Missed last night's game (another Wizard metldown at Minute Maid) which was just as well.
But you know what today's game was like?
Today's game was a cold beer after a long jog.
Today's game was doubling down on eleven and getting a face card.
Today's game was ordering a medium-rare steak and getting it just red enough in the middle. With a meaty Cabernet.
Today's game was slashing all around a golf course for seventeeen holes, then on 18--from 150 yards--clicking your five iron to send the ball to within six inches of the hole.
Today's game was laying down fours against a full house.
Today's game was waking up in the middle of the night, thinking it was time to get up, then seeing you still had three hours left of sleep.
Today's game was a two-hour afternoon nap that you've known for three days you've needed. And then taking it.
Today's game was seeing a column by Mark Steyn or Jay Nordlinger and saying to yourself, "I'm really going to enjoy the next ten minutes of my life."
Today's game was not perfect, just beautiful.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Rangers 4, Yankees 2
One of those games, but can I get in on something?
John Sterling, and I mean, Jesus.
I am one of I don't know, maybe hundreds of thousands of Yankee fans who listened to the last season of Yankee radio broadcasts, in 1988, before Sterling and whoever was his stooge took over.
Hank Greenwald and Tommy Hutton. Those names ring a bell with anyone under 35?
In 1988, I was a graduate student in Binghamton, New York, trying to make enough money to last the summer, and was lucky enough to land a position as a security guard at Binghamton General Hospital. Mostly, my job entailed looking in on yobs the police had brought in, those too drunk or too high to yet withstand psych evaluation, those who would have to sleep it off before their interview and assignment.
I was being paid five bucks an hour to watch people sleep and read as much as I could inhale. The work was so low-stress I was able to work double shifts and put away enough money to patrol New England on the weekends: just enough money for gas, coffee, sandwiches, and the occasional beer.
And what kept me going? Through upstate New York, Vermont, and even Massachusetts, what kep me going was Greenwald and Hutton; Greenwald, bringing the gravel; and Tommy, the honey. Not once did their account of the game stand at odds with the filmed account of the game. Not once did their self-aggradizement cloud what was happening.
I mean, these guys were the real deal.
But this was the era of Steinbrenner. The Boss. The guy who said "You're fired!" back when Donald Trump was some millionaire's son trying to make it real estate.
Greenwald and Hutton? Not pro-Yankee enough. So after superbly capturing a not-so-bad pennant race (1988, look it up), these guys were let go.
And in came, in 1989, John Sterling.
Who, in the first three weeks of the 1989 season, called two home runs that weren't.
"It is high . . . it is long . . . . it is gone! . . . No it isn't!"
Great announcers, the Vin Sculleys and Ernie Harwells of the profession, get a home run call wrong maybe once a decade. Simply okay announcers (think of the Caray boys), maybe once every four or five years, though this may be too harsh.
Sterling? Once a month, minimum. Minimum!
A bill and a half for the stadium, they can't afford an announcer who can call a damn game?
More: Jeez.
John Sterling, and I mean, Jesus.
I am one of I don't know, maybe hundreds of thousands of Yankee fans who listened to the last season of Yankee radio broadcasts, in 1988, before Sterling and whoever was his stooge took over.
Hank Greenwald and Tommy Hutton. Those names ring a bell with anyone under 35?
In 1988, I was a graduate student in Binghamton, New York, trying to make enough money to last the summer, and was lucky enough to land a position as a security guard at Binghamton General Hospital. Mostly, my job entailed looking in on yobs the police had brought in, those too drunk or too high to yet withstand psych evaluation, those who would have to sleep it off before their interview and assignment.
I was being paid five bucks an hour to watch people sleep and read as much as I could inhale. The work was so low-stress I was able to work double shifts and put away enough money to patrol New England on the weekends: just enough money for gas, coffee, sandwiches, and the occasional beer.
And what kept me going? Through upstate New York, Vermont, and even Massachusetts, what kep me going was Greenwald and Hutton; Greenwald, bringing the gravel; and Tommy, the honey. Not once did their account of the game stand at odds with the filmed account of the game. Not once did their self-aggradizement cloud what was happening.
I mean, these guys were the real deal.
But this was the era of Steinbrenner. The Boss. The guy who said "You're fired!" back when Donald Trump was some millionaire's son trying to make it real estate.
Greenwald and Hutton? Not pro-Yankee enough. So after superbly capturing a not-so-bad pennant race (1988, look it up), these guys were let go.
And in came, in 1989, John Sterling.
Who, in the first three weeks of the 1989 season, called two home runs that weren't.
"It is high . . . it is long . . . . it is gone! . . . No it isn't!"
Great announcers, the Vin Sculleys and Ernie Harwells of the profession, get a home run call wrong maybe once a decade. Simply okay announcers (think of the Caray boys), maybe once every four or five years, though this may be too harsh.
Sterling? Once a month, minimum. Minimum!
A bill and a half for the stadium, they can't afford an announcer who can call a damn game?
More: Jeez.
Yankees 12, Rangers 3
Ohhhhh, those mid-week extra-inning games that so mess up the next day . . .
By which I mean the Astros over the Rockies in 11, Tejada's walk-off.
(Which does raise a point. Again, folks, let new Yankee Stadium settle. This happens with parks. When "Enron Field" opened in 2000, balls flew out for the first season. Last night, in 11 innings, the 'Stros and Rockies combined for five runs, one of them a solo homer. The last name of the Houston starter was Paulino.)
All night, to relieve the tension/boredom, I could look over and see the Yankees pile the runs on the mechanical scoreboard. Seven runs in one inning? Surely a Texiera slammy.
Um, no.
A baseball season is a game in macro-cosm. It is tempting to give everything, in retrospect, an air of inevitability. As the Astros trailed for six of the first nine innings, not only piling up men left on base but men left on base from insane situations, everybody was on the same page: They're blowing it. First inning, first and third, nobody out, with Pence, then Lee, then Puma due up. result: Zero runs. That sort of thing.
In the end, though, you'd say that though the Astros had squandered their opportunities the Rockies had let them hang around. Well, I saw it coming, dummy.
The game of "I knew it right then" is easy to play, so long as you play it after the final score.
I'm saying this because should the Yankees have a successful season (and at this moment nothing less than the World Series would define "success") this will be one of the games we look back on, when the team really started to come together.
This bring us back to Tex. Like the O'Neill/Tino/Scottie bunch who came over to the Yankees in the mid-nineties, a Yankee fan finds out about a new player a day, a game, an at-bat at the time. I had known something about Tex from watching him play maybe ten games a year. Hit, field, power, average--not much else.
When I got a look at him in pinstripes I (along with five million others, I'll wager), took him in. Heighth, build, facial expression--I'll be honest, I put him in the Kyle Farnsworth/Lou Piniella School of Red-Ass.
Well, not so fast. With his military upbringing (didn't known that), his fanaticism for a sharp-looking uniform (didn't know that), and his own personal code of conduct (he has, for instance, vowed never, ever to charge the mound), what we have here is a different cat than what I'd thought.
Tex was the catalyst for last night's big inning. But, as everyone not at the Astros' game knew, not the way you might have thought.
There's a little Pudge Fisk in this guy, a sense of how the game should be played. Right way, wrong way. (Pudge, you may recall, once screamed at Deion Sanders for not running out a pop-up . . . and this was when Sanders was playing for the opposing team, for God's sake.)
Asked about Padilla's headhunting, Texiera gave an answer that revealed something about him: his concern was not merely the danger aspect of a beanball, but how antithetical it is to the best notions of the game. He objected to the way Padilla played when they were teammates, and not just because Padilla's style made his better-hitting teammates (including, of course, Texiera) vulnerable. Anyone who has watched or played baseball knows the line between protecting the plate and attempting to injure someone--it's subtle, but it's there. And Texiera knows it, and suspects Padilla does, too.
So Padilla did what he did, twice, and Texiera did what he did, taking out the shortstop on a rough slide. A double-play was averted, the Yanks scored seven runs in the inning, and down went the Rangers.
Does this portend great things?
Since real life isn't fiction, we will only know in retrospect.
Last night at Minute Maid, so many fans had given up in the seventh, eighth, and ninth (they'd seen this story play out too many times already this season), only a few thousand remained to the end. I thought they were going to ask Astro-Girl and me to hit the lights and lock up when we left. Instead I was able to high-five an usher as we left and shout those magical five words: "Had 'em all the way."
By which I mean the Astros over the Rockies in 11, Tejada's walk-off.
(Which does raise a point. Again, folks, let new Yankee Stadium settle. This happens with parks. When "Enron Field" opened in 2000, balls flew out for the first season. Last night, in 11 innings, the 'Stros and Rockies combined for five runs, one of them a solo homer. The last name of the Houston starter was Paulino.)
All night, to relieve the tension/boredom, I could look over and see the Yankees pile the runs on the mechanical scoreboard. Seven runs in one inning? Surely a Texiera slammy.
Um, no.
A baseball season is a game in macro-cosm. It is tempting to give everything, in retrospect, an air of inevitability. As the Astros trailed for six of the first nine innings, not only piling up men left on base but men left on base from insane situations, everybody was on the same page: They're blowing it. First inning, first and third, nobody out, with Pence, then Lee, then Puma due up. result: Zero runs. That sort of thing.
In the end, though, you'd say that though the Astros had squandered their opportunities the Rockies had let them hang around. Well, I saw it coming, dummy.
The game of "I knew it right then" is easy to play, so long as you play it after the final score.
I'm saying this because should the Yankees have a successful season (and at this moment nothing less than the World Series would define "success") this will be one of the games we look back on, when the team really started to come together.
This bring us back to Tex. Like the O'Neill/Tino/Scottie bunch who came over to the Yankees in the mid-nineties, a Yankee fan finds out about a new player a day, a game, an at-bat at the time. I had known something about Tex from watching him play maybe ten games a year. Hit, field, power, average--not much else.
When I got a look at him in pinstripes I (along with five million others, I'll wager), took him in. Heighth, build, facial expression--I'll be honest, I put him in the Kyle Farnsworth/Lou Piniella School of Red-Ass.
Well, not so fast. With his military upbringing (didn't known that), his fanaticism for a sharp-looking uniform (didn't know that), and his own personal code of conduct (he has, for instance, vowed never, ever to charge the mound), what we have here is a different cat than what I'd thought.
Tex was the catalyst for last night's big inning. But, as everyone not at the Astros' game knew, not the way you might have thought.
There's a little Pudge Fisk in this guy, a sense of how the game should be played. Right way, wrong way. (Pudge, you may recall, once screamed at Deion Sanders for not running out a pop-up . . . and this was when Sanders was playing for the opposing team, for God's sake.)
Asked about Padilla's headhunting, Texiera gave an answer that revealed something about him: his concern was not merely the danger aspect of a beanball, but how antithetical it is to the best notions of the game. He objected to the way Padilla played when they were teammates, and not just because Padilla's style made his better-hitting teammates (including, of course, Texiera) vulnerable. Anyone who has watched or played baseball knows the line between protecting the plate and attempting to injure someone--it's subtle, but it's there. And Texiera knows it, and suspects Padilla does, too.
So Padilla did what he did, twice, and Texiera did what he did, taking out the shortstop on a rough slide. A double-play was averted, the Yanks scored seven runs in the inning, and down went the Rangers.
Does this portend great things?
Since real life isn't fiction, we will only know in retrospect.
Last night at Minute Maid, so many fans had given up in the seventh, eighth, and ninth (they'd seen this story play out too many times already this season), only a few thousand remained to the end. I thought they were going to ask Astro-Girl and me to hit the lights and lock up when we left. Instead I was able to high-five an usher as we left and shout those magical five words: "Had 'em all the way."
Monday, June 01, 2009
Yankees 5, Indians 2
Soime housecleaning.
Sun Devil Joe writes:
Well, okay, and yes. And:
To the last, no. Strange as it may seem, as dominant as USC baseball has been over the years, during the McKay/Robinson I/Carroll years it has run a poor fifth to USC's four major sports:
1. Football
2. Spring football
3. Football recruiting
4. Basketball
I bounced around looking for Kennedy's current stats; nothing so far, just that 8.17 staring at me from 2008.
Now, Gardner. Well, good for him. This piece of knowledge turns the whole deal on its right angles and may (to mix sports metaphors) help the Yanks gain yardage over all.
Now. As to tonight. Robby-Boy: Still Joba to the pen? Or Joba to 35 starts and 220 innings for the next 10 years?
Yeah, and Mo. Has anyone noticed something? Since the days of Alexander Cartwright or John McGraw or whomever, Mo has blown some high-profile game in April. Happens. This has lead to some scare backpage headline--"OH, MO!", or "SAY IT AIN'T SO, MO!"--written in the same 120-point-size typeface the Daily News or Post is saving for its front page, when it caen write "MARINES CAPTURE BIN LADEN"--something they'd probably run as "OUR BOYS BAG THE BUM."
So: high-profile game in April. Mo blows a save. So: It's over for Mo! Mo can't bring it! Mo is mortal!
This wouldn't be as funny as it is were it not for every other time Rivera comes to the mound, how Miller and Morgan (or whoever) rhapsodize about how Oh, God, pity the poor batters, and notice how he's harder on right-handers.
Rivera is the greatest closer ever, and it's not even close. (He surpassed Eck and Sutter a long time ago, sorry, and Goose, and Hoffman was never close.) Not about to fall off a cliff. Not perfect. Everybody calm down.
Sun Devil Joe writes:
Regarding Gardner's baserunning blunder, I'm not sure that Giradi threw him under the bus as I think Gardner was the first to talk about it. He also admitted to misjudging Asdrubal Cabrera's leadoff fly ball to center in the fifth inning. What should have been the first out turned into a double and a cheap run that extended the Indians' lead to 4-0. Welcome back Melky.
Well, okay, and yes. And:
I'm the one who asked about Ian Kennedy. He is on the roster of the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre Yankees but on the DL. Did you know he is a Trojan?
To the last, no. Strange as it may seem, as dominant as USC baseball has been over the years, during the McKay/Robinson I/Carroll years it has run a poor fifth to USC's four major sports:
1. Football
2. Spring football
3. Football recruiting
4. Basketball
I bounced around looking for Kennedy's current stats; nothing so far, just that 8.17 staring at me from 2008.
Now, Gardner. Well, good for him. This piece of knowledge turns the whole deal on its right angles and may (to mix sports metaphors) help the Yanks gain yardage over all.
Now. As to tonight. Robby-Boy: Still Joba to the pen? Or Joba to 35 starts and 220 innings for the next 10 years?
Yeah, and Mo. Has anyone noticed something? Since the days of Alexander Cartwright or John McGraw or whomever, Mo has blown some high-profile game in April. Happens. This has lead to some scare backpage headline--"OH, MO!", or "SAY IT AIN'T SO, MO!"--written in the same 120-point-size typeface the Daily News or Post is saving for its front page, when it caen write "MARINES CAPTURE BIN LADEN"--something they'd probably run as "OUR BOYS BAG THE BUM."
So: high-profile game in April. Mo blows a save. So: It's over for Mo! Mo can't bring it! Mo is mortal!
This wouldn't be as funny as it is were it not for every other time Rivera comes to the mound, how Miller and Morgan (or whoever) rhapsodize about how Oh, God, pity the poor batters, and notice how he's harder on right-handers.
Rivera is the greatest closer ever, and it's not even close. (He surpassed Eck and Sutter a long time ago, sorry, and Goose, and Hoffman was never close.) Not about to fall off a cliff. Not perfect. Everybody calm down.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Indians 5, Yankees 4
One of those, "Yeah, saw it coming, even when they tied it up" games.
The downside of winning so many cliffhangers is that, eventually, your first line of relievers is going to exhaust itself. Happens all the time, happened today.
Thoughts:
1. For Hughes, again, two forward, one back. Meanwhile, Wang, in three scoreless relief innings, has cut his era more than half from its apex! (To sixteen-something.) So: whaddya do? Watch and learn? Right now, about a dozen Yankees couldn't play better in their dreams, from Tex on down. They're in first, and there's about a ninety percent chance the Wild Card comes from the East. Does Girardi allow himself the luxury of forcing Wang to play himself back into the rotation? Does he sit back and observe, and wait for Phil Hughes to become Phil Hughes?
2. Robby-Boy is pushing hard for Joba in the pen. Two thoughts: 1. If you do it now, do it forever, and with the intention of installing him as closer eventually. 2. Are we looking at a rotation of CC, Burnett, Pettitte, Wang and Hughes, in that case? 3. I forget who asked the question, but where in the world is Ian Kennedy. Yeah, yeah, that's what the internet is for. I'll find out myself.
Joba back to set-up? I disagree, but not vehemently.
3. Of course we really knew when it was over. Posada's DP grounder in the ninth. Turns out Brett Gardner was given the "must steal" sign. Re Girardi:
So: Gardner gets his sign. He breaks for second, the shortstop breaks for the bag. Tapper to second, Gardner comes in safe, Posada out at first, go-ahead run scores from third, and Gardner is on second, ready to score on a base hit.
In any case, in this scenario, up comes Mo and out go the Indians.
Well, of course we know that.
Funny, though. Did Girardi throw the kid under the bus? Sounds like he did. How very un-Torre of him.
The downside of winning so many cliffhangers is that, eventually, your first line of relievers is going to exhaust itself. Happens all the time, happened today.
Thoughts:
1. For Hughes, again, two forward, one back. Meanwhile, Wang, in three scoreless relief innings, has cut his era more than half from its apex! (To sixteen-something.) So: whaddya do? Watch and learn? Right now, about a dozen Yankees couldn't play better in their dreams, from Tex on down. They're in first, and there's about a ninety percent chance the Wild Card comes from the East. Does Girardi allow himself the luxury of forcing Wang to play himself back into the rotation? Does he sit back and observe, and wait for Phil Hughes to become Phil Hughes?
2. Robby-Boy is pushing hard for Joba in the pen. Two thoughts: 1. If you do it now, do it forever, and with the intention of installing him as closer eventually. 2. Are we looking at a rotation of CC, Burnett, Pettitte, Wang and Hughes, in that case? 3. I forget who asked the question, but where in the world is Ian Kennedy. Yeah, yeah, that's what the internet is for. I'll find out myself.
Joba back to set-up? I disagree, but not vehemently.
