It used to be that all the normal, real people of this great nation could set aside political and religious differences, and even a well-calibrated distaste for Bostonians, and come together in our pure and righteous hatred of the New York Yankees. Now it's all confused: The Yankees—once such an inevitability that Bob Costas invoked the word "socialism" to describe how collective action could force them from the mountaintop—are no longer the sport's big bullies. Hell, they're no longer even the grotesque profligate silver-spooners of their own damn town. If what grossed you out about the Yankees in the last millennium was their habit of buying your team's best players every year, probably now you have trained your white-hot contempt on the Los Angeles Dodgers. Now there exists a widening schism between those who hate the Yankees only when they are rich and successful, and those of us who hate them for purer, longer-enduring reasons, namely that they are the favorite team of Barry Petchesky.
It is because I am a true Yankee hater—a shit-hearted ghoul who takes open delight in their failures due to grievances that would register as obscure and possibly demented to a properly adjusted baseball fan of the 21st century—that I have been prepared for frankly an embarrassing length of time to loathe George Lombard Jr. To me there is almost nothing more dreadful than a hotshot young Yankees shortstop. It should go without saying that I have delighted very much in the humiliating struggles of Anthony Volpe, who was booted down to Triple-A this week in order to clear a spot for Lombard's ascent. It strikes me as a personal attack against my own peace of mind that the Yankees, in Lombard, have another next Derek Jeter queued up, to take the sting off of the abject failure of the last one. I have been snarling at Lombard's presence on prospect lists for years, in the way that a vampire snarls at garlands of garlic.
Because he is a Yankee shortstop, Lombard will not need to produce like a superstar to be considered one. Lombard has in common with the poor discarded husk he is replacing that he is a highly regarded defensive shortstop and a very good athlete, and that his hitting is expected to come around, enough to make him a perfectly solid everyday player but perhaps never enough to justify the 15 All-Star team appearances he is certain to "earn." Lombard comes from a baseball family: His dad cobbled together eight years of big-league service as a very occasional, very part-time journeyman outfielder, then went into coaching and is now the bench coach for the Detroit Tigers. His younger brother Jacob, also a shortstop, was drafted 14th overall in July by the Miami Marlins.
Lombard made his debut Tuesday night, at home, in Game 2 of a series against the St. Louis Cardinals. This is a big moment for a call-up: The Yankees have a whopping $138 million in salary currently on the injured list, per Spotrac, which is more than eight different MLB teams are spending on their entire big-league rosters. They are presently in second place in the AL East and atop the American League's wild card race, but two teams in their same division just spent the last few days tooling up for the late-summer home-stretch, and the hated Boston Red Sox, arguably the hottest team in baseball, went all-in, dealing away basically their entire farm system for some immediate upgrades. Lombard is joining the Yankees big-league roster not to get his feet wet and make some late-inning defensive appearances, but to start and play and produce at a marquee position for a marquee team in the thick of a heated playoff race. It's a lot of pressure.
Lombard's parents planned to attend Jacob's professional debut, down in the low minors, until they got news of George's call-up. They re-routed to the Bronx and were seated in the stands Tuesday night, radiating pride and looking endearingly anxious, damn them. The home broadcast crew sent a reporter up there, of course, and from that moment on it became impossible even for a piece of shit like me to root against their son.
"The whole year, pretty much, has been incredibly emotional," said Judy, George's mom, buzzing and talking a blue streak. "Especially the last couple weeks, between the draft and then last night, I just bought my ticket to Jacob's game and we had plans to go to his game today when George calls us about 11:00 at night to tell us the news. Everything was a whirlwind, not too much sleep, but we knew we had to be here."
George triggered a sweet double play in the top of the second, with a slick backhand stab and an off-balance throw against his momentum, drawing a big cheer from the crowd. He turned a solo double play in the top of the fifth, ranging behind second base and smoothly rerouting to the bag for a throw to first. I'm sure Judy and the elder George felt good about these moments, when their son flashed the leather that is the foundation of his rise as a baseball prospect. But I'm sure their hearts were in their throats during his at-bats, when a position player is at their most vulnerable and a 21-year-old rookie is generally considered a light meal. Lombard tapped out to third in his first big-league plate appearance, chasing a 1–2 slider. In his second try, in the bottom of the fifth, the Cardinals' Hunter Dobbins threw two more of those sliders, back-to-back. Both hung in the strike zone. The first one, Lombard fouled off. The second one, he clobbered to baseball hell.
The dinger gave the Yankees an insurance run in an eventual 2–0 victory. Lombard's parents, sweet and lovely people, hugged and jumped around and beamed as he rounded the bases. Earlier they'd watched on their phones as Jacob also socked a debut dinger, down in Jupiter. It was a great night for the Lombards.
Yes, I was hooting and hollering as I watched the Yankees highlight. This wholesome damned family made me forget for entire consecutive minutes that the Yankees are vile scum from hell. To get back into the proper state of mind, I will now go and ask Barry for a food opinion.
