I remember President-elect Bill Clinton appearing via videotape to celebrate Arsenio Hall's thousandth broadcast. This was either late 1992 or early 1993, and Clinton (who had appeared a year ealier to play his sax) made a passing reference to poring over "those big, heavy, depressing budget books." I instantly thought one thing: Well, goodbye middle-class tax cut. With those six words, Clinton had laid the groundwork for going back on one of his most oft-repeated campaign promises. A month later, when he delivered his budget address, and specifically ruled out a tax cut for anyone (though with his usual soupcon of self-pity), I think I was the least suprised person in America.
What surprised me was this: Clinton paid no political price for what he did. The New York Times, which hates tax cuts as much as it hates Rush Limbaugh, praised him for making the "tough decisions." And the republic went on.
So now we come to Obama. On Wright, on public financing, on Iraq, on meeting with dictators, on NAFTA, on gun ownership, on town hall debates, on the death penalty for rapists, there is not even the pretense of an evolution or maturing different "facts on the ground" or whatever you want to call it. Obama simply says today the opposite of what he said yesterday, and counts on a willful press to cover for him. A few months ago, on his website, he, in no uncertain terms, came out in support of the D.C. gun ban. Last week, he came out in support of the Supremem Court decision overturning the gun ban, and had the previous comment scrubbed. Bam. Done. Over.
Charles Krauthammer has more.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Pirates 12, Yankees 5
"Don't you boys how much I hate losin' to the Pirates!?"
--Wilford Brimley, as Pops, in The Natural
--Wilford Brimley, as Pops, in The Natural
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Yankees 4, Reds 1
Oh, did Girardi want to win this one. Michael Kay saiud as much: "Lose today, and the San Diego series (or Houston, take your pick) is negated."
So Rivera come in in the eighth, after Farnworth's hand injury.
Strong again from Pettitte.
So Rivera come in in the eighth, after Farnworth's hand injury.
Strong again from Pettitte.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Reds 6, Yankees 0
One of those games. But Giese may end up helping
On a cheerier note, I received a message from Greater Phoenix informing me that my youngest brother, Robby-Boy, has ascended to the rank of Captain in the Phoenix Fire Department. Good for him. I feel sorry for the fires.
On a cheerier note, I received a message from Greater Phoenix informing me that my youngest brother, Robby-Boy, has ascended to the rank of Captain in the Phoenix Fire Department. Good for him. I feel sorry for the fires.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Yankees 8, Padres 0
And, oh yeah, the Yankees. Two home runs apiece by Giambi and A-Rod. Pettitte strong.
Five in a row.
Five in a row.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Celtics Win!!!!
Seriously, the greatest thing about this final round has been, at long last, the recognition of Paul Pierce as belonging to the front rank of all-time NBA players.
Paul Pierce is a great player.
A Hall-of-Fame player.
Like Brooks Robinson in the '70 World Series, Bobby Orr in the '72 Stanley Cup, Johnny Bench in the '76 World Series, and Tom Brady in the '04 Super Bowl, Paul Pierce's efforts in these finals have served to illuminate the greatness of a player whose true greatness might have otherwise fallen just slightly below the radar.
And--not that it matters, basketball-wise--not one single player, not even Larry Bird, ever went to school so much on Celtic lore, nor ever was so familiar on the Celtic-Laker rivalry, which was basically the narrative of the league during its breakout years (1959-1969), and then its explosion years (1979-1987). Pierce had about nine thousand opportunities to leave the Celtics for more money and a better chance to win, and continued to repeat his mantra: "No. I want to help build a new winning tradition in Boston. That's what I want to do."
And so, he has. With this one championship, he has.
When, after defeating Detroit, Pierce (born, yes, in Inglewood, in the shadow of the Fabulous Forum) exploded in a chant of "Beat LA! Beat LA!", his teammates responded slowly, as if learning a new song. He knew, they would quickly learn. Me, I thought I was hearing a verse from my youth, when I still looked at the girls in their summer dresses.
God bless Paul Pierce, God bless Red, and damnit, God bless America.
Paul Pierce is a great player.
A Hall-of-Fame player.
Like Brooks Robinson in the '70 World Series, Bobby Orr in the '72 Stanley Cup, Johnny Bench in the '76 World Series, and Tom Brady in the '04 Super Bowl, Paul Pierce's efforts in these finals have served to illuminate the greatness of a player whose true greatness might have otherwise fallen just slightly below the radar.
And--not that it matters, basketball-wise--not one single player, not even Larry Bird, ever went to school so much on Celtic lore, nor ever was so familiar on the Celtic-Laker rivalry, which was basically the narrative of the league during its breakout years (1959-1969), and then its explosion years (1979-1987). Pierce had about nine thousand opportunities to leave the Celtics for more money and a better chance to win, and continued to repeat his mantra: "No. I want to help build a new winning tradition in Boston. That's what I want to do."
And so, he has. With this one championship, he has.
When, after defeating Detroit, Pierce (born, yes, in Inglewood, in the shadow of the Fabulous Forum) exploded in a chant of "Beat LA! Beat LA!", his teammates responded slowly, as if learning a new song. He knew, they would quickly learn. Me, I thought I was hearing a verse from my youth, when I still looked at the girls in their summer dresses.
God bless Paul Pierce, God bless Red, and damnit, God bless America.
TWTWTW, Part 1
(That Was The Weekend That Was, part 1)
I sometimes wonder if my life resembles others': nothing happening for a long while, then everything happening at once. Two of the very few things I do, outside of home, work, and sports, are judge the Houston Chronicle spelling bee and attend the English Composition CCCC Conference out of town, usually in some city I'm dying to explore: chicago one year, New York another, (hopefully) San Francisco in 2009. What is truly exasperating is how the spelling bee and the first day of the conference usually fall on precisely the same day in March, during a four-month span in which nothing else much happens. So I always miss the first day of the conference, a Wednesday. Then on Thursday, Astro-Girl and I catch an 8 am flight out of town and race off to the conference. Then we come home from the conference and watch re-runs of Will and Grace until the baseball season starts three weeks later.
So it was this past weekend, during which I was confronted with two, three, maybe four events overlaying one another: the State GOP Convention, the Celtics-Lakers NBA finals, the US Open on TV, and (oh yeah) the New York Yankees in town to play the Astros.
Thursday morning: GOP convention opens, stretched across two enormous auditoriums (auditoria?) in the ground floor of the George R. Brown Convention center downtown. Maybe it's me; I've always found the GRB, supposedly the chief selling point for conentioneering, a rather gloomy place, certainly gloomier than its analogue in Phoenix, the Civic Center. Already the mood of the conventioneers might be desribed as . . . muted. The lights are down, to aid trhe television cameras. The usual functionaries parade out, the usual songs are sung. People come to their feet out of a sense of obligation.
There is a brief spasm of excitement for Paul Bettencourt, a gifted speaker and the one Harris County official everyone knows by name.
Who is Paul Bettencourt? The Harris County Clerk. It is a quirk of Texas law that, upon paying for your car registration renewal or property tax, you make the check out to the county clerk personally. That's right: your check reads, "Pay to the order of . . . Paul Bettencourt." Until two months ago, I had never seen him in person, never known much about him but his name, certainly not expected the large Yogi Bear of a man who bounded onstage at our Senate District meeting and brought the crowd to its feet. The same happens this time: glasses shining in the lights, sweaty hair plastered to his scalp, the man explodes onto stage. His rhetoric is as corny as Bird's Eye ("the Dems had a choice: Obama or Chelsea's Mama!"), but his enthusiasm is infectious. He simply refuses a desultory audience to affect him.
Next, Governor Rick Perry. And here things get interesting.
As everyone in Texas knows, the Texas Governor's Mansion was torched, almost certainly by an arsonist, the Sunday before Rick Perry was due to appear here. That's right: the man lost his house (or residence, anyway) some hundred hours before his appearance on the podium. As if to emphasize the circumstances, a quirky little film about the Perry family (one boy, one girl) starts and ends with a shot of the mansion in its former, pristine state.
Mrs. Perry introduces the Governor. Again, muted applause. The plain truth is that there is a segment of GOPers who dislike the Governor, perhaps even loathe him, not least because of the business tax he pushed through the legislature as a means of funding schools. If one were to spend a lifetime searching for--by GOP lights--the most horrifying conjunction of two English words, one could hardly do better than combine the word "business" with the word "tax."
Beyond his positions, there has always been the image of Perry as a place-holder, as his Lieutenant Governor's beneficiary of W's ascension to the White House, as a tool of Bush, Rove and DeLay who has kept his job thanks to the Dems' incompetence in recruiting a worthwhile foe. (By contrast, John Cornyn, who entered the US Senate to catcalls of "Bush Machine," has distinguished himself, especially in matters of energy. About which, more anon.)
Perry does what he does with what he has . . . and then, ten minutes in, starts winning the crowd over. The plain fact is that there are several positions the GOP holds that are widely popular (not that voters, this time 'round, may be swayed--another story). Among these are voter picture ID, gay marriage, increased border security; Perry hits all of these hard, and well. He also goes on at length about Texas's 10 billion-dollar surplus, at a time when California and New York (the two biggest Texas bugabooes, after Massachusetss) are deep in the red.
Then, the finish: Perry's call for party unity, at a time when Perry finds himself the potential target of party disunity. (In the following days, volunteers will materialize on the skyway between the GRB and the Hilton Hotel and hand out stickers: Kay Bailey Hutchison for Governor.)
And, now, the Really Weird Moment.
Perry says something about one instrument playing a tune. Behind him on the podium, a uniformed buglist appears, and begins playing "Yellow Rose of Texas." Seven thousand people stand, anticipating . But no: no song, not yet. Perry resumes talking: one instrument, one tune. Trumpet player appears, plays the first few bars of "The Eyes of Texas." Half the crowd stands up. Perry continues talking; the two thousand people sit again, finally on the same page: "Oh, now I see where this is headed." And sure enough: a dozen-piece band appears to play "Deep in the Heart of Texas."
The effect, to say the least, is underwhelming. For such a build-up, Perry needed to trot out a hundred-piece band that would march up the aisles to thunderous applause. I once saw a high school production of The Music Man whose climax played to bigger effect in front of six hundred people. Instead I found myself with seven thousand Republican fanatics cheering the titular leader of the state party out of politeness.
Is it too much of a stretch to link this moment with the current McCain-Obama tussle? When I was seven years old I wore a NIXON NOW button to school on election day. In the intervening thirty six years, the full extent of my political activity has been conducted in the interior of a voting booth--that wonderful, wonderful place. I was pulled back into political activism--first my district caucus, then as a district delegate, then finally a state delegate--for one reason: because we are at war with an enemy who wishes to destroy us, and I can't find sufficient seriousness from the other side.
Want to save the polar bears? Easy: let's everyone stop shooting at them. Gas too high? Drill here, drill now, pay less (and yes, given a substantial, public American commitment to more drilling and refining, prices would come down. That's why they're called oil futures.) The only thing that matters to me is the vigorous pursuit of those who would do us harm, and the reduction of our enemy's assets to basketball courts. Right now, only side seems to have the requisite commitment--or rather, as they say on NPR, This, I believe.
Mornings like Thursday, however, fill me with a kind of gloom. Sometimes I wonder: does any of the above mean anything, even to me? Days I watch McCain speak, I feel like throwing my show at the TV and shouting, "No, no, you're saying it wrong"? However right McCain be right on the issues (I have my opinions, others have theirs), rhetorically, he's playing Salieri to Obama's Mozart. This will be a problem.
I sometimes wonder if my life resembles others': nothing happening for a long while, then everything happening at once. Two of the very few things I do, outside of home, work, and sports, are judge the Houston Chronicle spelling bee and attend the English Composition CCCC Conference out of town, usually in some city I'm dying to explore: chicago one year, New York another, (hopefully) San Francisco in 2009. What is truly exasperating is how the spelling bee and the first day of the conference usually fall on precisely the same day in March, during a four-month span in which nothing else much happens. So I always miss the first day of the conference, a Wednesday. Then on Thursday, Astro-Girl and I catch an 8 am flight out of town and race off to the conference. Then we come home from the conference and watch re-runs of Will and Grace until the baseball season starts three weeks later.
So it was this past weekend, during which I was confronted with two, three, maybe four events overlaying one another: the State GOP Convention, the Celtics-Lakers NBA finals, the US Open on TV, and (oh yeah) the New York Yankees in town to play the Astros.
Thursday morning: GOP convention opens, stretched across two enormous auditoriums (auditoria?) in the ground floor of the George R. Brown Convention center downtown. Maybe it's me; I've always found the GRB, supposedly the chief selling point for conentioneering, a rather gloomy place, certainly gloomier than its analogue in Phoenix, the Civic Center. Already the mood of the conventioneers might be desribed as . . . muted. The lights are down, to aid trhe television cameras. The usual functionaries parade out, the usual songs are sung. People come to their feet out of a sense of obligation.
There is a brief spasm of excitement for Paul Bettencourt, a gifted speaker and the one Harris County official everyone knows by name.
Who is Paul Bettencourt? The Harris County Clerk. It is a quirk of Texas law that, upon paying for your car registration renewal or property tax, you make the check out to the county clerk personally. That's right: your check reads, "Pay to the order of . . . Paul Bettencourt." Until two months ago, I had never seen him in person, never known much about him but his name, certainly not expected the large Yogi Bear of a man who bounded onstage at our Senate District meeting and brought the crowd to its feet. The same happens this time: glasses shining in the lights, sweaty hair plastered to his scalp, the man explodes onto stage. His rhetoric is as corny as Bird's Eye ("the Dems had a choice: Obama or Chelsea's Mama!"), but his enthusiasm is infectious. He simply refuses a desultory audience to affect him.
Next, Governor Rick Perry. And here things get interesting.
As everyone in Texas knows, the Texas Governor's Mansion was torched, almost certainly by an arsonist, the Sunday before Rick Perry was due to appear here. That's right: the man lost his house (or residence, anyway) some hundred hours before his appearance on the podium. As if to emphasize the circumstances, a quirky little film about the Perry family (one boy, one girl) starts and ends with a shot of the mansion in its former, pristine state.
Mrs. Perry introduces the Governor. Again, muted applause. The plain truth is that there is a segment of GOPers who dislike the Governor, perhaps even loathe him, not least because of the business tax he pushed through the legislature as a means of funding schools. If one were to spend a lifetime searching for--by GOP lights--the most horrifying conjunction of two English words, one could hardly do better than combine the word "business" with the word "tax."
Beyond his positions, there has always been the image of Perry as a place-holder, as his Lieutenant Governor's beneficiary of W's ascension to the White House, as a tool of Bush, Rove and DeLay who has kept his job thanks to the Dems' incompetence in recruiting a worthwhile foe. (By contrast, John Cornyn, who entered the US Senate to catcalls of "Bush Machine," has distinguished himself, especially in matters of energy. About which, more anon.)
Perry does what he does with what he has . . . and then, ten minutes in, starts winning the crowd over. The plain fact is that there are several positions the GOP holds that are widely popular (not that voters, this time 'round, may be swayed--another story). Among these are voter picture ID, gay marriage, increased border security; Perry hits all of these hard, and well. He also goes on at length about Texas's 10 billion-dollar surplus, at a time when California and New York (the two biggest Texas bugabooes, after Massachusetss) are deep in the red.
Then, the finish: Perry's call for party unity, at a time when Perry finds himself the potential target of party disunity. (In the following days, volunteers will materialize on the skyway between the GRB and the Hilton Hotel and hand out stickers: Kay Bailey Hutchison for Governor.)
And, now, the Really Weird Moment.
Perry says something about one instrument playing a tune. Behind him on the podium, a uniformed buglist appears, and begins playing "Yellow Rose of Texas." Seven thousand people stand, anticipating . But no: no song, not yet. Perry resumes talking: one instrument, one tune. Trumpet player appears, plays the first few bars of "The Eyes of Texas." Half the crowd stands up. Perry continues talking; the two thousand people sit again, finally on the same page: "Oh, now I see where this is headed." And sure enough: a dozen-piece band appears to play "Deep in the Heart of Texas."
The effect, to say the least, is underwhelming. For such a build-up, Perry needed to trot out a hundred-piece band that would march up the aisles to thunderous applause. I once saw a high school production of The Music Man whose climax played to bigger effect in front of six hundred people. Instead I found myself with seven thousand Republican fanatics cheering the titular leader of the state party out of politeness.
Is it too much of a stretch to link this moment with the current McCain-Obama tussle? When I was seven years old I wore a NIXON NOW button to school on election day. In the intervening thirty six years, the full extent of my political activity has been conducted in the interior of a voting booth--that wonderful, wonderful place. I was pulled back into political activism--first my district caucus, then as a district delegate, then finally a state delegate--for one reason: because we are at war with an enemy who wishes to destroy us, and I can't find sufficient seriousness from the other side.
Want to save the polar bears? Easy: let's everyone stop shooting at them. Gas too high? Drill here, drill now, pay less (and yes, given a substantial, public American commitment to more drilling and refining, prices would come down. That's why they're called oil futures.) The only thing that matters to me is the vigorous pursuit of those who would do us harm, and the reduction of our enemy's assets to basketball courts. Right now, only side seems to have the requisite commitment--or rather, as they say on NPR, This, I believe.
Mornings like Thursday, however, fill me with a kind of gloom. Sometimes I wonder: does any of the above mean anything, even to me? Days I watch McCain speak, I feel like throwing my show at the TV and shouting, "No, no, you're saying it wrong"? However right McCain be right on the issues (I have my opinions, others have theirs), rhetorically, he's playing Salieri to Obama's Mozart. This will be a problem.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Yanks 8, Astros 4
But first, last night's game.
Robby-Boy writes:
Yes, wow indeed. My second-day duties at the Texas Republican Convention kept Astro-Girl and I from making our seats until the second inning. Our Friday seats were in the mezzanine, which in Minute Maid, as in a few other parks, exists as a kind of isolated cheering section, almost a treehouse, separated from the rest of the stands except by a series of stairways and risers. The mezzanine has its own snack bar, rest rooms, and beer court. Its seats slope down at a dangerous-looking angle and--alone among the seats at Minute Maid--have no armrests.
What is most disturbing thing about the mezzanine is how its spectators cannot see balls hit below them, into the bleachers.
(Is baseball the only sport besides golf where a ticket doesn't guarantee a view of the entire event? Just thinking.)
Anywat, the score was 1-1 interminably through six innings, at which point Derek Jeter took a fastrball outisde and drove it to right field--and beneath my field of view. In such situations, when a 'Stros rival is well-represented (in most years, the Cards, Cubs, and Braves), one looks to who is cheering to make sense of the play.