3. Of course we really knew when it was over. Posada's DP grounder in the ninth. Turns out Brett Gardner was given the "must steal" sign. Re Girardi:
Yankees manager Joe Girardi gave Brett Gardner at first base the steal sign with Posada up, but the rookie didn't go.
"It has been addressed," Girardi said.
So: Gardner gets his sign. He breaks for second, the shortstop breaks for the bag. Tapper to second, Gardner comes in safe, Posada out at first, go-ahead run scores from third, and Gardner is on second, ready to score on a base hit.
In any case, in this scenario, up comes Mo and out go the Indians.
Well, of course we know that.
Funny, though. Did Girardi throw the kid under the bus? Sounds like he did. How very un-Torre of him.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
14 of 17 and counting
At the quarter-pole, it is time to ask ourselves:
Are these guys really this good?
CC, Burnett, Tex, Melky/Gardner, Cano, Joba.
Jeter in the middle of rallies. A-Rod, back in the groove--with Manny as his new best friend and Selena Roberts, in her odd way, as his second-best.
Are these guys really this good?
CC, Burnett, Tex, Melky/Gardner, Cano, Joba.
Jeter in the middle of rallies. A-Rod, back in the groove--with Manny as his new best friend and Selena Roberts, in her odd way, as his second-best.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Yankee 11, Rangers 1
Astro-Girl pressed hard for a jaunt north to Arlington when the Yankees came around, and I toyed with the idea before deciding my compact schedule couldn't permit it.
And this would have been the game I saw. Damn.
Should have listened to the missus.
More than A-Rod's hits, more than Tex and all his doings, the main story was Phil Hughes. Every so often, on your favorite baseball team, there's some kid coming out of the minors you just badly want to see do well. Al Leiter was that way with me in 1988, and he did make good, though with the Mets and a decade later. Lance Berkman, and more recently, Hunter Pence with the Astros.
When Pence showed up at Spring Training two years ago, then proceeded to hit something like .460 with a dozen home runs, throw out guys from center and run the bases like a Little Leaguer, it was impossible not to like him. Then, it took one month of playing in houston for Pence to go from, "Hey, this kid can play," to "Damn, they could build a line up around this guy." Now, unless Pence's batting average falls off a cliff, Pence should go to the All-Star game whether Tejada is voted as a starter or not.
And now Hughes, with that sweet slow breaking ball (did I mention--the best I've seen since Bert Blyleven's?). Hughes is starting to tantalize us the way Leiter did two decades ago: a few good starts, injury, bad start, good start, etc.
I want
And this would have been the game I saw. Damn.
Should have listened to the missus.
More than A-Rod's hits, more than Tex and all his doings, the main story was Phil Hughes. Every so often, on your favorite baseball team, there's some kid coming out of the minors you just badly want to see do well. Al Leiter was that way with me in 1988, and he did make good, though with the Mets and a decade later. Lance Berkman, and more recently, Hunter Pence with the Astros.
When Pence showed up at Spring Training two years ago, then proceeded to hit something like .460 with a dozen home runs, throw out guys from center and run the bases like a Little Leaguer, it was impossible not to like him. Then, it took one month of playing in houston for Pence to go from, "Hey, this kid can play," to "Damn, they could build a line up around this guy." Now, unless Pence's batting average falls off a cliff, Pence should go to the All-Star game whether Tejada is voted as a starter or not.
And now Hughes, with that sweet slow breaking ball (did I mention--the best I've seen since Bert Blyleven's?). Hughes is starting to tantalize us the way Leiter did two decades ago: a few good starts, injury, bad start, good start, etc.
I want
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Roger Maris belongs in the Hall of Fame
Call this my new crusade. In the wake of steroids, the case becomes more compelling. More to follow
More housecleaning
" I confess. This past Sunday night I betrayed Howie Rose, something I knew was risky and wrong, when I chose to both watch and listen to ESPN's coverage of Mets-Giants.
Why I thought that ESPN, instead of smothering another game with verbal and video excess, would let this one breathe, I can't explain. But it was, of course, a mistake.
To lighten the load of both the Yankees' loss today and the fact of my post being zapped by PC ( that geek I want to slap), I give you this, coutesy of SundDevil Joe:
A
So now I'm trying to remember my brilliance. I remember thinking it odd Morgan didn't fit in either "my two consecutive MVP awards" or "The Big Red Machine" or "We never should have traded Tony Perez" into that paragraph.
(A time-out here. I mean, every time a line drive gets past a diving first baseman, it's not warrant to plunge into a ten-minute monologue about how Tony Perez was the anchor of the 70s Reds, and blah blah how the Dodgers blah blah and then after we got Seaver blah blah blah. I mean, some on, dude.)
Thing is, and this the tragedy, Morgan was a fantastic player. I'm about to turn 44, and in my lifetime, if one twins offense to defense with second basemen, three players are even in Morgan's area code: Ryne Sandberg, Jeff Kent, and Craig Biggio. Morgan and Sanberg are in the Hall of Fame, Biggio is headed there in 2013, and Kent should follow--never mind everyone hated him, teammates, press, fans.
Jeff Kent, red ass first-class, is a Hall-of-Famer. Sorry, Mitch Albom.
Why I thought that ESPN, instead of smothering another game with verbal and video excess, would let this one breathe, I can't explain. But it was, of course, a mistake.
To lighten the load of both the Yankees' loss today and the fact of my post being zapped by PC ( that geek I want to slap), I give you this, coutesy of SundDevil Joe:
A
microcosm from Sunday's telecast as to why ESPN's Sunday night baseball remains insufferable:
Shortstop Kevin Frandsen charged a bouncer, made a sweet grab on the half hop, then threw out Gary Sheffield. "Nice pickup," admired play-by-player Jon Miller. The play otherwise spoke for itself. But Joe Morgan was just getting started:
"Very nice play. Well, you have to time this perfectly because you're going to get that in-between hop, and the way you field the ball is that you catch it on the short hop or on the big hop. But this is the in-between hop. You can't get there in time to get the short hop, so he gets it on the in-between hop; you don't get it at its highest point. And a nice pick, there."
Good grief.
So now I'm trying to remember my brilliance. I remember thinking it odd Morgan didn't fit in either "my two consecutive MVP awards" or "The Big Red Machine" or "We never should have traded Tony Perez" into that paragraph.
(A time-out here. I mean, every time a line drive gets past a diving first baseman, it's not warrant to plunge into a ten-minute monologue about how Tony Perez was the anchor of the 70s Reds, and blah blah how the Dodgers blah blah and then after we got Seaver blah blah blah. I mean, some on, dude.)
Thing is, and this the tragedy, Morgan was a fantastic player. I'm about to turn 44, and in my lifetime, if one twins offense to defense with second basemen, three players are even in Morgan's area code: Ryne Sandberg, Jeff Kent, and Craig Biggio. Morgan and Sanberg are in the Hall of Fame, Biggio is headed there in 2013, and Kent should follow--never mind everyone hated him, teammates, press, fans.
Jeff Kent, red ass first-class, is a Hall-of-Famer. Sorry, Mitch Albom.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Nine is . . . fine? Divine?
Just auditioning for a job as the Post backpage headliner.
It's called the "wood," if you're interested. Something to do with how the old printing presses were manufactured.
As the Yankees sail above an ocean of joy on a pink cloud with a rainbow rainbow wrapped their spikes, a few matters of note:
1. The more 2004 recedes, the clearer it becomes that the fulcrum in the Yankee/Red Sox rivalry was the moment Dave Roberts led off first against Rivera. It's not just that since then, the red Sox have won two World Series, the Yankees not a single playoff series. The intriguing point here is how the teams are comprised, in contrast to the previous decade of their wars, 1995-2004. As we speak, the Yankees and Red Sox (and Blue Jays, more about anon) are essentially tied in the middle of May, when--in the old Sparky Anderson adage--the standings actually start to mean a damn. The Red Sox are in first without Manny, and with their best player--Papi--hitting so poorly it was said even rival players were starting to pity him. The Yankees' pitching is starting to come around; until it does, they seem content to win games 10-8. When a portion of the outfield bleachers is named after your most prominent singles hitter (Damon's Deck, anyone?), well, that's some power.
2. Up until the last few days, the big question has been: Are the Blue Jays For Real? Clearly, they couldn't play better in their dreams, and may play worse as the summer goes on. Something to watch.
It's called the "wood," if you're interested. Something to do with how the old printing presses were manufactured.
As the Yankees sail above an ocean of joy on a pink cloud with a rainbow rainbow wrapped their spikes, a few matters of note:
1. The more 2004 recedes, the clearer it becomes that the fulcrum in the Yankee/Red Sox rivalry was the moment Dave Roberts led off first against Rivera. It's not just that since then, the red Sox have won two World Series, the Yankees not a single playoff series. The intriguing point here is how the teams are comprised, in contrast to the previous decade of their wars, 1995-2004. As we speak, the Yankees and Red Sox (and Blue Jays, more about anon) are essentially tied in the middle of May, when--in the old Sparky Anderson adage--the standings actually start to mean a damn. The Red Sox are in first without Manny, and with their best player--Papi--hitting so poorly it was said even rival players were starting to pity him. The Yankees' pitching is starting to come around; until it does, they seem content to win games 10-8. When a portion of the outfield bleachers is named after your most prominent singles hitter (Damon's Deck, anyone?), well, that's some power.
2. Up until the last few days, the big question has been: Are the Blue Jays For Real? Clearly, they couldn't play better in their dreams, and may play worse as the summer goes on. Something to watch.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Back, Back, Back (Headline NY Daily News)
"You're never as good as you look when you're winning, never as bad as you look when you're losing."
But this team looks pretty good. 11-4--which, strangely enough, was just about enough to put the Yankees on the positive side of the runs scored/runs against ledger (they're plus-2). runs in the aggregate, and this never is said enough, is the best determinant of future success. (What is worrisome, of course, is that Toronto sits at between plus-40 and plus-50).
And now--what--it's having fun? Swisher, the team DJ?
More here.
But this team looks pretty good. 11-4--which, strangely enough, was just about enough to put the Yankees on the positive side of the runs scored/runs against ledger (they're plus-2). runs in the aggregate, and this never is said enough, is the best determinant of future success. (What is worrisome, of course, is that Toronto sits at between plus-40 and plus-50).
And now--what--it's having fun? Swisher, the team DJ?
More here.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Yankees 7, Twins 6
Last week: Choppy shoe.
This week: Aces and faces.
Big Tex and A-Rod--not a bad start.
This week: Aces and faces.
Big Tex and A-Rod--not a bad start.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Yankees 6, Twins 4 (11)
Amazing, isn't it, how well things set up for A-Rod. He comes back in the middle of May, with the Yankees neither so far out in front nor too far back to make him irrelevant.
The whole Manny thing has become the new big story.
And that field of blue at Yankee Stadium, all those empty seats behind home plate reminding you of when TV cameras wouldn't track the apex of punts during Arizona Cardinal home games, the better to conceal that nobody was sitting in the upper deck at Sun Devil Stadium.
It all reminds you of what Bob Lemon said to Reggie when he showed up to replace Billy Martin in the tumult of 1978: "Just bash a bunch over the wall, Meat."
The whole Manny thing has become the new big story.
And that field of blue at Yankee Stadium, all those empty seats behind home plate reminding you of when TV cameras wouldn't track the apex of punts during Arizona Cardinal home games, the better to conceal that nobody was sitting in the upper deck at Sun Devil Stadium.
It all reminds you of what Bob Lemon said to Reggie when he showed up to replace Billy Martin in the tumult of 1978: "Just bash a bunch over the wall, Meat."
Friday, May 15, 2009
Yankees 5, Twins 4
A few more wins like that, boys . . .
Astro-Girl and I hosted her uncle and aunt for dinner tonight, and both our guests were subject to my agony early and late, and then eventually to my, "Yes, yes, yes!" when Melky stroked his two-run single to left in the bottom of the ninth.
My uncle-in-law, a hero of the Khmer Rouge death camps, a boat refugee, did his gracious best to follow the last few innings of a game he's never followed. When Melky hit home the winning runs, he asked, "So how much time is left?"
None, baby, I said. None. Game over.
"Then," he said, and lifted his glass of Chianti, "to Melky. To the Yankees. To victory. To Tammie and Joe."
No, Uncle: to you.
Astro-Girl and I hosted her uncle and aunt for dinner tonight, and both our guests were subject to my agony early and late, and then eventually to my, "Yes, yes, yes!" when Melky stroked his two-run single to left in the bottom of the ninth.
My uncle-in-law, a hero of the Khmer Rouge death camps, a boat refugee, did his gracious best to follow the last few innings of a game he's never followed. When Melky hit home the winning runs, he asked, "So how much time is left?"
None, baby, I said. None. Game over.
"Then," he said, and lifted his glass of Chianti, "to Melky. To the Yankees. To victory. To Tammie and Joe."
No, Uncle: to you.
So how was your night?
Sometime in July, when the Yankees have an off night and all the networks are running episodes of my favorite shows for the third time, I'll remember last night. In descending order of caring, my interests were:
1. Bruins-'Canes (Seventh game, naturally)
2. Celtics-Magic (chance to advance in the playoffs)
3. Yankees-Blue Jays (because, come on)
4. Rockets-Lakers (Watching the Lakers wrestle with a team that, currently comprised, would not make the playoffs in the West in one of the pleasanter surprises of the spring)
5. What happened to Izzy on Grey's Anatomy (Astro-Girl's favorite show and, as Samuel L. Jackson said in Pulp Fiction, "My girlfriend's a vegetarian, which pretty much means I'm a vegetarian.")
6. If Meredith and McDreamy finally hooked up.
All this, while contending with:
1. A TV in the den stuck on a channel, it seems, that aired nothing but back-to-back showings of the David Hasselhoff made-for-TV movie Layover.
2. The Bruins game nowhere to be found. Last month, we seemed we had NESN. Now, not so much. And the Red Wings were hogging Versus. I mean, I'm old enough to remember friggin' Curt Gowdy call the Bruins-Rangers Cup Finals on NBC.
3. My lack of knowledge of about the last seven episodes of Gray's Anatomy. (Wait, is that "Grey" with an a or an e? I sort of got distracted since the chubby one went lesbo--and, as I recall, showed extreme skill.
So. What do we take away from last night?
A busted silverware drawer. When Paul Pierce missed two free throws in a row, essentially handing the game to the Magic and sending the series to game seven, I slammed the drawer so hard, the front popped out.
A potential Dan-and-Dave moment. I laughed out loud the first time I saw the Nike Kobe-and-LeBron-as-puppets commercial. Everyone outside greater Houston, Denver, Boston and Orlando seems to want . . . but more important, expect . . . a Cleveland-Laker final. But LA, as they're playing right now, can't beat Denver.
A chance to party like it's 1999. Yanks last night: strong starting pitching (enough to keep it close), timely hitting late, then Mo. Fellas, is that so hard?
A letdown on "Grey's Anatomy." The problem with series-leavings on network TV shows is that we've already been told via Entertainment Tonight and its various outlets. Mark Harmon on St. Elsewhere, Ed Marinaro on Hill Street Blues, Shelley Long on Cheers: the only suspense is how it's going to happen.
A sense of doom. Was it me, or were the Bruins, in overtime, just delaying the inevitable? Since the days of Brad Park and Rick Middleton, the onlt Bruins I could tell you about were Sergei Samsanov and Joe Thornton--both of whom the Bruins, sticking to their post-Park game plan, traded years ago. So there was Samsanov in a 'Canes uniform last night, in the middle of every rush toward the puck. The Bruins, at the end, were just hanging on.
Laughs. This Rocket team--missing both its first- and second-string center, its most talented player, sporting a center three inches shorter than Magic Johnson and a point guard (Aaron Brooks) who sounds like he plays quarterback for Oregon State--will not win the NBA championship. But after last night's victory against the Lakers, they will, in Houston, always be loved.
1. Bruins-'Canes (Seventh game, naturally)
2. Celtics-Magic (chance to advance in the playoffs)
3. Yankees-Blue Jays (because, come on)
4. Rockets-Lakers (Watching the Lakers wrestle with a team that, currently comprised, would not make the playoffs in the West in one of the pleasanter surprises of the spring)
5. What happened to Izzy on Grey's Anatomy (Astro-Girl's favorite show and, as Samuel L. Jackson said in Pulp Fiction, "My girlfriend's a vegetarian, which pretty much means I'm a vegetarian.")
6. If Meredith and McDreamy finally hooked up.
All this, while contending with:
1. A TV in the den stuck on a channel, it seems, that aired nothing but back-to-back showings of the David Hasselhoff made-for-TV movie Layover.
2. The Bruins game nowhere to be found. Last month, we seemed we had NESN. Now, not so much. And the Red Wings were hogging Versus. I mean, I'm old enough to remember friggin' Curt Gowdy call the Bruins-Rangers Cup Finals on NBC.
3. My lack of knowledge of about the last seven episodes of Gray's Anatomy. (Wait, is that "Grey" with an a or an e? I sort of got distracted since the chubby one went lesbo--and, as I recall, showed extreme skill.
So. What do we take away from last night?
A busted silverware drawer. When Paul Pierce missed two free throws in a row, essentially handing the game to the Magic and sending the series to game seven, I slammed the drawer so hard, the front popped out.
A potential Dan-and-Dave moment. I laughed out loud the first time I saw the Nike Kobe-and-LeBron-as-puppets commercial. Everyone outside greater Houston, Denver, Boston and Orlando seems to want . . . but more important, expect . . . a Cleveland-Laker final. But LA, as they're playing right now, can't beat Denver.
A chance to party like it's 1999. Yanks last night: strong starting pitching (enough to keep it close), timely hitting late, then Mo. Fellas, is that so hard?
A letdown on "Grey's Anatomy." The problem with series-leavings on network TV shows is that we've already been told via Entertainment Tonight and its various outlets. Mark Harmon on St. Elsewhere, Ed Marinaro on Hill Street Blues, Shelley Long on Cheers: the only suspense is how it's going to happen.
A sense of doom. Was it me, or were the Bruins, in overtime, just delaying the inevitable? Since the days of Brad Park and Rick Middleton, the onlt Bruins I could tell you about were Sergei Samsanov and Joe Thornton--both of whom the Bruins, sticking to their post-Park game plan, traded years ago. So there was Samsanov in a 'Canes uniform last night, in the middle of every rush toward the puck. The Bruins, at the end, were just hanging on.
