Passan: Why it’s World Series or bust for the Yankees this year
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Jeff Passan, ESPN
NEW YORK — The New York Yankees epitomize big. The brand, the payroll, the expectations, the excitement, the disappointment. It is an appropriate bit of casting that the largest star in baseball history, Aaron Judge, wears pinstripes. He is the physical embodiment of the Yankees franchise: too big to keep failing.
For the past 14 years, the Yankees have not functioned as the perpetual conquerors who have won more World Series titles than any franchise. They entered this postseason having lost 10 of their past 18 playoff series. They have fallen in their past five American League Championship Series appearances. The most recognizable franchise in baseball, whose caps are worn around the world, has been rendered just another team.
With Game 3 of the ALCS against the Cleveland Guardians set for 5:08 p.m. ET on Thursday, the Yankees can taste their first World Series appearance since 2009, when they won their 27th championship. Their 6-3 win in Game 2 was New York’s fifth in six postseason games, giving them a 2-0 series lead on the Guardians.
Now is the time for them to deliver. Everything has lined up for the Yankees. They won the AL East. Their greatest tormentors, the Houston Astros, were knocked out in the first round, unable to wreck more Yankees dreams. They dispatched the pesky Kansas City Royals in the division series. And not much looks as if it will change in the ALCS. Among the five wild pitches in Game 1, the shoddy defense in Game 2 and the flaccid bats in both, the Guardians haven’t looked up to the task of beating a Yankees team that has found its groove in October.
For large chunks of the season, this team looked like a threat to win its 28th World Series. In the playoffs, New York has preyed on a pair of AL Central teams to reinforce they are the best the league has to offer. The Yankees this postseason have walked 37 times and struck out 44 times in six games. They feature a lineup whose Nos. 7-9 hitters in Game 2 went 5-for-10 and scored three runs. Their leadoff hitters have been on base in 25 of the 51 innings they’ve played in October. Their bullpen ERA is 0.77 over 23⅓ innings. They’ve given up only three stolen bases.
The only thing missing for New York had been Judge, whose failures in past Octobers — a career .769 OPS in the postseason compared to 1.010 in the regular season — are the lone ding on a pristine résumé. If he begins to perform like his MVP self — and perhaps he started something Tuesday with his first home run this October — Yankees third baseman Jazz Chisholm Jr. predicted nothing short of a gilded future.
“We’re World Series champions. No other doubt in my mind,” Chisholm said. “I’ve been saying it from day one, and that’s without him raking. He’s starting to come together. And now I see it.”
This has been the plan all along. They spent $360 million to re-sign Judge and gave up a boatload of talent to acquire Soto. They stuck with manager Aaron Boone and have seen him work wonders with a questionable bullpen. The Yankees are carrying themselves the way they haven’t in years — with a strut, a we’re-good-and-we-know-it attitude. Championship No. 28 is within reach. And now is the moment — first against the Guardians, then whomever wins the dogfight between the Los Angeles Dodgers and New York Mets — for 14 years of letdowns to give way and let the Yankees earn what they believe is theirs.
LAST WEEK IN Kansas City, as the champagne celebration raged inside the Yankees’ clubhouse after their division series, one person remained in the dugout. Judge was missing the tail end of the revelry, by choice, because through the bowels of the stadium walked the players’ families, ready to celebrate themselves on the Kauffman Stadium field.
This is what Judge does, and this is who he is. Family matters as much as his teammates, and he wanted them to know that. Even as his struggles at the plate mounted, Judge hadn’t lost sight of who he is, what he means and why he is the face of the Yankees.
It was simultaneously gratifying and frightening, then, to see what happened in the seventh inning of Game 2 on Tuesday night. Cleveland’s Hunter Gaddis, one of the best relief pitchers in baseball this season, delivered a 95 mph fastball in a great location — the tippy-top of the strike zone, between the belt and the letters even on the 6-foot-7 Judge. It was the sort of pitch Judge saw dozens of times this season and batted .095 against.
He suffered no such frailties Tuesday. Even in the cold autumn air of Yankee Stadium, with the wind conspiring to knock down the ball, it kept flying, 414 feet, over the center-field fence, prompting paroxysms of joy among the 47,054 fans who witnessed Judge’s first major moment of this postseason.