So: the ball disappeared beneath the stands. I looked. Thousands below me, those in blue pinstripes and grey away jerseys marked JETER, RODRIGUEZ, and DIMAGGIO, jumped in the air. Enough for me. Home run.
So: 2-1, bottom ninth. In the context of Tiger Woods's latest exploits at Torrey Pines, I shouted to those around me "Watch, just watch!"
The Mo Rivera jog (more a glide) from the bullpen, ninth inning, one-run Yankee lead, must rank among the greatest anticipatory moments in sports, right up there with Woods taking his Sunday practice swings at Augusta and 45 doing lay-up drills in a clinching game.
So . . . ninth inning. I stand. I raise my hands to greet . . .
Oh. Kardiac Kyle.
The last time Kyle Farnsworth pitched at Minute Maid was the 2005 ALDS playoffs, during which he blew a five-run Brave lead: a Berkman grand slam followed by, the following inning, a Brad Ausmus homer that seemed to climb a ladder to the exact spot on the Minute Maid facade. The Astros tied the game, won in 18 innings (a story all its own) and made the first World Series in its history. And all because Kardiac Kyle, in the words of Jim Rome, burned Minute Maid to the ground.
So here he was. And worked through the ninth inning.
More tomorrow.
Robby-Boy writes:
What a great game. I told Ryan (his son, my nephew) you were at the game. I was so excited, and told me not to worry to Joba didn't get the win, he said he "pitched awesome" and will get his win soon!
Farnsworth in the 9th! Wow!
Yes, wow indeed. My second-day duties at the Texas Republican Convention kept Astro-Girl and I from making our seats until the second inning. Our Friday seats were in the mezzanine, which in Minute Maid, as in a few other parks, exists as a kind of isolated cheering section, almost a treehouse, separated from the rest of the stands except by a series of stairways and risers. The mezzanine has its own snack bar, rest rooms, and beer court. Its seats slope down at a dangerous-looking angle and--alone among the seats at Minute Maid--have no armrests.
What is most disturbing thing about the mezzanine is how its spectators cannot see balls hit below them, into the bleachers.
(Is baseball the only sport besides golf where a ticket doesn't guarantee a view of the entire event? Just thinking.)
Anywat, the score was 1-1 interminably through six innings, at which point Derek Jeter took a fastrball outisde and drove it to right field--and beneath my field of view. In such situations, when a 'Stros rival is well-represented (in most years, the Cards, Cubs, and Braves), one looks to who is cheering to make sense of the play.
So: the ball disappeared beneath the stands. I looked. Thousands below me, those in blue pinstripes and grey away jerseys marked JETER, RODRIGUEZ, and DIMAGGIO, jumped in the air. Enough for me. Home run.
So: 2-1, bottom ninth. In the context of Tiger Woods's latest exploits at Torrey Pines, I shouted to those around me "Watch, just watch!"
The Mo Rivera jog (more a glide) from the bullpen, ninth inning, one-run Yankee lead, must rank among the greatest anticipatory moments in sports, right up there with Woods taking his Sunday practice swings at Augusta and 45 doing lay-up drills in a clinching game.
So . . . ninth inning. I stand. I raise my hands to greet . . .
Oh. Kardiac Kyle.
The last time Kyle Farnsworth pitched at Minute Maid was the 2005 ALDS playoffs, during which he blew a five-run Brave lead: a Berkman grand slam followed by, the following inning, a Brad Ausmus homer that seemed to climb a ladder to the exact spot on the Minute Maid facade. The Astros tied the game, won in 18 innings (a story all its own) and made the first World Series in its history. And all because Kardiac Kyle, in the words of Jim Rome, burned Minute Maid to the ground.
So here he was. And worked through the ninth inning.
More tomorrow.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Yankees 4, A's 1
A full day of conventioneering, during which I missed Matsui's slammy and Pettitte's return from his should-have-been-a-debacle had it not been for the Yankees' three separate comebacks last Saturday.
And speaking of comebacks . . .
Anyone catch the Celtics-Lakers?
I did, at the end of the day, in a cigar bar on Kirby Drive, and spent the second half high-fiving the Chowderhead sitting behind me until my palms nearly bled.
At one point we were admonished by the bartender: "Hey, calm down guys, this ain't no f------ wing house!"
I had thought about going home at halftime, but I stayed to watch it all, and now I feel wicked smaht.
And speaking of comebacks . . .
Anyone catch the Celtics-Lakers?
I did, at the end of the day, in a cigar bar on Kirby Drive, and spent the second half high-fiving the Chowderhead sitting behind me until my palms nearly bled.
At one point we were admonished by the bartender: "Hey, calm down guys, this ain't no f------ wing house!"
I had thought about going home at halftime, but I stayed to watch it all, and now I feel wicked smaht.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Inquiring Minds
SunDevilJoe asks:
So, how do you choose Politcs over Baseball/Yanks-Astros as well as the US Open?
Ah, don't have to.
Tomorrow: Caucusing all day, til nine pm, with a time-out run to the hospitality room for a look at the ongoing US Open action, followed by Astros-Brewers at seven, supplemented by Lakers-Celtics. Home for Yankees-A's on YES at nine.
Friday: Astro-Girl drives me downtown in the morning. Conventioning all day, with a quick dash up the street at 2:30 with a meeting with the supervisor of my current moonlighting assignment, then back to the convention at 3. Quick look at the US Open. Back to the convention, right up until 6 pm . . . when Astro-Girl will screech to a halt in front of the George R. Brown Convention Center, armed with a change of clothes. Off comes the button-down, on go the pinstripes. We drive the three blocks to Minute Maid--for Yankees-Astros at seven. Then home for US Open highlights.
Saturday: Last day of the convention, a half-day. Easy: convention in the morning, US Open in the afternoon, Yankees-Astros at night.
Sunday: I sleep in. Yankees-Astros at one. Home for the back nine of the US Open. Then, Celtics-Lakers.
See? Easy.
So, how do you choose Politcs over Baseball/Yanks-Astros as well as the US Open?
Ah, don't have to.
Tomorrow: Caucusing all day, til nine pm, with a time-out run to the hospitality room for a look at the ongoing US Open action, followed by Astros-Brewers at seven, supplemented by Lakers-Celtics. Home for Yankees-A's on YES at nine.
Friday: Astro-Girl drives me downtown in the morning. Conventioning all day, with a quick dash up the street at 2:30 with a meeting with the supervisor of my current moonlighting assignment, then back to the convention at 3. Quick look at the US Open. Back to the convention, right up until 6 pm . . . when Astro-Girl will screech to a halt in front of the George R. Brown Convention Center, armed with a change of clothes. Off comes the button-down, on go the pinstripes. We drive the three blocks to Minute Maid--for Yankees-Astros at seven. Then home for US Open highlights.
Saturday: Last day of the convention, a half-day. Easy: convention in the morning, US Open in the afternoon, Yankees-Astros at night.
Sunday: I sleep in. Yankees-Astros at one. Home for the back nine of the US Open. Then, Celtics-Lakers.
See? Easy.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Yankees 3, A's 1
So off we go to one of the more eventful weeks of my life:
*I'm teaching three classes each day, plus two more on the weekend, which I've cancelled because . . .
*The Texas Republican State Convention is this weekend, and, as a delegate, I'm obliged to show up at Houston's George R. Brown Convention this Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I put myself in this place at the urging of Astro-Girl, who urged me to speak my mind at the Senate District Convention. Twelve of us stood for two spots. Each of us was allowed two minutes to speak our piece; I spoke, was elected, and now I have to balance my responsibilities to helping defeat Barack Obama with . . .
*Would you believe it? The Astros-Yankees series, the first ever and last--in Houston, at least--for the next six years. Everyone--everyone--who knows anything about Texas baseball (and it's not an insignificant body of knowledge) knows about the 1965 opening of the Astrodome, when the Yankees were recruited to provide exhibition opposition, and Mickey Mantle hit the first Dome home run in a 1-0 Yankee victory. Thirty-five years later, in 2000, when as-was Enron Field (eventually Minute Maid Park) opened, George Steinbrenner had enough sense of history (and let's say it, enough class) to agree to send the back-to-back World Series Champion Yankees back again, on a roundabout way home from Spring Training. This opening was less climactic, as forgettable Yankee Rickey Ledee hit the first Enron home run, and the Astros won 6-4 in a sloppy, subs-filled game.
Since then, the most memorable Astros-Yankees game has been the six-pitcher no-hitter the Astros threw against the Yankees at the Stadium in 2003; a game that caused me no end of grief at work. Maybe you can get used be called "Loser Boy." It did not help with my office mates that the Yankees won the next day, and in thrilling fashion; nor did it matter that the Yankees won the pennant in thrilling fashion (can anyone say "Aaron Boone"?) while the Astros lost their division on the second-to-last day of the season. I can't let my guys lose to the Astros, not now. Really, not ever.
*I'm teaching three classes each day, plus two more on the weekend, which I've cancelled because . . .
*The Texas Republican State Convention is this weekend, and, as a delegate, I'm obliged to show up at Houston's George R. Brown Convention this Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I put myself in this place at the urging of Astro-Girl, who urged me to speak my mind at the Senate District Convention. Twelve of us stood for two spots. Each of us was allowed two minutes to speak our piece; I spoke, was elected, and now I have to balance my responsibilities to helping defeat Barack Obama with . . .
*Would you believe it? The Astros-Yankees series, the first ever and last--in Houston, at least--for the next six years. Everyone--everyone--who knows anything about Texas baseball (and it's not an insignificant body of knowledge) knows about the 1965 opening of the Astrodome, when the Yankees were recruited to provide exhibition opposition, and Mickey Mantle hit the first Dome home run in a 1-0 Yankee victory. Thirty-five years later, in 2000, when as-was Enron Field (eventually Minute Maid Park) opened, George Steinbrenner had enough sense of history (and let's say it, enough class) to agree to send the back-to-back World Series Champion Yankees back again, on a roundabout way home from Spring Training. This opening was less climactic, as forgettable Yankee Rickey Ledee hit the first Enron home run, and the Astros won 6-4 in a sloppy, subs-filled game.
Since then, the most memorable Astros-Yankees game has been the six-pitcher no-hitter the Astros threw against the Yankees at the Stadium in 2003; a game that caused me no end of grief at work. Maybe you can get used be called "Loser Boy." It did not help with my office mates that the Yankees won the next day, and in thrilling fashion; nor did it matter that the Yankees won the pennant in thrilling fashion (can anyone say "Aaron Boone"?) while the Astros lost their division on the second-to-last day of the season. I can't let my guys lose to the Astros, not now. Really, not ever.
Yankees, Royals split
A mixed bag: twice in three days, a tie-breaking ninth inning home run off Mariano Rivera.
Then, yesterday. Another getaway game I missed.
It is fitting that the Yankees come to town this week to play the Astros; both teams are around .500 and both need to stop running in place.
Saturday's game, though memorable, should have been lost by the Yankees three different times, at deficits of 5-1, 10-6, and 11-10, when Mo surrendered the first of his two dingers.
So the question remains: what to do?
Oh, and happy birthday to Robby-Boy, fire fighter and photojournaolist extraodinaire, as well as my baby brother. Love you, kiddo.
Then, yesterday. Another getaway game I missed.
It is fitting that the Yankees come to town this week to play the Astros; both teams are around .500 and both need to stop running in place.
Saturday's game, though memorable, should have been lost by the Yankees three different times, at deficits of 5-1, 10-6, and 11-10, when Mo surrendered the first of his two dingers.
So the question remains: what to do?
Oh, and happy birthday to Robby-Boy, fire fighter and photojournaolist extraodinaire, as well as my baby brother. Love you, kiddo.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Yankees 12, Royals 11
So, let's keep count:
It is huge to come back from a four-run deficit; these Yankees did it twice in one game.
In fact, count up the number of times a lead in this game was erased, reversed, or won back.
Seven times.
That's a month.
Of course, I missed the whole freaking thing--maybe the most entertaining game of the season, between any two teams--thanks to the FOX embargo.
It is huge to come back from a four-run deficit; these Yankees did it twice in one game.
In fact, count up the number of times a lead in this game was erased, reversed, or won back.
Seven times.
That's a month.
Of course, I missed the whole freaking thing--maybe the most entertaining game of the season, between any two teams--thanks to the FOX embargo.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Yankees 12, Royals 11
Did I even get the score right? By my count, the lead was either erased, reversed, or won back eight different times.
Well, yeah, Fox took the game right out of my ambit. So I missed the best game of the year.
Well, yeah, Fox took the game right out of my ambit. So I missed the best game of the year.
Royals 2, Yankees 1
Another wasted gem from Ranser.
Face it: we knew the game was over when Melky popped up with one out and Cano on third. It was that kind of game.
Face it: we knew the game was over when Melky popped up with one out and Cano on third. It was that kind of game.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Yankees 5, Blue Jays 1; Yankees 9, Blue Jays 8
About the first game: has Moose discovered the fountain of . . . something? Perhaps the fountain of the Hall of Fame. 300 wins and he's in; he's pushing 260 as we speak. Anyone doubt he goes to 270 at least this year, then--at a mimimum--gets 10 wins a year through 2011?
Run support be damned. You're a major-league pitcher. They give you the ball. You win or you lose. Moose, at this point, has nine of the Yankee 30 wins to this point.
Make no mistake: he's still got it. The as-usual wretched home plate umpiring of the worst umpire on earth, C.V. Buckner, cost Moose an extra 20 pitches.
About the second game: well, damn. Sounded like the best game of the year, Giambi with the walk-off.
I was teaching.
Well, great.
Run support be damned. You're a major-league pitcher. They give you the ball. You win or you lose. Moose, at this point, has nine of the Yankee 30 wins to this point.
Make no mistake: he's still got it. The as-usual wretched home plate umpiring of the worst umpire on earth, C.V. Buckner, cost Moose an extra 20 pitches.
About the second game: well, damn. Sounded like the best game of the year, Giambi with the walk-off.
I was teaching.
Well, great.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Blue Jays 9, Yankees 3
It took all of two innings to demonstrate the obvious: this is one wicked roll of the dice.
Since Labor Day of last year, the most consistent portion of the Yankees--really, the only consistent portion of the Yankees--has been Joba and Mo at the back of the bullpen. Wang has come close at times; the rest of the rotation has been up and down. MVP A-Rod suffered another miserable October and was hurt for much of this year. Cano and Giambi were catatonic for this season's first six weeks. Damon was hurt, then Posada. Jeter has been mostly excellent, but week in, week out, what has kept the Yankees afloat has been their ability to take a lead after 21 outs and make it stand up.
So: mostly because Hughes has been hurt and ineffective, and because Kennedy has had tweo really good starts all year, Cashman and Girardi basically have decided to break up a pair to go for a straight. Which is something you do in spring training, not while you're trying to hang on to the outer edges of contention in June.
We have already seen the short-term effect of Joba's move out of the pen: one loss, at least, on Monday (thank you, Kardiac Kyle). Now this.
Well, let's reserve judgment, anyhow.
Since Labor Day of last year, the most consistent portion of the Yankees--really, the only consistent portion of the Yankees--has been Joba and Mo at the back of the bullpen. Wang has come close at times; the rest of the rotation has been up and down. MVP A-Rod suffered another miserable October and was hurt for much of this year. Cano and Giambi were catatonic for this season's first six weeks. Damon was hurt, then Posada. Jeter has been mostly excellent, but week in, week out, what has kept the Yankees afloat has been their ability to take a lead after 21 outs and make it stand up.
So: mostly because Hughes has been hurt and ineffective, and because Kennedy has had tweo really good starts all year, Cashman and Girardi basically have decided to break up a pair to go for a straight. Which is something you do in spring training, not while you're trying to hang on to the outer edges of contention in June.
We have already seen the short-term effect of Joba's move out of the pen: one loss, at least, on Monday (thank you, Kardiac Kyle). Now this.
Well, let's reserve judgment, anyhow.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Yankees 7, Twins 6 (12)
Missed Friday's game--found out about by fishing Saturday's sports section out of a wastebasket in the Isle of Capri poker room.
Got home in time for extra innings.
Isd Ohlendorf for real?
Got home in time for extra innings.
Isd Ohlendorf for real?
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Yankees 4, Orioles 2
Well, I was out all last night, and so missed the game.
My recovery from that 24-hour Alien-in-John-Hurt's-stomach-thing has gone well . . . straight into my birthday, which was today.
The first sign was a phone call from one of my brothers: "I saw the Indy 500, and it reminded me your birthday was coming up. So happy birthday."
Then, on my cell phone duet, Mom and Dad from Scottsdale, singing happy birthday to me. Sweet. I played in on speaker to Astro-Girl.
And: from Astro-Girl:
1) Dinner out last night (steak you could cut with a fork); dinner in tonight (take-out sushi, to which of course SunDevil Joe always responds, "Well, you know, the only real sushi is in Tokyo." Yeah, yeah. Gotcha.)
2) Some Mad Money for my birthday trek to the poker tables of Lake Charles with my brother-in-law (he, Alpha Male Complete, always plays No Limit with Teddy KGB; I, an English teacher, play 3-6-12 with the other tourists, and such is the difference between our games that once my table lost complete interest in a heads-up match, and instead concentrated on game at my BOL's table, during which the mound of red chips formed a pile approximating the dimensions of a pitcher's mound).
3) The gift to end all gifts: Box and Club-Level seats to the New York Yankees-Houston Astros series in June. The Yankees have played twice before in Houston, both times in an exhibition appearance, both times celebrating the opening of a new ballpark: the Astrodome in 1965 (it is drilled into Houston schoolchildren that Mickey Mantle hit the first Astrodome home run, in a 1-0 game), and the (ahem) as-was Enron Field in 2000 (not so dramatic: Yankee Ricky Ledee hit the first home run, and the Astros won 6-4, in a sloppy game. I was there.). However, this is the first Astros-Yankees game in Houston that will count. With the Astros giving the Cubs and Cards chase in the NL Central, and Yankees . . . oh, just never mind . . . these games may count a lot.
My recovery from that 24-hour Alien-in-John-Hurt's-stomach-thing has gone well . . . straight into my birthday, which was today.
The first sign was a phone call from one of my brothers: "I saw the Indy 500, and it reminded me your birthday was coming up. So happy birthday."
Then, on my cell phone duet, Mom and Dad from Scottsdale, singing happy birthday to me. Sweet. I played in on speaker to Astro-Girl.
And: from Astro-Girl:
1) Dinner out last night (steak you could cut with a fork); dinner in tonight (take-out sushi, to which of course SunDevil Joe always responds, "Well, you know, the only real sushi is in Tokyo." Yeah, yeah. Gotcha.)