Laughs. This Rocket team--missing both its first- and second-string center, its most talented player, sporting a center three inches shorter than Magic Johnson and a point guard (Aaron Brooks) who sounds like he plays quarterback for Oregon State--will not win the NBA championship. But after last night's victory against the Lakers, they will, in Houston, always be loved.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Blue Jays 5, Yankees 1
Roy Halladay has owned the Yankees pretty much since he was pitching at Exhibition Park (he was the starter the night Dave Winfield offed the seagulll, right? And do you remember when Canadian authorities held up Winfield at the border on some animal rights' charges . . . I mean, a frickin' racoon with wings . . . and manager Billy Martin, in one of his more genial moods--famously defined by Stick Michael as more or less between Scotch number four and Scotch number seven--offered to mollify the Canucks: "We'll give the bird a funeral of honor. We'll have a day for it and bury it out in Monument Park next to the Babe.")
So, anyway, I spent all day waiting for Halladay the way a kid who partied on finals week waits for the dreaded envelope stamped GRADES ENCLOSED next to the address.
So, no surprise.
For the Rockets, not so much a surprise. What amusement I'm getting from the game is how Bakley is in all those T-Mobile commercials, and how at the end of every commercial they play the familiar four-note tinkle, which is precisely the tone that Astro-Girl keeps on her cell phone and refuses to change. So every time we come to the end of a T-Mobile commercial, the tone plays, and Astro-Girl comes charging into the living room.
"Where's my phone?" she asks.
"Commercial," I say. I mean, this happens every time.
So, getting back to the Yankee game, I cheered myself up by reading this item over at Deadspin, by Will Leitch, who writes a column for Sporting News (link:)
Man-Boy love humor. Dig it.
So, anyway, I spent all day waiting for Halladay the way a kid who partied on finals week waits for the dreaded envelope stamped GRADES ENCLOSED next to the address.
So, no surprise.
For the Rockets, not so much a surprise. What amusement I'm getting from the game is how Bakley is in all those T-Mobile commercials, and how at the end of every commercial they play the familiar four-note tinkle, which is precisely the tone that Astro-Girl keeps on her cell phone and refuses to change. So every time we come to the end of a T-Mobile commercial, the tone plays, and Astro-Girl comes charging into the living room.
"Where's my phone?" she asks.
"Commercial," I say. I mean, this happens every time.
So, getting back to the Yankee game, I cheered myself up by reading this item over at Deadspin, by Will Leitch, who writes a column for Sporting News (link:)
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, after writing a column making fun of the two New York baseball stadiums, I invited SN readers to email me their pitches as to why their stadium was unappreciated. I would "reward" the best pitch by buying them and me a ticket to a game this year. I received some impassioned pitches for Detroit, Arlington, Philadelphia, Toronto, even Tampa. But the contest was kind of rigged: I really wanted to go to Pittsburgh.
This was for two reasons. First, I've heard from numerous people that PNC Park is a gorgeous stadium where it's easy to procure great cheap seats because the Pirates play there. But mostly: I had slated May 12, today, as my travel day for the game, and the Cardinals happened to be in town that day. That's cheating, but whatever, it's the Cardinals.
Anyway, I was primed to proclaim the first person to email me about PNC Park the "winner," but, because the Pirates have no fans left, nobody sent me a thing. Then, they day before I had to make a decision, I received an email from some guy, whom we'll call "Robert." His note was not inspiring — "The reason that PNC Park is different is that it's the most beautiful stadium of any sport in the entire world and it's parking lot is located near our pre-Forbes stadium, Exposition Park" — but who cares? I had my Pittsburgh resident! I emailed him posthaste, told him he won and asked if he could make it May 12. "I'll buy the tickets," I told him. "We can just meet there. My hotel will just be a few blocks away. I'll buy the booze too!"
I was on deadline, so I began to worry when I didn't hear back from Robert for a few hours. I kept needling him, saying I needed him to confirm so I could file my next column and buy the plane tickets. I kept offering him plenty of booze in Pittsburgh: Nobody fails to act when booze is on the line, I figured. And nothing. So I finally gave up. I chose Minnesota, because I've always wanted to see the Metrodome, which is in its last season, and because I thought I would seriously try to talk the Twins into making me their general manager because that would be HILARIOUS. And then I didn't think that much more about it.
Three days later, I received an email from a woman named "Barbara." She informed me that she was the mother of ... Robert. Who was 13 years old. Who had told her that "the man from the magazine" had invited him to "meet" him at the Pirates game, that his hotel was right by the stadium, that he would buy his ticket and buy him lots of booze.
"He was a bit overwhelmed by your kind invite," she said, and I really, really hoped she'd seen the magazine, the column and the "contest." Because I had just invited her 13-year-old son to come meet a stranger with alcohol at a baseball game. With my hotel "just a quick walk away."
Man-Boy love humor. Dig it.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Leading into tonite's game . . .
If the short (so far) Yankee season were a game of Blackjack, you'd describe it as a "choppy shoe."
If you've ever played Blackjack in a casino, you know what I mean. The "shoe" is the box of six decks uses to thwart amateur card counters. (Professionals, of course--say, the MIT crowd--would laugh at such a safeguard.) For reasons having a little to do with the way cards are gathered up after a hand, a little to do with the manual shuffle still used by many casinos, and in part because God Hates Them That Make a Plan, tables run hot and cold about 75 percent of the time: play smart, you win, win four hands in a row, lose five, win three, etc., all the while knowing about the 1.5% house advantage that, over time, will grind you down if you stick to the Basic Strategy (those laminated cards people flash in Lake Charles but are forbidden at most Vegas tables).
The phenomenon of the streaky shoe is why so many Blackjack players go broke in ninety minutes: the engage at an intuitive strategy called "chasing the loss": doubling up after a loss. Players chasing their losses is why Steve Wynn builds 2000-room hotels reaching up into the clouds; start with a five-dollar loss, chase it eight times, and you're laying down a thousand dollar bet.
So (to complete the metaphor) as counterintuitive as it may seem, don't chase the loss. Do the opposite. If you're losing, bet the minimum. If you're on a roll, put as much money on the table as you can. Go up three bets, double. Go up six bets, quadruple. Push a hot streak, 'cause, baby, they don't happen very often.
The exception (and they happen rarely) is the choppy shoe. Win one, lose one. Good pitching, bad pitching. Hitting, no hitting. Bullpen, no bullpen. No rhythmn, no rhyme. No one (Guidy in '78, Pettitte in '96, Wells in '98) to grab onto, not yet.
Choppy shoe.
If you've ever played Blackjack in a casino, you know what I mean. The "shoe" is the box of six decks uses to thwart amateur card counters. (Professionals, of course--say, the MIT crowd--would laugh at such a safeguard.) For reasons having a little to do with the way cards are gathered up after a hand, a little to do with the manual shuffle still used by many casinos, and in part because God Hates Them That Make a Plan, tables run hot and cold about 75 percent of the time: play smart, you win, win four hands in a row, lose five, win three, etc., all the while knowing about the 1.5% house advantage that, over time, will grind you down if you stick to the Basic Strategy (those laminated cards people flash in Lake Charles but are forbidden at most Vegas tables).
The phenomenon of the streaky shoe is why so many Blackjack players go broke in ninety minutes: the engage at an intuitive strategy called "chasing the loss": doubling up after a loss. Players chasing their losses is why Steve Wynn builds 2000-room hotels reaching up into the clouds; start with a five-dollar loss, chase it eight times, and you're laying down a thousand dollar bet.
So (to complete the metaphor) as counterintuitive as it may seem, don't chase the loss. Do the opposite. If you're losing, bet the minimum. If you're on a roll, put as much money on the table as you can. Go up three bets, double. Go up six bets, quadruple. Push a hot streak, 'cause, baby, they don't happen very often.
The exception (and they happen rarely) is the choppy shoe. Win one, lose one. Good pitching, bad pitching. Hitting, no hitting. Bullpen, no bullpen. No rhythmn, no rhyme. No one (Guidy in '78, Pettitte in '96, Wells in '98) to grab onto, not yet.
Choppy shoe.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Batting Practice
The Yanks are in their third generation of prospects since the Dark Ages of 1989-91. The kids of the early nineties who came of age under Stick Michaels (first Roberto Kelly (who was flipped for Paul O'Neill), then Bernie Williams, then in rapid succession the Jeter/Pettitte/Rivera/Posada crowd) gave way, in the early aughts, to a cast of characters either traded away (D'Angelo Jimenz, Alfonso Soriono, Ted Lilly, Nick Johnson) or proven a bust (that cast of The Gong Show paraded out as pitching prospects--one of them was named Randy, right? And Kei Igawa).
What has taken shape in the first month in the season is Generation Melky: Cabrera, Cano, Joba, Hughes, Gardner. Tex will be Tex, and Swisher Swisher, and CC will be fine once he'd told of this fabulous, new, innovative, secret pitch that goes by the code name "Strike One." AJ and Pettitte: not as good as their first few starts, not as bad as lately. Call it a wash. A-Rod will come back, serve himself up as the dinner special once around the division, and hit 30-35 home runs. Posada is healty and Jeter, yes, is Jeter.
But, for a team that supposedly went out and bought itself enough veterans to ensure at least a spot in the playoffs for the foreseeable future, it is startling to see how much is riding on the performance of a crop of youngsters at least as numerous as 1995 and 1996. Their importance to the club was never so evident as last night, and in fact for every game since the Fenway debacle.
In a few weeks, Cano has gone from, "Christ, can he please not hit .150 in April?" to a player in the middle of every rally. Cabrera has transformed himself from an airheaded defensive replacement for Johnny Damon to . . . well, we'll see. Hughes pitched a major-league game and actually didn't end up in the hospital. Joba is settling in as a number 3-4 starter.
Now, all of a sudden, the Yankees need all these guys.
But hey, some game last night, huh?
What has taken shape in the first month in the season is Generation Melky: Cabrera, Cano, Joba, Hughes, Gardner. Tex will be Tex, and Swisher Swisher, and CC will be fine once he'd told of this fabulous, new, innovative, secret pitch that goes by the code name "Strike One." AJ and Pettitte: not as good as their first few starts, not as bad as lately. Call it a wash. A-Rod will come back, serve himself up as the dinner special once around the division, and hit 30-35 home runs. Posada is healty and Jeter, yes, is Jeter.
But, for a team that supposedly went out and bought itself enough veterans to ensure at least a spot in the playoffs for the foreseeable future, it is startling to see how much is riding on the performance of a crop of youngsters at least as numerous as 1995 and 1996. Their importance to the club was never so evident as last night, and in fact for every game since the Fenway debacle.
In a few weeks, Cano has gone from, "Christ, can he please not hit .150 in April?" to a player in the middle of every rally. Cabrera has transformed himself from an airheaded defensive replacement for Johnny Damon to . . . well, we'll see. Hughes pitched a major-league game and actually didn't end up in the hospital. Joba is settling in as a number 3-4 starter.
Now, all of a sudden, the Yankees need all these guys.
But hey, some game last night, huh?
Friday, May 01, 2009
Yankees 10, Angels 9
Ladies and gentlemen, to celebrate May Day: the Best Game of the Year So Far.
And now I'm going to bed. More tomorrow.
And now I'm going to bed. More tomorrow.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Three in a row
Just about what they needed.
The turning point was Jeter's single-plus-Abreu's-error. Yes, the Angels came back to tie the game up, but there's always that point whwere you just know who will win, and that was it.
12-10.
The turning point was Jeter's single-plus-Abreu's-error. Yes, the Angels came back to tie the game up, but there's always that point whwere you just know who will win, and that was it.
12-10.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Well, all right then
Yankees 11, Detroit 0.
More important even than the victory is the notion that Phil Hughes, (who, if the Yankees wore names on their jerseys, might as well be NOT JOHAN SANTANA), might, dear god, be the real thing.
What ESPN called a slider seemed like a slow curve. No problem: stay healthy, Phil.
More important even than the victory is the notion that Phil Hughes, (who, if the Yankees wore names on their jerseys, might as well be NOT JOHAN SANTANA), might, dear god, be the real thing.
What ESPN called a slider seemed like a slow curve. No problem: stay healthy, Phil.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Tigers 4, Yankees 2
So we turn to Earl Weaver, who once said, "May God, we're playing so bad that back-to-back home runs means one today and one tomorrow."
And: "Our best game last week was the rainout."
I mean, this game was against Justin Verlander--that's Chen Mieng Verlander until today, at 0-2 at 9.00 coming in. Good news for him, he got better against the Yankees.
If this were blackjack, the Yankees would grab their chips and run. But they gotta play tomorrow.
And: "Our best game last week was the rainout."
I mean, this game was against Justin Verlander--that's Chen Mieng Verlander until today, at 0-2 at 9.00 coming in. Good news for him, he got better against the Yankees.
If this were blackjack, the Yankees would grab their chips and run. But they gotta play tomorrow.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Sox Sweep
Knew it was coming. Knew it was coming. Knew . . .
Ah, what's the use? I used every excuse not to watch the game, all the way up to and including taking Astro-Girl's car to the gas station put air in a tire, then drive azll the way home, then out again.
Our newest car will tell you if a tire needs are. It won't tell you which tire, and since the equipment is so sensitive you'll never find out simply by kicking the vulcanized rubber. You need a tire gauge, which I took some time finding. Lovely use of a Sunday evening.
Come home, turn on Jeff Goldblum's debut on Law and Order: Criminal Intent.
Commercial.
Astro-Girl: "Don't you want to at least check out the score?" Turn on the small TV in the kitchen.
Commercial.
Left the TV on, set it to mute, walked back to the living room . . . then spent the rest of the evening peeking around the corner, like a kid on the lookout for a truant officer.
1-0 Yankees.
"Only a matter of time," I said.
1-1 Red Sox.
"Only a matter of time," I said.
Went away, came back. 4-1 Boston.
"Ballgame," I said, and turned off the TV.
After the Aaron Boone game in 2003, one of Bill Simmons's readers memorably wrote that rooting for the Yankees was like rooting for the house in blackjack. Long time ago.
Ah, what's the use? I used every excuse not to watch the game, all the way up to and including taking Astro-Girl's car to the gas station put air in a tire, then drive azll the way home, then out again.
Our newest car will tell you if a tire needs are. It won't tell you which tire, and since the equipment is so sensitive you'll never find out simply by kicking the vulcanized rubber. You need a tire gauge, which I took some time finding. Lovely use of a Sunday evening.
Come home, turn on Jeff Goldblum's debut on Law and Order: Criminal Intent.
Commercial.
Astro-Girl: "Don't you want to at least check out the score?" Turn on the small TV in the kitchen.
Commercial.
Left the TV on, set it to mute, walked back to the living room . . . then spent the rest of the evening peeking around the corner, like a kid on the lookout for a truant officer.
1-0 Yankees.
"Only a matter of time," I said.
1-1 Red Sox.
"Only a matter of time," I said.
Went away, came back. 4-1 Boston.
"Ballgame," I said, and turned off the TV.
After the Aaron Boone game in 2003, one of Bill Simmons's readers memorably wrote that rooting for the Yankees was like rooting for the house in blackjack. Long time ago.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
I don't want to talk about it
I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about it.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
. . . . and sometimes, it rains
So a breather on Monday, and a first look at the standings. Down 2 1/2. Meh.
Word all weekend was about balls flying out of Yankee Stadium at a "record pace."
Interesting. Twenty home runs in four days? Considering something like sixteen of them were served up by Wang, that's an outlier. So the joker who emailed Rome yesterday to ask, "Since when does someone spend a billion and a half on a softball field?"--yeah, funny, guy, you can sit down now.
Still, it will be funny to see what a couple of years brings--and, really, that's the only way these things can be measured. When Minute Maid opened as Enron Field, it was derided as "Ten-Run" Field, a softball track that was reconfiguring batting records as much as steroids. Jeff Bagwell, not given to complaining about anything, openly admitted to mental exhaustion, saying it was difficult to come to the park knowing you had to score six runs just to keep you in the game.
A big hint about that first season came on a Thursday afternoon game I attended, an early-season game against the Cubs. Jose Lima, a change-up/breaking ball pitcher, had won 37 games the previous two seasons feasting on the cold, dead air and faraway fences of the Astrodome, quite possibly the worst hitters' park of all time. Enron Field, and specifically this game, ended his career as we knew it. It wasn't that he gave up four home runs in the first inning. Nor was it that he gave up four home runs and none of them were hit by Sammy Sosa (and this was 2000, mind you, when Sosa could have run in the Kentucky Derby). What struck us all was the sheer towering magnitude of the home runs he gave up: something like, say, a line-drive beneath a left field archway, two scorching line drives off the left field facade, then finally, a shot by Henry Gonzales up to the train tracks that had the assembled Astro faithful giving up any pretense of the 'Stros actually winning the game and shouting, "Whoaaaaaaa!," like ten year-olds watching fireworks.
That game did it: Shell-shocked Astros pitchers were afraid to step on the field. They seemed to start every at-bat down 2-0. In May, in pretty much the game that sealed the season, Billy Wagner gave up a ninth-inning home run to Ken Griffey, Jr., that landed somewhere in downtown Conroe. People called in sports talk shows demanding the playing field be restructured. Radio guys wondered aloud if Drayton McClane would simply tear out the left field Crawford Boxes (let's see: 1700 seats at forty bucks per, every one of them sold out for every game . . . let me do the math here . . . oh, I got it: No).
Then . . . nothing. Pitchers adjusted, and began treating Enron/Minute Maid like any other ballpark. The whole place kind of settled, the way a new building does. And this season, in the last four days, in a four-game wraparound series with the Reds, the 'Stros pitchers allowed, in order, two, zero, four and four runs, and lost three of the four games. Absolutely common.
Fixating on the X number of homers the Yankees have allowed in four games makes as little sense as those "at this pace" items people used to run anytime somebody got multiple home runs on Opening Day, long before Sportscenter and Jim Rome shamed them into stopping it.
Word all weekend was about balls flying out of Yankee Stadium at a "record pace."
Interesting. Twenty home runs in four days? Considering something like sixteen of them were served up by Wang, that's an outlier. So the joker who emailed Rome yesterday to ask, "Since when does someone spend a billion and a half on a softball field?"--yeah, funny, guy, you can sit down now.
