By the time you read this, it’s probably been ridiculed, peppered with flame emojis, and quote tweeted on Twitter with so much snark you’ll need to take a long and hot steaming shower.
But, let’s set the record straight. I like Clint Frazier. I like his bragadocious cockiness. I like his never ending confidence. But, I think it’s too early to be celebrating a minor leaguer’s cajones as if he’s the Yankee’s sweet savior.
Yes, I know. I can hear the groans and universal unruly upheaval from a legion of Yankee fans smitten with their gingerfied God of gods, but shit, can we calm down?
Last year after being traded from the Cleveland Indians organization to Yankees, he jumped up from AA to AAA and sported above average numbers. Needs to get that average up and strikeouts down though.
Maybe its the “Old Man Yells at Cloud” in me that has a hard time glorifying a guy who hasn’t set foot in a major league game. Maybe throwing roses in a bromance with Bryce Harper on Twitter or saddling up to Jen Sterger for a rendezvous is a little hard to wrap my head around for a baby bomber with as many home runs as me in the bigs.
When Clint Frazier is hitting 35 home runs a year (which I think is possible) in the Bronx, I’ll love his act, but until then…get here first. Then, I will fall in line.
Old Man signing off. Where’s my Metamucil?