2) Some Mad Money for my birthday trek to the poker tables of Lake Charles with my brother-in-law (he, Alpha Male Complete, always plays No Limit with Teddy KGB; I, an English teacher, play 3-6-12 with the other tourists, and such is the difference between our games that once my table lost complete interest in a heads-up match, and instead concentrated on game at my BOL's table, during which the mound of red chips formed a pile approximating the dimensions of a pitcher's mound).
3) The gift to end all gifts: Box and Club-Level seats to the New York Yankees-Houston Astros series in June. The Yankees have played twice before in Houston, both times in an exhibition appearance, both times celebrating the opening of a new ballpark: the Astrodome in 1965 (it is drilled into Houston schoolchildren that Mickey Mantle hit the first Astrodome home run, in a 1-0 game), and the (ahem) as-was Enron Field in 2000 (not so dramatic: Yankee Ricky Ledee hit the first home run, and the Astros won 6-4, in a sloppy game. I was there.). However, this is the first Astros-Yankees game in Houston that will count. With the Astros giving the Cubs and Cards chase in the NL Central, and Yankees . . . oh, just never mind . . . these games may count a lot.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
"National Primary Vote"
Brendan Loy over at Irish Trojan posts an interesting Hillary missive.
for those who wonder what the next tactic is, you should--as Brendan suggests--pay attention to this phrase:
"National Primary Vote."
In other words, if you discount all the caucus states (including Iowa) and if you include Florida (where no one was supposed to campaign) and if you include Michigan (where only Hillary was on the ballot, and therefore won like thirty billion to nothing). . . do all these things and--presto!--Hillary has a majority!
Two thoughts:
1. If this is an endgame, then--really and truly--Obama is getting off easy. Many Dems just don't know how easy. Bill Clinton was found playing Baron and the Milkmaid with the help in the Oval Office, and such was the brilliance and savagery of the counter-attack, that before the year was out, two GOP Speakers were out of a job. (Yes, yes, GOP over-reaching, blah blah blah, but any of the other 41 Presidents would have resigned on the spot.)
2. Ever since Barack Hussein Obama-drug dealing-roll the dice-like a pillow all fell flat, it's been clear that one of two things have occurred. Either the Clintons have decided that nothing's going to stick, or else their saving their endgame for right before Denver (W's drunk driving, anyone?).
right now--in part because he's a Democrat, in part because she wants on the ticket, in part because there may actually be nothing there--I think the second is true.
for those who wonder what the next tactic is, you should--as Brendan suggests--pay attention to this phrase:
"National Primary Vote."
In other words, if you discount all the caucus states (including Iowa) and if you include Florida (where no one was supposed to campaign) and if you include Michigan (where only Hillary was on the ballot, and therefore won like thirty billion to nothing). . . do all these things and--presto!--Hillary has a majority!
Two thoughts:
1. If this is an endgame, then--really and truly--Obama is getting off easy. Many Dems just don't know how easy. Bill Clinton was found playing Baron and the Milkmaid with the help in the Oval Office, and such was the brilliance and savagery of the counter-attack, that before the year was out, two GOP Speakers were out of a job. (Yes, yes, GOP over-reaching, blah blah blah, but any of the other 41 Presidents would have resigned on the spot.)
2. Ever since Barack Hussein Obama-drug dealing-roll the dice-like a pillow all fell flat, it's been clear that one of two things have occurred. Either the Clintons have decided that nothing's going to stick, or else their saving their endgame for right before Denver (W's drunk driving, anyone?).
right now--in part because he's a Democrat, in part because she wants on the ticket, in part because there may actually be nothing there--I think the second is true.
"Lay off my wife"
No. Sorry, no.
Not that what I think matters, but:
There really needs to be a bill of particulars regarding who or what is liable for criticism in a presidential campaign.
Rule number one is the same rule as poker:
You can't lose what you don't push to the middle.
Conversely, what you do push to the middle is fair game.
I probably enjoyed The West Wing more than I should have, perhaps because part of the reason I enjoyed it was as a liberal fantasy of a more perfect Bill Clinton: a man possessed of all the requisite political and rhetorical brilliance, but without the horror show of a marriage, without the scandals, and without the shamelessness (the last part, something the Obamites have come to experience).
What counted for a scandal in The West Wing--wht occupied parts of two seasons, for God's sake--was the hero's ability to function as President while keeping quiet his multiple sclerosis, and his MD wife's efforts to medicate him. What President Bartlett made clear throughout his presidency--in other words, throughout the series--that his three daughters were off-limits. They didn't campaign, they didn't publicly speak, they were private citizens, they were off-limits. ("We don't even put them on our White House Christmas cards!" Bartlett raged at one point.)
My thought at the time: Okay, fair enough.
Things were (and until now have been) a little grayer with the real-life Bartlett daughter, Chelsea Clinton. As a teenager, and moreso as a double for the tambourine player on The Partridge Family, she was trotted out and referred to chiefly as a witness to her parents' enduring love. Lately (and not coincidentally), having come out of her ugly stage a hot little number, she's been a central figure in her mother's campaign, at one point sent to have breakfast with a (presumably) horny 21 year-old superdelegate. When David Schuster referred to Chelsea as "pimped out," his language may have been too harsh, but he was onto something.
The inference that Chelsea (who, by the way, is one year older than the age at which Bill's hero Jack Kennedy was elected to Congress) is beyond criticism is ludicrous. So it is with Michelle. You campaign, you take your chances like everyone else.
Jonah Goldberg states it best: "I, for one, want to hear more from her, and she seems perfectly willing to oblige. But if I don’t like what she has to say, I reserve the right to say so, whether her husband finds it acceptable or not."
A small point, leading to a larger one. Throughout the summer, the GOP will be lectured by The New York Times,
CNN and Chris Matthews about what is off-limits: not only Obama's spouse, middle name and past connections, but also his statements, voting record, positions, gaffes, running mate, plus every else plus its opposite: everything, in other words, besides George Bush's record in Iraq, health care, foreclosures and the price of gas.
What McCain unloads on Obama will not be half of what Hillary's crowd came up with. If Haley Barbour (who, if not McCain's running mate, will be roughly analogous to Billy Shaheen) ever called Obama a drug dealer, the race would be over. But eventually, one Republican after another will be driven to ask, "Are we allowed to campaign too?"
Not that what I think matters, but:
There really needs to be a bill of particulars regarding who or what is liable for criticism in a presidential campaign.
Rule number one is the same rule as poker:
You can't lose what you don't push to the middle.
Conversely, what you do push to the middle is fair game.
I probably enjoyed The West Wing more than I should have, perhaps because part of the reason I enjoyed it was as a liberal fantasy of a more perfect Bill Clinton: a man possessed of all the requisite political and rhetorical brilliance, but without the horror show of a marriage, without the scandals, and without the shamelessness (the last part, something the Obamites have come to experience).
What counted for a scandal in The West Wing--wht occupied parts of two seasons, for God's sake--was the hero's ability to function as President while keeping quiet his multiple sclerosis, and his MD wife's efforts to medicate him. What President Bartlett made clear throughout his presidency--in other words, throughout the series--that his three daughters were off-limits. They didn't campaign, they didn't publicly speak, they were private citizens, they were off-limits. ("We don't even put them on our White House Christmas cards!" Bartlett raged at one point.)
My thought at the time: Okay, fair enough.
Things were (and until now have been) a little grayer with the real-life Bartlett daughter, Chelsea Clinton. As a teenager, and moreso as a double for the tambourine player on The Partridge Family, she was trotted out and referred to chiefly as a witness to her parents' enduring love. Lately (and not coincidentally), having come out of her ugly stage a hot little number, she's been a central figure in her mother's campaign, at one point sent to have breakfast with a (presumably) horny 21 year-old superdelegate. When David Schuster referred to Chelsea as "pimped out," his language may have been too harsh, but he was onto something.
The inference that Chelsea (who, by the way, is one year older than the age at which Bill's hero Jack Kennedy was elected to Congress) is beyond criticism is ludicrous. So it is with Michelle. You campaign, you take your chances like everyone else.
Jonah Goldberg states it best: "I, for one, want to hear more from her, and she seems perfectly willing to oblige. But if I don’t like what she has to say, I reserve the right to say so, whether her husband finds it acceptable or not."
A small point, leading to a larger one. Throughout the summer, the GOP will be lectured by The New York Times,
CNN and Chris Matthews about what is off-limits: not only Obama's spouse, middle name and past connections, but also his statements, voting record, positions, gaffes, running mate, plus every else plus its opposite: everything, in other words, besides George Bush's record in Iraq, health care, foreclosures and the price of gas.
What McCain unloads on Obama will not be half of what Hillary's crowd came up with. If Haley Barbour (who, if not McCain's running mate, will be roughly analogous to Billy Shaheen) ever called Obama a drug dealer, the race would be over. But eventually, one Republican after another will be driven to ask, "Are we allowed to campaign too?"
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Orioles 10, Yankees 9 (11)
The good news is, I'm feeling better.
The bad news is, right after the Yankees wasted three shutout innings from Kyle/Mo, and then took the lead on a clutch two-out hit from Matsui (after a tough A-Rod double play) there was Human Torch Hawkins, right there, ready to do his best.
So let me get this straight. A-Rod is coming off injury, Posada too. Cano and Giambi are rounding into form, Matsui is playing the ball of his life, Melky cruises along, Jeter is Jeter, and Abreu is Abreu. The hitting will be there.
Meanwhile: Wang will win 17-20; Pettitte and Moose will get theirs, Rasner is this season's discovery, Kennedy will be up and down, and for God's sake, won't Phil Hughes do something?
And, oh yeah, Mo Rivera, with his 0.40 ERA, is pretty much your AL Cy Young Award-winner at the quarter pole.
And, at the very tipping point of the season, Girardi and the brass want to go off and experiment with Joba, who would have made a fool of those Orioles tonight.
The bad news is, right after the Yankees wasted three shutout innings from Kyle/Mo, and then took the lead on a clutch two-out hit from Matsui (after a tough A-Rod double play) there was Human Torch Hawkins, right there, ready to do his best.
So let me get this straight. A-Rod is coming off injury, Posada too. Cano and Giambi are rounding into form, Matsui is playing the ball of his life, Melky cruises along, Jeter is Jeter, and Abreu is Abreu. The hitting will be there.
Meanwhile: Wang will win 17-20; Pettitte and Moose will get theirs, Rasner is this season's discovery, Kennedy will be up and down, and for God's sake, won't Phil Hughes do something?
And, oh yeah, Mo Rivera, with his 0.40 ERA, is pretty much your AL Cy Young Award-winner at the quarter pole.
And, at the very tipping point of the season, Girardi and the brass want to go off and experiment with Joba, who would have made a fool of those Orioles tonight.
Orioles 8, Yankees 1
I was under the weather all day yesterday, and this didn't help.
Don't blame Rasner--how do you win without runs?
This is one of those closer-than-the-score-indicated games--a pitcher's duel until the seventh--at which point LaTroy Hawkins unloaded his tank of kerosene all over Camden Yards, and was quickly followed by his friends: Sparky, Human Torch and Fire Marshall Bill.
Don't blame Rasner--how do you win without runs?
This is one of those closer-than-the-score-indicated games--a pitcher's duel until the seventh--at which point LaTroy Hawkins unloaded his tank of kerosene all over Camden Yards, and was quickly followed by his friends: Sparky, Human Torch and Fire Marshall Bill.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Yankees 6, Mariners 5
Oh my, what a marvelous game.
With Giambi and Cano coming around, with A-Rod back, the Yankee lineup may finally be acquiring some fearsomeness.
This game had every indication of falling into the arrgh! category. You know: the sort of game you would give anything to replay, just because your guys are so much better, just because your guys kept hitting lasers straight at the other guys and the other guys hit bloopers that somehow fell in.
It was nice to see Arthur Rhodes, though, such a presence in huge Yankee victories down through the years.
What helped today was Matsui in the eighth: busting it out of the box for an infield hit, busting it to second on the throw at the plate on Cano's fly, busting it home on Molina's double--Matsui with the winning run, twice in four days. (Not to be the turd in the punchbowl, but as good as Molina has served as Georgie's fill-in, he could have moved his wide load a little faster out of the box, given that Ichiro was fast after his ball in center.)
While watching the game today, I was struck by the notion that Wang seems to miss Posada more than any other Yankee pitcher does. For all his vaunted chemistry with Spanish pitchers (anyone remember his run-in with El Duque: "Throw a fastball, you f****** pussy!"?), Posada seems to have a special relationship with Wang: Wang's arm motion, his pitch selection. Posada and Wang seem to talk more between innings than any other battery. Posada--who really does deserve co-captain status with Jeter--has, at least on the field, treated Wang as a younger brother since Wang's arrival.
There will be no real Yankee season without Posada. He, Jeter, A-Rod, Rivera comprise the franchise.
Okay, that's tomorrow's problem.
But for today: please, what a marvelous game.
Sunday in the Bronx. Cloudless day. Believe me: Heaven. I've been there before. I wish I had been there today. What a marvelous, marvelous, marvelous game.
With Giambi and Cano coming around, with A-Rod back, the Yankee lineup may finally be acquiring some fearsomeness.
This game had every indication of falling into the arrgh! category. You know: the sort of game you would give anything to replay, just because your guys are so much better, just because your guys kept hitting lasers straight at the other guys and the other guys hit bloopers that somehow fell in.
It was nice to see Arthur Rhodes, though, such a presence in huge Yankee victories down through the years.
What helped today was Matsui in the eighth: busting it out of the box for an infield hit, busting it to second on the throw at the plate on Cano's fly, busting it home on Molina's double--Matsui with the winning run, twice in four days. (Not to be the turd in the punchbowl, but as good as Molina has served as Georgie's fill-in, he could have moved his wide load a little faster out of the box, given that Ichiro was fast after his ball in center.)
While watching the game today, I was struck by the notion that Wang seems to miss Posada more than any other Yankee pitcher does. For all his vaunted chemistry with Spanish pitchers (anyone remember his run-in with El Duque: "Throw a fastball, you f****** pussy!"?), Posada seems to have a special relationship with Wang: Wang's arm motion, his pitch selection. Posada and Wang seem to talk more between innings than any other battery. Posada--who really does deserve co-captain status with Jeter--has, at least on the field, treated Wang as a younger brother since Wang's arrival.
There will be no real Yankee season without Posada. He, Jeter, A-Rod, Rivera comprise the franchise.
Okay, that's tomorrow's problem.
But for today: please, what a marvelous game.
Sunday in the Bronx. Cloudless day. Believe me: Heaven. I've been there before. I wish I had been there today. What a marvelous, marvelous, marvelous game.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Yankees 2, Orioles 1
Biggest win of the year?
Yes.
Most necessary win of the year?
Yes.
Good Lord, the way the Yankees converged around Cano, it was like somebody had just won Game Seven.
Easy, boys.
And yet.
Tonight, we saw Robinson Mendoza come up with maybe his third important hit of the season. We saw Ian Kennedy pitch the game of his short career (don't tell me about the Birds, who chased Moose in the first two days ago). We saw, Lord Sakes, Kardiac Kyle go 1-2-3 in the eighth, in place of Joba Who Will Start Soon.
Rivera, okay.
This, tonight, is the team the Yankees need. They must understand the risk here, breaking up the one thing that has worked all season, the starter-Kyle-Joba-Mo baton that has preserved whatever lead the Yanks could hold through six innings.
Starter has to go six, minimum. Kyle has to throw strikes. Mo has to be Mo.
And. And, they gotta hit the ball.
And. Yeah, Girardi, nice dramatics.
Best win of the season.
Yes.
Most necessary win of the year?
Yes.
Good Lord, the way the Yankees converged around Cano, it was like somebody had just won Game Seven.
Easy, boys.
And yet.
Tonight, we saw Robinson Mendoza come up with maybe his third important hit of the season. We saw Ian Kennedy pitch the game of his short career (don't tell me about the Birds, who chased Moose in the first two days ago). We saw, Lord Sakes, Kardiac Kyle go 1-2-3 in the eighth, in place of Joba Who Will Start Soon.
Rivera, okay.
This, tonight, is the team the Yankees need. They must understand the risk here, breaking up the one thing that has worked all season, the starter-Kyle-Joba-Mo baton that has preserved whatever lead the Yanks could hold through six innings.
Starter has to go six, minimum. Kyle has to throw strikes. Mo has to be Mo.
And. And, they gotta hit the ball.
And. Yeah, Girardi, nice dramatics.
Best win of the season.
Yankees 8, Orioles 0
Saw this one via the scoreboard at Minute Maid (and by the way, Blue, have you been noticing the Astros lately? If Roy Oswalt were anything like his dominating self, they'd be five games in front already).
Came home to find out the A-Rod seems fine, the Darrell Rasner might be this year's Aaron Small; and that Joba is set to move from the pen to the rotation.
It's hard to imagine the Yankees playing as poorly as they have for the last two weeks. Moose, who fopr awhile looked like circa '97, didn't get out of the first on Tuesday, against Baltimore. Pettitte struggles to put together two good starts in a row. Even Wang (who Joe Morgan awarded the Cy Young Award to last night, before he went out and got banged around by the Mets) is up and down. Phil Hughes is hurt and wasn't terribly effective before that. Ian Kennedy tries.
And the rotation, of course, has been only the second-worst thing about the Yanks in May. A projected rotation of, say, Wang, Moose, Pettitte, Joba and (for now) Rasner is a pretty decent one, but there are times when a team simply must go out and win 12-10. This Yankee team has shown no indication it is capable of that.
Still, good to get A-Rod back.
Came home to find out the A-Rod seems fine, the Darrell Rasner might be this year's Aaron Small; and that Joba is set to move from the pen to the rotation.
It's hard to imagine the Yankees playing as poorly as they have for the last two weeks. Moose, who fopr awhile looked like circa '97, didn't get out of the first on Tuesday, against Baltimore. Pettitte struggles to put together two good starts in a row. Even Wang (who Joe Morgan awarded the Cy Young Award to last night, before he went out and got banged around by the Mets) is up and down. Phil Hughes is hurt and wasn't terribly effective before that. Ian Kennedy tries.
And the rotation, of course, has been only the second-worst thing about the Yanks in May. A projected rotation of, say, Wang, Moose, Pettitte, Joba and (for now) Rasner is a pretty decent one, but there are times when a team simply must go out and win 12-10. This Yankee team has shown no indication it is capable of that.
Still, good to get A-Rod back.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Mets 6, Yankees 4
To amend: when you hit three home runs off Johan Santana, you have to win.
Last place II, Electrice Bogaloo
Last place II, Electrice Bogaloo
Friday, May 16, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Yankees 2, Rays 1
I say it here . . .
It comes out there.
Understand: Moose pitched 6 1/3 scoreless innings before being lifted (though he was charged with the Rays' lone run), and Joba pitched a scoreless eighth and Mo shook off the previous night with a 1-2-3 ninth. In other words, the pitching was about as good as you could hope for, especially in that little basketball arena they call a baseball field.