Still, it will be funny to see what a couple of years brings--and, really, that's the only way these things can be measured. When Minute Maid opened as Enron Field, it was derided as "Ten-Run" Field, a softball track that was reconfiguring batting records as much as steroids. Jeff Bagwell, not given to complaining about anything, openly admitted to mental exhaustion, saying it was difficult to come to the park knowing you had to score six runs just to keep you in the game.
A big hint about that first season came on a Thursday afternoon game I attended, an early-season game against the Cubs. Jose Lima, a change-up/breaking ball pitcher, had won 37 games the previous two seasons feasting on the cold, dead air and faraway fences of the Astrodome, quite possibly the worst hitters' park of all time. Enron Field, and specifically this game, ended his career as we knew it. It wasn't that he gave up four home runs in the first inning. Nor was it that he gave up four home runs and none of them were hit by Sammy Sosa (and this was 2000, mind you, when Sosa could have run in the Kentucky Derby). What struck us all was the sheer towering magnitude of the home runs he gave up: something like, say, a line-drive beneath a left field archway, two scorching line drives off the left field facade, then finally, a shot by Henry Gonzales up to the train tracks that had the assembled Astro faithful giving up any pretense of the 'Stros actually winning the game and shouting, "Whoaaaaaaa!," like ten year-olds watching fireworks.
That game did it: Shell-shocked Astros pitchers were afraid to step on the field. They seemed to start every at-bat down 2-0. In May, in pretty much the game that sealed the season, Billy Wagner gave up a ninth-inning home run to Ken Griffey, Jr., that landed somewhere in downtown Conroe. People called in sports talk shows demanding the playing field be restructured. Radio guys wondered aloud if Drayton McClane would simply tear out the left field Crawford Boxes (let's see: 1700 seats at forty bucks per, every one of them sold out for every game . . . let me do the math here . . . oh, I got it: No).
Then . . . nothing. Pitchers adjusted, and began treating Enron/Minute Maid like any other ballpark. The whole place kind of settled, the way a new building does. And this season, in the last four days, in a four-game wraparound series with the Reds, the 'Stros pitchers allowed, in order, two, zero, four and four runs, and lost three of the four games. Absolutely common.
Fixating on the X number of homers the Yankees have allowed in four games makes as little sense as those "at this pace" items people used to run anytime somebody got multiple home runs on Opening Day, long before Sportscenter and Jim Rome shamed them into stopping it.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
In progress . . .
I was just getting worked up to crapping about the local Houston FOX station carrying the Cubs-Cardinals instead of the Yankees, when I was greeted by this:
Indians 9, Yankees 2. Second inning.
If you're scoring at home, Wang's ERA now stands at thirty-four point five-oh.
Indians 9, Yankees 2. Second inning.
If you're scoring at home, Wang's ERA now stands at thirty-four point five-oh.
Friday, April 17, 2009
What I wanted to say before
The first sports team I loved was the 1972 Boston Bruins.
This was the first team for which I had best four-of-seven explained to me. I was allowed to stay up for one period and then sent to bed. When the Bruins won the Stanley Cup, my mother waited until the following morning to slap the Boston Globe in front of me. Waking kids up to celebrate championships never took hold until (uh oh) 1986, when Red Sox Nation thought it had a World Series title in hand.
Okay, what I wanted to say. Wilt's 100 points cast a shadow over Bill Russell's 11 championships.
Oh, damnit, you know what I'm getting at. Bobby Orr, who as a stickhandler was second to none except Gretzky, had an Irish fistfighter's mentality, and therefore was the greatest hockey player ever.
The owners of the Bruins need to answer for why the franchise has devolved. If they win, I will dance in the streets.
This was the first team for which I had best four-of-seven explained to me. I was allowed to stay up for one period and then sent to bed. When the Bruins won the Stanley Cup, my mother waited until the following morning to slap the Boston Globe in front of me. Waking kids up to celebrate championships never took hold until (uh oh) 1986, when Red Sox Nation thought it had a World Series title in hand.
Okay, what I wanted to say. Wilt's 100 points cast a shadow over Bill Russell's 11 championships.
Oh, damnit, you know what I'm getting at. Bobby Orr, who as a stickhandler was second to none except Gretzky, had an Irish fistfighter's mentality, and therefore was the greatest hockey player ever.
The owners of the Bruins need to answer for why the franchise has devolved. If they win, I will dance in the streets.
Well, all right then
An especially touching essays today from Bill Simmons.
This is written in the shadow of Celtic Kevin Garnett being gone for the season. I grew up a Celtic fan and Yankee fan, and no, I'm not a frontrunner, I grabbed onto both those teams in the earlyt seventies, in the shadow of their twin Dark Ages. The only winning team I latched onto was the Bruins, this when the Boston Bruins ruled Boston over the Celtics, Red Sox, and god forgive, the Patriots.
Anyway, along the whole "oft thought, but ne'er so well expressed" deal, I thought back to November, when the Celtics were being roasted for letting James Posey go, the thought being Posey might be the difference between beating or losing to Cleveland, and hence having a rematch with LA in the finals. Now it turns out that Posey would have made no difference at all, because without Garnett there would be no title. So . . . Simmons writes:
My dad and I had the same conversation five times in the past month, as it became clearer and clearer that Garnett was more injured than the team was saying, and we had it again today: Was one title (and a memorable season) worth giving up Al Jefferson, a few first-rounders and Ratliff's expiring deal that maybe could have been used to trump the Lakers for Pau Gasol? Yes. Yes it was. The goal is to win the title. We won a title. I would do it again. There is no statistic to capture the effect Garnett had on the rest of these guys; they played with a collective heart that reminds me of only one other Celtics team.
Then Simmons writes something close to my heart:
Man after my own heart.
Oh, yeah, nice of the Yankees to win today, Jeter with the winning home run, the bullpen saving Joba. Forget what I wrote.
This is written in the shadow of Celtic Kevin Garnett being gone for the season. I grew up a Celtic fan and Yankee fan, and no, I'm not a frontrunner, I grabbed onto both those teams in the earlyt seventies, in the shadow of their twin Dark Ages. The only winning team I latched onto was the Bruins, this when the Boston Bruins ruled Boston over the Celtics, Red Sox, and god forgive, the Patriots.
Anyway, along the whole "oft thought, but ne'er so well expressed" deal, I thought back to November, when the Celtics were being roasted for letting James Posey go, the thought being Posey might be the difference between beating or losing to Cleveland, and hence having a rematch with LA in the finals. Now it turns out that Posey would have made no difference at all, because without Garnett there would be no title. So . . . Simmons writes:
My dad and I had the same conversation five times in the past month, as it became clearer and clearer that Garnett was more injured than the team was saying, and we had it again today: Was one title (and a memorable season) worth giving up Al Jefferson, a few first-rounders and Ratliff's expiring deal that maybe could have been used to trump the Lakers for Pau Gasol? Yes. Yes it was. The goal is to win the title. We won a title. I would do it again. There is no statistic to capture the effect Garnett had on the rest of these guys; they played with a collective heart that reminds me of only one other Celtics team.
Then Simmons writes something close to my heart:
The best thing about winning an NBA title is defending it. My favorite Celtics team ever was the 1986-87 group. They lost Lenny Bias 48 hours after drafting him. They lost Bill Walton and Scott Wedman for basically the entire season. Kevin McHale injured his foot near the end of the regular season, played on it and broke it (and gamely kept playing). Dennis Johnson, Danny Ainge and Robert Parish were limping around on sprained ankles by the second round. Only Larry Bird was healthy -- he ended up averaging an inconceivable 44.1 minutes in 23 playoff games. In the second round, they fended off a really good Bucks team, winning Game 7 even though they trailed by 10 with six minutes to go. In the Eastern finals, they held off a hungry Pistons team by winning two of the greatest games in the history of the Garden: Game 5 (Bird's famous steal from Isiah) and Game 7 (an unforgettable display of heart and will, with a little luck thrown in: the Dantley/Microwave collision). In the Finals, they came within Magic's baby sky hook and Bird's miracle 3-pointer missing by a sliver of tying the series at 2-2 against one of the five best basketball teams ever. When they got bounced in Game 6, every Celtics fan said to themselves, "I cannot ask for anything more than I just got."
Now that, my friends, is a title defense.
Man after my own heart.
Oh, yeah, nice of the Yankees to win today, Jeter with the winning home run, the bullpen saving Joba. Forget what I wrote.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Bronx Bummers
Opening day at the glistening new Stadium. Anthem by Bernie, first ball courtesy of Yogi, first homer by Georgie, out-his-ass start by CC, and . . .
. . . thanks, bullpen. No really--as they say in the sixth grade, no applause, just throw money.
Nine runs. If Dave Eiland were throwing batting practice from behind a screen, it's hard to see the Indians scoring as many.
If CC, AJ, Lefty, Joba and Mo stay healthy this year, the Yankees may give up more runs in innings seven and eight then the other seven innings combined. No, really: I'm not kidding. This may actually happen. Throw out Wang's starts, it might be true already. (Wang, we'll save for another day.)
AJ and CC seem--early early early on--the real thing. Joba is young and strong and is headed for great things. Pettitte will, barring injury, give you his 200 innings and 14 wins. Mo is Mo. Wang, at the moment, is a bonus, and we're talking about a pitcher who was on year-by-year Cy Young watch until that dreadful Father's Day in Houston when he rounded third and ended his season.
Early on, Jeter and Posada are partying like it's 1999. Someone kicked Cano in the butt. Gardner hasn't embarrassed himself. Swisher has been that rara avis: the bench player who disrupts his manager's Grand Plan by playing well enough to force himself into the starting lineup. (The last timer I saw this happen, Hunter Pence did it to the Astros, batting like .460 in Spring Training and screwing up all of Phil Garner's plans. Garner still sent Pence down to Triple-A--for a month, before finally giving in.)
So where are we left? Looking for set-up men who look like they're not auditioning for Eastbound and Down.
Meanwhile, Astro-Girl, in heaven because of the 'Stros two-game winning streak, decided to concentrate on a potential trip to Louisvill next spring. I mentioned the Muhammad Ali Museum.
Astro-Girl: They have a Muhammad Ali Museum in Louisville?
Me: Yes. Plus a Horse Museum.
AG: They have a museum filled with horses?
Me: No, mostly horse memorabilia. Statues of horses.
AG: Like who?
Me: Secretariat. Out front.
AG: They make a horse stand out front?
Me: No. His statue.
AG: They make him stand next to his statue?
Me: The horse doesn't stand anywhere. He's been dead for thirty years.
AG (wrinkling nose): But woudn't he smell by now?
Me: No, the horse is in the ground.
AG: But you said he was out front. Is he out front in the ground?
Me: No, his STATUE is out front. In front of Churchill Downs.
AG: Did Winston Churchill live there?
Me: No.
AG: Is that why they named it after him?
Me: NO. He never lived there.
AG: Then why did they name it after him?
Say goodnight, Gracie
. . . thanks, bullpen. No really--as they say in the sixth grade, no applause, just throw money.
Nine runs. If Dave Eiland were throwing batting practice from behind a screen, it's hard to see the Indians scoring as many.
If CC, AJ, Lefty, Joba and Mo stay healthy this year, the Yankees may give up more runs in innings seven and eight then the other seven innings combined. No, really: I'm not kidding. This may actually happen. Throw out Wang's starts, it might be true already. (Wang, we'll save for another day.)
AJ and CC seem--early early early on--the real thing. Joba is young and strong and is headed for great things. Pettitte will, barring injury, give you his 200 innings and 14 wins. Mo is Mo. Wang, at the moment, is a bonus, and we're talking about a pitcher who was on year-by-year Cy Young watch until that dreadful Father's Day in Houston when he rounded third and ended his season.
Early on, Jeter and Posada are partying like it's 1999. Someone kicked Cano in the butt. Gardner hasn't embarrassed himself. Swisher has been that rara avis: the bench player who disrupts his manager's Grand Plan by playing well enough to force himself into the starting lineup. (The last timer I saw this happen, Hunter Pence did it to the Astros, batting like .460 in Spring Training and screwing up all of Phil Garner's plans. Garner still sent Pence down to Triple-A--for a month, before finally giving in.)
So where are we left? Looking for set-up men who look like they're not auditioning for Eastbound and Down.
Meanwhile, Astro-Girl, in heaven because of the 'Stros two-game winning streak, decided to concentrate on a potential trip to Louisvill next spring. I mentioned the Muhammad Ali Museum.
Astro-Girl: They have a Muhammad Ali Museum in Louisville?
Me: Yes. Plus a Horse Museum.
AG: They have a museum filled with horses?
Me: No, mostly horse memorabilia. Statues of horses.
AG: Like who?
Me: Secretariat. Out front.
AG: They make a horse stand out front?
Me: No. His statue.
AG: They make him stand next to his statue?
Me: The horse doesn't stand anywhere. He's been dead for thirty years.
AG (wrinkling nose): But woudn't he smell by now?
Me: No, the horse is in the ground.
AG: But you said he was out front. Is he out front in the ground?
Me: No, his STATUE is out front. In front of Churchill Downs.
AG: Did Winston Churchill live there?
Me: No.
AG: Is that why they named it after him?
Me: NO. He never lived there.
AG: Then why did they name it after him?
Say goodnight, Gracie
Friday, April 10, 2009
Yankees 11, Orioles 2
How tired do you have to be to take a nap while the Yankees lead the Orioles 3-2 in AJ Burnett's maiden Yankee start, in a game in which "Treacherous Tex" (Baltimore fans are really reaching for villains these days) has already homered?
Very tired.
Wednesday was a travel day. Arizona does not observe Daylight Savings Time--on the theory, I was told growing up, that DST would burn what little grass existed in the state. Or else DST was a Communist plot. Or we had so much daylight we didn't need to save it, thank you. The only effect on me growing up was that, sometime in October, Monday Night Football went from starting at six to starting at seven, and I had to listen to the end on the radio, in my room, in the dark.
So: basically between just after St. Patrick's Day and just before Halloween, Phoenix, which sits in the same time zone as El Paso, sets its clocks the same as San Diego.
So, in late afternoon, long past when the game should have been over. I awoke in my parents' casita. Didn't want to hear from my father. Didn't want to hear that Burnett had been the third Yankee millionaire to be knocked out of the box. That Rivera had given up a broken-bat blooper in the ninth, three inches past Jeter's glove.
No, more. I didn't so much as want to see the expression on my father's face that foretold bad news. I hid in the guest cottage and watched ESPN's scroll--luckily, for only ten minutes.
Well, all right then.
From Houston, Astro-Girl was on the phone. The Astros had been thumped by the Cards the previous night.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said. Then she proceeded to talk about it.
Very tired.
Wednesday was a travel day. Arizona does not observe Daylight Savings Time--on the theory, I was told growing up, that DST would burn what little grass existed in the state. Or else DST was a Communist plot. Or we had so much daylight we didn't need to save it, thank you. The only effect on me growing up was that, sometime in October, Monday Night Football went from starting at six to starting at seven, and I had to listen to the end on the radio, in my room, in the dark.
So: basically between just after St. Patrick's Day and just before Halloween, Phoenix, which sits in the same time zone as El Paso, sets its clocks the same as San Diego.
So, in late afternoon, long past when the game should have been over. I awoke in my parents' casita. Didn't want to hear from my father. Didn't want to hear that Burnett had been the third Yankee millionaire to be knocked out of the box. That Rivera had given up a broken-bat blooper in the ninth, three inches past Jeter's glove.
No, more. I didn't so much as want to see the expression on my father's face that foretold bad news. I hid in the guest cottage and watched ESPN's scroll--luckily, for only ten minutes.
Well, all right then.
From Houston, Astro-Girl was on the phone. The Astros had been thumped by the Cards the previous night.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said. Then she proceeded to talk about it.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Joba's DUI caught on video
Ouch.
Complete with shots at Yogi: "He's probably not as tall as the front of your car."
Question: who has gone down in history with the worst DUI mug shot? Glen Campbell, then Nick Nolte . . . yeah, that's about it.
Complete with shots at Yogi: "He's probably not as tall as the front of your car."
Question: who has gone down in history with the worst DUI mug shot? Glen Campbell, then Nick Nolte . . . yeah, that's about it.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Still think "reset" was a bad idea?
'Stros 3, Cubs 2--10 innings.
What I know now.
1. When Lance Berkman strikes out with men on and the Astros losing by one run, do not describe the third strike to Astro-Girl.
Me: "Huh. Went chasing that high fastball."
Astro-Girl: "I know."
Me: "Yeah, okay."
Pause.
Astro-Girl: "I mean, I have eyes."
Me: "Yeah, okay. Fine."
Astro-Girl: "I mean, I'm sitting right here watching."
2. Nine out of every ten Astro mid-inning one-run leads has an expiration date. For tonight's reference, see Soriano, Alfonso.
3. We'll learn. Or else we won't. Decades ago, journeyman NBA center-forward Rich Kelley found himself with the Phoenix Suns. In his first game with his new team, a home game, he provided solid off the bench brio--say, 10 points and five rebounds--and with the game well in hand, left the floor to a standing O. Afterward, the attending sportwriters asked, essentially, Not a bad reception, ay?
"Don't worry," Kelley said. "They'll learn."
Regarding tonight's late-inning heroes, Michaels and Keppinger, we'll learn. Or else we won't.
What I know now.
1. When Lance Berkman strikes out with men on and the Astros losing by one run, do not describe the third strike to Astro-Girl.
Me: "Huh. Went chasing that high fastball."
Astro-Girl: "I know."
Me: "Yeah, okay."
Pause.
Astro-Girl: "I mean, I have eyes."
Me: "Yeah, okay. Fine."
Astro-Girl: "I mean, I'm sitting right here watching."
2. Nine out of every ten Astro mid-inning one-run leads has an expiration date. For tonight's reference, see Soriano, Alfonso.
3. We'll learn. Or else we won't. Decades ago, journeyman NBA center-forward Rich Kelley found himself with the Phoenix Suns. In his first game with his new team, a home game, he provided solid off the bench brio--say, 10 points and five rebounds--and with the game well in hand, left the floor to a standing O. Afterward, the attending sportwriters asked, essentially, Not a bad reception, ay?
"Don't worry," Kelley said. "They'll learn."