The gratification comes from the Yankees’ immense respect for Judge — how much he cares and how he carried the team for months and how he holds people accountable without making them feel as if they’re being held accountable. As great of a player as Judge is, he is regarded as a similarly gifted leader, and to see their captain not performing to his capabilities vexed Yankees players. He had struggled for only 15 at-bats — nothing in a normal stretch, everything in October. Which is what made Judge showing signs of life frightening as well: If the Yankees were rolling through the postseason before Judge found his swing, imagine what they’ll look like if the home run off Gaddis portends more. Especially if the hitter in front of him keeps getting on base.
EVERYTHING THE YANKEES envisioned when they traded for Juan Soto last offseason has become a reality. Rare is the deal with outsize expectations that are actually met, and yet here is the 25-year-old Soto, in the midst of another postseason run, able to relish it far more than he did the first time.
Soto was 20 when the Washington Nationals won the World Series in 2019. He burst on the scene a year earlier, a 19-year-old wunderkind with the best eye since Barry Bonds and preternatural power who shot balls over the fence to all fields. Winning a championship only a year later spoiled Soto.
So he’s relishing this — the opportunity to make history with a franchise where history matters more than anywhere. The trade for Soto cost the Yankees dearly in talent. Not only did they give up Michael King, who threw 173⅔ innings of 2.95 ERA ball this season, but four other players as well. All for one season of Soto.
New York knew he would be headed for free agency this winter, and that didn’t stop general manager Brian Cashman from ponying up a gargantuan package. The pressure on Cashman and Boone, vise-like in a normal year, had tightened after they went 82-80 in 2023. The previous six seasons had ended in postseason losses, but at least they ended in the postseason. This was beyond the pale: fourth place and 19 games behind an AL East-winning Baltimore team with an Opening Day payroll $217 million lower than the Yankees’ $277 million.
Acquiring one of baseball’s finest hitters solved plenty, and the evidence revealed itself early. Soto drove in runs in each of the Yankees’ first four games this season, a sweep at Houston. He proceeded to hit a career-high 41 home runs, lead the AL with 128 runs scored and get on base in 138 of the 157 games he played. And he has been magnificent this postseason, leading the Yankees with seven hits, walking as much as he has struck out and further distinguishing himself as a unique offensive presence.
A player of Soto’s talent with hunger for the moment is about as good as it gets in the sport, and the seamlessness of his transition to New York only heightens what’s ahead of him. Soto’s free agency is primed to be a frenzy: He is a $500 million-plus player, and another World Series appearance would not only validate his rightful place as one of the highest-paid athletes in history, it would reinforce just how properly this Yankees team was constructed.
HAL STEINBRENNER IS not his father. George, who bought the Yankees in 1973, won back-to-back World Series in 1977 and 1978, oversaw the four-titles-in-five-years dynasty from 1996 to 2000 and captured his final championship in 2009, a year before his death. The Yankees’ championship-or-bust standard is a George Steinbrenner creation that Hal inherited and can’t disavow.
Nor does he want to. As the Yankees barge toward a World Series berth, it’s worth remembering Steinbrenner has continued to spend money befitting the Yankees. It’s never as much as fans in New York desire, but their $296.6 million Opening Day payroll this year ranked second in MLB. Their payrolls ranks the nine years prior: 2, 3, 2, 1, 3, 6, 4, 2, 2.
What’s most important — and where Cashman deserves credit — is that the players receiving the majority of that money have played central roles this postseason. Gerrit Cole ($324 million) pitched like an ace to clinch the division series. Carlos Rodon ($162 million) threw six brilliant innings in Game 1 of the ALCS, using his slider for strikeouts and inducing swings and misses on three of his four changeups. Judge is about to win his second MVP in three seasons and carried the Yankees through 162 games. Soto is Soto.
Best of all is Giancarlo Stanton, the 34-year-old slugger whose seven seasons in New York have been as much about the time he hasn’t spent on the field as the time he has. Trading for Stanton, who had nearly $300 million remaining on the final 10 years of his deal, was a risk.
Well, that’s the purpose of a giant payroll: it allows for moonshots. New York figured it was buying the best of Stanton for the first half of his time in pinstripes. The fact he has performed this October like a prime version of himself, with a 1.037 OPS and two home runs, is a reminder the Yankees do have an advantage and it is well within their rights to use it, just as the Mets and Dodgers have.