The result? A one-run victory. Thanks to contributions by, of all people, Ronbinson Mendoza, er, Cano, and Morgan Ensberg.
Cano did have a sweet none-out over-the-shoulder catch in the ninth, which pretty much sealed the game. Most times, the only way to beat Rivera is to get the lead-off man on, send in a pinch-runner if you need to, then move him around the bases (see Roberts, Dave).
Yeah, yeah, the '98 Yankees won a lot of games by one run. Tell it to the Marines: those Yanks won plenty of games by ten runs as well, and that ain't happening any time soon, not with these guys.
Two other things.
When one of the announcers remarked that the Yankees would not return to Tampa until September, I caught myself feeling relieved. The days of going 14-5 against the Rays are on hold.
But really, outside of White Sox telecasts, has there been a more brutal listening experience than the last three nights? Some yahoo with a cowbell found himself near a microphone, next to a guy with an air horn, next to a kid who yelled, "EAAAAASY OUT!!" every time a Yankee came to bat.
Three nights in a row, without fail:
Yankee batter announced.
Cowbell.
Air horn.
"EAAAAAASY OUT!!"
A brief flurry of play.
Next Yankee batter announced.
Cowbell.
Air horn.
"EAAAAAASY OUT!!"
The good news is, they get to go to Shea now.
To face, tomorrow night, Johan Santana.
If the Yanks get a solid start (2 runs or less through six, 3 runs or less through 7) from Wang, Moose, or Pettitte, or if they have a lead after six and give the ball to Farnsworth, or if they lead late and give it to Joba and/or Mo, they simply have to win.
It comes out there.
Understand: Moose pitched 6 1/3 scoreless innings before being lifted (though he was charged with the Rays' lone run), and Joba pitched a scoreless eighth and Mo shook off the previous night with a 1-2-3 ninth. In other words, the pitching was about as good as you could hope for, especially in that little basketball arena they call a baseball field.
The result? A one-run victory. Thanks to contributions by, of all people, Ronbinson Mendoza, er, Cano, and Morgan Ensberg.
Cano did have a sweet none-out over-the-shoulder catch in the ninth, which pretty much sealed the game. Most times, the only way to beat Rivera is to get the lead-off man on, send in a pinch-runner if you need to, then move him around the bases (see Roberts, Dave).
Yeah, yeah, the '98 Yankees won a lot of games by one run. Tell it to the Marines: those Yanks won plenty of games by ten runs as well, and that ain't happening any time soon, not with these guys.
Two other things.
When one of the announcers remarked that the Yankees would not return to Tampa until September, I caught myself feeling relieved. The days of going 14-5 against the Rays are on hold.
But really, outside of White Sox telecasts, has there been a more brutal listening experience than the last three nights? Some yahoo with a cowbell found himself near a microphone, next to a guy with an air horn, next to a kid who yelled, "EAAAAASY OUT!!" every time a Yankee came to bat.
Three nights in a row, without fail:
Yankee batter announced.
Cowbell.
Air horn.
"EAAAAAASY OUT!!"
A brief flurry of play.
Next Yankee batter announced.
Cowbell.
Air horn.
"EAAAAAASY OUT!!"
The good news is, they get to go to Shea now.
To face, tomorrow night, Johan Santana.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
No margin for error, cont.
Reader Blue writes:
Let us understand what this status means. Absent A-Rod and Posada for now, absent any meaningful contribution from either Hughes or Kennedy (I honestly, out of the blocks, would have settled for one of two), absent any meaningful production out of Cano or Giambi, the Yanks simply cannot lose a game llike last night's: a solid start (1 run, 7 innings) from Wang, timely hitting late from Matsui, and an appearance from Fanrsworth, Joba and Mo. For the nest three weeks or so, there will be too many 7-1 and 9-3 games, too many 5-0 deficits by the third inning. Too many times the Yankees are simply outslugged, outpitched, outran, outcaught, outfielded.
If the Yanks get a solid start (2 runs or less through six, 3 runs or less through 7) from Wang, Moose, or Pettitte, or if they have a lead after six and give the ball to Farnsworth, or if they lead late and give it to Joba and/or Mo, they simply have to win.
One key: In the space of two weeks, the catching situation has gone from Well-at-least-we-have-Molina to Molina-at-.205-is-killing-us. When the bats are cranking, Molina, in for Georgie, is content to move runners over in the eighth hole, call his game and throw base stealers out. Now? When he came to bat last night, Kenny Singleton noted his 0-for-11 and pronounced him "due."
Uh, no. David Ortiz at .205 is "due." Albert Pujols at .205 is "due." Jose Molina at .205 is . . . Jose Molina, another dead spot in an order that recedes, some nights, to Jeter, Abreu, Matsui and six other guys leaving the tying run at third yet again.
The one saving grace is the so-far mediocrity of the American League. As of last night, with about a fourth of the season played, 11 of the league's 14 teams were jamed between 18 and 24 wins. Unless the Red Sox or maybe the Angels slam it in gear (and don't bet against either) 95 wins appears to be the ceiling.
Say, 92 for the Wild Card.
74-50 from here on in.
As Rocco Lampone said to Michael Coreleone: Difficult. Not impossible.
Or rather, turn it around.
Not impossible. But (in the team's current composition) difficult.
No margin for error. So now all you Yankee fans know what it's like to be "gulp!" average. It hurts doesn't it?
It's not so fun to pretend you have players that only a payroll of only $60 million can buy, is it?
Let us understand what this status means. Absent A-Rod and Posada for now, absent any meaningful contribution from either Hughes or Kennedy (I honestly, out of the blocks, would have settled for one of two), absent any meaningful production out of Cano or Giambi, the Yanks simply cannot lose a game llike last night's: a solid start (1 run, 7 innings) from Wang, timely hitting late from Matsui, and an appearance from Fanrsworth, Joba and Mo. For the nest three weeks or so, there will be too many 7-1 and 9-3 games, too many 5-0 deficits by the third inning. Too many times the Yankees are simply outslugged, outpitched, outran, outcaught, outfielded.
If the Yanks get a solid start (2 runs or less through six, 3 runs or less through 7) from Wang, Moose, or Pettitte, or if they have a lead after six and give the ball to Farnsworth, or if they lead late and give it to Joba and/or Mo, they simply have to win.
One key: In the space of two weeks, the catching situation has gone from Well-at-least-we-have-Molina to Molina-at-.205-is-killing-us. When the bats are cranking, Molina, in for Georgie, is content to move runners over in the eighth hole, call his game and throw base stealers out. Now? When he came to bat last night, Kenny Singleton noted his 0-for-11 and pronounced him "due."
Uh, no. David Ortiz at .205 is "due." Albert Pujols at .205 is "due." Jose Molina at .205 is . . . Jose Molina, another dead spot in an order that recedes, some nights, to Jeter, Abreu, Matsui and six other guys leaving the tying run at third yet again.
The one saving grace is the so-far mediocrity of the American League. As of last night, with about a fourth of the season played, 11 of the league's 14 teams were jamed between 18 and 24 wins. Unless the Red Sox or maybe the Angels slam it in gear (and don't bet against either) 95 wins appears to be the ceiling.
Say, 92 for the Wild Card.
74-50 from here on in.
As Rocco Lampone said to Michael Coreleone: Difficult. Not impossible.
Or rather, turn it around.
Not impossible. But (in the team's current composition) difficult.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Rays 2, Yankees 1 (11)
I actually saw this coming.
No, really: Norm Chad, an entertaining enough talker and writer for about half as long as he thinks he is (he's like a guy going through a divorce who just had three beers, whose bitterness and bile spur him on to a few hilarious riffs, after which the laughter encourages him waaaay too much, so he talks for 15 minutes longer than he should)--but someone who, when writing about, you know, sports, knows crap-all.
Put it this way: Tony Kornheiser is the thinking man's Norm Chad.
There, I said it.
So Chad's column today advanced this idea: Mariano Rivera could finish the year with a 0.00 ERA!
So, of course, when Rivera came in in the 10th, I knew the Yanks were toast.
Never mind Giambi "guarding the lines" (translation: moving to the left of the precise location the ball was hit), Rivera was done.
The Yanks have to win games like this. Absent A-Rod and Posada, the team's margin of error is just too narrow.
No, really: Norm Chad, an entertaining enough talker and writer for about half as long as he thinks he is (he's like a guy going through a divorce who just had three beers, whose bitterness and bile spur him on to a few hilarious riffs, after which the laughter encourages him waaaay too much, so he talks for 15 minutes longer than he should)--but someone who, when writing about, you know, sports, knows crap-all.
Put it this way: Tony Kornheiser is the thinking man's Norm Chad.
There, I said it.
So Chad's column today advanced this idea: Mariano Rivera could finish the year with a 0.00 ERA!
So, of course, when Rivera came in in the 10th, I knew the Yanks were toast.
Never mind Giambi "guarding the lines" (translation: moving to the left of the precise location the ball was hit), Rivera was done.
The Yanks have to win games like this. Absent A-Rod and Posada, the team's margin of error is just too narrow.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Now, where was I?
Personal note: this was my first year wholly back in the classroom, after a dozen years as head of some department, call it English or Arts & Humanities or what have you. Hence, I was, for the first time since 1995, taken wholly by surprise by the storm surge of papers, finals and end-of-semester paperwork that hit me--always, always worse in spring than in fall.
My sister-in-law's son is two-and-a-half. I stacked everything I would need to read and mark up, as a prelude to addding up and assigning a grade, and had my nephew stand next to the stack. The pile reached the top portion of his kneecap.
What happens in these times is that baseball games race past you like picket fences on Route 95--you find out, Wait, an afternoon game? Who knew? You hear Moose has won his fourth game in a row--another step closer to an improbable Hall of Fame plaque, and you missed the whole thing.
Then, step out on a Friday night--bang, a loss.
Then, Saturday, another Fox plot to rob you of your viewing pleasure. A Yankee-Tiger game taken off YES, and put on Fox, but not your Fox affiliate, since Fox has determined that everyone who lives between Philadelphia and Denver must be a Cubs fan. A hundred-and-twenty Cubs games go out on basic cable every year, yet Fox grabs the Cubs, then grabs the Yankees, and freezes seventy percent of the country out of the Yankee game.
The current Fox arrangement is almost as bad as CBS's brief, unfortunate foray into baseball starting in 1990, during which the network bought baseball in order to bury it, save for the All-Star Game, the post-season, and a mere nine Saturday games, which qualified as a sop to real baseball fans (like my father, my brothers, and myself) who had fallen in love with baseball mainly through NBC's annual 25 Saturday Games of the Week.
So: I've caught up. And Rasner and Moose have won a combined six in a row.
Finals, man. You have no idea.
Some ideas about the Yankees. Tomorrow.
My sister-in-law's son is two-and-a-half. I stacked everything I would need to read and mark up, as a prelude to addding up and assigning a grade, and had my nephew stand next to the stack. The pile reached the top portion of his kneecap.
What happens in these times is that baseball games race past you like picket fences on Route 95--you find out, Wait, an afternoon game? Who knew? You hear Moose has won his fourth game in a row--another step closer to an improbable Hall of Fame plaque, and you missed the whole thing.
Then, step out on a Friday night--bang, a loss.
Then, Saturday, another Fox plot to rob you of your viewing pleasure. A Yankee-Tiger game taken off YES, and put on Fox, but not your Fox affiliate, since Fox has determined that everyone who lives between Philadelphia and Denver must be a Cubs fan. A hundred-and-twenty Cubs games go out on basic cable every year, yet Fox grabs the Cubs, then grabs the Yankees, and freezes seventy percent of the country out of the Yankee game.
The current Fox arrangement is almost as bad as CBS's brief, unfortunate foray into baseball starting in 1990, during which the network bought baseball in order to bury it, save for the All-Star Game, the post-season, and a mere nine Saturday games, which qualified as a sop to real baseball fans (like my father, my brothers, and myself) who had fallen in love with baseball mainly through NBC's annual 25 Saturday Games of the Week.
So: I've caught up. And Rasner and Moose have won a combined six in a row.
Finals, man. You have no idea.
Some ideas about the Yankees. Tomorrow.
Friday, May 09, 2008
Yanks avoid sweep
Was out watching the Astros last night; as bad as that game became, I was able to look down to the 6-3 final score.
Does this ever happen--you're driving around and you found out on the radio that your team has an afternoon game? Hate it when that happens.
Does this ever happen--you're driving around and you found out on the radio that your team has an afternoon game? Hate it when that happens.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Indians 3, Yankees 0
Can't complain about a shutout, unless there are major baserunning blunders.
You're not the only team with talent.
Just salvage a win tomorrow, guys.
You're not the only team with talent.
Just salvage a win tomorrow, guys.
Re: Clinton v. Obama
Jimmy writes:
Me: I thought it was over, too, way back on February 22nd. Still, the metaphor of campaign-as-boxing-match has never been so apt, with Obama in the role of Jimmy Braddock/Billy Conn/Ray Leonard, losing rounds but staying upright, and Hillary as Max Baer/Joe Louis/Marvin Hagler, trying to land the one haymaker that would lay Obama out flat. Presumptive nominees have imploded before (Gary Hart, George Romney), and I would not have been stunned if Obama joined their ranks. It could have happened; it just didn't.
As for the Astros: Jimmy is the second contributor to compliment the boys in a week. Lord knows if they'll win anything (the Cardinals' resurgence took everyone off guard) but with the BLT (Berkman, Lee, Tejada) in the enter of the line-up, they'll sure be entertaining.
It's been over for a couple of months. His lead has been too much for her to overcome. Have you had a chance to watch Chuck Todd talk about the math at all? I used to think that guy was an idiot. At any rate, you were right, and I was wrong, way back when you said Clinton would get dirty. She did. It's nice to see Obama brush it off.
The Astros are becoming fun to watch. Berkman gets five hits.
Me: I thought it was over, too, way back on February 22nd. Still, the metaphor of campaign-as-boxing-match has never been so apt, with Obama in the role of Jimmy Braddock/Billy Conn/Ray Leonard, losing rounds but staying upright, and Hillary as Max Baer/Joe Louis/Marvin Hagler, trying to land the one haymaker that would lay Obama out flat. Presumptive nominees have imploded before (Gary Hart, George Romney), and I would not have been stunned if Obama joined their ranks. It could have happened; it just didn't.
As for the Astros: Jimmy is the second contributor to compliment the boys in a week. Lord knows if they'll win anything (the Cardinals' resurgence took everyone off guard) but with the BLT (Berkman, Lee, Tejada) in the enter of the line-up, they'll sure be entertaining.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Indians 5, Yankees 3
The only person feeling worse than Joba Chamberlain tonight:
Hillary Clinton.
This was not only a bad loss, it was the sort of game you hate to lose, with the hitters getting Pettitte off the hook for a bad pitch (and goodbye what's-his-name, the beneficiary of the two worst pitches Lefty has thrown all season); with Matsui ripping the cover off the ball; with Cano at least contributing with his glove; with Jason Giambi, for sweet mercy's sake, even lending a hand, busting down the line faster than he had in his life (though slower than your nephew in a Little League game) to break up a double play and allow the first Yankee run.
Throw in a serviceable catching from Molina (with a from-the-knees throw-out that I don't know Posada could pull off) and a sudden renaissance of Kardiac Kyle as a seventh-inning set-up man (one bloop, not much else), and the game seemed a boat race, with Joba and Mo set to go in the eighth and ninth.
Ladies and gentlemen, let us comfort ourselves. The question is not whether a late-innings stopper will get slapped around. Of course he will. (Well, except for Mo in '96, setting up Wetteland: Mo, cheated out of not only the Cy Young, but the MVP. Another story.) Sparky Lyle won the Cy Young as the Yankee closer in '77, and he lost five games. Goose Gossage came in as closer the following year, lost on Opening Day, lost 10 games by the All-Star break, lost the All-Star Game itself, lost one game in Toronto and simply curled up in a ball in front of his locker and cried. And? And then, came home with a 2.01 ERA, and in the bottom of the ninth of The Greatest Game Ever Played, said to himself, "Well, the worst thing that can happen is I'll be hiking in the Rockies tomorrow," then popped up Yaz to win the pennant.
And don't forget the Sainted Mo, the Hammer of God. Elevated to closer in '97, Rivera blew three saves out of the chute, game up that homer to Sandy Alomar in the playoffs . . . then didn't blow another post-season save until . . . no, we're not going to revisit Arizona today.
Anyway. Joba. Walk, bunt, walk. Two on, one out. Up comes (speaking of Diamondbacks) David Delucci, a lefty aiming for the porch. I thought, "Umm, he can turn on an inside fastball. Joba, you may want to . . ."
Joba threw an inside fastball. I pointed at the TV screen. Delucci's homer landed precisely where I pointed.
Ah well. The kid will be all right.
As to Hillary.
The Democratic primaries have, since, February 22nd, been Sunday at the Master's for me.
The week of the Wisconsin primary, I received an invitation to Barack Obama's February 22nd rally at the Toyota Center in Houston. I declined, and lived to regret it, as the evening stood as Obama's best evening for two-and-a-half months--in short, until tonight.
Politics is like sports for me: with no horse in the race, I root for the event. Unless the Yankees or Astros or involved (or at least affected, as in a pennant race), I root for extra innings. In the Master's, unless Mikelsson is in the hunt, I root, if anything, for the course. The more humiliation the better.
I've spent ten weeks rooting for the course with the Dems. But I think it's over.
Hillary Clinton.
This was not only a bad loss, it was the sort of game you hate to lose, with the hitters getting Pettitte off the hook for a bad pitch (and goodbye what's-his-name, the beneficiary of the two worst pitches Lefty has thrown all season); with Matsui ripping the cover off the ball; with Cano at least contributing with his glove; with Jason Giambi, for sweet mercy's sake, even lending a hand, busting down the line faster than he had in his life (though slower than your nephew in a Little League game) to break up a double play and allow the first Yankee run.
Throw in a serviceable catching from Molina (with a from-the-knees throw-out that I don't know Posada could pull off) and a sudden renaissance of Kardiac Kyle as a seventh-inning set-up man (one bloop, not much else), and the game seemed a boat race, with Joba and Mo set to go in the eighth and ninth.
Ladies and gentlemen, let us comfort ourselves. The question is not whether a late-innings stopper will get slapped around. Of course he will. (Well, except for Mo in '96, setting up Wetteland: Mo, cheated out of not only the Cy Young, but the MVP. Another story.) Sparky Lyle won the Cy Young as the Yankee closer in '77, and he lost five games. Goose Gossage came in as closer the following year, lost on Opening Day, lost 10 games by the All-Star break, lost the All-Star Game itself, lost one game in Toronto and simply curled up in a ball in front of his locker and cried. And? And then, came home with a 2.01 ERA, and in the bottom of the ninth of The Greatest Game Ever Played, said to himself, "Well, the worst thing that can happen is I'll be hiking in the Rockies tomorrow," then popped up Yaz to win the pennant.