Regarding tonight's late-inning heroes, Michaels and Keppinger, we'll learn. Or else we won't.
Yankee Links
Turns out CC had no faith in his fastball yesterday. Funny you should mention that, CC . . .
But wait! Not a single strikeout? The Post asks: couldn't Darrel Rasner have done better? (Or, one wonders, Carl Pavano? Steve Trout?)
Sitting in Minute Maid Park, watching the Orioles pile up runs in the eighth and put the game away, I did my best Superintendant Chalmers impersonation: you know, when Chalmers shouts, "SKINNERRRRR!" Except, without matching the scoreboard's posted jersey number to the specific pitcher--in other words, without being told who was going down in flames--I reflexively shouted, "BRUUUUNNNEEEYYY!" Correctly, as it turned out.
What has hurt the Yankees, post-2003, was the arm-falling-off work given to the Flash Gordons and Scott Proctors, who found themselves unable to pick their noses in the post-season, never mind stand up to Manny and Vlad. (I remember standing in Minute Maid Park in 2004, watching a monitor as an exhausted Gordon heaved the ball in against the middle of the Boston lineup. I thought, Well, maybe they'll hit a line drive at somebody--just as David Ortize did just that, hitting the ball right at some guy sitting in the fourth row of the Monster Seats.) Joba was the answer two seasons ago until . . . well, let's not revisit that Cleveland fiasco again.
But wait! Not a single strikeout? The Post asks: couldn't Darrel Rasner have done better? (Or, one wonders, Carl Pavano? Steve Trout?)
Sitting in Minute Maid Park, watching the Orioles pile up runs in the eighth and put the game away, I did my best Superintendant Chalmers impersonation: you know, when Chalmers shouts, "SKINNERRRRR!" Except, without matching the scoreboard's posted jersey number to the specific pitcher--in other words, without being told who was going down in flames--I reflexively shouted, "BRUUUUNNNEEEYYY!" Correctly, as it turned out.
What has hurt the Yankees, post-2003, was the arm-falling-off work given to the Flash Gordons and Scott Proctors, who found themselves unable to pick their noses in the post-season, never mind stand up to Manny and Vlad. (I remember standing in Minute Maid Park in 2004, watching a monitor as an exhausted Gordon heaved the ball in against the middle of the Boston lineup. I thought, Well, maybe they'll hit a line drive at somebody--just as David Ortize did just that, hitting the ball right at some guy sitting in the fourth row of the Monster Seats.) Joba was the answer two seasons ago until . . . well, let's not revisit that Cleveland fiasco again.
Monday, April 06, 2009
Orioles 10, Yankees 5
Perhaps ask Obama if he's got another "Reset" button around. Can we have a do-over and start the season over tomorrow?
The old legend of living in Brooklyn is that one could walk down Flatbush Avenue and hear--through a series of open windows--an uninterrupted Red Barber narrative of that afternoon's or evening's Dodger game. The modern version of this phenomenon exists in every available media form, as witness today. To start, the first few innings on the YES network, during which CC Sabathia seemed determined to earn all 10 trillion dollars of his contract in his first thirty pitches, and succeeded in two wild pitches, one that hit the brick backstop so hard it bounced back like a raquetball, and I thought seriously for an instant Posada could have cut down the runner at third. With a little help from Jeter, CC fought his way out of an inning, at which time two possibilities arose: 1. "Baltimore missed its chance, CC is about the settle down; 2. It's only a matter of time, he's staving off the inevitable."
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Door Number 2, which I witnessed via the internet at work. Then, more damage the hard way, in one of those insidious Sports Flashes where Golden Throat starts off, "The Yankees scored two more in the sixth . . . (Cool! Too more in the sixth!) . . . but still trail the Birds, six to three."
Okay, just die, Radio Guy. And calling them "the Birds" isn't fresh, it doesn't show you're smart, so shut up! Shut shut shut shut shut up!
Off to Minute Maid and the wooden scoreboard. I should tell you our seats this year are at an odd angle, so the innings and the runs in each inning do not quite measure up. When the Yankees scored to come within 6-5 in the seventh, I thought it was in the eighth. When they scored zero runs in the eighth, I thought, therefore, the game was over.
So only when the Orioles scored four runs in the bottom of the eighth did I realize it was the eighth . . .
. . . which meant the game was not only not over . . .
It was worse than not over, it was not over plus a crucial portion of the 2009 Yankee squad, the keep-a-deficit-close portion of the bullpen, had officially crapped the bed in the first game of the season.
All this, meanwhile, was while Astros v. Cubs, Oswalt v. Zambrano, was unfolding.
First inning: Alfonso Soriano hits the ball 350 feet into the runway behind the Crawford Boxes. 1-0.
"Okay," Astro-Girl says, "Royo got it out of his system."
Second inning: Aramis Ramirez hits the ball into the Crawford Boxes.
"No problem," Astro-Girl says, "Now Royo really got it out of his system."
No matter. Zambrano plus Astros plus lead equals boat race. True, Astro Kaz Matsui made a baserunning error that was totally excusable were Kaz a) eight years old, and b) eight years old. I wondered aloud, "Does Jose Cruz need to learn how to say, 'One out' in Japanese?"
Ah, too depressing. Robby-Boy picks us up:
The old legend of living in Brooklyn is that one could walk down Flatbush Avenue and hear--through a series of open windows--an uninterrupted Red Barber narrative of that afternoon's or evening's Dodger game. The modern version of this phenomenon exists in every available media form, as witness today. To start, the first few innings on the YES network, during which CC Sabathia seemed determined to earn all 10 trillion dollars of his contract in his first thirty pitches, and succeeded in two wild pitches, one that hit the brick backstop so hard it bounced back like a raquetball, and I thought seriously for an instant Posada could have cut down the runner at third. With a little help from Jeter, CC fought his way out of an inning, at which time two possibilities arose: 1. "Baltimore missed its chance, CC is about the settle down; 2. It's only a matter of time, he's staving off the inevitable."
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Door Number 2, which I witnessed via the internet at work. Then, more damage the hard way, in one of those insidious Sports Flashes where Golden Throat starts off, "The Yankees scored two more in the sixth . . . (Cool! Too more in the sixth!) . . . but still trail the Birds, six to three."
Okay, just die, Radio Guy. And calling them "the Birds" isn't fresh, it doesn't show you're smart, so shut up! Shut shut shut shut shut up!
Off to Minute Maid and the wooden scoreboard. I should tell you our seats this year are at an odd angle, so the innings and the runs in each inning do not quite measure up. When the Yankees scored to come within 6-5 in the seventh, I thought it was in the eighth. When they scored zero runs in the eighth, I thought, therefore, the game was over.
So only when the Orioles scored four runs in the bottom of the eighth did I realize it was the eighth . . .
. . . which meant the game was not only not over . . .
It was worse than not over, it was not over plus a crucial portion of the 2009 Yankee squad, the keep-a-deficit-close portion of the bullpen, had officially crapped the bed in the first game of the season.
All this, meanwhile, was while Astros v. Cubs, Oswalt v. Zambrano, was unfolding.
First inning: Alfonso Soriano hits the ball 350 feet into the runway behind the Crawford Boxes. 1-0.
"Okay," Astro-Girl says, "Royo got it out of his system."
Second inning: Aramis Ramirez hits the ball into the Crawford Boxes.
"No problem," Astro-Girl says, "Now Royo really got it out of his system."
No matter. Zambrano plus Astros plus lead equals boat race. True, Astro Kaz Matsui made a baserunning error that was totally excusable were Kaz a) eight years old, and b) eight years old. I wondered aloud, "Does Jose Cruz need to learn how to say, 'One out' in Japanese?"
Ah, too depressing. Robby-Boy picks us up:
Well I pulled my kids out of school at 1:00pm for a "family function" I had to tell the office secretary.
We popped the corn and watched the first pitch. Jeter leads off with a gutty 2 strike single. Then we watched C.C. have ZERO control over his fastball.
Posada goes deep and has a great play at the dish!
Gardner looks really good in center, Godzilla looks to be in his old forum but alas C.C. digs us to big of a hole to climb out of today.
But it is baseball and there is always tomorrow, or Wed in the Yanks/O's case.
The re-relaunch
Shows what little I know about this stuff. An Opening Day has driven me back here and streamlined this to sports. Politics I'll place elsewhere soon (though I do note the that opening day in Chicago has been cancelled due to frigid weather and two inches of fluffy white global warming).
Tankees start in three hours. CC Sabathia is--who? Catfish Hunter, Tommy John, Mike Mussina, the Roger Clemens of 2000-2001? Or Ed Whitson, Carl Pavano, the Randy Johnson of 2005?
Meanwhile--Minute Maid at 6:05. Astros-Cubs. Oswalt-Zambrano. Astrogirl's and my 33% season tickets are down the left field line, twenty rows up--in other words, precisely to give us a perfect view of Manny Ramirez when the Dodgers come on April 21st. This might be the only time I'd regret a game being a regular-season instead of spring training, as it lessens dramatically the chances Manny coming to sit with us in the stands.
Tankees start in three hours. CC Sabathia is--who? Catfish Hunter, Tommy John, Mike Mussina, the Roger Clemens of 2000-2001? Or Ed Whitson, Carl Pavano, the Randy Johnson of 2005?
Meanwhile--Minute Maid at 6:05. Astros-Cubs. Oswalt-Zambrano. Astrogirl's and my 33% season tickets are down the left field line, twenty rows up--in other words, precisely to give us a perfect view of Manny Ramirez when the Dodgers come on April 21st. This might be the only time I'd regret a game being a regular-season instead of spring training, as it lessens dramatically the chances Manny coming to sit with us in the stands.
Monday, October 20, 2008
A word
When the emails inquiring if I was all right, given my recent silence, reached double digits, I figured it was time to first, say thanks.
I'm giving this sucker a break for a bit, to concentrate on a few things interesting, at the moment, only to me. The Yankees September meltdown was easy enough to take; Jeter and the guys have provided thrills enough the past dozen years. I'm fine, thanks for asking.
As for the election--well, at the momnent I prefer to pass. Joe the Teacher has nothing to contribute at this time. If I have anything to contribute, Profesor Kingsfield, I shall raise my hand.
Be good, my friends.
I'm giving this sucker a break for a bit, to concentrate on a few things interesting, at the moment, only to me. The Yankees September meltdown was easy enough to take; Jeter and the guys have provided thrills enough the past dozen years. I'm fine, thanks for asking.
As for the election--well, at the momnent I prefer to pass. Joe the Teacher has nothing to contribute at this time. If I have anything to contribute, Profesor Kingsfield, I shall raise my hand.
Be good, my friends.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Royals 4, Yankees 3
Rivera. Another tie game.
It is here that I depart for a week; I trust Sun Devil Joe, Robby Boy, Jimmy, O'Nan Imus, GSB and all the rest to hold down the fort.
Let's go, Yankees, indeed.
It is here that I depart for a week; I trust Sun Devil Joe, Robby Boy, Jimmy, O'Nan Imus, GSB and all the rest to hold down the fort.
Let's go, Yankees, indeed.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Yankees 9, Twins 6
Saw it via the scoreboard at Minute Maid (and has anyone noticed the Astros lately?).
Not the sort of game the guys have been winning.
Not the sort of game the guys have been winning.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Twins 4. Yankees 0
I smell a big slide coming. When Ponson gets elevated from "at least he'll eat innings" to "okay, we have to win if he keeps us in it," to "Ponson: Oh, God, we have to win this one 'cause look at who else we have," there is trouble.
This comes at a time when Boston has just lost the greatest Yankee killer since ever, when Tampa's best two players jus when on the DL, when neither Minnesota nor Chicago nor Texas are anything special.
Four games out of the Wild Card. But they'd better start hitting.
This comes at a time when Boston has just lost the greatest Yankee killer since ever, when Tampa's best two players jus when on the DL, when neither Minnesota nor Chicago nor Texas are anything special.
Four games out of the Wild Card. But they'd better start hitting.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Angels 4, Yankees 3
Pettitte pitched fine, save one inning, against the Angels' meat grind of an order.
The larger question is: Just what is it with Rivera and ties this year?
As a consolation, I sat down to watch the Olympics: specifically, the Men's 4 X 100 freestyle relay.
Reader Desert Rose had informed me of her all-Olympic boycott, and I was already following suit, but was drawn back by my favorite sports, those involving either a race or a ball--meaning swimming, track and basketball. Thus I was able to see The Greatest Swim Relay Ever--or, as those over 40 will remember, the greatest swim relay since the 1976 Women's 4 X 100 free, when Shirley Babashoff and Co. upset Kornelia Ender's East German 'roid monsters for the only US women's swimming gold in Montreal. In those days, the freestyle relays were (as they are in most swim meets) the final events of the competition. The race result was so stunning--Ender and friends had dominated the distaff side in the pool to that point, winning 11 out of 12 gold, most of them in laughably easy fashion--that the East Germans actually filed a protest, claiming that Babashoff, swimming the anchor, had dove off the podium early. Babashoff, who had swum internationally since her early teens, who had spotted the East German cheating for what it was, who had called them on it, and who had then endured terrible press calling her a poor sport as she collected one silver after another, could finally smile. "Her fingernail touched and my toenail touched," she said with a laugh, gold medal around her shoulders, when asked if she had left early.
I would place last night's race just behind that one. But what a race.
The larger question is: Just what is it with Rivera and ties this year?
As a consolation, I sat down to watch the Olympics: specifically, the Men's 4 X 100 freestyle relay.
Reader Desert Rose had informed me of her all-Olympic boycott, and I was already following suit, but was drawn back by my favorite sports, those involving either a race or a ball--meaning swimming, track and basketball. Thus I was able to see The Greatest Swim Relay Ever--or, as those over 40 will remember, the greatest swim relay since the 1976 Women's 4 X 100 free, when Shirley Babashoff and Co. upset Kornelia Ender's East German 'roid monsters for the only US women's swimming gold in Montreal. In those days, the freestyle relays were (as they are in most swim meets) the final events of the competition. The race result was so stunning--Ender and friends had dominated the distaff side in the pool to that point, winning 11 out of 12 gold, most of them in laughably easy fashion--that the East Germans actually filed a protest, claiming that Babashoff, swimming the anchor, had dove off the podium early. Babashoff, who had swum internationally since her early teens, who had spotted the East German cheating for what it was, who had called them on it, and who had then endured terrible press calling her a poor sport as she collected one silver after another, could finally smile. "Her fingernail touched and my toenail touched," she said with a laugh, gold medal around her shoulders, when asked if she had left early.
I would place last night's race just behind that one. But what a race.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Angels 11, Yankees 4
We may be agt the tipping point, people: Wang and Posada are gone; Matsui probably so; now Joba, maybe. And Pettitte soon to follow.
Don't blame Girardi.
Don't blame Girardi.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Yankees 3, Rangers 0
Moose to the rescue, with his fifteenth win. Lesse, with Joba on the DL, Pettitte due to miss a start, Kennedy up for try number three, Rasner headed toward oblivion, Hughes god-knows-where on the way to recovery and Washburn still in Seattle, the Yankee staff has come down to this:
Ponson and Moose and pray to Zeus.
Ponson and Moose and pray to Zeus.
Yankees 5, Rangers 3
I skipped Tuesday's game--you know, when you just know your guys are going to come out flat and lose it, and you turn to the game every hour or so just for confirmation?
And Sexson's grand slam you know--you know--will only make things closer?
Anyway, nice to salvage one game, the most important of which is Ponson's semi-permanent place in the rotation, especially with Joba on the DL.
And Sexson's grand slam you know--you know--will only make things closer?
Anyway, nice to salvage one game, the most important of which is Ponson's semi-permanent place in the rotation, especially with Joba on the DL.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Eduardo
Hundering down in Houston, where right now, the hurricane's "clean side" in delivering mostly rain.
A move to the West, however, could be perilous.
A move to the West, however, could be perilous.
Ranger 9, Yankees 5
As has been written:
You have to win a game you tie in the late innings.
Tampa, Boston, New York, Chicago, Minnesota . . . and Texas.
Six teams competing for three spots.
You have to win a game you tie in the late innings.
Tampa, Boston, New York, Chicago, Minnesota . . . and Texas.
Six teams competing for three spots.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Yankees 8, Angels 2
Funny thing about Moose: every bad start he has (and they will happen; Guidry had a few in 1978), everyone wants to know: is Moose through?
Saw only the first five innings before obligations intervened and thought, as I exited at 4-2, Hey, he's got this under control.
And so he did.
Saw only the first five innings before obligations intervened and thought, as I exited at 4-2, Hey, he's got this under control.
And so he did.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Angels 1, Yankees 0
. . . And so, as I was watching the Astros' defeat of th Mets at Minute Maid, the yellow "1" came up on the scoreboard. The Angels, one run in the ninth.
Replaced by a white "1."
Then K-Rod. Ball game.
What is it with Rivera and ties?
Replaced by a white "1."
Then K-Rod. Ball game.
What is it with Rivera and ties?
Friday, August 01, 2008
Angels 12, Yankees 6
But the big news, of course, is all those trades. And the happiest team in baseball yesterday was the Yankees, ridding themselves once and for all of maybe their No.1 nemesis ever--more than Greenberg, Williams, Feller, Yaz, Palmer, Clemens 1.0, or Pedro.
Manny and his .450-vs.-the-Yankees batting average, Manny with all his home runs to the Mass Turnpike or the left field stands at the Stadium, Manny in the on-deck circle with men on, forcing some overmatched Yankee righty to pitch to Papi . . .
. . . Manny who, in the seventh and eighth, in the yawning gap between a starter and Mo, leaving you with the one hope that maybe he'd hit it at somebody . . .
. . . Many, who, for all his childish antics, for his time spent kicking it inside the Monster, for the ball he once cut off from center field while playing left field, for all the times he seemed to be playing the field on roller skates, always saved his best for the Yankees, even in the field.
Gone. Gone, gone.
Manny and his .450-vs.-the-Yankees batting average, Manny with all his home runs to the Mass Turnpike or the left field stands at the Stadium, Manny in the on-deck circle with men on, forcing some overmatched Yankee righty to pitch to Papi . . .
. . . Manny who, in the seventh and eighth, in the yawning gap between a starter and Mo, leaving you with the one hope that maybe he'd hit it at somebody . . .
