Whither Torre?

Issue number one for the departed Yankees is, of course, Joe Torre, and Bill Madden, in the Post, basically echoes what this fan said virtually a year ago today:

Fire Torre if you want.

But you'd better come heavy with his replacement.

I love Mattingly and Girardi. Have for a long time. It is well to remember Girardi's heroics all those years ago, Game Six, 1996 World Series, when Girardi tripled off Greg Maddux, tripled over Andrus Jones's head, and gave the Yankees just enough of the margin they would need to finish off the Braves.

(And if you don't think baseball is a game of freak luck and freaskish bounces, remember the Yankees' margins of victory in Games three through six. Two runs. Then two runs. Then one run. Then one run. If Rivera doesn't strike out McGriff, if Wohlers doesn't groove one to King Leyritz, if Avery throws a strike to Boggs, if O'Neill doesn't run a country mile to haul in Polonia's fly ball over his shoulder, if Andruw Jones plays ten feet further back on Girardi, if Lemke punches the ball through the left side against an exhausted Wetteland--if any one of seven or eight things go the other way--the Yankee dynasty ends before it begins.

Likewise, imagine the Series if Joba doesn't deal with one of the Seven Deadly Plagues. Yanks go up, 2-1; Torre--no reason to panic--starts Moose in Game 4. Who wins. Or else loses. Then Wang, extra day of rest, goes in Game 5 with Pettitte in the bully.

Not to diminish the loss. But let's not go crazy. Two very-good-but-not-great teams played this past week, and one beat the other. That's all. Okay, back to the post.)

Love Girardi. Love Mattingly, who--as the one-man (occasionally supplemented by Rickey and Dave) bridge between the Reggie-Nettles-Goose-Munson-Gator Yankees of the late 70's and early 80's and the O'Neill-Tino-Jeter-Rivera Yankees of the late 90's--was often the one reason to watch the Yankees.

Love them both.

Neither will do, not for a team that (until yesterday) had four first-ballot Hall-of-Famers, one big possibility (Moose) and one (Pettitte) who'll get there, if he's got three or four 14-16 win seasons in him, enough to boost him into Ferguson Jenkins territory.

Someone has to come in, someone with stature, presence. You know the drill.

So who's left? Who would fit?

Piniella, sure. Or Leyland.

Can't get them.

Piniella was last year's possibility, went to the Cubs, bullied the Cubs to a Division title.

Leyland won a pennant in Detroit, saw the Tigers fall apart down the stretch. Comes back next year, still has all that young pitching.

So who's left?

Davey Johnson?

Err: probably not. Too much Met baggage, too much memory of a dynasty-that-shoulda-been gone up in a cloud of coke and hookers.

(And if you've never seen a cloud of hookers, believe me . . .)

In the Post, Madden nails it.

La Russa.

Has to be La Russa. No one else but La Russa. Dead in the water without La Russa.

Well, let's see.