And don't forget the Sainted Mo, the Hammer of God. Elevated to closer in '97, Rivera blew three saves out of the chute, game up that homer to Sandy Alomar in the playoffs . . . then didn't blow another post-season save until . . . no, we're not going to revisit Arizona today.
Anyway. Joba. Walk, bunt, walk. Two on, one out. Up comes (speaking of Diamondbacks) David Delucci, a lefty aiming for the porch. I thought, "Umm, he can turn on an inside fastball. Joba, you may want to . . ."
Joba threw an inside fastball. I pointed at the TV screen. Delucci's homer landed precisely where I pointed.
Ah well. The kid will be all right.
As to Hillary.
The Democratic primaries have, since, February 22nd, been Sunday at the Master's for me.
The week of the Wisconsin primary, I received an invitation to Barack Obama's February 22nd rally at the Toyota Center in Houston. I declined, and lived to regret it, as the evening stood as Obama's best evening for two-and-a-half months--in short, until tonight.
Politics is like sports for me: with no horse in the race, I root for the event. Unless the Yankees or Astros or involved (or at least affected, as in a pennant race), I root for extra innings. In the Master's, unless Mikelsson is in the hunt, I root, if anything, for the course. The more humiliation the better.
I've spent ten weeks rooting for the course with the Dems. But I think it's over.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Yankees 8, Mariners 2
Still, time for Plan B.
Phil Hughes is out, for at least a month, and Ian Kennedy is off to Scanton.
Remains to be seen if Brian Cashman has another Aaron Small in his quiver.
And the Daily News is reduced to reporting that even Robby Cano hit a homer yesterday.
Phil Hughes is out, for at least a month, and Ian Kennedy is off to Scanton.
Remains to be seen if Brian Cashman has another Aaron Small in his quiver.
And the Daily News is reduced to reporting that even Robby Cano hit a homer yesterday.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Yankees 6, Mariners 1
I forgot Abreu.
And, I guess, Moose.
Mike Mussina, proud owner of 254 career wins--and about as many IQ points--will, in all likelihood, get to the Hall of Fame before his ex-teammate Rocket.
Chances are, Moose will retire with:
*Zero Cy Youngs
*Zero 20-win seasons
*Zero World Championships
*Zero No-hitters . . .
Though this last one is painful, folks. Moose has twice come within one out of a no-no, the last instance on Labor Day Sunday, 2001. This was the final game of a three-game Fenway series the in which Yankees had entered with a 6 1/2 game lead over Boston and had won the first two games, and so now led by 8 1/2 games--in other words, the regular season was over. The Labor Day Sunday night game, hyped for a week by ESPN, was basically a non-event . . .
Except that Moose, brought in to essentially replace David Cone, was painting the corners; and David Cone, brought in by the Sox to compete with Moose, was scarcely worse. The game was 0-0 through the better part of the games, with Moose not allowing a runner, and with Cone, though allowing his modicum of runners, not allowing a run.
(Intermission. Was there ever a pitcher who had less concern for the long-term effects of his actions than David Cone? I mean, the Hall of Fame is filled with pitchers who begged out in the late innings, or sat out wiht any kind of arm twinge: Jim Palmer, Steve Carlton, Don Sutton. There is a whole would-be wing of the Hall for pitchers who pitched through all kinds of pain and hated to be pulled: Luis Tiant, Mike Flanagan, Mike Boddicker, Vida Blue, Bret Saberhagen. Cone is their patron saint. I have always thought that Cone's first infant words had to be, "Skip, I can get this guy.")
Anyway, Moose retired 26 Red Sox in a row. Then Carl Everett--the anti-Moose in every way imaginable--gets a base hit. This was Mussina's career in a nutshell: admirable, praiseworthy, and just coming short of any definable benchmark. We may remember that 2001 was the year the Yankees came within two outs of winning the world series against the Diamondbacks . . . another story, sure.
Anyway, if Moose has another 12 or so wins in that right arm of his, the Yanks may yet make this close.
And, I guess, Moose.
Mike Mussina, proud owner of 254 career wins--and about as many IQ points--will, in all likelihood, get to the Hall of Fame before his ex-teammate Rocket.
Chances are, Moose will retire with:
*Zero Cy Youngs
*Zero 20-win seasons
*Zero World Championships
*Zero No-hitters . . .
Though this last one is painful, folks. Moose has twice come within one out of a no-no, the last instance on Labor Day Sunday, 2001. This was the final game of a three-game Fenway series the in which Yankees had entered with a 6 1/2 game lead over Boston and had won the first two games, and so now led by 8 1/2 games--in other words, the regular season was over. The Labor Day Sunday night game, hyped for a week by ESPN, was basically a non-event . . .
Except that Moose, brought in to essentially replace David Cone, was painting the corners; and David Cone, brought in by the Sox to compete with Moose, was scarcely worse. The game was 0-0 through the better part of the games, with Moose not allowing a runner, and with Cone, though allowing his modicum of runners, not allowing a run.
(Intermission. Was there ever a pitcher who had less concern for the long-term effects of his actions than David Cone? I mean, the Hall of Fame is filled with pitchers who begged out in the late innings, or sat out wiht any kind of arm twinge: Jim Palmer, Steve Carlton, Don Sutton. There is a whole would-be wing of the Hall for pitchers who pitched through all kinds of pain and hated to be pulled: Luis Tiant, Mike Flanagan, Mike Boddicker, Vida Blue, Bret Saberhagen. Cone is their patron saint. I have always thought that Cone's first infant words had to be, "Skip, I can get this guy.")
Anyway, Moose retired 26 Red Sox in a row. Then Carl Everett--the anti-Moose in every way imaginable--gets a base hit. This was Mussina's career in a nutshell: admirable, praiseworthy, and just coming short of any definable benchmark. We may remember that 2001 was the year the Yankees came within two outs of winning the world series against the Diamondbacks . . . another story, sure.
Anyway, if Moose has another 12 or so wins in that right arm of his, the Yanks may yet make this close.
Yankees 5, Mariners 1
It is clear at this point that the Yanks' fortunes depend upon Wang starting every fifth day, Joba and Mo at the back end of the bullpen, and whatever production can be mustered by Matsui, Jeter, Damon and Melky.
It is the team's great good fortune that no one seems capable of running away with either the division or the Wild Card. A good half-dozen teams seem capable of clustering in the 88- to 95-win coterie.
The task, then, is to hang on like hell until A-Rod, then Georgie, are well.
It is the team's great good fortune that no one seems capable of running away with either the division or the Wild Card. A good half-dozen teams seem capable of clustering in the 88- to 95-win coterie.
The task, then, is to hang on like hell until A-Rod, then Georgie, are well.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Yankees 5, Indians 2
One reason baseball is the greatest game is the number of times you walk away saying, "Well, I never saw that before."
Sixth inning, 2-0 Tribe, bases loaded, nobody out. A-Rod at the plate. Bingo, a big inning. And so it was.
A-Rod: hit by pitch. Run forced in. 2-1, Cleveland.
Giambi to the plate. Slow bouncer to first, One unassisted, run scores, Jeter advances from second to third, A-Rod from first to second. 2-2.
Matsui to the plate. Slow bouncer to first, One unassisted, Jeter scores, A-Rod to third. 3-2, Yankees.
Morgan Ensberg to the plate. A swinging, thirty-foot six-hopper dies in the infield grass. Ensberg, infield hit. A-Rod scores. 4-2 Yankees.
Four batters, four runs--and all without a batted ball traveling more than 95 feet.
Never saw that before.
Sixth inning, 2-0 Tribe, bases loaded, nobody out. A-Rod at the plate. Bingo, a big inning. And so it was.
A-Rod: hit by pitch. Run forced in. 2-1, Cleveland.
Giambi to the plate. Slow bouncer to first, One unassisted, run scores, Jeter advances from second to third, A-Rod from first to second. 2-2.
Matsui to the plate. Slow bouncer to first, One unassisted, Jeter scores, A-Rod to third. 3-2, Yankees.
Morgan Ensberg to the plate. A swinging, thirty-foot six-hopper dies in the infield grass. Ensberg, infield hit. A-Rod scores. 4-2 Yankees.
Four batters, four runs--and all without a batted ball traveling more than 95 feet.
Never saw that before.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Yankees 1, Indians 0
Superb work by Melky, Wang, Joba, and Mo.
It says a lot that for a .500 team, Wang (5-0) and Mo (.000 ERA) will both contest for the Pitcher of the Month.
But what's up with Georgie? The Yanks can be worse than the Patriots when it comes to injuries. Fifteen days, sixty, what?
It says a lot that for a .500 team, Wang (5-0) and Mo (.000 ERA) will both contest for the Pitcher of the Month.
But what's up with Georgie? The Yanks can be worse than the Patriots when it comes to injuries. Fifteen days, sixty, what?
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
White Sox 7, Yankees 6
A weird game right to the end, what with the rain-outs. In certain respects a disappointmnet, but the Yanks leave Comiskey (shut up) with two wins in their ball bag.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Yankees 6, White Sox 4
Lord, is there anything better than beating the White Sox?
I mean, anything?
Single malt scotch? A bloody red T-bone? Splitting four eights and having the dealer bust? The killing of Fanucci sequence in The Godfather, Part II?
Somehow, even beating the Red Sox doesn't even match the thrill of the last two days, in that a victory over the Red Sox is always met with the realization that there remains six or ten or fifteen Red Sox games to go, some with Manny up in the seventh or eighth with a one-run lead to protect. The Red Sox you respect as a worthy adversary. The White Sox . . .
Well, doesn't it all come down to the White Sox announcers, to Whoever and the Hawk, to Whitey's's Pick to Click, to "Put it on the boooooard . . . Yeeees!" Compared to the White Sox announcers, Brent Musburger calling LSU-Florida is a model of restraint.
As to the game. How good to see Moose get a win. I'll lay in front of the doors if I must, but if Moose gets to 280 wins it'll mean the Hall Of Fame.
And Rivera. It is time, soon, that Mo will need appreciation not just as the greatest closer of all time, not even as the greatest pitcher of all time, but as pretty damn near the greatest baseball player of all time. Take away two pitches--Sandy Alomar's homer, and the bunt he threw in the direction of the Superstition Mountains--and the conversation would be over.
But really: How great is it to beat the White Sox?
I mean, anything?
Single malt scotch? A bloody red T-bone? Splitting four eights and having the dealer bust? The killing of Fanucci sequence in The Godfather, Part II?
Somehow, even beating the Red Sox doesn't even match the thrill of the last two days, in that a victory over the Red Sox is always met with the realization that there remains six or ten or fifteen Red Sox games to go, some with Manny up in the seventh or eighth with a one-run lead to protect. The Red Sox you respect as a worthy adversary. The White Sox . . .
Well, doesn't it all come down to the White Sox announcers, to Whoever and the Hawk, to Whitey's's Pick to Click, to "Put it on the boooooard . . . Yeeees!" Compared to the White Sox announcers, Brent Musburger calling LSU-Florida is a model of restraint.
As to the game. How good to see Moose get a win. I'll lay in front of the doors if I must, but if Moose gets to 280 wins it'll mean the Hall Of Fame.
And Rivera. It is time, soon, that Mo will need appreciation not just as the greatest closer of all time, not even as the greatest pitcher of all time, but as pretty damn near the greatest baseball player of all time. Take away two pitches--Sandy Alomar's homer, and the bunt he threw in the direction of the Superstition Mountains--and the conversation would be over.
But really: How great is it to beat the White Sox?
Yankees 9, White Sox 5
Ladies and gentlemen, your at-bat of the season, so far.
Seventh inning, two out, bases loaded, Bobby Abreu at the plate. 3-2, White Sox.
As the two teams I follow are the Yankees and the Astros, I am well familiar with the pitcher, righthander Octavio Dotel; he had just struck out Jeter with high fastballs and Ozzie Guillen, riding the emotion of the moment (or so speculated Kay, O'Neill and Cone), left him in to face Abreu.
For Yankee fans, this might have been the most propitious decision since Grady Little left Pedro in to face Posada in Game 7.
So yeah: Ball one, ball two. Fastballs not a foot near the plate.
2-0. Abreu looks dead red.
Gonzo. 6-3.
Some more excitement later, but that was your ball game.
Seventh inning, two out, bases loaded, Bobby Abreu at the plate. 3-2, White Sox.
As the two teams I follow are the Yankees and the Astros, I am well familiar with the pitcher, righthander Octavio Dotel; he had just struck out Jeter with high fastballs and Ozzie Guillen, riding the emotion of the moment (or so speculated Kay, O'Neill and Cone), left him in to face Abreu.
For Yankee fans, this might have been the most propitious decision since Grady Little left Pedro in to face Posada in Game 7.
So yeah: Ball one, ball two. Fastballs not a foot near the plate.
2-0. Abreu looks dead red.
Gonzo. 6-3.
Some more excitement later, but that was your ball game.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Yankees 7, Orioles 1
Another game over in te first inning. Having watched Andy Pettitte pitch about 200 times over the past fourteen years, I can tell when his cutter (the pitch that sets up every other pitch) in snapping. At this moment, it looks better than it has since the second half of 2005, when Pettitte was the best pitcher in baseball en route to a 17-9 record.
I missed the start of the game. All it took, for me, was two pitches down around Melvin Mora's knees and I thought, with apologies to Eight Men Out, Man you guys are in trouble today.
A-Rod is hurt. My guess is we'll see if Morgan Ensberg can help out. If there is one guy you want to root for, it's Mo. When he was an Astro, Mo (along with Dan Wheeler and Eric Bruntlett) was legendary for working the pre-game autograph line down the right field railing. An fellow ex-Trojan, he signed my USC cap and shook my hand before one game--this, during his one All-Star season, also 2005, when the 'Stros had him figured into their plans for the next half-dozen years. With his short, compact swing, he looked good for twenty balls a year into the Crawford Boxes alone. But injuries and ineffectiveness killed him; the enormity of expectations turned him into the symbol of everything the Astros wee not after their first World Series. in the end, given the choice of Ensberg, Mike Lamb, Mark Loretta and Ty Wigginton, the 'Stros went with Ty, who could provide a steady .260 and field his position.
Now, it appears Ensberg gets another chance. It really and truly almost hurts, since Ensberg is one of those players you almost feel protective toward. (Yankee fans might think of Tino Martinez in his second go-around.) Here's hoping.
Now, a whole off-day to think about Hillary and Obama and Pennsylvania.
I missed the start of the game. All it took, for me, was two pitches down around Melvin Mora's knees and I thought, with apologies to Eight Men Out, Man you guys are in trouble today.
A-Rod is hurt. My guess is we'll see if Morgan Ensberg can help out. If there is one guy you want to root for, it's Mo. When he was an Astro, Mo (along with Dan Wheeler and Eric Bruntlett) was legendary for working the pre-game autograph line down the right field railing. An fellow ex-Trojan, he signed my USC cap and shook my hand before one game--this, during his one All-Star season, also 2005, when the 'Stros had him figured into their plans for the next half-dozen years. With his short, compact swing, he looked good for twenty balls a year into the Crawford Boxes alone. But injuries and ineffectiveness killed him; the enormity of expectations turned him into the symbol of everything the Astros wee not after their first World Series. in the end, given the choice of Ensberg, Mike Lamb, Mark Loretta and Ty Wigginton, the 'Stros went with Ty, who could provide a steady .260 and field his position.
Now, it appears Ensberg gets another chance. It really and truly almost hurts, since Ensberg is one of those players you almost feel protective toward. (Yankee fans might think of Tino Martinez in his second go-around.) Here's hoping.
Now, a whole off-day to think about Hillary and Obama and Pennsylvania.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Orioles 6, Yankees 0
Nothing more than this weekend makes me miss the Yankees of a decade ago. The Yanks of 98-99-00 played around 19 games against Baltimore and around 19 games against Tampa, and in those 38 games the Yanks were good for, say, 25-13, easy.
That left 124 games remaining. Go 70-54 in those games, and, bingo: 95 wins, and the playoffs.
As for yesterday's game, there is nothing to say except: Wow, in retrospect, it was all over when Damon made that baserunning blunder in the first, overunning first base like a Little Leaguer. Jeter follows with a triple, dies on third . . . and that's your ballgame, folks.
Totals coming up.
What is there to say? Anyone? SunDevil Joe recommends promoting Shelly Duncan, who apparenting is knocking down fences in Scranton. Duncan would go to first. That would keep Damon in left and Matsui DHing. Ensberg can float as the fifth infielder, and Jason (.413 in March!) Giambi can sit waaay down the end of the bench until he finds his stroke. Or a new supplier.
(There appears, finally, to be some recognition on Girardi's part that there is a problem with Giambi. Posada at first, anyone?)
Robbie-Boy asks: Do I agree that Joba has to stay in the bullpen? Yes. I'm not keyed in the New York talk radio, and I haven't been following the message boards, but let me go way out on a limb and guess there is a groundswell of support for Joba to move to the rotation. Which, of course, makes no sense: you don't want to mess up one of the few things on your team that is working. The one thing this Yankee team has, for at least now, is straight from the glory days of 1996: the ability to hold a lead late.
The way the team has been hitting, that's an edge to valuable to lose.
As for the rest, one can say: Wait until everyone heals, until Posada gets back behind the plate, etc., etc. That would matter more if Molina and Moeller weren't doing perfectly serviceable jobs back there.
What matters is the pitching. Moose is getting creamed out there. Hughes seems rattled, missing his spots so badly on Friday that Moeller had to lunge for his pitches. (There is one thought: Gary Carter was famous in baseball circles for almost never setting up with rookie pitchers, never moving his mitt around. Carter would stick his glove right behind the center of the plate, his message plain: Just throw strikes, kid. And under his guidance, Doc Gooden, Ron Darling, Bobby Ojeda, Sid Fernandez and David Cone all became stars until drugs, arrogance, groupies and a certain hedge trimmer destroyed what should have been the Mets dynasty. Worth considering, no?) Kennedy is one forward, two back.
Brian Cashman is going to be reminded nine thousand times this season that Hughes and Kennedy are the reasons our rotation doesn't go Santana, Wang, Pettitte at the top; why instead it's Wong and Pettitte and then forget it.
Time for the kids to show us something.
That left 124 games remaining. Go 70-54 in those games, and, bingo: 95 wins, and the playoffs.
As for yesterday's game, there is nothing to say except: Wow, in retrospect, it was all over when Damon made that baserunning blunder in the first, overunning first base like a Little Leaguer. Jeter follows with a triple, dies on third . . . and that's your ballgame, folks.