. . . Many, who, for all his childish antics, for his time spent kicking it inside the Monster, for the ball he once cut off from center field while playing left field, for all the times he seemed to be playing the field on roller skates, always saved his best for the Yankees, even in the field.
Gone. Gone, gone.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Yankees 13, Orioles 3; Pudge in pinstripes
Joba stops the bleeding--this may be an ongoing theme--and the Yanks get a Hall-of-Famer to play this year's version of Johnny Mize and Enos Slaughter.
Welcome to Avis Rent-a-Star.
By all accounts, Jorge Posada--who has taken his rightful place with Dickey, Berra, Howard and Munson in the Yankee backstop pantheon--will be behind the plate for the unveiling of the new Yankee Stadium on Opening Day, 2009.
For now, though, as Joel Sherman tells us, this deal makes all kinds of sense.
Now: Manny goes to Florida, Washburn comes to the Yankees--and we are staring at a Yankee/Angel showdown in October.
Welcome to Avis Rent-a-Star.
By all accounts, Jorge Posada--who has taken his rightful place with Dickey, Berra, Howard and Munson in the Yankee backstop pantheon--will be behind the plate for the unveiling of the new Yankee Stadium on Opening Day, 2009.
For now, though, as Joel Sherman tells us, this deal makes all kinds of sense.
Now: Manny goes to Florida, Washburn comes to the Yankees--and we are staring at a Yankee/Angel showdown in October.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Orioles 7, Yankees 6
"I stood in the courtroom like a fool! And those two bastards smiled at me!"
--Bonasera, The Godfather
Just like I stood behind the first-deck seats at Minute Maid Park, watching that ninth-inning yellow 3 (signifying a half-inning still in progress), the one that brought the Yankees to within one, 7-6.
Watching, watching, watching . . . five, ten minutes.
Then all the inning-by-inning numbers came down, signifying the game was over.
what is the Yankees' problem with the Orioles, anyway?
Paging Washburn.
--Bonasera, The Godfather
Just like I stood behind the first-deck seats at Minute Maid Park, watching that ninth-inning yellow 3 (signifying a half-inning still in progress), the one that brought the Yankees to within one, 7-6.
Watching, watching, watching . . . five, ten minutes.
Then all the inning-by-inning numbers came down, signifying the game was over.
what is the Yankees' problem with the Orioles, anyway?
Paging Washburn.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Orioles 13, Yankees 4
Does every double-digit run surrender drive up Jarrod Washburn's price tag?
The one thing the Yankees never run out of is money. Just as they were able to do with the Phillies re Bobby Abreu and Cory Lidle in 2005 (though the dollar figures were different), the Yanks are basically offering nothing in return for taking 13 mil off the Mariners' books in the form of Washburn--who, presumably, would slide in as the number four starter behind Moose, Joba, and Pettitte.
The Mariners, of course, asked for a blue-chip prospect, one of the four or five the Yankees refused to spend on Nady and Marte: outfielder Austin Jackson or one of the three prime pitchers poised to follow Joba, Kennedy and Hughes through the chute. After the Yankees laughed at that one, the Mariners when one tier below, someone in Tabata's range.
The Yanks, so far, have said no, and are ready to demand the Mariners to take a flier on one or two longshots.
So, 48 hours before the trade deadline, is where we sit.
The one thing the Yankees never run out of is money. Just as they were able to do with the Phillies re Bobby Abreu and Cory Lidle in 2005 (though the dollar figures were different), the Yanks are basically offering nothing in return for taking 13 mil off the Mariners' books in the form of Washburn--who, presumably, would slide in as the number four starter behind Moose, Joba, and Pettitte.
The Mariners, of course, asked for a blue-chip prospect, one of the four or five the Yankees refused to spend on Nady and Marte: outfielder Austin Jackson or one of the three prime pitchers poised to follow Joba, Kennedy and Hughes through the chute. After the Yankees laughed at that one, the Mariners when one tier below, someone in Tabata's range.
The Yanks, so far, have said no, and are ready to demand the Mariners to take a flier on one or two longshots.
So, 48 hours before the trade deadline, is where we sit.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Yankee Links
Okay, we get it. The Yankees stole Nady and Marte, and Tabata is a bum. We get it. This is no longer the franchise that traded Fred McGriff for Dale Murray, Doug Drabek for a washed-up Rick Rhoden, Jay Buhner for Ken Phelps, Willie McGee for God-knows-who.
We are back to the glory days of Gabe Paul getting us Mickey Rivers and Ed Figueroa for Bobby Bonds, Willie Randolph for Ken Brett, Sparky Lyle for Danny Cater, Bucky Dent for Oscar Gamble, Graig Nettles for God-knows-who. Or the days of Gene Michaels and Joe Watson trading for Paul O'Neill, Wade Boggs, David Cone, Tino Martinez, John Wetteland, Joe Girardi, and Cecil Fielder--all while having the foresight to hang on to Bernie Williams, Mariano Rivera, Derek Jeter, Andy Pettitte and Jorge Posada.
Understand: we get it.
Jay Sherman has made his point. Three times now. So we don't need to hear any more until after the season, right?
When Mike Lupica is on, there are few Sunday morning delights to rival his "Shooting from the Lip" (I would list only George Will's column, Roger Ebert's alternating Great Movies/Movie Answer Man, Howie Carr in the Boston Herald, and Mark Steyn, though lately the Orange County Register has been slipping Steyn (currently on vacation) into cyberspace on Saturday afternoons.)
But when Lupica misses, when he ranges into matters he knows nothing about (college football) or into Bush Derangement territory . . . the result is as if a ten-car pileup had given birth to a large steaming turd.
As evidence, I submit today's column, in which Lupica sets the land-speed record for putting one's head up one's ass.
Start with the headline: "Clearing Clemens is Bush league move by President."
"Clearing," as in a pardon.
Q: So President Bush is pardoning Roger Clemens?
A: No.
So he's considering pardoning Roger Clemens?
No.
So Clemens has asked at least asked for a pardon?
No.
So President Bush might, some time next January, pardon Roger Clemens?
Sure he might.
Says who?
Brian McNamee's lawyer.
Oh. So he's heard President Bush will pardon Clemens?
No.
So he's heard Bush might pardon Clemens?
No.
So what has Bush or any of his people said about Clemens?
Nothing.
So what makes McNamee's lawyer make this allegation?
Marion Jones.
Ah, now we're getting somewhere. So Bush is going to pardon Marion Jones?
No.
So he said he might?
No.
He at least said he's considering it? You know, like, "All options are on the table"?
No.
Okay. What evidence is there that Marion Jones is getting a pardon?
She asked for one.
Who can ask for a pardon?
Anyone. You or I could.
So, based upon the fact that Marion Jones asked for a pardon, with no indication that she's getting one; and further, that Roger Clemens didn't ask for a pardon, with no indication that he will even ask for one; and that, like Marion Jones, there's no indication at all that he'd get one if he did ask for one--based upon this, we get a Mike Lupica column speculating that President Bush might pardon Roger Clemens.
Sure.
It is clear that Lupica thinks he has Bush dead to rights on these words, from Bush's State of the Union Address:
And, don't you see, pardoning Clemens would make Bush a hypocrite.
And you know what? I agree.
But nothing at all has indicated Bush might do so.
Even those who scream "Scooter Libby!" need to calm down. Viewed in the most cynical light (which I reject, but let's go ahead) Bush's commutation (not pardon) of Libby was a giant act of ass-covering.
That's the most cynical reading. And there's not even that this time, since Clemens never played for Bush's Rangers.
Until such time, Lupica is guilty of a McGlaughlin prediction at best. You know, those predictions at the end of "The McGlaughlin Group," where it pays to either predict the same thing over and over and assume the odds are with you (like Lawrence O'Donnell, who predicted Bad Things For The Republicans for six straight years and was wrong every time, right up until the 2006 midterms, after which he proclaimed, "I'm here to gloat!"); or else (as with Lupica) predict something outlandish and at least six months down the line. If you're wrong, nobody remembers. If you're right, you get to say, "I'm here to gloat!"
What Lupica submitted to his editor isn't journalism, it isn't writing, it isn't even thought. It's picking your mother's birthday every day in the lotto, and hoping it pays off.
We are back to the glory days of Gabe Paul getting us Mickey Rivers and Ed Figueroa for Bobby Bonds, Willie Randolph for Ken Brett, Sparky Lyle for Danny Cater, Bucky Dent for Oscar Gamble, Graig Nettles for God-knows-who. Or the days of Gene Michaels and Joe Watson trading for Paul O'Neill, Wade Boggs, David Cone, Tino Martinez, John Wetteland, Joe Girardi, and Cecil Fielder--all while having the foresight to hang on to Bernie Williams, Mariano Rivera, Derek Jeter, Andy Pettitte and Jorge Posada.
Understand: we get it.
Jay Sherman has made his point. Three times now. So we don't need to hear any more until after the season, right?
When Mike Lupica is on, there are few Sunday morning delights to rival his "Shooting from the Lip" (I would list only George Will's column, Roger Ebert's alternating Great Movies/Movie Answer Man, Howie Carr in the Boston Herald, and Mark Steyn, though lately the Orange County Register has been slipping Steyn (currently on vacation) into cyberspace on Saturday afternoons.)
But when Lupica misses, when he ranges into matters he knows nothing about (college football) or into Bush Derangement territory . . . the result is as if a ten-car pileup had given birth to a large steaming turd.
As evidence, I submit today's column, in which Lupica sets the land-speed record for putting one's head up one's ass.
Start with the headline: "Clearing Clemens is Bush league move by President."
"Clearing," as in a pardon.
Q: So President Bush is pardoning Roger Clemens?
A: No.
So he's considering pardoning Roger Clemens?
No.
So Clemens has asked at least asked for a pardon?
No.
So President Bush might, some time next January, pardon Roger Clemens?
Sure he might.
Says who?
Brian McNamee's lawyer.
Oh. So he's heard President Bush will pardon Clemens?
No.
So he's heard Bush might pardon Clemens?
No.
So what has Bush or any of his people said about Clemens?
Nothing.
So what makes McNamee's lawyer make this allegation?
Marion Jones.
Ah, now we're getting somewhere. So Bush is going to pardon Marion Jones?
No.
So he said he might?
No.
He at least said he's considering it? You know, like, "All options are on the table"?
No.
Okay. What evidence is there that Marion Jones is getting a pardon?
She asked for one.
Who can ask for a pardon?
Anyone. You or I could.
So, based upon the fact that Marion Jones asked for a pardon, with no indication that she's getting one; and further, that Roger Clemens didn't ask for a pardon, with no indication that he will even ask for one; and that, like Marion Jones, there's no indication at all that he'd get one if he did ask for one--based upon this, we get a Mike Lupica column speculating that President Bush might pardon Roger Clemens.
Sure.
It is clear that Lupica thinks he has Bush dead to rights on these words, from Bush's State of the Union Address:
"Athletics play such an important role in our society, but, unfortunately, some in professional sports are not setting much of an example. The use of performance-enhancing drugs like steroids in baseball, football, and other sports is dangerous, and it sends the wrong message - that there are shortcuts to accomplishment, and that performance is more important than character. So tonight I call on team owners, union representatives, coaches, and players to take the lead, to send the right signal, to get tough, and to get rid of steroids now."
And, don't you see, pardoning Clemens would make Bush a hypocrite.
And you know what? I agree.
But nothing at all has indicated Bush might do so.
Even those who scream "Scooter Libby!" need to calm down. Viewed in the most cynical light (which I reject, but let's go ahead) Bush's commutation (not pardon) of Libby was a giant act of ass-covering.
That's the most cynical reading. And there's not even that this time, since Clemens never played for Bush's Rangers.
Until such time, Lupica is guilty of a McGlaughlin prediction at best. You know, those predictions at the end of "The McGlaughlin Group," where it pays to either predict the same thing over and over and assume the odds are with you (like Lawrence O'Donnell, who predicted Bad Things For The Republicans for six straight years and was wrong every time, right up until the 2006 midterms, after which he proclaimed, "I'm here to gloat!"); or else (as with Lupica) predict something outlandish and at least six months down the line. If you're wrong, nobody remembers. If you're right, you get to say, "I'm here to gloat!"
What Lupica submitted to his editor isn't journalism, it isn't writing, it isn't even thought. It's picking your mother's birthday every day in the lotto, and hoping it pays off.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Yankees 10, Red Sox 3
Eight in a row, and a win of the series--especially important, with Lester going for Boston tomorrow.
After the Yankees' bats came untracked, the game came down to a single at-bat.
Two on, one out, 7-3 Yankees. Papi up.
For all the good Yankee work, suddenly Manny, on deck, becomes the potential tying run.
All that is left for Girardi to do is pull the lever marked MARTE.
New kid Marte comes in, strikes out Papi on four pitches.
Just like they drew it up in practice--this time, anyway.
Good while it lasted, and by that I mean: next week, I know as I sit here, I'll be treated to Brewers-Braves while 60% of the country is treated to Yankees-Angels.
Lovely.
After the Yankees' bats came untracked, the game came down to a single at-bat.
Two on, one out, 7-3 Yankees. Papi up.
For all the good Yankee work, suddenly Manny, on deck, becomes the potential tying run.
All that is left for Girardi to do is pull the lever marked MARTE.
New kid Marte comes in, strikes out Papi on four pitches.
Just like they drew it up in practice--this time, anyway.
Good while it lasted, and by that I mean: next week, I know as I sit here, I'll be treated to Brewers-Braves while 60% of the country is treated to Yankees-Angels.
Lovely.
Yankee Links
Joba to the rotation: Can we all now admit that Boss Hank was right and we were wrong?
Take it from me, someone who, living in Houston, saw Xavier Nady 17 times a year: the guy can play. Marte I know less about, but it's always cool when one team gets one player with one particular opposing player in mind. In 1983, the Celtics went out and got Dennis Johnson specifically because nobody they had could stop the Sixers' Andrew Toney. What has mostly killed the Yankees the past four years (save that one lovely week back in August, 2005) has been the inability of anyone in the pen save Mo Rivera to get out David Ortiz. Is Marte the answer? You never know with relievers in the Bronx (Jay Witasik, Mike Myers, LaTroy Hawkins, Mark Wohlers--conversely, Graeme Lloyd, Jeff Nelson, David Weathers, Mike Stanton).
Mike Vaccaro of the Post sums up Friday night the best:
Joel Sherman, puts the trade bluntly:Pittsburgh received four prospects, but the pirates were the Yankees.
If all goes well, count on Nady starting against Jon Lester Sunday night.
Had enough heat? Today, Pettitte's cutters v. Wakefield's slop, and my local Fox affiliate promises, promises me the game will (gasp) actually be televised in Houston.
See, out here in Friday Night Lights country, where baseball is a nice diversion between spring football and football, it's a rumor to us that there are any baseball teams in existence beyond the Astros, Cubs, Cardinals and Braves. Or so Fox would have us believe.
Take it from me, someone who, living in Houston, saw Xavier Nady 17 times a year: the guy can play. Marte I know less about, but it's always cool when one team gets one player with one particular opposing player in mind. In 1983, the Celtics went out and got Dennis Johnson specifically because nobody they had could stop the Sixers' Andrew Toney. What has mostly killed the Yankees the past four years (save that one lovely week back in August, 2005) has been the inability of anyone in the pen save Mo Rivera to get out David Ortiz. Is Marte the answer? You never know with relievers in the Bronx (Jay Witasik, Mike Myers, LaTroy Hawkins, Mark Wohlers--conversely, Graeme Lloyd, Jeff Nelson, David Weathers, Mike Stanton).
Mike Vaccaro of the Post sums up Friday night the best:
BOSTON - There was only one way for this beauty of a baseball game to end, of course. The tying run had to be on base. There had to be two outs in the ninth inning, with the MVP of the All-Star Game digging in to face the greatest closer in the history of the sport.
Some nights demand the full regal treatment. Those nights also deserve an appropriate conclusion. And so it was that Mariano RiveraMariano Rivera zipped a 95-mph cutter toward the outside corner, and J.D. Drew stood and stared at it, and home plate umpire Marty Foster lifted his right arm and tied it all up in a bow.
YankeesNew York Yankees 1, Red Sox 0.
"That," Joe Girardi said after he'd breathed his final sigh of relief, "was one whale of a game, wasn't it?"
Joel Sherman, puts the trade bluntly:Pittsburgh received four prospects, but the pirates were the Yankees.
If all goes well, count on Nady starting against Jon Lester Sunday night.
Had enough heat? Today, Pettitte's cutters v. Wakefield's slop, and my local Fox affiliate promises, promises me the game will (gasp) actually be televised in Houston.
See, out here in Friday Night Lights country, where baseball is a nice diversion between spring football and football, it's a rumor to us that there are any baseball teams in existence beyond the Astros, Cubs, Cardinals and Braves. Or so Fox would have us believe.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Yankees 1, Red Sox 0
Well, whew.
Joba, taking nine strides forward; the rested bullpen coming through.
But admit it:
You thought the game was lost when Coco Crisp, the out the Yankees badly wanted, scampered past Farnsworth for a fifty-foot, eighth-inning infield hit to make it first and second, one out, with the top of the order, and hence two scooters named Ellsbury and Pedroia, due up.
Well, time to summon Mo. Five-out save? Damn right.
(And yeah, that was ball three to Lowell. Oh well.)
As for the trade: the Yanks have needed some right-hand pop for awhile. And . . . the Yankees' inability to win the World Series in 2004 was due, more than any other factor, to their ability to get out Papi in the late innings. Marte should help.
Blah blah, physicals. Get these guys suited up.
Joba, taking nine strides forward; the rested bullpen coming through.
But admit it:
You thought the game was lost when Coco Crisp, the out the Yankees badly wanted, scampered past Farnsworth for a fifty-foot, eighth-inning infield hit to make it first and second, one out, with the top of the order, and hence two scooters named Ellsbury and Pedroia, due up.
Well, time to summon Mo. Five-out save? Damn right.
(And yeah, that was ball three to Lowell. Oh well.)
As for the trade: the Yanks have needed some right-hand pop for awhile. And . . . the Yankees' inability to win the World Series in 2004 was due, more than any other factor, to their ability to get out Papi in the late innings. Marte should help.
Blah blah, physicals. Get these guys suited up.
