Aaron Judge Has His Moment
Back against the wall, down 6-3 against a red-hot Toronto Blue Jays team, Aaron Judge delivered for The Bronx.
Never has Aaron Judge been so primed to fail, or succeed depending on if you listen to his detractors, than he was last night. The New York Yankees were seemingly crushed by the tornado that is the Toronto Blue Jays and Vladimir Guerrero Jr, almost willing himself to silence Yankee Stadium and the Yankees because of a possible family hate that is passed down by his father. “Vladdy” has been a menace all series, dwarfing the very good Judge by electrifying his team with majestic home runs that have not remotely landed yet, blusterous celebrations that have made Staten Island natives frown from seething anger. One superstar has shown up loudly; it remained to be seen if Judge, the captain of the New York Yankees, could do the same. With the Yankees down 6-3 in the fourth inning, on the verge of being eliminated, and only being down three runs thanks to an RBI double by Judge that gave the team some life, Judge finally barreled the ball up. Sport is iconography; he created a moment, something bigger than the walks and basehits that he has been taking this October.
The pitch wasn’t even a strike. Louis Varland threw the first pitch right in Judge’s wheelhouse and he fouled it off, the second pitch was a fastball belt high and he swung through it, something that he has done plenty of times during previous Octobers. It remains frustrating watching a generational player miss balls that everyone knows he can knock the cover out of. The third pitch, though, was purposefully off the plate. Judge turned on it, his hips moving as quick as the Taz from Looney Tunes; his wrist tight, on an obtuse angle. He smacked it. It defied logic. Derek Jeter would say that the only person in the world that can hit that pitch is Aaron Judge. (Vladdy can too, which is what makes this matchup special). It was possible that it wasn’t going to stay fair, but it hit the pole. Pure elation followed: Judge dramatically dropped his bat, his fingers pointing down to the field while staring at his dugout. It signified: I’m here. We’re still here. I got us.
Like all Yankees players, Judge is the most seen player in the league. “Derek Jeter came of age in a game that left nothing to the imagination. He represented that game. He was everywhere, all the time, all of his superpowers and all of his rich flaws magnified and intensified and exaggerated beyond all reason”, explained Joe Posnaski, when describing Derek Jeter in his MLB 100 list. Judge is the same: we’ve seen him in the playoffs every year of his career but one, the broken foot suffered against the bullpen glass at Dodger Stadium being his kryptonite. We’ve seen him fail too. In 2019, he wasn’t quite good enough in the ALCS to beat the hated Astros. In his record-breaking 2022 season, he was cold, cold against the Astros again in the ALCS, stifled by a team that made sure Judge wouldn’t beat them.
The one that he wants to have back, that we all wish went differently, was 2024. The Yankees had Juan Soto. The Yankees had a hot Giancarlo Stanton. Judge genuinely floundered in the moment, swinging through pitches nowhere near the plate, popping out pitches that he would have smoked to Monument Park in the regular season. If the Dodgers were clutch, putting pressure on the Yankees every game with timely hitting and big hits by Freddie Freeman, then Judge was the opposite: his troubles allowed the Dodgers to breathe easily. By the time he figured out his swing, it was too late and his putrid dropped fly ball in the fifth proved to be the most indelible image of the playoffs for the Yankees.
October baseball is difficult; for one, baseball is a sport predicated not only by failure but hot and cold streaks. When you’re failing, it’s a loud fail, and because it is October, all of that gets magnified. Judge, because he plays for a team that demands championship, a fanbase that is notoriously dickish when they aren’t winning those championships, has had his reputation suffer.
I have a friend that is tired of Judge — his robotic way of talking to the media, his handshake with Trump where he talked about “giving him a show” after the game, his October struggles — and his otherworldly numbers. Judge’s numbers are too smart for him, too fancy. He is tired of him being Ivan Drago, this giant built by mechanical repitition, tired of the regular season dominance, and thinks that Yankees baseball is best when there isn’t a supreme commander at the top. He believes it should be a group of very good players doing an imperial march to victory. Soldiers in arms, carrying each other on their backs, not a Robert Duvall-like general leading men into a battle they won’t win. He’s wrong and reactionary, not only because Judge is statistically the greatest right handed hitter of all-time, but also because only the 1990’s dynasty was a “group of good players.” Yankee history is actually filtered with Judge’s, in the form of Mickey Mantle, Joe DiMaggio, Babe Ruth, and Lou Gehrig. Aaron Judge is not competing with Derek Jeter, a player he passed a long time ago despite the affections one has for the Hall of Fame shortstop. He is competing against Barry Bonds, Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays, Griffey Junior, and Mike Trout, the players that broke conventional statistics, players that can only be explained thoroughly by using advanced statistics.
Still, the sports world runs on moments, on images. This image — of him looking at the camera in the dugout after saving the season, of him looking at it twice to show all the doubters, including my friend, that he wouldn’t let the Yankees die that easily — is the image of his career so far. Last night was life. Don’t get me wrong: The Yankees have an uphill battle from their starters failing to show up in Toronto, from being down 2-0 in a best of five series. It is possible that Cam Schlittler cannot repeat his performance against the Red Sox and the Yanks unceremoniously get sent home. Whatever happens, one is often reminded of Judge’s excellent walk-up song: “Hello” by Pop Smoke featuring A Boogie wit da Hoodie. By the time Judge makes his way to the plate, does his pre-bat ritual, before he plants his feet, before his fluid swing starts, The Woo is already melodic: “I like my bitches, red bone. Ass fat, jello. Light skinned, yellow. Iced out, hello/I’m the King of New York, Melo.” He’s got a while to go before he becomes that — he has to win a title if he wants that mantle since this is a Knicks town that stands by Jalen Brunson — but if last night is any indication, he won’t stop trying to be that.