It also illustrates the biggest difference between the Yankees of past and present. Under George Steinbrenner, Stanton would almost certainly be wearing a different uniform. With Hal, patience is a virtue in which he truly believes. If he didn’t, the man running the team from the dugout almost certainly wouldn’t be there, either.
AARON BOONE IS a very good Major League Baseball manager. This sort of statement angers a fair number of Yankees fans, but it is objectively true. Boone has the deep respect of players, he fights when it’s needed, he manages stars exceptionally, he’s strategically sound a vast majority of the time, he’s conscious of history and he’s good with the media. The Yankees job is the most scrutinized in baseball, and he does pretty much every part of it well.
This postseason has been Boone’s playground. It has been only six games, so there is plenty of time for him to push a button that detonates a game, but his tactical acumen has been exceptional. Three times already he has turned to Luke Weaver — his innings-eating-long-man-turned-closer — in the eighth inning of playoff games. And he has been rewarded with a four-out save and a pair of five-out saves.
Yes, it’s the sort of thing more and more managers are doing. But it speaks to Boone’s understanding of leverage. Sometimes the biggest outs in a game come in the eighth inning, and if you’re gifted a closer who can cover multiple innings and go multiple days in a row, use him and use him plenty.
And the presence of Weaver does feel like a gift. The Yankees are the 31-year-old’s sixth major league team. He arrived in the big leagues in 2016 as a 92-mph-throwing starter. He went to Arizona in a trade, stumbled there, wasn’t any better in Kansas City, scuffled with Cincinnati and Seattle last year and wound up making three starts for the Yankees at the end of their dismal 2023. New York brought him back on a one-year, $2 million contract, and it wound up as one of the best deals of the winter.
The Yankees’ bullpen looked like a mess in early September. Boone finally tired of Clay Holmes‘ blown saves and removed him from the closer’s role. The only pitcher New York acquired at the trade deadline, Mark Leiter Jr., flopped and didn’t crack the Yankees’ ALDS or ALCS rosters. Boone wasn’t comfortable with Jake Cousins (too many walks) or Tim Hill (too few strikeouts). He trusts Tommy Kahnle, but in 221 career games with the Yankees, he has only four saves, an indication of New York’s reticence to throw him in the ninth.
The job went to Weaver almost by default, and all he has done since is get hitters out. Since his first save Sept. 6, Weaver has thrown 18 innings, given up seven hits, walked four and struck out 33. His ERA is 0.50. He is not Mariano Rivera, but he’s doing one hell of an impersonation. And along the way, Holmes has righted himself: 14⅔ innings, nine hits, five walks, 13 strikeouts and 1.23 ERA — with nary a run scored in 6⅔ postseason innings.
Every championship team has its surprises, and the Yankees’ bullpen turning into a weapon — in similar fashion to Jose Leclerc and Josh Sborz having the October of their lives with Texas last season — qualifies. Yankees relievers have been so good that it might make a regular observer of baseball wonder: Can they really keep it up?
NOW THAT THE Yankees find themselves here, two wins from the World Series, six victories from a parade down New York’s Canyon of Heroes. And with their path to a title as favorable as they’ve had in years, it’s incumbent on them to finish the job. Beating a pair of AL Central teams is one thing. Doing it against a National League team that survived the gauntlet of the far better league will require something different altogether.
Sure, Judge hit a home run — but his previous 26 plate appearances left plenty to be desired. Weaver and Holmes have been the best relief duo this postseason — but Boone’s reliance on them surely has an expiration date, and pitching both in each of New York’s six playoff games runs the risk of overexposure, regardless of how good their stuff looks. The Yankees have won tight, hard-fought games. Their victories against Kansas City came by one, one and two runs, and their two wins against Cleveland are by three runs apiece. Despite being gifted a dropped pop-up and bobble in right field by the Guardians, New York needed Judge’s home run to provide a decent cushion in Game 2.
Carrying a 2-0 series lead into Cleveland helps allay fears. There will be at least one more game played at Yankee Stadium this year, and the Guardians see Game 3 as a must-win. Teams that start a seven-game league championship series with a pair of wins are 32-5. Only once has a team fought from a 3-0 deficit to take an LCS.