Another county heard from
Robby-Boy, from Phoenix:
Fair enough. And then:
Nice, very nice. I hate you both.
I have enjoyed this little streak. I just hope some of this momentum carries into the big weekend series versus Boston.
Fair enough. And then:
Ryan (his elder son, and my godson) and I are preparing for our NY trip. We will be at the Stadium for the Tuesday games against Baltimore and the Thursday game against LAA.
Nice, very nice. I hate you both.
Yankee Links
Lupica on this weekend's showdown.
Catch the photo of Papelbon, um, frightened for himself and his wife during the Sixth Avenue parade last week.
All of sudden it's Page Six news when A-Rod doesn't get laid.
Twenty years ago, I was a grad student in Binghamton, New York. I spent the summer between the two school years of my Master's program working double shifts as a security guard at Binghamton General Hospital, making enough for gas money on the weekends to explore Upstate (Cooperstown, Oneonta) and parts of New England (Massachusetts, Vermont). Accompanying me in my car all the way were the dulcet tones of Hank Greenwald and Tommy Hutton, the Yankee announcers and a pair of pros, nearly the equal of Ernie Harwell or (gasp) St. Scully.
They were both fired after the 1988 season--in, it was rumored, a fit of Steinbrenner pique. Replacing them was John Sterling.
The first month of the 1989 season, Sterling twice said as follows, "It is high . . . it is long . . . it is gone! . . . uh, no it isn't!", thus having violated the cardinal rule of broadcasting, "Never say 'It's out of there' until it's out of there (a cardinal rule voiced, ironically, by ex-Cardinal Tim McCarver), Sterling spent the rest of both broadcasts and then a large portion of the following nights' pre-game shows talking about the "strange winds" at wherever the Yankees happened to be playing. No, it happened. I was listening.
I now get my Yankee broadcasts courtesy of YES's dependable Michael Kay and his rotating, and above-average, stable of analysts: David Cone, Al Leiter, Ken Singleton, John Flaherty. But apparently, according to the Post's Phil Mushnick, Sterling hasn't changed a bit.
Tonite: Joba v. Beckett. Please not to stink, guys.
Catch the photo of Papelbon, um, frightened for himself and his wife during the Sixth Avenue parade last week.
All of sudden it's Page Six news when A-Rod doesn't get laid.
Twenty years ago, I was a grad student in Binghamton, New York. I spent the summer between the two school years of my Master's program working double shifts as a security guard at Binghamton General Hospital, making enough for gas money on the weekends to explore Upstate (Cooperstown, Oneonta) and parts of New England (Massachusetts, Vermont). Accompanying me in my car all the way were the dulcet tones of Hank Greenwald and Tommy Hutton, the Yankee announcers and a pair of pros, nearly the equal of Ernie Harwell or (gasp) St. Scully.
They were both fired after the 1988 season--in, it was rumored, a fit of Steinbrenner pique. Replacing them was John Sterling.
The first month of the 1989 season, Sterling twice said as follows, "It is high . . . it is long . . . it is gone! . . . uh, no it isn't!", thus having violated the cardinal rule of broadcasting, "Never say 'It's out of there' until it's out of there (a cardinal rule voiced, ironically, by ex-Cardinal Tim McCarver), Sterling spent the rest of both broadcasts and then a large portion of the following nights' pre-game shows talking about the "strange winds" at wherever the Yankees happened to be playing. No, it happened. I was listening.
I now get my Yankee broadcasts courtesy of YES's dependable Michael Kay and his rotating, and above-average, stable of analysts: David Cone, Al Leiter, Ken Singleton, John Flaherty. But apparently, according to the Post's Phil Mushnick, Sterling hasn't changed a bit.
Tonite: Joba v. Beckett. Please not to stink, guys.
Hate Mail? (Part 2)
My other corrector, Jimmy, responds to me as follows:
Me: I still don't buy it. In the last century, starting with Woodrow Wilson (who jailed people who vocally opposed World War I in their own homes), we've seen too many menaces requiring massive government intervention now, now, now! in the way we live our private lives. And this stuff has got the whiff of all that. If I'm wrong, the world won't be the poorer by it; I've only one vote, and I'm going to use it on a guy who unfortunately buys into all of this, McCain. But I don't think I'm wrong.
Having said that, Jimmy is serious about all this, and he's done me the courtesy of supplying a few links. So I'll shut up about all this until I read them over the weekend. Right now--unless the Charles River rises and floods the Back Bay--I've the Yankees and Red Sox to worry about. Happy sailing.
Yes, more that one scientist. According to those hippys at the American Meteorlogical Society ("The Myth of the 1970s Global Cooling Scientific Consensus" http://ams.confex.com/ams/pdfpapers/131047.pdf) slightly under 10% of scientists writing about the issue in the 1970's predicted global cooling. Climate science has come along way since then, but most scientists, even then, predicted global warming. Now there is firm scientific consensus.
You say you wish "our side" would stop cherry picking anomolies. I wish "your side" would stop misrepresenting scientific consensus. The World Meteorological Organization[ http://www.commondreams.org/headlines03/0703-05.htm] and the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency[http://yosemite.epa.gov/OAR/globalwarming.nsf/webprintview/ActionsIndustryInsurance.html] have linked increasing extreme weather events to global warming. That last link discusses the insurance industry revising its policies to protect themselves against the new weather patterns. Over 90% of scientists and scientific organizations agree about the basic science and its general implications. These scientists are extremely worried.
You misrepresent the IPCC report. In its last report, 2007, it found that "World temperatures could rise by between 1.1 and 6.4 °C (2.0 and 11.5 °F) during the 21st century (table 3) and that:
Sea levels will probably rise by 18 to 59 cm (7.08 to 23.22 in) [table 3]." It also links global warming to a change in weather patterns.
What scares me?: scientific consensus that we will experience a wide array of apocalyptic events (mass extinctions, agricultural disasters, and increases in the range of disease vectors, to name a few) if we don't do something. Mass human death.
You don't like Hansen, fine. He is not a radical, and I agree that he is not the final word. Pick your poison. What do you think is a rational carbon level, as measured by PPM? How should we reach and sustain that level?
Me: I still don't buy it. In the last century, starting with Woodrow Wilson (who jailed people who vocally opposed World War I in their own homes), we've seen too many menaces requiring massive government intervention now, now, now! in the way we live our private lives. And this stuff has got the whiff of all that. If I'm wrong, the world won't be the poorer by it; I've only one vote, and I'm going to use it on a guy who unfortunately buys into all of this, McCain. But I don't think I'm wrong.
Having said that, Jimmy is serious about all this, and he's done me the courtesy of supplying a few links. So I'll shut up about all this until I read them over the weekend. Right now--unless the Charles River rises and floods the Back Bay--I've the Yankees and Red Sox to worry about. Happy sailing.
Hate mail?
No, I love it. (An old Houston Press joke.)
The saying is, the easiest job in the world should be head coach of the Notre Dame football team, since in what other job do you have ten million people telling you precisely what you're doing wrong?
On the topic of the climate, I am twice blessed with such help. The first, someone called O'Nan Amos (which I must assume is a pseudonym), who we join in full flight (he--or she--is in italics:
There is a difference between renegade theories like global cooling (picked up by the media because it was sexy and scary) and peer-reviewed, scientific consensus based on years of data collection and mathematical modeling.
Right. Like "the population bomb" was sexy and scary. Like "DDT will kill millions" wasn't sexy and scary. (DDT actually did kill millions--by its absence, when millions contracted malaria.) Like "nuclear power equals the China Syndrome" was sexy and scary. Like "Everyone's getting AIDS" was sexy and scary.
Global warming not "sexy and scary"? Have they been handing out Oscars to movies dealing with dehydration in Africa brought about by kids crapping their innards out due to unclean water? Has Leonardo DiCaprio been speaking on the topic? Madonna singing?
Right now "global warming"--with its blame for oil companies and fat suburbanites with their SUVs and roaring air conditioners--is the sexiest (and scariest) issue on the planet, especially for liberals. I mean, a worldwide crisis that just happens to justify massive government intervention in our lives, our cars, what we put in our cars, the shape of our toilets, our light bulbs. The New York Times has already come out for regulations on political speech, gun ownership, and (thanks to Kelso) the limited extent to which our private property is actually ours. Why not every other aspect of our lives?
It's like the "face" on Mars. There are cool photographs and one guy who claimed to represent NASA but was actually a discredited former consultant, and all of a sudden people think that aliens must have built a face on Mars. That's not science, and neither is using your own anecdotal evidence to "refute" global warming.
Well, I never believed in the "face" on Mars. (It was never peer-reviewed like, say, the Man in the Moon.) But consider these reports from the mid-seventies, which reflected much more than the work of "one guy":
Science magazine (Dec. 10, 1976): "extensive Northern Hemisphere glaciation."
Science Digest (February 1973): "the world's climatologists are agreed" that we must "prepare for the next ice age."
Newsweek agreed ("The Cooling World," April 28, 1975): "Meteorologists are almost unanimous" that catastrophic famines might result from the global cooling.
New York Times (Sept. 14, 1975): Global cooling "may mark the return to another ice age."
The New York Times (May 21, 1975): "A major cooling of the climate is widely considered inevitable. . . . (It is) well established" that the Northern Hemisphere's climate "has been getting cooler since about 1950."
What "bill of particulars" are you looking for?
Lots, but to start with: what, precisely, would have to happen in the climate for you to believe that this scare is overstated?
Weather examples like Katrina are not the only evidence.
Granted! My only wish is that your side would stop using every example of hot, warm, wet, cold, and average as proof of your conclusions.
There are rigorous scientific studies--the IPCC reports alone are over 800 pages long.
And the IPCC predicts an increase of one degrees Farenheit by the end of the century, and two inches of ocean rise. Number one, both those conclusions amount to rounding errors, and two, even if they were true, I'd take them both and walk away.
Is your real problem here with scientists and not liberals?
My problem is when either group behaves like the other.
The saying is, the easiest job in the world should be head coach of the Notre Dame football team, since in what other job do you have ten million people telling you precisely what you're doing wrong?
On the topic of the climate, I am twice blessed with such help. The first, someone called O'Nan Amos (which I must assume is a pseudonym), who we join in full flight (he--or she--is in italics:
There is a difference between renegade theories like global cooling (picked up by the media because it was sexy and scary) and peer-reviewed, scientific consensus based on years of data collection and mathematical modeling.
Right. Like "the population bomb" was sexy and scary. Like "DDT will kill millions" wasn't sexy and scary. (DDT actually did kill millions--by its absence, when millions contracted malaria.) Like "nuclear power equals the China Syndrome" was sexy and scary. Like "Everyone's getting AIDS" was sexy and scary.
Global warming not "sexy and scary"? Have they been handing out Oscars to movies dealing with dehydration in Africa brought about by kids crapping their innards out due to unclean water? Has Leonardo DiCaprio been speaking on the topic? Madonna singing?
Right now "global warming"--with its blame for oil companies and fat suburbanites with their SUVs and roaring air conditioners--is the sexiest (and scariest) issue on the planet, especially for liberals. I mean, a worldwide crisis that just happens to justify massive government intervention in our lives, our cars, what we put in our cars, the shape of our toilets, our light bulbs. The New York Times has already come out for regulations on political speech, gun ownership, and (thanks to Kelso) the limited extent to which our private property is actually ours. Why not every other aspect of our lives?
It's like the "face" on Mars. There are cool photographs and one guy who claimed to represent NASA but was actually a discredited former consultant, and all of a sudden people think that aliens must have built a face on Mars. That's not science, and neither is using your own anecdotal evidence to "refute" global warming.
Well, I never believed in the "face" on Mars. (It was never peer-reviewed like, say, the Man in the Moon.) But consider these reports from the mid-seventies, which reflected much more than the work of "one guy":
Science magazine (Dec. 10, 1976): "extensive Northern Hemisphere glaciation."
Science Digest (February 1973): "the world's climatologists are agreed" that we must "prepare for the next ice age."
Newsweek agreed ("The Cooling World," April 28, 1975): "Meteorologists are almost unanimous" that catastrophic famines might result from the global cooling.
New York Times (Sept. 14, 1975): Global cooling "may mark the return to another ice age."
The New York Times (May 21, 1975): "A major cooling of the climate is widely considered inevitable. . . . (It is) well established" that the Northern Hemisphere's climate "has been getting cooler since about 1950."
What "bill of particulars" are you looking for?
Lots, but to start with: what, precisely, would have to happen in the climate for you to believe that this scare is overstated?
Weather examples like Katrina are not the only evidence.
Granted! My only wish is that your side would stop using every example of hot, warm, wet, cold, and average as proof of your conclusions.
There are rigorous scientific studies--the IPCC reports alone are over 800 pages long.
And the IPCC predicts an increase of one degrees Farenheit by the end of the century, and two inches of ocean rise. Number one, both those conclusions amount to rounding errors, and two, even if they were true, I'd take them both and walk away.
Is your real problem here with scientists and not liberals?
My problem is when either group behaves like the other.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Yankee Links
Moose for Bomber MVP?
News's Madden: Posada, done catching in any case, should shut it down and shoot for Opening Day '09
Newsday's Wallace Matthews concurs.
Not really about the Yankees, but go to Deadspin tocheck out this year's USC Song Girls.
I knew a Song Girl when I was at 'SC, and by I "knew" her, I mean, heh heh . . . well, I mean she dated my roommate. Loved foreign films. An education major, she volunteered twice a week at a ghetto school, brought us take-out and, when our kitchen became a Cheops of dirty dishes and flies who feasting on the aromas, took pity on us and volunteered for KP.
And, yes: as the author says, August 30th (at Virginia) can't come soon enough.
News's Madden: Posada, done catching in any case, should shut it down and shoot for Opening Day '09
Newsday's Wallace Matthews concurs.
Not really about the Yankees, but go to Deadspin tocheck out this year's USC Song Girls.
I knew a Song Girl when I was at 'SC, and by I "knew" her, I mean, heh heh . . . well, I mean she dated my roommate. Loved foreign films. An education major, she volunteered twice a week at a ghetto school, brought us take-out and, when our kitchen became a Cheops of dirty dishes and flies who feasting on the aromas, took pity on us and volunteered for KP.
And, yes: as the author says, August 30th (at Virginia) can't come soon enough.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Like finding a spare twenty in your pocket
Flipping around after Brit Hume and . . .
The Apartment, with Jack Lemmon, Shirley McClaine, and Fred MacMurray.
We all, I think, imagine ourselves as CC Baxter, covering up for the rats around us, then finally taking a stand and rewarded with a Miss Kubilik for our efforts.
"I guess that's the way it crumbles, cookie-wise . . . I'd spell it out for you, but I can't spell."
And:
"I love you, Miss Kubilik . . . Did you hear me, Miss Kubilik? I absolutely adore you."
"Shut up and deal."
The Apartment, with Jack Lemmon, Shirley McClaine, and Fred MacMurray.
We all, I think, imagine ourselves as CC Baxter, covering up for the rats around us, then finally taking a stand and rewarded with a Miss Kubilik for our efforts.
"I guess that's the way it crumbles, cookie-wise . . . I'd spell it out for you, but I can't spell."
And:
"I love you, Miss Kubilik . . . Did you hear me, Miss Kubilik? I absolutely adore you."
"Shut up and deal."
Yankees 5, Twins 1
Moose goes to 13 wins, and pitching better than he has in five years.
Given that he now has a fastball in the upper-80's, and given the almost magical location and movement of his curve, knuckle-curve, and change, will Moose now become the late 00's version of the late-70s/early 80's Tommy John, whose sinker ate up ground balls in the thick Dodger/Yankee Stadia grass, and who seemed at times to be handing the ball to the catcher?
For all Moose's dominance today (or, one should say, in the shadow of Moose's dominance), the game came down to two batters.
The situation: Bottom fifth, one out. Cano on second, Melky on first. Molina hits a room-service two-hop DP grounder to Twin shortstop Nick Punto. Punto field the ball smartly and throws to second baseman Alexi Casilla--who, about six feet out of DP position--takes the throw in stride, touches second base for the second out, and starts off the field . . . thus allowing Molina, racing up the line as he can (but about as slow as a beer truck in reverse) to be safe at first.
Whoops.
Perkins, the Twins pitcher, visibly explodes at Casilla, angrily holding up one finger, shouting "One out! One out!" A veteran pitcher (a Mussina?) might have worked around such a blunder. Perkins instead, with steam coming out of his ears, gives up a double to left to light-hitting Justin Christian. Cano scores easily; third-base coach Bobby Meachem, looking suddenly like a gambler who'd hit on 16 ten times in a row, sends Molina, legs pumping . . . and . . . safe.
2-0. With Mussina cruising. You could hear it in Kay's and Leiter's voices: probably, the game was over.
Soon, it was over for real.
Now: A day off. Then the Red Sox.
Given that he now has a fastball in the upper-80's, and given the almost magical location and movement of his curve, knuckle-curve, and change, will Moose now become the late 00's version of the late-70s/early 80's Tommy John, whose sinker ate up ground balls in the thick Dodger/Yankee Stadia grass, and who seemed at times to be handing the ball to the catcher?
For all Moose's dominance today (or, one should say, in the shadow of Moose's dominance), the game came down to two batters.
The situation: Bottom fifth, one out. Cano on second, Melky on first. Molina hits a room-service two-hop DP grounder to Twin shortstop Nick Punto. Punto field the ball smartly and throws to second baseman Alexi Casilla--who, about six feet out of DP position--takes the throw in stride, touches second base for the second out, and starts off the field . . . thus allowing Molina, racing up the line as he can (but about as slow as a beer truck in reverse) to be safe at first.
Whoops.
Perkins, the Twins pitcher, visibly explodes at Casilla, angrily holding up one finger, shouting "One out! One out!" A veteran pitcher (a Mussina?) might have worked around such a blunder. Perkins instead, with steam coming out of his ears, gives up a double to left to light-hitting Justin Christian. Cano scores easily; third-base coach Bobby Meachem, looking suddenly like a gambler who'd hit on 16 ten times in a row, sends Molina, legs pumping . . . and . . . safe.
2-0. With Mussina cruising. You could hear it in Kay's and Leiter's voices: probably, the game was over.
Soon, it was over for real.
Now: A day off. Then the Red Sox.
Yankee Links
(Surgery for Posada?