Totals coming up.
What is there to say? Anyone? SunDevil Joe recommends promoting Shelly Duncan, who apparenting is knocking down fences in Scranton. Duncan would go to first. That would keep Damon in left and Matsui DHing. Ensberg can float as the fifth infielder, and Jason (.413 in March!) Giambi can sit waaay down the end of the bench until he finds his stroke. Or a new supplier.
(There appears, finally, to be some recognition on Girardi's part that there is a problem with Giambi. Posada at first, anyone?)
Robbie-Boy asks: Do I agree that Joba has to stay in the bullpen? Yes. I'm not keyed in the New York talk radio, and I haven't been following the message boards, but let me go way out on a limb and guess there is a groundswell of support for Joba to move to the rotation. Which, of course, makes no sense: you don't want to mess up one of the few things on your team that is working. The one thing this Yankee team has, for at least now, is straight from the glory days of 1996: the ability to hold a lead late.
The way the team has been hitting, that's an edge to valuable to lose.
As for the rest, one can say: Wait until everyone heals, until Posada gets back behind the plate, etc., etc. That would matter more if Molina and Moeller weren't doing perfectly serviceable jobs back there.
What matters is the pitching. Moose is getting creamed out there. Hughes seems rattled, missing his spots so badly on Friday that Moeller had to lunge for his pitches. (There is one thought: Gary Carter was famous in baseball circles for almost never setting up with rookie pitchers, never moving his mitt around. Carter would stick his glove right behind the center of the plate, his message plain: Just throw strikes, kid. And under his guidance, Doc Gooden, Ron Darling, Bobby Ojeda, Sid Fernandez and David Cone all became stars until drugs, arrogance, groupies and a certain hedge trimmer destroyed what should have been the Mets dynasty. Worth considering, no?) Kennedy is one forward, two back.
Brian Cashman is going to be reminded nine thousand times this season that Hughes and Kennedy are the reasons our rotation doesn't go Santana, Wang, Pettitte at the top; why instead it's Wong and Pettitte and then forget it.
Time for the kids to show us something.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Baltimore . . . ah, I turned the thing off
It would be all right for the non-Joba pitching prospects (you know, the ones the team hoarded so as not to get Johan Santana) to show up right now.
And Giambi, right now, is just killing the team.
And Giambi, right now, is just killing the team.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Yankees 15, Red Sox 9
One of the more salutory wins, never mind that the starters were both in their street clothes by the fifth inning.
It is an truism that the Yankees will go nowhere unless they can outslug the Sox.
Jeter and A-Rod look to be shifting into high gear. Abreu and Matsui seem good for the long haul. Georgie will recover. Cano will get into shape, the fat putz. And the Baby Yanks are coming through.
Yet another game won without Joba. A good sign.
It is an truism that the Yankees will go nowhere unless they can outslug the Sox.
Jeter and A-Rod look to be shifting into high gear. Abreu and Matsui seem good for the long haul. Georgie will recover. Cano will get into shape, the fat putz. And the Baby Yanks are coming through.
Yet another game won without Joba. A good sign.
Yankees 5, Rays 3
Does Pettitte have a little magic left in that left arm?
Another nice, brisk win, the sort the Yanks of '98 made their specialty.
So okay: bring on the Sox.
Another nice, brisk win, the sort the Yanks of '98 made their specialty.
So okay: bring on the Sox.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Yankees 8, Rays 7
The old Arizona State coach Daryl Rodgers always explained that W's are W's and L's are L's, but if here is anything like a bad win, we saw it.
Those who barked at Girardi for putting Joba in the set-up spot should shut up right about now. Joba's absence from the bullpen exposed the Yankee bullpen's soft underbelly, its lack of anyone not named Joba or Mo to hold a lead.
Great relievers not named Gossage, Eck, Hoffman and Mo tend to blaze and fade, but Joba maybe headed for the closer's role.
Those who barked at Girardi for putting Joba in the set-up spot should shut up right about now. Joba's absence from the bullpen exposed the Yankee bullpen's soft underbelly, its lack of anyone not named Joba or Mo to hold a lead.
Great relievers not named Gossage, Eck, Hoffman and Mo tend to blaze and fade, but Joba maybe headed for the closer's role.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Sox Take Series
Missed Saturday night's game; I'm told Girardi made a blunder with Moose re Manny.
Flipped off tonight's when it got to 5-1. These famn games seem to happen lately.
Flipped off tonight's when it got to 5-1. These famn games seem to happen lately.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Yankees 4, Red Sox 1
A textbook game of a pitcher winning "without his best stuff." With one exception (the home run Abreu misjudged and actually should have caught) Wang walked a tightrope, keeping his sinker too high but benefiting from the Red Sox batters either getting just under his pitches or else hitting their screaming line drives directly at Yankee outfielders.
Rarely has there been a more precarious complete-game two-hitter.
Still, nothing succeeds like success, and, as we speak, Wang sits on a 3-0 record and a 1.23 ERA, and furthermore has provided a day of rest to a bullpen exhausted after the thrills and chills of KC.
Rarely has there been a more precarious complete-game two-hitter.
Still, nothing succeeds like success, and, as we speak, Wang sits on a 3-0 record and a 1.23 ERA, and furthermore has provided a day of rest to a bullpen exhausted after the thrills and chills of KC.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Candygram
Courtesy Jonah Goldberg at the Corner (scroll down), The Fifty Funniest TV Sketches of All Time.
I could quibble with a few omissions (such as SCTV's extended "Godfather" Sketch, with John Flaherty, Rick Moranis, Eugene Levy, Catherine O'Hara, Dave Thomas and John Candy at the top of their games), but one holds a place in my heart: #11, "Land Shark," from the first season of Saturday Night Live.
I've seen the sketch twice--the last time, maybe twenty-eight years ago. And I'm laughing right now thinking about it.
Not that Astro-Girl would understand.
"It's based on Jaws," I explained. "Except the Land Shark swims up on shore, goes to women's apartments and rings the bell. And then when the woman answers the door, he eats her."
"O-kay," she said.
"Sometimes he says he has a telegram," I said. "Another time, he says he's a plumber. But when Larained Newman says, 'We didn't order a plumber,' he then says, 'Candygram.' And then she opens the door and he eats her." (Spasm of uncontrollable laughter.)
"That's good, sweetie."
"Well," I said. "The writers back then were notorious for all the pot they smoked."
"Um, you think?"
One mistake the writers of the list make is identifying Belushi as Police Chief Matt Hooper. The chief was named Brody of course, played by Roy Scheider in the movie and I forget who in the skit, and their best moment in the skit is when they undrape what appears to be the remains of the girl in a plastic bucket. One of them looks down.
"Oh God," he says. "Tunafish again!"
I could quibble with a few omissions (such as SCTV's extended "Godfather" Sketch, with John Flaherty, Rick Moranis, Eugene Levy, Catherine O'Hara, Dave Thomas and John Candy at the top of their games), but one holds a place in my heart: #11, "Land Shark," from the first season of Saturday Night Live.
I've seen the sketch twice--the last time, maybe twenty-eight years ago. And I'm laughing right now thinking about it.
Not that Astro-Girl would understand.
"It's based on Jaws," I explained. "Except the Land Shark swims up on shore, goes to women's apartments and rings the bell. And then when the woman answers the door, he eats her."
"O-kay," she said.
"Sometimes he says he has a telegram," I said. "Another time, he says he's a plumber. But when Larained Newman says, 'We didn't order a plumber,' he then says, 'Candygram.' And then she opens the door and he eats her." (Spasm of uncontrollable laughter.)
"That's good, sweetie."
"Well," I said. "The writers back then were notorious for all the pot they smoked."
"Um, you think?"
One mistake the writers of the list make is identifying Belushi as Police Chief Matt Hooper. The chief was named Brody of course, played by Roy Scheider in the movie and I forget who in the skit, and their best moment in the skit is when they undrape what appears to be the remains of the girl in a plastic bucket. One of them looks down.
"Oh God," he says. "Tunafish again!"
Royals 4, Yankees 0
Can't anybody here hit the ball?
Wanna know something funny? So anemic has been the Yankee offense of late (six runs once so far, eight runs total in their three other wins, two runs total in their last eighteen innings against Kansas freaking City) that I had a feeling the game was over as soon as John Buck's homer splashed into the waterfall beyond center field.
1-0, ballgame.
Last year, through the end of June, A-Rod, Posada and Jeter seemed to be playing three against nine.
Now, with both Georgie and Jeter hurt, make it one against nine. Melky and Matsui string together a few good at bats; Cano gets a hit now and again. Abreu had a few good games in what seemed a long time ago, ie last week.
But, come on, four runs allowed by a cadre of relief pitchers would seem to be enough. Sheesh.
Wanna know something funny? So anemic has been the Yankee offense of late (six runs once so far, eight runs total in their three other wins, two runs total in their last eighteen innings against Kansas freaking City) that I had a feeling the game was over as soon as John Buck's homer splashed into the waterfall beyond center field.
1-0, ballgame.
Last year, through the end of June, A-Rod, Posada and Jeter seemed to be playing three against nine.
Now, with both Georgie and Jeter hurt, make it one against nine. Melky and Matsui string together a few good at bats; Cano gets a hit now and again. Abreu had a few good games in what seemed a long time ago, ie last week.
But, come on, four runs allowed by a cadre of relief pitchers would seem to be enough. Sheesh.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Royals 5, Yankees 2
Well, the Yanks are hurt, the hitting is crummy, and only Wang--of the top three starters--has put together two good starts in a row, so instead I'll share with you the one thing that made me laugh out loud today. In "The Sports Guy," on ESPN's page two Bill Simmons shares this nugget:
STRANGEST HOLLYWOOD STORY OF THE WEEK
On that, more in a second. But consider this:
Yeah, pretty much.
Oh: I followed the link Simmons provided; it's the age-old story. Twenty-five years ago, James Garner was on Donahue saying precisely the same thing about "The Rockford Files."
In Hollywood there live accountants who will tell you, with a straight face, that Forrest Gump and Jurassic Park lost money.
STRANGEST HOLLYWOOD STORY OF THE WEEK
Jack Klugman wants his millions in "Quincy" residuals, and he wants them right now! I love the concept of "Quincy" losing money since it has been off the air -- how is that even possible? Not even James Dolan could pull that off. And since the subject is "Quincy," here's my imitation of the last line right before they headed to the first commercial of every "Quincy" episode: "It wasn't suicide, Sam, it was murder!!!!!!!" Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week.
On that, more in a second. But consider this:
Follow-up note: I defy you to find a weirder opening credit sequence for a TV show than the one "Quincy" had -- it's a detective show about a coroner, only the music makes it sound like he's a bartender in the Caribbean, and then there are some slapstick sequences (like all the cops fainting) and everything ends with Quincy making time with some babe on a boat. He's a coroner! That might have been the goofiest show from that era that actually made it. Also, I love that there were no other stars from the show. It was like Jack Klugman knew back then, "They're gonna screw me on residuals 25 years from now. I can't have any other stars on this show!"
Yeah, pretty much.
Oh: I followed the link Simmons provided; it's the age-old story. Twenty-five years ago, James Garner was on Donahue saying precisely the same thing about "The Rockford Files."
In Hollywood there live accountants who will tell you, with a straight face, that Forrest Gump and Jurassic Park lost money.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Yankees 6, Rays 1
My first Minute Maid Park play-by-play.
The 2008 Houston Astros made their home debut tonight, so Astro-Girl and I proceeded to our usual Opening Day Stations in our partial season-ticket seats.
(Have you ever been asked what law you could pass, if ever you could pass, by fiat, a law? I've long had the answer, up to now: Opening Day should be a national holiday. (One of my students informed me that a holiday was not technically a "law," but never mind.) Now I think I've got it. In all 29 American baseball cities (can't help Toronto) that city team's home opener should be a city holiday. Close the schools, close the banks, have one big party.)
It's odd, having a home opener after your team has been on the road; odder still to have a home opener after a bruising seven-game road trip against, first, a pennant contender (San Diego) and, second, a hated division arch-rival (the Cubs).
Some teams are just, "Huh?" Last year, the Mets. Year before, the Phillies. This year, we may be looking at the Astros. They've got veteran power/average (Tejada, Berkman, Lee), promising youth (Pence, Towles, Bourn), and a massive upgrade defensively, with Bourn patrolling Minute Maid's immense center field, Pence (last year at center) moving his range and cannon arm to right, and Kaz Matsui (soon as he can, ah, sit down) taking over at second for the sainted Bidge. Plus, defensively, Towles has a better arm than Ausmus, though it remains if he can even come close to Ausmus's wizardry with the pitching staff: calling pitches, calling timeouts, the intangibles that made Brad essentially a second pitching coach on the field. Whatever the team lost, trading Adam Everett's range at short for Miguel Tejada's, they almost make up for it with Mickey's arm.
Offensively, the team has upgraded or stayed the same at every position. At catcher, Towles can hit for distance. Infield: Berkman will be better than last year--healthier, anyway. Matsui will improve over Bidge. Tejada v. Everett? Please. Wigginton will, merciful God, take us away from the Ensberg/Lamb psychodrama. Call it five upgrades.
The outfield? Position-by-position, Pence will be a huge upgrade over Scott/Lane in right. Bourn will be slightly down from Pence (not as much power). Lee will be Lee: pencil him in for 150 games, 35 homers, 130 RBIs, a .290 average. Call it a wash.
Starting pitching. So far, Backe, Chacon, Wandy and Sampson have actually exceeded expectations, and kept the Astros in every game they pitched. Their record in starts? 3-3. Meaning: it falls to the early disappointment, Royo, to pick up the slack.
Relief pitching. Well? They can't hold leads, they can't hold ties, they can't keep the team close in close games. Otherwise, they've been fine. Is "Valverde" Spanish for "Lidge"?
The 2008 Houston Astros made their home debut tonight, so Astro-Girl and I proceeded to our usual Opening Day Stations in our partial season-ticket seats.
(Have you ever been asked what law you could pass, if ever you could pass, by fiat, a law? I've long had the answer, up to now: Opening Day should be a national holiday. (One of my students informed me that a holiday was not technically a "law," but never mind.) Now I think I've got it. In all 29 American baseball cities (can't help Toronto) that city team's home opener should be a city holiday. Close the schools, close the banks, have one big party.)
It's odd, having a home opener after your team has been on the road; odder still to have a home opener after a bruising seven-game road trip against, first, a pennant contender (San Diego) and, second, a hated division arch-rival (the Cubs).
Some teams are just, "Huh?" Last year, the Mets. Year before, the Phillies. This year, we may be looking at the Astros. They've got veteran power/average (Tejada, Berkman, Lee), promising youth (Pence, Towles, Bourn), and a massive upgrade defensively, with Bourn patrolling Minute Maid's immense center field, Pence (last year at center) moving his range and cannon arm to right, and Kaz Matsui (soon as he can, ah, sit down) taking over at second for the sainted Bidge. Plus, defensively, Towles has a better arm than Ausmus, though it remains if he can even come close to Ausmus's wizardry with the pitching staff: calling pitches, calling timeouts, the intangibles that made Brad essentially a second pitching coach on the field. Whatever the team lost, trading Adam Everett's range at short for Miguel Tejada's, they almost make up for it with Mickey's arm.
Offensively, the team has upgraded or stayed the same at every position. At catcher, Towles can hit for distance. Infield: Berkman will be better than last year--healthier, anyway. Matsui will improve over Bidge. Tejada v. Everett? Please. Wigginton will, merciful God, take us away from the Ensberg/Lamb psychodrama. Call it five upgrades.
The outfield? Position-by-position, Pence will be a huge upgrade over Scott/Lane in right. Bourn will be slightly down from Pence (not as much power). Lee will be Lee: pencil him in for 150 games, 35 homers, 130 RBIs, a .290 average. Call it a wash.
Starting pitching. So far, Backe, Chacon, Wandy and Sampson have actually exceeded expectations, and kept the Astros in every game they pitched. Their record in starts? 3-3. Meaning: it falls to the early disappointment, Royo, to pick up the slack.
Relief pitching. Well? They can't hold leads, they can't hold ties, they can't keep the team close in close games. Otherwise, they've been fine. Is "Valverde" Spanish for "Lidge"?
Yankees 2, Rays 0
Yes, yes, Wang and Matsui and all, but consider two stats.
Joba: Sixteen pitches, six outs recorded.
Joba and Mo together: eight batters faced, nine outs recorded.
With a splendid fielding from Cano and Betiment, who turned a line-drive RBI into a double play in the eighth.
Joba: Sixteen pitches, six outs recorded.
Joba and Mo together: eight batters faced, nine outs recorded.
With a splendid fielding from Cano and Betiment, who turned a line-drive RBI into a double play in the eighth.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Friday, April 04, 2008
Yankees 3, Blue Jays 2
Hughie Jennings, who managed the Detroit Tigers during the Ty Cobb era, was famous for what he would tell his players before each game.
"Keep it close, boys," Jennings would say. "I'll think of something."
One had this feeling during last night's Yankees game, even as the Yanks fell behind early, 2-0. Something was going to click. When it did--when Damon beat out that bunt in the sixth to bring up Derek Jeter, first and second, nobody out, Yankee faithful were on the same page: Ah, got 'em now.
Phil Hughes and Billy Traber joined Joba and Melky as the latest Baby Yanks to impress.
Ian today.
"Keep it close, boys," Jennings would say. "I'll think of something."
One had this feeling during last night's Yankees game, even as the Yanks fell behind early, 2-0. Something was going to click. When it did--when Damon beat out that bunt in the sixth to bring up Derek Jeter, first and second, nobody out, Yankee faithful were on the same page: Ah, got 'em now.
Phil Hughes and Billy Traber joined Joba and Melky as the latest Baby Yanks to impress.
Ian today.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Blue Jays 5, Yankees 2
Ahhh. Death byt dribs and drabs.
The gamne was over when Jeter tried to stretch that error to second base, and was thrown out by yards.
Everyhing else: window dressing.
The gamne was over when Jeter tried to stretch that error to second base, and was thrown out by yards.
Everyhing else: window dressing.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Opening Day: Yankees 3, Blue Jays 2
Like the Yankees of old:
Solid starting pitching.
Clutch defense.
Timely hitting late.
Stifling set-up.
Mo.
Ballgame.
Outside of the Yanks' will-they-or-won't-they winter pursuit of Johan Santana, nothing about baseball held me in thrall this winter. The problem was not just Roger Clemens' self-immolation, nor Andy Pettitte's hair shirt, nor Joe Torre's departure, nor the A-Rod melodrama.
What brings a sense of melancholia is the notion that, as the years pass, an entire generation of baseball achievements may--in the minds of future generations--be wiped from the boards, turned to non-event, the way the Chicago White Sox, to this day, refuse to fly the pennant of the 1919 Black Sox at whatever their ballpark is called this year.
