In baseball, just like in life, moments of opportunity don’t come with a guarantee—they come with a stopwatch. For New York Yankees infielder Oswald Peraza, the ticking has gotten louder with each plate appearance.
When DJ LeMahieu was sidelined by a nagging calf strain, and with Jazz Chisholm now out with an oblique injury, doors have opened.
But instead of bursting through, Peraza has tiptoed—uncertain, inconsistent, and increasingly invisible in the batter’s box.
It’s not that he’s been a ghost. On Saturday, he delivered a clutch double that broke a tie and hinted at potential.
But when those flashes are separated by long stretches of empty at-bats, they start to feel less like signs of growth and more like flukes.
Through this extended audition, Peraza’s slash line—.167/.241/.319—is whispering the uncomfortable truth the Yankees can no longer ignore.
Missed chances: The numbers don’t lie
There’s no sugarcoating it: Peraza has struggled mightily to keep up with major league pitching.
Despite a raw toolkit that scouts once drooled over—bat speed, power potential, and the athleticism to stick on the left side of the infield—his 57 wRC+ this year places him well below the league average.
Even more troubling is his 34.3 percent whiff rate, far higher than the MLB norm of 25 percent.
That’s not just a matter of bad luck or tough matchups. It points to a deeper issue—he’s not making contact, even when he should be.
Against pitches in the strike zone, he’s only connecting 75.2 percent of the time. The average big leaguer? 82.1 percent. And pitchers aren’t hiding the ball from him either; he sees strikes 54.4 percent of the time, more than most.
Imagine being in a spelling bee where you’re given easier words than your competitors—but you still keep striking out. That’s the position Peraza’s in right now.
The physical gifts are there, but the approach is lacking
By all accounts, Peraza is no slouch. Teammates and coaches speak highly of his attitude and work ethic. Brendan Kuty of The Athletic highlights his strong defense and flashes of pop—five doubles and two homers so far.
He’s not loafing. He’s trying. But baseball isn’t graded on effort.
Yankees hitting coach James Rowson insists Peraza has made meaningful progress with his swing mechanics and overall approach.
The numbers, however, disagree. Peraza’s SEAGER rating—a measure of how quickly a batter decides to swing—is just 2.4, the lowest on the Yankees.
That rating suggests hesitation, poor decision-making, or both. In a game where milliseconds matter, a slow trigger can be fatal.
The pressure is mounting as the Yankees heal
Time isn’t exactly on Peraza’s side. Chisholm’s return is looming, and once the Yankees start getting healthy, the roster will tighten. Every day that Peraza doesn’t produce pushes him one step closer to being the odd man out.
Injuries gave him a runway. His bat, unfortunately, hasn’t taken flight. And in New York—where expectations are sky-high and patience is always in short supply—underwhelming performances don’t go unnoticed for long.
Like a guitarist in a rock band who can nail the solos in practice but fumbles on stage, Peraza seems stuck in rehearsal mode.
The crowd—management, fans, and his teammates—is waiting for a performance. But unless he finds a rhythm soon, he might not get an encore.
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