Trade Rumors: Jason Bay? Xavier Nady? Jarrod Washburn? A.J. Burnett? And P.S., Phil Hughes is still untouchable.
Trade Rumors: Jason Bay? Xavier Nady? Jarrod Washburn? A.J. Burnett? And P.S., Phil Hughes is still untouchable.
Guitar Hero
Is there anything not to like about Joba Chamberlain?
Including that he makes Hank Steinbrenner look smart?
(And thank God for whatever Girardi did to give confidence to his former Cub batterymate, Kardiac Kyle. In the end, finding people to get people out in the seventh and eighth may have been the most important factor in justifying Joba's move to the rotation.)
Including that he makes Hank Steinbrenner look smart?
(And thank God for whatever Girardi did to give confidence to his former Cub batterymate, Kardiac Kyle. In the end, finding people to get people out in the seventh and eighth may have been the most important factor in justifying Joba's move to the rotation.)
Hello, Dolly
Courtesy Brendan Loy, aka The Irish Trojan, who doubles as The Weather Nerd, some pictures of Hurricane Dolly, which thankfully (well, for Astro-Girl and me, and for Jimmy and family, a half-hour closer to the gulf from us) will touch down a few hundred miles from here. We're getting the "dirty side" of its most outward edge right outside our window, which would mean a frightful rainstorm for anyone not living in a coastal state. Our satellite is down, our power is flickering.
End result? The teachers will show up today, but not the students.
Funny. I grew up in Phoenix, which provided us with about fifteen days of rain per year: always, always, a three-day torrent in March, the heavy monsoons in late summer, one or two days right after New Year's, and a half-dozen showers spread out over the remaining 350 days. Now, living in Houston, who knows? I've gone to outdoor parties where the rain has fallen in the front yard but not the back. I've jogged down West Alabama bone dry and seen a rainstorm a block away, as if behind a glass shower door. I've gotten soaked right down to my socks while squinting at the sun. I've seen school closures that resulted in everyone going out to the pool and getting a tan.
Chicago--"If you don't like the wseather, just wait five minutes"--has nothing on Houston.
End result? The teachers will show up today, but not the students.
Funny. I grew up in Phoenix, which provided us with about fifteen days of rain per year: always, always, a three-day torrent in March, the heavy monsoons in late summer, one or two days right after New Year's, and a half-dozen showers spread out over the remaining 350 days. Now, living in Houston, who knows? I've gone to outdoor parties where the rain has fallen in the front yard but not the back. I've jogged down West Alabama bone dry and seen a rainstorm a block away, as if behind a glass shower door. I've gotten soaked right down to my socks while squinting at the sun. I've seen school closures that resulted in everyone going out to the pool and getting a tan.
Chicago--"If you don't like the wseather, just wait five minutes"--has nothing on Houston.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Conservation for thee, not for me
Al Gore exits a climate change speech to a long-idling limo.
When those who say it's a crisis start acting like it's a crisis, I'll believe it's a crisis.
Oh, Gore's latest proof of global war-- oh, sorry, "climate change": both droughts in California and floods in the Midwest.
Warm means warming, cold means warming, wet means warming, dry means warming.
When those who say it's a crisis start acting like it's a crisis, I'll believe it's a crisis.
Oh, Gore's latest proof of global war-- oh, sorry, "climate change": both droughts in California and floods in the Midwest.
Warm means warming, cold means warming, wet means warming, dry means warming.
Yankees 8, Twins 2
Five in a row!
Three point five games out of the playoffs.
Abreu, Damon, Jeter, Cano, Giambi--all in the middle of rallies.
Back to the top of the rotation.
Three point five games out of the playoffs.
Abreu, Damon, Jeter, Cano, Giambi--all in the middle of rallies.
Back to the top of the rotation.
Epic bad news for McCain
For McCain, the election has come down to two things: his presumed stature as Commander-in-Chief, and his foresight on the surge.
Really, that's it. He could cut into Obama's presumed advantage on domestic issues by talking about tax cuts here, domestic drilling there, but you don't make up a lead by trading baskets with the other side.
Now, as Byron York reports, in one fell swoop, Obama, abetted by Maliki, delivers a body blow to both McCain's advantages.
No matter what McCain's people write about translations or misunderstandings or what have you, the American press is going to repeat "Maliki agrees with Obama's 16-month pullout" about seventy billion times between now and election day.
GOPers should know: this is bad, bad news for McCain.
Really, that's it. He could cut into Obama's presumed advantage on domestic issues by talking about tax cuts here, domestic drilling there, but you don't make up a lead by trading baskets with the other side.
Now, as Byron York reports, in one fell swoop, Obama, abetted by Maliki, delivers a body blow to both McCain's advantages.
No matter what McCain's people write about translations or misunderstandings or what have you, the American press is going to repeat "Maliki agrees with Obama's 16-month pullout" about seventy billion times between now and election day.
GOPers should know: this is bad, bad news for McCain.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sheesh
You wanna love A-Rod.
Really, you do.
And then he goes and mispronounces the staff ace, "Wang," to rhyme with "Bang."
I mean, he's only been A-Rod's teammate for three years and stuff.
Really, you do.
And then he goes and mispronounces the staff ace, "Wang," to rhyme with "Bang."
I mean, he's only been A-Rod's teammate for three years and stuff.
Yankees 12, Twins 4
This was a game that--barring catastrophe--was over in the second inning, and precisely (again, again) the way the Yankees have to win.
Picture this: Yanks up, one out, 2-2. Then: single, single, single, run-scoring error, RBI single, RBI fielder's choice, RBI single.
Bingo: 6-2, with (thanks to Pettitte's eight innings on Sunday) a fresh--and suddenly effective--bullpen ready to come in at the first sign of trouble.
Speaking of which: whatever Girardi is giving that bullpen, pour me a double. It has been a constant source of amazement that a team with ten more dollars than God has been unable since, oh, 2000 to string together more than two relievers to bridge the chasm between the starters and Rivera.
As for the offense. Matsui is probably gone for the season. Posada is on the DL, not even (at this point) to DH, and who knows if he'll be able to catch when he comes back? Sexson is an emergency stopgap a pinch-hitter/defensive replacement at best. Betiment--no.
Which means? Cano needs to stay hot. Jeter (and maybe we saw the start tonight) needs to get hot in the 2-hole. Giambi needs his one or two home runs per week. Damon needs to stay well.
A-Rod needs to stay, well, A-Rod--and it may not hurt that, for now, the media seems to have moved on.
Molina doesn't have to get three hits every night, but would .230 kill him?
There was an article in today's NY Post (damn my invisible address bar) that compared this team to 1996's scratch-and-claw team. To which one might respond:
1. I wish!
2. With the trade deadline next week, to paraphrase Rick Pitino: Cecil Fielder isn't walking through that door. Neither, I think, is Graeme Lloyd. Or David Weathers.
As for scratching and clawing, we'll see.
Rasner tomorrow.
Then Moose.
Then, Boston, with Pettitte, Joba, Ponson.
Oh, to SunDevil Joe, Robbie-Boy, Jimmy, GSB, Chumley Felix, Golf Pal, Irish Trojan and of course Astro-Girl (among others), thanks for hanging around for my thousandth post.
Picture this: Yanks up, one out, 2-2. Then: single, single, single, run-scoring error, RBI single, RBI fielder's choice, RBI single.
Bingo: 6-2, with (thanks to Pettitte's eight innings on Sunday) a fresh--and suddenly effective--bullpen ready to come in at the first sign of trouble.
Speaking of which: whatever Girardi is giving that bullpen, pour me a double. It has been a constant source of amazement that a team with ten more dollars than God has been unable since, oh, 2000 to string together more than two relievers to bridge the chasm between the starters and Rivera.
As for the offense. Matsui is probably gone for the season. Posada is on the DL, not even (at this point) to DH, and who knows if he'll be able to catch when he comes back? Sexson is an emergency stopgap a pinch-hitter/defensive replacement at best. Betiment--no.
Which means? Cano needs to stay hot. Jeter (and maybe we saw the start tonight) needs to get hot in the 2-hole. Giambi needs his one or two home runs per week. Damon needs to stay well.
A-Rod needs to stay, well, A-Rod--and it may not hurt that, for now, the media seems to have moved on.
Molina doesn't have to get three hits every night, but would .230 kill him?
There was an article in today's NY Post (damn my invisible address bar) that compared this team to 1996's scratch-and-claw team. To which one might respond:
1. I wish!
2. With the trade deadline next week, to paraphrase Rick Pitino: Cecil Fielder isn't walking through that door. Neither, I think, is Graeme Lloyd. Or David Weathers.
As for scratching and clawing, we'll see.
Rasner tomorrow.
Then Moose.
Then, Boston, with Pettitte, Joba, Ponson.
Oh, to SunDevil Joe, Robbie-Boy, Jimmy, GSB, Chumley Felix, Golf Pal, Irish Trojan and of course Astro-Girl (among others), thanks for hanging around for my thousandth post.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Yankees 2, A's 1
Another Minute Maid scoreboard-watching experience.
Scoring at home? Moose and Pettitte, almost winter afterthoughts in the rush to make way for Hughes and Kennedy, have combined for 23 wins.
Scoring at home? Moose and Pettitte, almost winter afterthoughts in the rush to make way for Hughes and Kennedy, have combined for 23 wins.
Yankees 4, A's 3
Yet another telecast held hostage by the FOX embargo (making it, by my count, about 270 this season). I followed most of it on ESPN's telecast.
Okay, a strong game by Moose and a close one, with a good-if-not-great pitching performance by Joba. A ninth-inning comeback followed by strong pitching by the lesser elements in the bullpen. And Jose Molina's Sacrifice Thigh (shades of Reggie Jackson, 1978 World Series). So, okay.
The one concern here is Rivera, who has got to start holding ties when Girardi asks him to. He did it for the whole American League, he can do it for the Yankees
Okay, a strong game by Moose and a close one, with a good-if-not-great pitching performance by Joba. A ninth-inning comeback followed by strong pitching by the lesser elements in the bullpen. And Jose Molina's Sacrifice Thigh (shades of Reggie Jackson, 1978 World Series). So, okay.
The one concern here is Rivera, who has got to start holding ties when Girardi asks him to. He did it for the whole American League, he can do it for the Yankees
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Yankees 7, A's 1
And so . . . with Wang out for the season, Matsui probably so, Damon on the mend, Rasner a bust . . .
With all this, we get a clue in this game of who, among others, the Yankees will need to rely on:
Moose, A-Rod, Cano
With all this, we get a clue in this game of who, among others, the Yankees will need to rely on:
Moose, A-Rod, Cano
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Yankees 2, Rays 1 (10)
And . . . we have a race.
Significantly:
1. Ponson has pitched as well as Wang could have, just not as many innings per game. But so what?
2. Good to see more dominant work from Mo in a tie.
3. Anyone catch Girardi's 'stache after the game? This "fans vote for the last All Star" ritual has become the best tweak of the entire All Star enterprise.
4. Abreu: waking up?
Significantly:
1. Ponson has pitched as well as Wang could have, just not as many innings per game. But so what?
2. Good to see more dominant work from Mo in a tie.
3. Anyone catch Girardi's 'stache after the game? This "fans vote for the last All Star" ritual has become the best tweak of the entire All Star enterprise.
4. Abreu: waking up?
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Yankees 5, Rays 0
Eight shutout innings from Pettitte; two terrific catches by Melky in center, then a home run in the eighth to basically put the game out of reach.
A fantastic play by Derek Jeter in the seventh. Two out, runners on first and third, hard shot between short and third. Jeter sprints into left field, leaps in the air, throws the ball to Cano at second while falling in the general direction of the left-field foul pole. Nice.
Not a great game, just a perfect one.
A fantastic play by Derek Jeter in the seventh. Two out, runners on first and third, hard shot between short and third. Jeter sprints into left field, leaps in the air, throws the ball to Cano at second while falling in the general direction of the left-field foul pole. Nice.
Not a great game, just a perfect one.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Movies on Holiday
Oh. My. God.
I saw Casablanca straight through.
Then Witness for the Prosecution.
Some of those movies that rouse you to your feet.
Life is good.
Update: SunDevil Joe wonders: why not The Apartment?
Yeah, I saw that, too.
What a way to spend a Sunday.
I saw Casablanca straight through.
Then Witness for the Prosecution.
Some of those movies that rouse you to your feet.
Life is good.
Update: SunDevil Joe wonders: why not The Apartment?
Yeah, I saw that, too.
What a way to spend a Sunday.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Yankees 2, Red Sox 1
Nice to have one of the great games of the year and force me to miss it.
Thank you, Fox. I think I'll now go out and vote for Obama, you jerks.
Understand: in Houston, a Cub-Cardinal game is the equivalent of the Iran-Iraq War: it's a shame they (the Astros' two arch-enemies) can't both lose. But in a network mindset in which Phoenix is a suburb of Los Angeles (SunDevil Joe, Robby-Boy: how many 10-7 Ram shoveathons, courtesy of those brutal Chuck Knox teams, did we stand witness to all during the 1970s?), Houston is a City of Central Division Interest. Never mind the whole city went bananas this season for the visiting Yankees and Red Sox, and turned Space City into a crazed baseball town for the first time since the 2005 World Series. No: apparently Houston is a suburb of Chicago, and God forbid we miss even one Cubs' game, ever.
As for the Yankees:
So we have Mike Mussina, pitching his ass off and joining Chipper Jones in this season's late-career Hall-of-Fame push. (For what it's worth, I think they'll both make it. Last year, I would have said: not so much.) Don Drysdale, Don Sutton, Gaylord Perry, Carlton Fisk, Eddie Murray, Nolan Ryan, Dennis Eckersley, Robin Yount, Craig Biggio . . . now Chipper and Moose. Come on down, you late bloomers!
Thank you, Fox. I think I'll now go out and vote for Obama, you jerks.
Understand: in Houston, a Cub-Cardinal game is the equivalent of the Iran-Iraq War: it's a shame they (the Astros' two arch-enemies) can't both lose. But in a network mindset in which Phoenix is a suburb of Los Angeles (SunDevil Joe, Robby-Boy: how many 10-7 Ram shoveathons, courtesy of those brutal Chuck Knox teams, did we stand witness to all during the 1970s?), Houston is a City of Central Division Interest. Never mind the whole city went bananas this season for the visiting Yankees and Red Sox, and turned Space City into a crazed baseball town for the first time since the 2005 World Series. No: apparently Houston is a suburb of Chicago, and God forbid we miss even one Cubs' game, ever.
As for the Yankees:
So we have Mike Mussina, pitching his ass off and joining Chipper Jones in this season's late-career Hall-of-Fame push. (For what it's worth, I think they'll both make it. Last year, I would have said: not so much.) Don Drysdale, Don Sutton, Gaylord Perry, Carlton Fisk, Eddie Murray, Nolan Ryan, Dennis Eckersley, Robin Yount, Craig Biggio . . . now Chipper and Moose. Come on down, you late bloomers!
Red Sox 6, Yankees 4
And the best part about this game was that I was celebrating the fourth with my in-laws in Spring, playing Wii with my niece and nephew.
I'm getting pretty good at golf.
Today, of course, they're on FOX, but at the same time as the notoriously underexposed Cobs. Guess which game I'm getting in Houston?
I'm getting pretty good at golf.
Today, of course, they're on FOX, but at the same time as the notoriously underexposed Cobs. Guess which game I'm getting in Houston?
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Yankees 18, Rangers 7
Out of nowhere, Giambi is/should be an All-Star.
And A-Rod is at that point, where--last night, in the eighth--I turned to Astro-Girl and said, "Watch, it's going out." And so it did, with A-Rod's bat meeting the ball low and away and sending it to right, Jeter style.
So the bats--maybe--wake up. Though it's important to remember Earl Weaver's maxim: "You take momentum, I'll take Jim Palmer."
And here come the Red Sox.
And A-Rod is at that point, where--last night, in the eighth--I turned to Astro-Girl and said, "Watch, it's going out." And so it did, with A-Rod's bat meeting the ball low and away and sending it to right, Jeter style.
So the bats--maybe--wake up. Though it's important to remember Earl Weaver's maxim: "You take momentum, I'll take Jim Palmer."
And here come the Red Sox.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Mets 3, Yankees 1
Back in the day, Pirate Oliver Perez would start three games a year against the Astros, beating them every time and leading to the question, Who the hell can hit that slop?
Well, in the intervening years he's found a fastball. And the mystery continues.
God bless the 'Stros for taking two of three from the Yankees.
Well, in the intervening years he's found a fastball. And the mystery continues.
God bless the 'Stros for taking two of three from the Yankees.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Yankees 3, Mets 2
All of a sudden . . . a battle of staff aces?
Last November, did anyone think Pettitte would have that status with the Yanks? Or Santana with the Mets?
All of a sudden, Pettitte is channeling 1998.
And they'll need him.
What was nearly an afterthought in the off-season ("Oh, cool, Lefty's coming back") is now a necessity: Holy crap, Pettitte better keep it up.
So: Pettitte, Moose, Joba are your core starters. And: is Ponson this season's Sean Chacon/Cory Lidle? Can you do it again and again, big boy? You're here to eat 100 innings between now and Harvest Moon, keep us in games, eke out a half-dozen more wins.
Can't wait for tomorrow.
And? And? Rasner?
Last November, did anyone think Pettitte would have that status with the Yanks? Or Santana with the Mets?
All of a sudden, Pettitte is channeling 1998.
And they'll need him.
What was nearly an afterthought in the off-season ("Oh, cool, Lefty's coming back") is now a necessity: Holy crap, Pettitte better keep it up.
So: Pettitte, Moose, Joba are your core starters. And: is Ponson this season's Sean Chacon/Cory Lidle? Can you do it again and again, big boy? You're here to eat 100 innings between now and Harvest Moon, keep us in games, eke out a half-dozen more wins.
Can't wait for tomorrow.
And? And? Rasner?
Yanks, Mets split
Advantage, Yanks, with off-the-heap Sidney Ponson throwing six shutout innings.
But sheesh, a wasted start from Moose, 15 runs surrendered to Team Turmoil, and now . . . again . . . today, a game surrendered to the Fox cartel.
But sheesh, a wasted start from Moose, 15 runs surrendered to Team Turmoil, and now . . . again . . . today, a game surrendered to the Fox cartel.
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