Consider: we may, on a permanent basis (or until Alex Rodriguez reaches 800 homers), have a Hall of Fame that does not include:
*The All-Time home run leader (Barry Bonds)
*The winner of the most Cy Young Awards (Roger Clemens)
*The pitcher with the second-most career strikeouts (Clemens, again)
*Every batter who hit 62 or more home runs in a season (Bonds, Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa)
*And, because their records, clealy achieved, would pale by comparison to the apparent cheaters, a generation of clean superstars whose career marks would have been more than enough for entry, pre-2000 (start with Jeff Bagwell)
But enough of that today. A columnist for The New York Posthad a terrific account of how this year's Yankees might be an improved model on '07. Basically, the argument boils down to two words: Joe Girardi.
What struck me--I had no idea this was the case--was the fitness regimen Girardi imposed on the squad in Tampa through February and March. Joe Torre, for all his qualities, mostly trusted the veterans to work themselves into shape; he was, in retrospect, laid back even for a sport whose daily training regimens usually boil down to:
9-9:30 am Batting practice
9:30-10 am Shagging flies
11 am-5 pm 18 holes
The last few years, some players showed up to Tampa in game shape (A-Rod and Jeter manifestly). Some did not (Abreu, Giambi and Cano most prominently, and there may not be a connection, but the '07 Yankees were nearly out of it by the end of June due in no small part to the crappy play of those three, plus the desultory performance of Matsui, who at least couldn't be blamed on this score).
Apparently, this changed thanks to Giradi, who remains, in retirement, such a physical fitness nut that, during the broadcast of the game, Astro-Girl kept mistaking him for one of the players. ("Why are they showing him so much? Are they going to put him in?")
Now, one crisp 3-2 victory means as little, in the long view, as Houston's desultory loss last night. But when (to paraphrase John Updike) the first kiss tingles down to the toes, one's memories retain a bit sharper.
A partial list: Wang gutting it out early, with his sinker unsinking. A-Rod, who probably needed an opening-day hit as much as anyone, RBI doubling to the track. Melky's great catch, then--one play later--his really great catch, a tumbling, diving two-out grab.
Wang, settling down, snapping his sinker off batters' ankles. The suddenly trim Jason Giambi, in for the bunt, stabbing a liner that would have given the Jays the lead.
"Okay," I said. "Now Wang comes out with the tie, the Yanks go ahead to qualify him for the win, then Joba, then Mo. Ballgame."
I say it here, it comes out there. Melky Cabrera, taking his place along the Babe (first home run in the Old Stadium's last season) with the homer in portion of the a park originally designed to maximize the Babe's prowess.
Joba Chamberlain, now looking oddly (and a little creepily) like comedian Frank Caliendo, picking up where he left off last year, pre-Lake Erie bugs. (All well and good, but if Joba's worked up a mean John Madden impersonation, I am officially worried.)
Mo.
Solid starting pitching.
Clutch defense.
Timely hitting late.
Stifling set-up.
Mo.
Ballgame.
Outside of the Yanks' will-they-or-won't-they winter pursuit of Johan Santana, nothing about baseball held me in thrall this winter. The problem was not just Roger Clemens' self-immolation, nor Andy Pettitte's hair shirt, nor Joe Torre's departure, nor the A-Rod melodrama.
What brings a sense of melancholia is the notion that, as the years pass, an entire generation of baseball achievements may--in the minds of future generations--be wiped from the boards, turned to non-event, the way the Chicago White Sox, to this day, refuse to fly the pennant of the 1919 Black Sox at whatever their ballpark is called this year.
Consider: we may, on a permanent basis (or until Alex Rodriguez reaches 800 homers), have a Hall of Fame that does not include:
*The All-Time home run leader (Barry Bonds)
*The winner of the most Cy Young Awards (Roger Clemens)
*The pitcher with the second-most career strikeouts (Clemens, again)
*Every batter who hit 62 or more home runs in a season (Bonds, Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa)
*And, because their records, clealy achieved, would pale by comparison to the apparent cheaters, a generation of clean superstars whose career marks would have been more than enough for entry, pre-2000 (start with Jeff Bagwell)
But enough of that today. A columnist for The New York Posthad a terrific account of how this year's Yankees might be an improved model on '07. Basically, the argument boils down to two words: Joe Girardi.
What struck me--I had no idea this was the case--was the fitness regimen Girardi imposed on the squad in Tampa through February and March. Joe Torre, for all his qualities, mostly trusted the veterans to work themselves into shape; he was, in retrospect, laid back even for a sport whose daily training regimens usually boil down to:
9-9:30 am Batting practice
9:30-10 am Shagging flies
11 am-5 pm 18 holes
The last few years, some players showed up to Tampa in game shape (A-Rod and Jeter manifestly). Some did not (Abreu, Giambi and Cano most prominently, and there may not be a connection, but the '07 Yankees were nearly out of it by the end of June due in no small part to the crappy play of those three, plus the desultory performance of Matsui, who at least couldn't be blamed on this score).
Apparently, this changed thanks to Giradi, who remains, in retirement, such a physical fitness nut that, during the broadcast of the game, Astro-Girl kept mistaking him for one of the players. ("Why are they showing him so much? Are they going to put him in?")
Now, one crisp 3-2 victory means as little, in the long view, as Houston's desultory loss last night. But when (to paraphrase John Updike) the first kiss tingles down to the toes, one's memories retain a bit sharper.
A partial list: Wang gutting it out early, with his sinker unsinking. A-Rod, who probably needed an opening-day hit as much as anyone, RBI doubling to the track. Melky's great catch, then--one play later--his really great catch, a tumbling, diving two-out grab.
Wang, settling down, snapping his sinker off batters' ankles. The suddenly trim Jason Giambi, in for the bunt, stabbing a liner that would have given the Jays the lead.
"Okay," I said. "Now Wang comes out with the tie, the Yanks go ahead to qualify him for the win, then Joba, then Mo. Ballgame."
I say it here, it comes out there. Melky Cabrera, taking his place along the Babe (first home run in the Old Stadium's last season) with the homer in portion of the a park originally designed to maximize the Babe's prowess.
Joba Chamberlain, now looking oddly (and a little creepily) like comedian Frank Caliendo, picking up where he left off last year, pre-Lake Erie bugs. (All well and good, but if Joba's worked up a mean John Madden impersonation, I am officially worried.)
Mo.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Baseball tomorrow!
But the real story is, improbably,Hillary.
The responses to the claims of her proxies--you know, the complaints about the drug-dealing, Hussein-named, maybe-Muslim, hateful-preacher worshipping, slumlord-befriending Obama--have been carried forth by the press.
As, strangely enough, have been the efforts of mainstream pressers to debunk every one of Hillary's whoppers.
I remember hearing of Hillary's claim of being named for Sir Edmund Hillary. I also remember, over a decade ago, Rush Limbaugh and The National Review pointing out, almost with a sense of weariness, that Hillary Clinton was born a half-dozen years before the meaningful Hillary ascended Everest. Rush, especially, repeated the anomaly 20 times or so, and then lost interest.
But now . . . now that Hillary has the audacity of hoping to defeat a black man . . . and a liberal to boot . . .
The responses to the claims of her proxies--you know, the complaints about the drug-dealing, Hussein-named, maybe-Muslim, hateful-preacher worshipping, slumlord-befriending Obama--have been carried forth by the press.
As, strangely enough, have been the efforts of mainstream pressers to debunk every one of Hillary's whoppers.
I remember hearing of Hillary's claim of being named for Sir Edmund Hillary. I also remember, over a decade ago, Rush Limbaugh and The National Review pointing out, almost with a sense of weariness, that Hillary Clinton was born a half-dozen years before the meaningful Hillary ascended Everest. Rush, especially, repeated the anomaly 20 times or so, and then lost interest.
But now . . . now that Hillary has the audacity of hoping to defeat a black man . . . and a liberal to boot . . .
Friday, March 28, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
And if it weren't for global warming, imagine how cold it would be
Take a look at this.
On the second day of spring, no less.
It appears the lifestyle botherers changed their mantra from "global warming" to "climate change" just in time--just in time to keep nagging us about eliminating of Edison's incandescent bulbs (only one of the twenty greatest inventions in the history of the world; the others, if you care, are the wheel, paper, the printing press, the still camera, the clock, the voice recorder, the telephone, the wireless, the movie camera, the internal combustion engine, the airplane, the television, the computer, Sputnik, Apollo 11, the microchip, the internet, and the cellular phone) just as Al Gore flies off in another private jet or returns to one of his four, going-full-blast mansions.
To put it one way: I'll believe it's a crisis when the people who tell me it's a crisis start behaving like it's a crisis.
To put it a second way: what I look forward to is twenty years from now, when the truly intellectually honest people awake as if from a slumber as if to ask, "What the hell were we thinking?"
To put it a third way: What is truly hilarious is how the leaders (you know, movie stars) pick up panics, then discard them as if they were last year's dresses hung limply on racks in Filene's basement. Question: when was the last mention of AIDS during an Oscars broadcast? Five years ago? Ten? Fifteen? The last one I remember was those nags, Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon, in 1993, and that was in an attempt to co-op the AIDS ribbon to the Haiti matter. Nowadays President Chimpy Bushitlerburton pours billions of American dollars into the cause at the locus of the problem (that would be Africa, not heterosexual America, regardless of the headlines you read in 1987), and to no approbation whatsoever. George W. Bush (who, yes, had the power to marshall the full force of the exectuive branch of the US government) has done more than any person on the planet to combat both African AIDS and African poverty--so says Bob Geldof, pretty much the last popular singer not named Bono who even sniffs in the direction of that dysfunctional continent. One would think Geldof would have the proper ethos to speak about President Bush. One would.
But. But how many high-profile celebrities nowadays invest their prestige in anything African? Brad Pitt, at the edges? George Clooney, decrying genocide in Darfur, but blind to the reality that an end to said genocide would come at the cost of an American-led invasion and occupation?
Okay, got off topic. My point is this: Five years from now, "global warming" will have the same cache as AIDS in Haiti does now. Ten years, starvation in Ethiopia.
The difference? AIDS in Haiti, starvation in Ethiopia, these things are real.
Man0made global warming, with human-activity solutions, is a fraud.
On the second day of spring, no less.
It appears the lifestyle botherers changed their mantra from "global warming" to "climate change" just in time--just in time to keep nagging us about eliminating of Edison's incandescent bulbs (only one of the twenty greatest inventions in the history of the world; the others, if you care, are the wheel, paper, the printing press, the still camera, the clock, the voice recorder, the telephone, the wireless, the movie camera, the internal combustion engine, the airplane, the television, the computer, Sputnik, Apollo 11, the microchip, the internet, and the cellular phone) just as Al Gore flies off in another private jet or returns to one of his four, going-full-blast mansions.
To put it one way: I'll believe it's a crisis when the people who tell me it's a crisis start behaving like it's a crisis.
To put it a second way: what I look forward to is twenty years from now, when the truly intellectually honest people awake as if from a slumber as if to ask, "What the hell were we thinking?"
To put it a third way: What is truly hilarious is how the leaders (you know, movie stars) pick up panics, then discard them as if they were last year's dresses hung limply on racks in Filene's basement. Question: when was the last mention of AIDS during an Oscars broadcast? Five years ago? Ten? Fifteen? The last one I remember was those nags, Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon, in 1993, and that was in an attempt to co-op the AIDS ribbon to the Haiti matter. Nowadays President Chimpy Bushitlerburton pours billions of American dollars into the cause at the locus of the problem (that would be Africa, not heterosexual America, regardless of the headlines you read in 1987), and to no approbation whatsoever. George W. Bush (who, yes, had the power to marshall the full force of the exectuive branch of the US government) has done more than any person on the planet to combat both African AIDS and African poverty--so says Bob Geldof, pretty much the last popular singer not named Bono who even sniffs in the direction of that dysfunctional continent. One would think Geldof would have the proper ethos to speak about President Bush. One would.
But. But how many high-profile celebrities nowadays invest their prestige in anything African? Brad Pitt, at the edges? George Clooney, decrying genocide in Darfur, but blind to the reality that an end to said genocide would come at the cost of an American-led invasion and occupation?
Okay, got off topic. My point is this: Five years from now, "global warming" will have the same cache as AIDS in Haiti does now. Ten years, starvation in Ethiopia.
The difference? AIDS in Haiti, starvation in Ethiopia, these things are real.
Man0made global warming, with human-activity solutions, is a fraud.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Last Words
Tomorrow Astro-Girl and I depart on our semi-annual mini-tour of the Gulf Coast: first, east to the tables in Lake Charles, Louisiana. From there, back west to Winnie, Texas, then south to High Island, a drive east along the gulf shore, then a ride on the ferry to Galveston. In Galveston, we'll crash in the lap of luxury at the Hotel Galvez, and supplement out succor with by a pig-out at Gaddo's and a tour of the Titanic remnants at Moody Gardens.
Okay, that last part is me. Geek that I am. (Q: Who was the man who, in real life, turned the lifeboat around and rescued Kate Winslet? A: Fifth-mate Lightoller. One caveat: Lightoller actually existed; Kate Winslet never did.) All is prelude to my leaving town right when all the fun starts. To wit:
1. The New York Yankees. So much fun has been the political season that I've disregarded the Yankee prospects this season, much to my regret. Blue, one of my most loyal readers (he knows what's wrong with every one of my postings) wondered a few weeks ago: Hillary? Obama? What about baseball? A fair point. My answer: In time.
It's scary, who thinks himself a sportswriter. Someone (I forget whom) recently wrote close to the following: in 1996 the Yankees let Spike Owen go to make room for Derek Jeter. And his reaction back then was the same as mine: Great, but who the hell is Derek Jeter? Twelve seasons, and one first-ballot Hall-of-Fame career later, now we know. Compare that to the Yankee pitching triumvriate of Phil Hughes, Ian Kennedy, and Joba Chamberlain--whom everyone seems to have an opinion of. The Yanks missed out on the statistically best pitcher in the majors over the past four years, in order to keep together the Big 3. Thank the internet. Will it work out? We'll see.
2. This Friday: the opening of Horton Hears a Who, a film co-written by my pal o' my heart Cinco Paul. Don't look for Cinco to get any love, but I'm thinking that many of the asides, many of the I-know-you're-a-parent-but-isn't-this-funny stuff will be traceable to him.
Is what I'm thinking. Horton. Check it out.
And until the weekend, I bid your farewell.
Okay, that last part is me. Geek that I am. (Q: Who was the man who, in real life, turned the lifeboat around and rescued Kate Winslet? A: Fifth-mate Lightoller. One caveat: Lightoller actually existed; Kate Winslet never did.) All is prelude to my leaving town right when all the fun starts. To wit:
1. The New York Yankees. So much fun has been the political season that I've disregarded the Yankee prospects this season, much to my regret. Blue, one of my most loyal readers (he knows what's wrong with every one of my postings) wondered a few weeks ago: Hillary? Obama? What about baseball? A fair point. My answer: In time.
It's scary, who thinks himself a sportswriter. Someone (I forget whom) recently wrote close to the following: in 1996 the Yankees let Spike Owen go to make room for Derek Jeter. And his reaction back then was the same as mine: Great, but who the hell is Derek Jeter? Twelve seasons, and one first-ballot Hall-of-Fame career later, now we know. Compare that to the Yankee pitching triumvriate of Phil Hughes, Ian Kennedy, and Joba Chamberlain--whom everyone seems to have an opinion of. The Yanks missed out on the statistically best pitcher in the majors over the past four years, in order to keep together the Big 3. Thank the internet. Will it work out? We'll see.
2. This Friday: the opening of Horton Hears a Who, a film co-written by my pal o' my heart Cinco Paul. Don't look for Cinco to get any love, but I'm thinking that many of the asides, many of the I-know-you're-a-parent-but-isn't-this-funny stuff will be traceable to him.
Is what I'm thinking. Horton. Check it out.
And until the weekend, I bid your farewell.
And one other thing
As for the hookers:
Did I hear those figures correctly?
Forty-three hundred bucks a night?
Fifty-five hundred bucks a night?
I mean, let's take the lower number.
Last year, in the midst of an English conference in Midtown Manhattan, I treated Astro-Girl to the splurge of a lifetime at the Capital Grille on 44th.
Cocktails, wine, appetizers, salads, steaks, some flaming-ass dessert with coffee, a nice digestif. It helped we had massive points to draw off, but the tab proper--tax, tip, and all--was less than $350.00.
Which raises the question.
Take the lower figure. Forty-three hundred And . . . ah . . .
Okay, look. If you have the itch that bad, why not, um, you know, kind of, you know, take care of things . . . and then take your best friend out for a three-hundred-dollar steak dinner? Wouldn't you fall asleep happy in the knowledge that you just saved four thousand dollars?
Did I hear those figures correctly?
Forty-three hundred bucks a night?
Fifty-five hundred bucks a night?
I mean, let's take the lower number.
Last year, in the midst of an English conference in Midtown Manhattan, I treated Astro-Girl to the splurge of a lifetime at the Capital Grille on 44th.
Cocktails, wine, appetizers, salads, steaks, some flaming-ass dessert with coffee, a nice digestif. It helped we had massive points to draw off, but the tab proper--tax, tip, and all--was less than $350.00.
Which raises the question.
Take the lower figure. Forty-three hundred And . . . ah . . .
Okay, look. If you have the itch that bad, why not, um, you know, kind of, you know, take care of things . . . and then take your best friend out for a three-hundred-dollar steak dinner? Wouldn't you fall asleep happy in the knowledge that you just saved four thousand dollars?
Spitzer Update
1. No resignation after all--not today, anyway. Wait for a couple two days; once the overnights come in, what you'll be hearing is Spitzer saying either a) "I am a John-American, and must resign to heal the hurt I have caused to my loved ones"; or b) "Regardless of what I have done, I owe a debt to the people of New York that is too large to step away from the awesome responsibility I have and the work that must be done."
I he has channeled his pals the Clintons properly, he'll choose Door B.
2. Bush! As reported, several links away, in The Corner, one of the Kossaks is already blaming W. See, it was his wiretapping that brought about the . . . oh, never mind.
Astro-Girl was intrigued: "How can President Bush be at fault?"
Me: "Easy. Spitzer slipped on a bar of soap. He landed on his back. Then President Bush shoved the hooker onto his penis."
Astro-Girl: "Huh. Bush Push, indeed."
I he has channeled his pals the Clintons properly, he'll choose Door B.
2. Bush! As reported, several links away, in The Corner, one of the Kossaks is already blaming W. See, it was his wiretapping that brought about the . . . oh, never mind.