And that, of course, was the Boston Red Sox‘s famous comeback against the Yankees in 2004. Cleveland will be hard-pressed to find the same sort of magic against this Yankees team. They’ll need to beat Clarke Schmidt, who, when healthy, was a nightmare for opposing hitters. Particularly terrifying for Cleveland is that against the Guardians’ mostly left-handed lineup, Schmidt, who ditched his changeup this season, will rely heavily on his cutter to saw off Guardians hitters. And no team in MLB this year had a lower OPS on cutters thrown by right-handed pitchers than the Guardians’ .653.
Schmidt is the Yankees’ No. 3 starter, and he finished the season with a 2.85 ERA, and it’s just another sign that for all the lamenting that New York was simply a two-man team with Judge and Soto, that was never true. There is substance to these Yankees. They’re not here just to do something. They’re here to do something big, the only way they know how.
JIM ABBOTT IS sitting at his kitchen table, with his old friend Tim Mead. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, they were partners in an extraordinary exercise — and now, for the first time in decades, they are looking at a stack of letters and photographs from that period of their lives.
The letters are mostly handwritten, by children, from all over the United States and Canada, and beyond.
“Dear Mr. Abbott …”
“I have one hand too. … I don’t know any one with one hand. How do you feel about having one hand? Sometimes I feel sad and sometimes I feel okay about it. Most of the time I feel happy.”
“I am a seventh grader with a leg that is turned inwards. How do you feel about your arm? I would also like to know how you handle your problem? I would like to know, if you don’t mind, what have you been called?”
“I can’t use my right hand and most of my right side is paralyzed. … I want to become a doctor and seeing you makes me think I can be what I want to be.”
For 40 years, Mead worked in communications for the California Angels, eventually becoming vice president of media relations. His position in this department became a job like no other after the Angels drafted Abbott out of the University of Michigan in 1988.
There was a deluge of media requests. Reporters from around the world descended on Anaheim, most hoping to get one-on-one time with the young left-handed pitcher with the scorching fastball. Every Abbott start was a major event — “like the World Series,” Angels scout Bob Fontaine Jr. remembers. Abbott, with his impressive amateur résumé (he won the James E. Sullivan Award for the nation’s best amateur athlete in 1997 and an Olympic gold medal in 1988) and his boyish good looks, had star power.
That spring, he had become only the 16th player to go straight from the draft to the majors without appearing in a single minor league game. And then there was the factor that made him unique. His limb difference, although no one called it that back then. Abbott was born without a right hand, yet had developed into one of the most promising pitchers of his generation. He would go on to play in the majors for ten years, including a stint in the mid ’90s with the Yankees highlighted by a no-hitter in 1993.
Abbott, and Mead, too, knew the media would swarm. That was no surprise. There had been swarms in college, and at the Olympics, wherever and whenever Abbott pitched. Who could resist such an inspirational story? But what they hadn’t anticipated were the letters.
The steady stream of letters. Thousands of letters. So many from kids who, like Abbott, were different. Letters from their parents and grandparents. The kids hoping to connect with someone who reminded them of themselves, the first celebrity they knew of who could understand and appreciate what it was like to be them, someone who had experienced the bullying and the feelings of otherness. The parents and grandparents searching for hope and direction.
“I know you don’t consider yourself limited in what you can do … but you are still an inspiration to my wife and I as parents. Your success helps us when talking to Andy at those times when he’s a little frustrated. I’m able to point to you and assure him there’s no limit to what he can accomplish.”
In his six seasons with the Angels, Abbott was assisted by Mead in the process of organizing his responses to the letters, mailing them, and arranging face-to-face meetings with the families who had written to him. There were scores of such meetings. It was practically a full-time job for both of them.
“Thinking back on these meetings with families — and that’s the way I’d put it, it’s families, not just kids — there was every challenge imaginable,” Abbott, now 57, says. “Some accidents. Some birth defects. Some mental challenges that aren’t always visible to people when you first come across somebody. … They saw something in playing baseball with one hand that related to their own experience. I think the families coming to the ballparks were looking for hopefulness. I think they were looking for what it had been that my parents had told me, what it had been that my coaches had told me. … [With the kids] it was an interaction. It was catch. It was smiling. It was an autograph. It was a picture. With the parents, it ran deeper. With the parents, it was what had your parents said to you? What coaches made a difference? What can we expect? Most of all, I think, what can we expect?”
