He’s the human afterthought. The first-round pick of the Los Angeles Dodgers in the 1998 draft, he went 23rd overall, appearing to be less of a prospect than not only Pat Burrell, Mark Mulder, J.D. Drew, Jeff Weaver, and C.C. Sabathia, but also such luminaries as Jeff Austin, Ryan Mills, Josh McKinley, J.M. Gold, Tony Torcato, and Jason Tyner. Though just 21 years old at the time, his turn to the professional was a disappointment. After batting .394/.504/.828 with 25 home runs in 58 games during his last year at Rice University, he dropped to .216/.283/.281 with no home runs in a similar number of games in the hitting-friendly California League. He was partial payment for a heavily discounted Robin Ventura. He’s the player who gets sent down on a whim. He’s Bubba Crosby, starting outfielder for the New York Yankees … at least, he was last week.

Crosby is the very definition of “fringe player.” He’s not slow, but he’s not a base stealer. He’s got just enough power to lace a ball into the gap, and will hit a home run – but not very often. He’ll walk sometimes, but not so often that he could lead off in a pinch. He’s a good outfielder, but he’s not Joe DiMaggio. He’s frequently said, in fact, that his job with the Yankees is to play good defense. Good thing, because in 101 career at bats, he’s hit .158 with a .206 on-base average. Richard Stephen Crosby’s nickname shouldn’t be Bubba, it should be Beige.

At least he’s left-handed. In the past, before teams carried more pitchers than rabbits have children, a player like Crosby might have had a reliable career as a 25th man. Now, for the most part, players of his kind wait for an injury. They lack even the one distinctive skill that would distinguish them from dozens of other players in the “generic ballplayer” section of the major league catalog.

The only way for a player like Crosby to get a job is for everyone ahead of him on the depth chart to fail. That’s why Crosby was summoned from Triple-A Columbus back to the Bronx on July 18 for his third stint with the Bombers – this season. With the team climbing back into the playoff hunt of late, Bernie Williams’s deterioration in center was becoming too conspicuous even for the Yankee brass. First, Tony Womack was tried in center. He did his best, which, as has been the case for his entire career, was totally inadequate. Hideki Matsui got to serve his term and didn’t hit a lick. Williams returned only to show that he hadn’t gotten any younger in the interim. In the baseball version of “Ten Little Indians,” and then there was Crosby.

Given his chance to shine over the last two weeks, Bubba punted, collecting just five hits – all of them singles – in 24 at bats. In 12 games before being benched last week, his OPS of .478 was lower than Jason Giambi’s OBA, and he was caught stealing in his only attempt. At this point, Bubba likely has his bags packed for that inevitable flight to central Ohio.

There is some sadness to this. For all his apparent blandness, it seemed Crosby might have turned a corner in 2003. With Las Vegas of the Pacific Coast League, the Dodgers Triple-A affiliate, Crosby batted .361/.410/.635 with 24 doubles, eight triples, and 12 home runs in just 76 games. Moving on to Columbus after the Ventura trade, he batted .302/.366/.460 in 16 games, adding another triple and two home runs.

Perhaps the outfielder was about to make the rare transition from “busted prospect” to “late bloomer,” but we will never know. Not long after joining the Yankees organization, Crosby tore ligaments in this thumb and was lost for the remainder of the season. His service with the Yankees in 2004 required that he be optioned to and recalled from Columbus no fewer than four times. He was never in the minors long enough to build up a good head of steam, and his stints in the majors have involved mostly sitting. With the Yankees last season, he played in 55 games but batted only 53 times. He averaged an abysmal .151/.196/.302 in those 55 games, but even a more capable hitter would have struggled when deployed so sporadically.

This season has been more of the same for Crosby. He’s been sent to the minors to make room for Robinson Cano, Scott Proctor, and Darrell May. He’s ridden the pine in the majors and has predictably failed to revive during his brief tours of the Midwest. At 28, his time is almost done, and whatever he did to salvage his career in 2003 now seems far in the past.

In the harsh present, Crosby is back on the bench. Deadline day having sailed by with the Yankees doing nothing more dramatic than disposing of the disgruntled Buddy Groom (whose anti-Torre rant yesterday had some merit, though it would have been more authentic had it been made by a young pitcher with some potential, rather than a 40-year-old journeyman spot reliever who generally didn’t spot that well), Crosby may have been reprieved from the Columbus shuttle by virtue of the team’s inaction rather than anything he did himself.

Worse, with Tony Womack collecting the game-winning hit yesterday, the failed infielder and outfielder may now qualify as “hot” to Joe Torre’s magpie-like eyes. Thus, Crosby may rank lower on the depth chart than a soon-to-be 36-year-old second baseman with on-base and slugging percentages of .280 and .272, respectively, this season.

For now, Crosby waits – not for a chance to play, but for the next time the Yankees need an emergency starter or finally acquire another outfielder. That’s the life of Bubba, the human afterthought in an organization that treats all players not making millions as afterthoughts.

Mr. Goldman is the author of “Forging Genius,” a biography of Casey Stengel, released this year.