IN SOME WAYS PETE GRAY WAS BETTER THAN ANTHONY VOLPE

In 1945, Pete Gray gave Major League Baseball one of the most remarkable “you can’t make this up” seasons in history. Playing for the St. Louis Browns, Gray hit .218—not Hall of Fame stuff statistically, but when you factor in that he did it with one arm after losing his right arm in a childhood accident, the man becomes baseball folklore. Born Peter Wyshner, Gray wasn’t supposed to be there. He wasn’t supposed to chase down fly balls in center field, leg out infield hits, or gun down runners. But he refused “no” as an answer. The war years had thinned the league’s talent pool, opening a door for him, but make no mistake—he shoved his way through it and made the majors on grit and sheer stubbornness.

The Browns signed him for $4,000 after buying his contract for $20,000, and on April 17, 1945, he debuted against the Detroit Tigers. A month later, in Yankee Stadium, Gray delivered a storybook moment—five hits and two RBIs in a doubleheader sweep over the Yankees. He’d play 77 games that season, mostly in left and center, and prove to the world that determination could close the gap between impossible and reality.

Now, let’s fast-forward to Anthony Volpe—Aaron Boone’s coddled pet project and the Yankees’ “elite” shortstop who, at the moment, is batting .219. Yes, that’s one point higher than Pete Gray’s 1945 average. The difference? Pete Gray was missing an arm. Volpe has two, and somehow they both come up empty at the plate far too often.

Volpe was a star in high school—Delbarton School, New Jersey. 2019 New Jersey High School Player of the Year. Strong glove. Speed. Solid bat. All fine and dandy… but that was six years ago, and high school trophies don’t mean much when you’re skipping college ball and getting vaulted straight into the pressure cooker of playing shortstop for the New York Yankees.

And here’s the problem: the kid wasn’t ready. He’s still not ready. He carries himself like someone who’s had everything handed to him, because—surprise—he has. When he makes a mistake, you see the palms go up, the face of disbelief, as if the baseball gods themselves are to blame. Accountability? Only if you count scripted postgame answers that sound like they were approved by a parent.

A month ago, the mask slipped. Meredith Marakovits asked Boone about a Volpe error, and Boone—visibly irritated—got up, looked her straight in the eye, and mouthed, “He’s effin’ elite.” Translation: “This is the company line, get with it.” 

Sorry, Aaron, but the rest of us aren’t buying the gaslighting. The Yankees already shipped off Oswald Peraza—a better defensive shortstop—just to keep Volpe’s spot warm. And for what? To watch him swing like he’s trying to hit flies off a picnic table?

Pete Gray fought through life with one arm, beat impossible odds, and lived his dream. Volpe, with every advantage a baseball player could want, is being anointed for mediocrity. Pete Gray earned his shot. Volpe’s getting a victory parade for holding a batting average you could get by closing your eyes and hacking.

 

Yes, in some ways Gray was better than Volpe. And a lot of it has to do in the fact that he earned his keep, despite the doubters.  For Volpe, he's losing favor among fans and yet the Yankees "Gaslighting" front office refuse to fold because they would have egg on their face if they admitted making a mistake.

What does that say about the Yankees? What does that say about the front office’s warped, spin-heavy “everything’s fine” culture? Simple. Pete Gray’s story was about grit. Anthony Volpe’s is about gifts. And one of those actually belongs in Yankee Stadium history.

--Alvin Izzo
BYB Yankee History Contributor

BOONE SENDS DOWN BIRD, BUT NOT VOLPE? NOTHING WEIRD ABOUT THAT

The Yankees managed to implode again, and guess what? Aaron Boone—our baseball-life coach in a hoodie—found a way to deflect the blame faster than a checked swing on a full count. This time, the fall guy is Jake Bird, who got shipped to Triple-A like he was caught shoplifting sunflower seeds. This guy was with Colorado since he was called up in 2022, but now suddenly he needs to disappear, for something, dare I say that was not his fault.

Let’s get something straight: Devin Williams should never have been on that mound in the ninth last night. Everyone with eyes, ears, or the ability to yell at a TV knew that David Bednar should’ve been the guy. He’s an actual closer. You know, the kind who doesn’t require a therapy dog every time the Bronx gets loud.

Bednar isn’t just some throw-in bullpen arm—he’s a beast. He had 17 saves this year for the Pirates, posted a 2.37 ERA, and struck out 51 guys in 38 innings. That’s elite closer stuff. That’s "give the Yankees a damn win for once" stuff. And Boone... said, “Nah, let’s try the Brewers guy.”

Devin Williams is talented, sure. He’s got the NL Reliever of the Year trophy from his Brewers days and a changeup that looks like it’s breaking the laws of physics. But closing in Milwaukee is not the same as closing in the Bronx. Let’s not act like the pressure’s even remotely the same. Yankees fans throw verbal bricks. You need a backbone made of tungsten, not tofu.

Instead, Boone chose Williams, who promptly coughed it up. Then Jake Bird came in and that went about as well as giving Boone a clipboard and a pencil and asking him to manage a bullpen. Bird got torched. Yes, but you know what? He shouldn't have been in that spot to begin with. Blame the manager, not the mop-up guy.

But nah, Boone couldn’t take the heat. So what does he do? Sends Bird down the next morning. Real classy. Real leadership. Hey Jake, thanks for being a warm body in a no-win situation—now enjoy Scranton.

Bird has four years of MLB experience and a serviceable track record. He was thrown into a fire because Boone’s closer roulette landed on “flaming wreckage,” and now he’s the scapegoat. Meanwhile, certain players in Boone’s clubhouse get the velvet rope treatment no matter how often they soil the pinstripes.

Enter Anthony Volpe, stage left, batting .219 and still treated like Derek Jeter’s long-lost godson. Boone continues to coddle him like a toddler learning to ride a bike. At this point, if Volpe tripped over first base, Boone would call it “grit.” The dude's numbers are comparable to Pete Gray, and Pete had one arm. But Volpe? He plays every day. Why? Because Boone has decided he's untouchable. Same with Austin Wells. It’s like Boone thinks they're part of his Build-A-Player workshop and no one’s allowed to question their progress. What's next, a threesome of watching Boone's homer of the insignificant 2003 ALCS with wax on their nipples? I'm being dramatic and graphic, but let's keep it real... there is a double standard, and it is fucking weird.

But Jake Bird? Boom. Gone.

And the kicker? Boone is now today waffling on Devin Williams' closer status. You can't make this up. "We’ll do what we need to do,” Boone said, adding, “I got to make decisions that are trying to put guys in the best position to be successful to win a ball game.”  

Buddy, you did the opposite of that. Everyone screaming from the upper decks knew Williams wasn’t the guy. Bednar was ready, Doval is an option with 15 saves and a 3.09 ERA—but no, Boone had to flex his genius again and then flush the blame down to Triple-A.

So what now? Boone gets to keep babysitting his precious prospects while hard-working vets like Bird get kicked to the curb. And fans are supposed to keep eating this garbage sandwich and pretend it's a rebuild?  Wrong move. Wrong guy. Wrong manager.

At this point, the Yankees don't just need wins. They need accountability, and it has to start at the top. Boone doesn’t get to keep playing favorites and dodging blame like a slippery Little League coach who won’t bench his son.

Jake Bird isn’t the problem.

Boone is.

Do better, or kindly pack up your sunflower seeds and hit the road. Preferably before the next good arm gets thrown under the bus.