“It wasn’t asking for autographs,” Mead says of all those letters. “They weren’t asking for pictures. They were asking for his time. He and I had to have a conversation because this was going to be unique. You know, you could set up another player to come down and sign 15 autographs for this group or whatever. But it was people, parents, that had kids, maybe babies, just newborn babies, almost looking for an assurance that this is going to turn out all right, you know. ‘What did your parents do? How did your parents handle this?'”
One of the letters Abbott received came from an 8-year-old girl in Windsor, Ontario.
She wrote, “Dear Jim, My name is Tracey Holgate. I am age 8. I have one hand too. My grandpa gave me a picture of you today. I saw you on TV. I don’t know anyone with one hand. How do you feel about having one hand? Sometimes I feel sad and sometimes I feel okay about it. Most of the time I feel happy. I hope to see you play in Detroit and maybe meet you. Could you please send me a picture of you in uniform? Could you write back please? Here is a picture of me. Love, Tracey.”
Holgate’s letter is one of those that has remained preserved in a folder — and now Abbott is reading it again, at his kitchen table, half a lifetime after receiving it. Time has not diminished the power of the letter, and Abbott is wiping away tears.
Today, Holgate is 44 and goes by her married name, Dupuis. She is married with four children of her own. She is a teacher. When she thinks about the meaning of Jim Abbott in her life, it is about much more than the letter he wrote back to her. Or the autographed picture he sent her. It was Abbott, all those years ago, who made it possible for Tracey to dream.
“There was such a camaraderie there,” she says, “an ability to connect with somebody so far away doing something totally different than my 8-year-old self was doing, but he really allowed me to just feel that connection, to feel that I’m not alone, there’s other people that have differences and have overcome them and been successful and we all have our own crosses, we all have our own things that we’re carrying and it’s important to continue to focus on the gifts that we have, the beauty of it.
“I think sometimes differences, disabilities, all those things can be a gift in a package we would never have wanted, because they allow us to be people that have an empathetic heart, an understanding heart, and to see the pain in the people around us.”
Now, years after Abbott’s career ended, he continues to inspire.
Among those he influenced, there are professional athletes, such as Shaquem Griffin, who in 2018 became the first NFL player with one hand. Griffin, now 29, played three seasons at linebacker for the Seattle Seahawks.
Growing up in Florida, he would watch videos of Abbott pitching and fielding, over and over, on YouTube.
“The only person I really looked up to was Jim Abbott at the time,” Griffin says, “which is crazy, because I didn’t know anybody else to look up to. I didn’t know anybody else who was kind of like me. And it’s funny, because when I was really little, I used to be like, ‘Why me? Why this happen to me?’ And I used to be in my room thinking about that. And I used to think to myself, ‘I wonder if Jim Abbott had that same thought.'”
Carson Pickett was born on Sept. 15, 1993 — 11 days after Abbott’s no-hitter. Missing most of her left arm below the elbow, she became, in 2022, the first player with a limb difference to appear for the U.S. women’s national soccer team.
She, too, says that Abbott made things that others told her were impossible seem attainable.
“I knew I wanted to be a professional soccer player,” says Pickett, who is currently playing for the NWSL’s Orlando Pride. “To be able to see him compete at the highest level it gave me hope, and I think that that kind of helped me throughout my journey. … I think ‘pioneer’ would be the best word for him.”
Longtime professional MMA fighter Nick Newell is 39, old enough to have seen Abbott pitch for the Yankees. In fact, when Newell was a child he met Abbott twice, first at a fan event at the Jacob Javits Center in Manhattan and then on a game day at Yankee Stadium. Newell was one of those kids with a limb difference — like Griffin and Pickett, due to amniotic band syndrome — who idolized Abbott.
“And I didn’t really understand the gravity of what he was doing,” Newell says now, “but for me, I saw someone out there on TV that looked like I did. And I was the only other person I knew that had one hand. And I saw this guy out here playing baseball and it was good to see somebody that looked like me, and I saw him in front of the world.
“He was out there like me and he was just living his life and I think that I owe a lot of my attitude and the success that I have to Jim just going out there and being the example of, ‘Hey, you can do this. Who’s to say you can’t be a professional athlete?’ He’s out there throwing no-hitters against the best baseball players in the world. So, as I got older, ‘Why can’t I wrestle? Why can’t I fight? Why can’t I do this?’ And then it wasn’t until the internet that I heard people tell me I can’t do these things. But by then I had already been doing those things.”