Astro-Girl was intrigued: "How can President Bush be at fault?"
Me: "Easy. Spitzer slipped on a bar of soap. He landed on his back. Then President Bush shoved the hooker onto his penis."
Astro-Girl: "Huh. Bush Push, indeed."
NY Governor Spitzer caught in prostitution ring, will resign
Only leaving one question (with apologies to Best of the Web):
Exactly what political party does Eliot Spitzer belong to?
Hmm. Well, the New York Times story mentions it--as an aside, in paragraph nine.
The Huffpost quotes extensively from the Times story, but crops out
any reference at all.
Give up?
Exactly what political party does Eliot Spitzer belong to?
Hmm. Well, the New York Times story mentions it--as an aside, in paragraph nine.
The Huffpost quotes extensively from the Times story, but crops out
any reference at all.
Give up?
Hillary Watch IV
Reading a lot of essays like This one lately:
Then:
For these answers and more, tune in next week, when we'll hear the Clintons claim once again that, Oh, of course it's an honor to run against the inexperienced, Muslim, drug-dealing, Farrakhan-embracing, NAFTA-fibbing, shady land-deal-profiting Barack Hussein Obama.
Which only leaves us with one additional question.
When does the statute of limitations run out on describing the Clintons' tactics as from the Atwater/Rove playbook?
The Democratic convention is in six months. To give you a sense of how long that is, consider that it was six months ago that Fred Thompson announced for the presidency.
Would six more months of all of the above convince at least the Apologists Emeriti that these Clinton tactics are theirs, always and forever, that their behavior can no longer be blamed on nor traced to Ken Starr or Newt or Rove or Atwater, any more than the exhaust from my new Ford Edge causes floodwaters in Bali-Bali?
She has no idea how many times I defended her. How many right-leaning friends and relatives I battled with. How many times I played down her shady business deals and penchant for scandals -- whether it was Whitewater, Travelgate, Vince Foster, Cattle Futures, Web Hubbell, or Norman Hsu. She has no idea how frequently I dismissed her husband's serial adultery as an unfortunate trait of an otherwise brilliant man. For sixteen years, I was a proud soldier in the legion of "Clinton apologists" -- who believed that peace and prosperity were more important than regrettable personality traits.
And then she ran for president.
Then:
She accused Mr. Obama of his own shady business deals (the irony of which nearly ripped a hole in the fabric of space/time). She accused him of being two-faced on NAFTA, when it was her campaign that had winked at the Canadians. She demanded that he "reject" the endorsement of Louis Farrakhan, but remained silent when Rush Limbaugh stirred up votes for her in Texas. And she crafted the now-infamous "3am" attack ad -- which used scare tactics to highlight Senator Obama's perceived lack of experience in foreign affairs. Straight out of the ol' Atwater/Rove playbook. Of course, all of this paled in comparison to her husband's patronizing, racially insensitive comments earlier in the primary season.
Was this the same Hillary Clinton whose husband ran on the idea that hope was more powerful than fear? The wife of a president who had less foreign policy experience than Barack Obama when he was elected? And exactly which crisis is she referring to when she claims to have more experience? And while we're at it, where the hell are those tax returns?
It's clear that Hillary's back in this thing, at least for the time being. But at what cost? Short of some cataclysmic event, there's no way either she or Mr. Obama can reach 2,025 delegates in the remaining contests. That means she's accepted the inevitability of a brokered convention. A convention she'll almost certainly enter with fewer delegates than her opponent. That raises some important questions:
Will she subvert the will of the voters? Will she turn Denver into a series of shady back-room deals and arm twisting? Will she dispatch her husband to pressure superdelegates into switching allegiances at the last minute? Are we in for, as one pundit put it, a good ol' fashioned "knife fight?"
For these answers and more, tune in next week, when we'll hear the Clintons claim once again that, Oh, of course it's an honor to run against the inexperienced, Muslim, drug-dealing, Farrakhan-embracing, NAFTA-fibbing, shady land-deal-profiting Barack Hussein Obama.
Which only leaves us with one additional question.
When does the statute of limitations run out on describing the Clintons' tactics as from the Atwater/Rove playbook?
The Democratic convention is in six months. To give you a sense of how long that is, consider that it was six months ago that Fred Thompson announced for the presidency.
Would six more months of all of the above convince at least the Apologists Emeriti that these Clinton tactics are theirs, always and forever, that their behavior can no longer be blamed on nor traced to Ken Starr or Newt or Rove or Atwater, any more than the exhaust from my new Ford Edge causes floodwaters in Bali-Bali?
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Hillary: How Low?
The invaluable Irish Trojan spots this from New Republic's Jonathan Chait. Chait, an unreconstructed Democrat (hence Clintonite), writes:
The Irish Trojan (aka Brendan Loy) continues:
On the basis of what I read, I wrote the following on his comments page:
Then I went back, to Chait's entire entry, and wrote the following:
The GOP's best chance this fall is a Dem train wreck. That may not be enough, especially if Obama makes inroads in the South. (Without the Confederacy's 160 electoral votes, McCain is sunk.) But the Dems have been known to affect such a wreck.
All politicians, including Obama, spin. But the way the Clinton campaign says night is day is just especially audacious. ... I think Obama and his staff say things they at least believe to be essentially true. Working for Clinton has to be a soul-deadening experience.
The Irish Trojan (aka Brendan Loy) continues:
Chait is echoing Josh Marshall, who wrote last month that "good spin is clever and forward-leaning pitches of actual realities, facts. ... But this Clinton campaign has been doing it in a weird parody mode. Not sharp 'spins' on favorable realities, but aggressive pitches of complete nonsense."
On the basis of what I read, I wrote the following on his comments page:
Message from Republicans to Jonathan Chait:
So now you know. Only took 18 years, smart guy.
Then I went back, to Chait's entire entry, and wrote the following:
On second thought, Brendan, I went to the link and think you ellipsied out the sentence where Chait once again resumes the role of Clinton enabler:
"It's as if they have internalized the attacks they suffered in the 1990s to such a degree that they believe to their core that the only way to win is to imitate their worst tormentors."
Newt made 'em do it! Ken Starr made 'em do it!
And understand the Chait's implication here: that the current black-is-white (or, in the case of Obama, black-is-blacker) behavior of Mr. and Mrs. Snope from Hope is somehow new.
Chait's sub thesis: Oh, they were NEVER like this when I loved them.
The GOP's best chance this fall is a Dem train wreck. That may not be enough, especially if Obama makes inroads in the South. (Without the Confederacy's 160 electoral votes, McCain is sunk.) But the Dems have been known to affect such a wreck.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Clinton romps in OH, wins in TX
So:
Astro-Girl and I go out to the caucus, and come home to a world on fire.
Okay, not really.
But the next few months, watching the Dems, are going to be fun.
But for now, some news:
We're Republican delegates. To the Senate county convention, anyway.
It happened like this.
Our precinct is allowed 21 delegates to our county convention. On the way to our caucus, I specfically cut north two blocks out of our way, to Westheimer Boulevard, in order to pass between two Democatic Cauci.
As I wrote below, Astro-Girl and I live near the seam of two Houston neighborhoods, with us in Upper Kirby, which is south of River Oaks, the home of our city's millionaires and billionaires: oil CEOs, old-monied barons and world-famous heart surgeons. (One burning-hot summer Sunday afternoon, while jogging up an otherwise abandoned River Oaks Boulevard, the half-mile strip of mansions between Lamar High School and the River Oaks Country Club, I happened upon a man out by himself for a solitary Sunday stroll, who smiled and said hello as our paths crossed. Ken Lay.) Running from Weslayan east to Kirby Boulevard, Westheimer Boulevard is the dividing line between the two neighborhoods--and, at opposite sides of Westheimer and River Oaks, facing across the street from one another, sat the two Dem caucus sites. The River Oaks precinct was St. John's Church, on the northwest side of the intersection; Upper Kirby was in Lamar High School, on the south side, and as we passed on Westheimer between the two precincts, I marveled at the traffic, at the spilling-over parking lots and the long, long lines to enter, as if for (on the one hand) Midnight Mass and (on the other) a high school basketball playoff game.
We drove down to the GOP Upper Kirby Caucus, which was held in a boardroom that served as a kind of storefront. This had been the same room in which Astro-Girl and I had voted five hours earlier; I had assumed that, come the evening, the voting machines would be carried out to make room for caucusing GOPers.
As it turned out, the space was unneeded. The voting machines stayed where they were, and circular folding tables were rolled into the waiting area.
At our table, in three concentric circles, there were 19 of us, many of whom had presumably decided that lungs were a measure of intelligence. Two guys kept going on and on about how the IRS needed to be abolished. Two others kept going on about how they hated McCain. The loudest was the large girl* who went on and on about how Huckabee could still pull off the nomination; she kept drawing designs on a pad of paper and explaining what she referred to as "The Scenario": a loss here, an endorsement there, and bang, a brokered convention.
The precinct captain counted us off, then announced that there were 21 slots for county delegates. He then said, "Umm, does anyone not want to be a delegate?"
Three hands went up, neither of which were Astro-Girl's or mine.
And that's how I became a delegate.
(*Changed from "fat chick")
Astro-Girl and I go out to the caucus, and come home to a world on fire.
Okay, not really.
But the next few months, watching the Dems, are going to be fun.
But for now, some news:
We're Republican delegates. To the Senate county convention, anyway.
It happened like this.
Our precinct is allowed 21 delegates to our county convention. On the way to our caucus, I specfically cut north two blocks out of our way, to Westheimer Boulevard, in order to pass between two Democatic Cauci.
As I wrote below, Astro-Girl and I live near the seam of two Houston neighborhoods, with us in Upper Kirby, which is south of River Oaks, the home of our city's millionaires and billionaires: oil CEOs, old-monied barons and world-famous heart surgeons. (One burning-hot summer Sunday afternoon, while jogging up an otherwise abandoned River Oaks Boulevard, the half-mile strip of mansions between Lamar High School and the River Oaks Country Club, I happened upon a man out by himself for a solitary Sunday stroll, who smiled and said hello as our paths crossed. Ken Lay.) Running from Weslayan east to Kirby Boulevard, Westheimer Boulevard is the dividing line between the two neighborhoods--and, at opposite sides of Westheimer and River Oaks, facing across the street from one another, sat the two Dem caucus sites. The River Oaks precinct was St. John's Church, on the northwest side of the intersection; Upper Kirby was in Lamar High School, on the south side, and as we passed on Westheimer between the two precincts, I marveled at the traffic, at the spilling-over parking lots and the long, long lines to enter, as if for (on the one hand) Midnight Mass and (on the other) a high school basketball playoff game.
We drove down to the GOP Upper Kirby Caucus, which was held in a boardroom that served as a kind of storefront. This had been the same room in which Astro-Girl and I had voted five hours earlier; I had assumed that, come the evening, the voting machines would be carried out to make room for caucusing GOPers.
As it turned out, the space was unneeded. The voting machines stayed where they were, and circular folding tables were rolled into the waiting area.
At our table, in three concentric circles, there were 19 of us, many of whom had presumably decided that lungs were a measure of intelligence. Two guys kept going on and on about how the IRS needed to be abolished. Two others kept going on about how they hated McCain. The loudest was the large girl* who went on and on about how Huckabee could still pull off the nomination; she kept drawing designs on a pad of paper and explaining what she referred to as "The Scenario": a loss here, an endorsement there, and bang, a brokered convention.
The precinct captain counted us off, then announced that there were 21 slots for county delegates. He then said, "Umm, does anyone not want to be a delegate?"
Three hands went up, neither of which were Astro-Girl's or mine.
And that's how I became a delegate.
(*Changed from "fat chick")
Obama wins RI; TX, OH down to the wire
Voted today; soon (in Texas's crazy-quilt primary/caucus system) it's back to the precinct.
Over at the Irish Trojan, Brendan Loy solicited predictions. I offered the following:
Clinton narrowly wins Texas (primary only), wins Ohio by 7.
I added:
Poster 4-7 rejoined:
Heh.
Over at the Irish Trojan, Brendan Loy solicited predictions. I offered the following:
Clinton narrowly wins Texas (primary only), wins Ohio by 7.
I added:
Oh: My precinct in Houston is Upper Kirby, a kind of yuppie middle-class professional/just-out-of-med-school/just starting in law area south of posh River Oaks.
The area set aside for the Dem Caucus is the local Lamar High School, either in the gym or the expansive adjacent lobby.
The GOP? An office boardroom.
Poster 4-7 rejoined:
I guess that's appropriate. The GOP is where you go to get business done, the Dem. party is where you go for childish games that lead nowhere if you don't eventually grow up.
:P
Heh.
Primary/Caucus Day in Texas
And the only suspense left--let's face it--is, How far will the Clintons go?
Never mind today. Come the day after Pennsylvania, will the Clintons lead in pledged delegates? No.
Will they lead in pledged-plus-super? No.
Will they (absent Michigan and Florida, a phrase that nearly puts me to sleep to type) be within 150 delegates of Obama, total? Not so much.
So: What will they do?
Two options. Cut losses, retrench, and position Hillary as, say, Majority Leader as soon as pipsqueak Reid can be disposed of.
Then Hillary can call for for cloture the next 20 years.
Or else? Napalm.
You gotta believe the press is craving the latter. Right now, there is a general consensus of Hillary-as-drag, as someone embarrassing herself by not knowing when to exit.
But if she goes, what then? Obama v. McCain? If the past twenty years (Dukakis v. Bush 41) tell us anything, general election polls don't mean a damn until they stabilize after the second convention. The GOP is due up in September.
So: Absent the Clinton slash-and-burn strategy, the Washington press is stuck waiting around for six months--waiting for Obama or McCain to say f&^* or get shot.
So, again: what will the Clintons do?
Orwell used to say that understanding the Soviet Union required imagination more than intellect.
Not that the Clintons are the Politburo.
But you get the idea.
Never mind today. Come the day after Pennsylvania, will the Clintons lead in pledged delegates? No.
Will they lead in pledged-plus-super? No.
Will they (absent Michigan and Florida, a phrase that nearly puts me to sleep to type) be within 150 delegates of Obama, total? Not so much.
So: What will they do?
Two options. Cut losses, retrench, and position Hillary as, say, Majority Leader as soon as pipsqueak Reid can be disposed of.
Then Hillary can call for for cloture the next 20 years.
Or else? Napalm.
You gotta believe the press is craving the latter. Right now, there is a general consensus of Hillary-as-drag, as someone embarrassing herself by not knowing when to exit.
But if she goes, what then? Obama v. McCain? If the past twenty years (Dukakis v. Bush 41) tell us anything, general election polls don't mean a damn until they stabilize after the second convention. The GOP is due up in September.
So: Absent the Clinton slash-and-burn strategy, the Washington press is stuck waiting around for six months--waiting for Obama or McCain to say f&^* or get shot.
So, again: what will the Clintons do?
Orwell used to say that understanding the Soviet Union required imagination more than intellect.
Not that the Clintons are the Politburo.
But you get the idea.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Amy Poehler as Hillary
Hilary was on SNL last night. She bombed. (To be fair, so did Rudy in his cameo.)
Much better was Amy Poehler as Hillary in their debate:
Poehler-as-Hillary said, taking on the special interests required someone like Mrs. Clinton:
Much better was Amy Poehler as Hillary in their debate:
Poehler-as-Hillary said, taking on the special interests required someone like Mrs. Clinton:
''Someone so annoying, so pushy, so grating, so bossy and shrill, with a personality so unpleasant, that at the end of the day the special interests will have to go, 'Enough! We give up! Life is too short to deal with this awful woman! Just give her what she wants and she’ll shut up!' And I think the American people will agree, that someone is me.''
Clinton in the Vortex
Juan Williams, on Fox This Morning, guessed that Hillary would get out if she did not sweep Texas and Ohio.
What was significant, however, was not his words but something else:
The pleading in his eyes.
As in: please please please, Hillary, don't give McCain the gift of a divided party.
This entire election year seems designed as a gift to the Dems.
Three to four Senate pick-ups, very close to a filibuster-proof majority, once the Olympia Snowes of the world are factored in.
No worse than a push in the House, and probably 10 pick-ups, with over 24 GOP retirees.
And, as if anyone noticed, Obama-mania is sweeping the nation.
All that is left is for Hillary to step aside.
But will it work out that way?
The text wil be this Tuesday, and whether the Clintons will step forward with a legal challenge to Texas's (admittedly) byzantine primary/caucus system, a procedure so complicated it was best ignored for years, until suddenly Texas mattered.
Astro-Girl and I will be caucusing for McCain Tuesday night, so we'll probably miss the fun.
Meanwhile, this, in the New York Observer.
Gloria Steinam joins Mark Penn, Bill Shaheen, Howard Wolfson, Bob Kerrey and Bill Clinton in Hillary's "For God's Sake, Stop Helping Me" Hall of Fame.
The Clintons do what they can to cover up:
In her dreams, presumably.
What was significant, however, was not his words but something else:
The pleading in his eyes.
As in: please please please, Hillary, don't give McCain the gift of a divided party.
This entire election year seems designed as a gift to the Dems.
Three to four Senate pick-ups, very close to a filibuster-proof majority, once the Olympia Snowes of the world are factored in.
No worse than a push in the House, and probably 10 pick-ups, with over 24 GOP retirees.
And, as if anyone noticed, Obama-mania is sweeping the nation.
All that is left is for Hillary to step aside.
But will it work out that way?
The text wil be this Tuesday, and whether the Clintons will step forward with a legal challenge to Texas's (admittedly) byzantine primary/caucus system, a procedure so complicated it was best ignored for years, until suddenly Texas mattered.
Astro-Girl and I will be caucusing for McCain Tuesday night, so we'll probably miss the fun.
Meanwhile, this, in the New York Observer.
Gloria Steinam joins Mark Penn, Bill Shaheen, Howard Wolfson, Bob Kerrey and Bill Clinton in Hillary's "For God's Sake, Stop Helping Me" Hall of Fame.
“Suppose John McCain had been Joan McCain and Joan McCain had got captured, shot down and been a POW for eight years. [The media would ask], ‘What did you do wrong to get captured? What terrible things did you do while you were there as a captive for eight years?’” Steinem said, to laughter from the audience.
McCain was, in fact, a prisoner of war for around five-and-a-half years, during which time he was tortured repeatedly. Referring to his time in captivity, Steinem said with bewilderment, “I mean, hello? This is supposed to be a qualification to be president? I don’t think so.”
The Clintons do what they can to cover up:
UPDATE: The Clinton campaign sends over the following statement from Howard Wolfson: "Senator Clinton has repeatedly praised Senator McCain's courage and service to our country. These comments certainly do not represent her thinking in any way. Senator Clinton intends to have a respectful debate with Senator McCain on the issues."
In her dreams, presumably.
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