He’s in town, and he’s ready for action. Since I’ve already described the tour of Westchester County that he and A-Sab will likely take as they look for a residence in the bucolic suburbs, I’ll concentrate on Cee Cee’s other reason for visiting: his physical. He has to pass one before he’s introduced as an official Yankee on Thursday.
Luckily, I was able to fly to New York for his trip to the doctor and bring you exclusive coverage.
The appointment took place at the Manhattan office of Yankees team physician, Dr. Stuart Hirshon.
Cee Cee was escorted to an examining room by the receptionist and instructed to change out of his clothes and into one of these.
The gown didn’t fit, so he had to wear two that were tied together.
He sat down on the examining table and waited for Dr. Hirshon, only to discover that he was the unsuspecting target of a drug company’s advertising campaign.
As if he needed such a product. He was not amused.
“Hello, Mr. Sabathia,” said Dr. Hirshon, striding in with a smile and a stethoscope.
“Call me Cee Cee,” said the Yankees’ newest star. “This is all just a formality, right? I mean, you’re not really gonna do anything to me.”
Dr. Hirshon chuckled and handed Cee Cee one of these.
The pitcher was puzzled, but he did as he was told.
“Now we’ll get started,” said the doctor, who listened to Cee Cee’s heart, palpated his abdomen and stuck one of these in his mouth.
“So far, so good.” Next, the doctor examined Cee Cee’s eyes and ears, looked inside his nose and tapped on his right kneecap with this.
Cee Cee’s leg flew up with such violent force that it accidentally drop-kicked Dr. Hirshon into the wall.
“This hasn’t happened to me since David Wells,” the doc said. He straightened his lab coat, cleared his throat and composed himself. “I think I’ll let Tammy take over from here.”
“My nurse.” He opened the door and shouted, “Room five! Stat!”
Within seconds, his nurse hurried in.
“Hey there,” she said in a breathy voice that reminded Cee Cee of his favorite actress, Anna Farris, from Scary Movie 1, 2, 3 and 4. “I’m just gonna take your blood pressure. O.K., big guy?”
He tried to stay calm as she wrapped the cuff around his biceps, but he could feel his pulse race.
“Not good,” said Dr. Hirshon looking over Tammy’s shoulder at the reading. “We’ll need to bring that way down.”
Tammy took a few vials of blood.
Cee Cee hates needles and fainted just as she was finishing up. It took four other nurses to lift him off the floor and back onto the examining table.
At Dr. Hirshon’s insistence, Tammy administered more tests, at the end of which the doctor shook his head ominously. “It’s the weight, Mr. Sabathia. You need to lose 25 pounds. To start with, I’m prescribing plenty of exercise.”
Cee Cee smirked. “I’m a professional ballplayer, remember? I already get plenty of exercise.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, young fellow. You’re a pitcher. You don’t even take batting practice.”
Cee Cee didn’t bother to say that he used to, when he was in the National League. He thought he was in perfect shape and resented being told otherwise.
“You’ll have to change your diet too,” said Dr. Hirshon. “No more junk. Just fruits, vegetables and broiled salmon.”
Cee Cee hates fish almost as much as he hates needles.
He stood up from the table, defiant. Gone was his sunny disposition. “I don’t need more exercise. I don’t need to change my diet. I don’t need to do what you Yankees say.”
“You’re well over 300 pounds, Mr. Sabathia. My guess is 315 or even 320.”
Dr. Hirshon motioned for Cee Cee to step into the corner. “Come on then. Let’s see.”
Cee Cee’s moment of truth arrived. The Yankees had signed him for an unprecedented $161 million based on the weight he’d claimed on his previous medical form: 290 pounds. He was in deep trouble.
He sucked in his stomach and stepped o
nto the scale. The sheer force of his…
nto the scale. The sheer force of his…
Well, this happened.
Remarkably, no one was hurt. But Cee Cee Sabathia’s status with the Yankees remains unclear as of this writing.