatory.

The Yankees franchise isn’t serious. It’s complacent. It’s hesitant. It’s allergic to pulling the trigger on actual stars. And fans? We’re not annoyed anymore—we’re exhausted. The Yankees keep kicking the can down the road, and at this point the can has more dents than their infield.

And now the latest nonsense? Cashman isn’t chasing Sandy Alcantara or Tarik Skubal. No. He’s poking around the idea of bringing back “Old Yankee Face” Michael King because—of course—he’s familiar, and he requires zero imagination.

MLB.com’s Bryan Hoch even laid out the parade of mediocrity: Trent Grisham accepting his qualifying offer, Tim Hill back, Ryan Yarbrough returning… the whole “Cashman Special Value Menu.” Not one superstar. Not one bold move. Just three guys who sound like they’d be great at assembling office furniture.

Hill? Solid. Grisham? Fine. Yarbrough? A science experiment Cashman thinks will make him look like a mastermind. Not one of them moves the needle—unless the needle is pointing to “meh.”

Then there’s King, the latest rumor. Had a nice season in San Diego, sure—3.10 ERA, 277 strikeouts, missed time but still solid. But San Diego is not the Bronx. Coming back to New York and repeating that isn’t a guarantee—it’s a coin flip, and Cashman loves a gamble if it lets him skip paying real money.

Meanwhile poor Max Fried is probably in his living room staring at the ceiling thinking, “How do I escape this roster of bubble gum, thumbtacks, and budget decisions?”

So here we are, careening toward the Winter Meetings, praying that Cashman finally makes a real splash. But we all know how this shakes out: some broken-down bargain pieces, a shrug at the podium, and the annual sermon: “The market was tough… we tried… but we really like our group.”

Yeah. We’ve heard it. We’ve lived it. We’re tired of it.

Cheap. Familiar. Not competitive.
Your 2025 New York Yankees, ladies and gentlemen.

Pathetic.