Griffin.
Pickett.
Newell.
Just three of the countless kids who were inspired by Jim Abbott.
When asked if it ever felt like too much, being a role model and a hero, all the letters and face-to-face meetings, Abbott says no — but it wasn’t always easy.
“I had incredible people who helped me send the letters,” he says. “I got a lot more credit sometimes than I deserved for these interactions, to be honest with you. And that happened on every team, particularly with my friend Tim Mead. There was a nice balance to it. There really was. There was a heaviness to it. There’s no denying. There were times I didn’t want to go [to the meetings]. I didn’t want to walk out there. I didn’t want to separate from my teammates. I didn’t want to get up from the card game. I didn’t want to put my book down. I liked where I was at. I was in my environment. I was where I always wanted to be. In a big league clubhouse surrounded by big league teammates. In a big league stadium. And those reminders of being different, I slowly came to realize were never going to go away.”
But being different was the thing that made Abbott more than merely a baseball star. For many people, he has been more than a role model, more than an idol. He is the embodiment of hope and belonging.
“I think more people need to realize and understand the gift of a difference,” Dupuis says. “I think we have to just not box everybody in and allow everybody’s innate light to shine, and for whatever reasons we’ve been created to be here, [let] that light shine in a way that it touches everybody else. Because I think that’s what Jim did. He allowed his light to permeate and that light, in turn, lit all these little children’s lights all over the world, so you have this boom of brightness that’s happening and that’s uncontrollable, that’s beautiful.”
NEW YORK — Chicago Cubs center fielder Pete Crow-Armstrong is projected to receive the largest amount from this season’s $50 million pre-arbitration bonus pool based on his regular-season statistics.
Crow-Armstrong is on track to get $1,091,102, according to WAR calculations through July 8 that Major League Baseball sent to teams, players and agents in a memo Friday that was obtained by The Associated Press.
He earned $342,128 from the pool in 2024.
“I was aware of it after last year, but I have no clue of the numbers,” he said Friday. “I haven’t looked at it one time.”
Pittsburgh pitcher Paul Skenes is second at $961,256, followed by Washington outfielder James Wood ($863,835), Arizona outfielder Corbin Carroll ($798,397), Houston pitcher Hunter Brown ($786,838), Philadelphia pitcher Cristopher Sánchez ($764,854), Cincinnati shortstop Elly De La Cruz ($717,479), Boston catcher Carlos Narváez ($703,007), Red Sox outfielder Ceddanne Rafaela ($685,366) and Detroit outfielder Riley Greene ($665,470).
Crow-Armstrong, Skenes, Wood, Carroll, Brown, De La Cruz and Greene have been picked for Tuesday’s All-Star Game.
A total of 100 players will receive the payments, established as part of the 2022 collective bargaining agreement and aimed to get more money to players without sufficient service time for salary arbitration eligibility. The cutoff for 2025 was 2 years, 132 days of major league service.
Players who signed as foreign professionals are excluded.
Most young players have salaries just above this year’s major league minimum of $760,000. Crow-Armstrong has a $771,000 salary this year, Skenes $875,000, Wood $764,400 and Brown $807,400.
Carroll is in the third season of a $111 million, eight-year contract.
As part of the labor agreement, a management-union committee was established that determined the WAR formula used to allocate the bonuses after awards. (A player may receive only one award bonus per year, the highest one he is eligible for.) The agreement calls for an interim report to be distributed the week before the All-Star Game.
Distribution for awards was $9.85 million last year, down from $11.25 million in 2022 and $9.25 million in 2023.
A player earns $2.5 million for winning an MVP or Cy Young award, $1.75 million for finishing second, $1.5 million for third, $1 million for fourth or fifth or for making the All-MLB first team. A player can get $750,000 for winning Rookie of the Year, $500,000 for second or for making the All-MLB second team, $350,000 for third in the rookie race, $250,000 for fourth or $150,000 for fifth.
Kansas City shortstop Bobby Witt Jr. topped last year’s pre-arbitration bonus pool at $3,077,595, and Skenes was second at $2,152,057 despite not making his big league debut until May 11. Baltimore shortstop Gunnar Henderson was third at $2,007,178.
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