Daily Archives: October 22, 2003

Not for nothing, but allow me to be a fashion snob for a minute. For years, I thought it would be cool to find an old Astros jersey. I wasn’t going to mess with e-bay and spend tons of money though. I have cousins who live in Houston and I thought maybe I can visit them and then poke around the used clothing shops and Salvation Army stores down there.

Then of course, throwback gear became all the rage, and now you can find one of those ridiculous Astros jerseys for about $300. OK, first of all, I would never spend $150 on any piece of gear let alone three bills, but that is besides the point. The fact is, kids who rock throwback jerseys are trying to be cooler than cool at all costs. That’s fine too.

Usually the jerseys have no names on the back, but if an Astros jersey does have one, it would be that of Nolan Ryan. I don’t mean to take anything away from Ryan, but if you really wanted to be down, really wanted to be hip, wouldn’t you want a J.R. Richard joint?

That’s what I asked an unsuspecting kid who happened to be wearing an Astros jersey a few months ago. I caught him standing on Broadway and 231rst street on my way to the subway and I just had to open my mouth. Needless to say he didn’t know who J.R. was. Fair enough, the kid wasn’t even born when J.R. collapsed on the mound, his career ended prematurely by a stroke. I explained to the kid who J.R. was, how imposing and nasty he was, and the little dude looked at me like I was out of my bird.

Which may be true, but still, I know what is cool, and I’m not crazy enough to shell out hundreds of dollars for a retro Astros jersey. Especially if I don’t see J.R. Richard’s name on the back. Now this kid had an excuse, but what about all the rap stars who are old enough to know better?

Come back to me now.

Jon Weisman has a follow-up piece on the future of my man Shawn Green over at Dodger Thoughts.

I received the following story from a co-worker this morning. I don’t know who wrote the piece but whether you root for the Red Sox or the Yankees, you may find it amusing:

Two boys are playing hockey on a pond near Boston Commons when one is attacked by a rabid Rottweiler. Thinking quickly, the other boy takes his stick, wedges it down the dog’s collar and twists, breaking the dog’s neck.

A reporter who was strolling by sees the incident, and rushes over to interview the boy. “Young Bruins Fan Saves Friend from Vicious Animal,” he starts writing in his notebook. “But I’m not a Bruins fan,” the little hero replied.

“Sorry, since we are in Boston, I just assumed you were,” said the reporter. “Redsox Fan Rescues Friend From Horrific Attack” he continued writing in his notebook. “I’m not a Redsox fan either,” the boy said. “I assumed everyone in Boston was either for the Bruins or Redsox.

What team do you root for?” the reporter asked. “I’m a Yankees fan,” the child replied.

The reporter starts a new sheet in his notebook and writes, “Little Bastard from New York kills Beloved Family Pet”.

Speaking of the Sox, Peter King, who writes about football for Sports Illustrated gave his take on Game 7 of the ALCS in a column earlier this week:

The Red Sox lost, yes. But that team didn’t lose. LET ME STRESS THIS RIGHT NOW FOR EVERYONE WHO DOES NOT HAVE THE SICKNESS I HAVE: THIS IS WORSE THAN BUCKY DENT IN ’78, WORSE THAN BILL BUCKNER IN ’86 BECAUSE OF ONE VERY SIMPLE REASON: The players did not lose this game. The manager lost it. And one more point: How could you not know your ace pitcher is going to say he’s fine even when he isn’t? You don’t know him that well? Well, you should. There’s a fine line between showing faith in your ace and being too chicken to take him out, and that’s what Little was.

King adds a nice personal touch too:

I was out Friday night in my hometown of Montclair, N.J.., and someone I met asked me, “How can you stick with [the Red Sox] after this? How many broken hearts can you take?” I mumbled something about being loyal, but then I thought about it for a while.

I think it goes back to being 6, in 1963, and going to my first game at Fenway, a 90-mile drive from my home in Connecticut, with my family and walking up the tunnel underneath the rotting grandstand and being so open-mouthed shocked at seeing the field for the first time and smelling the grass and the hot dogs and the beer and the popcorn all mixed together, and sitting for two hours in the rain waiting for a Red Sox-Yankees showdown (in those days, there were plenty of good seats still available), and thinking how beautiful it was and seeing the wall in person and thinking how majestic it was, and then almost every spring and summer Saturday of my youth riding in the car with my father the ironworker to get the papers at a little newspaper store in our Connecticut hometown, Enfield, and devouring every word on the Red Sox, and sitting there on Friday nights and Sundays with my father watching them, and then dreaming of replacing Carl Yastrzemski one day in left field, and later dreaming that if I couldn’t replace Yaz maybe I could write about them for the Globe, and thinking how the luckiest person on the planet must be Peter Gammons because he got to see them every day in person, and then going to Ohio University and being the only person in the basement of my dorm in the big TV room rooting for them against Cincinnati in the ’75 Series, and how I almost hit my head on the ceiling when Carlton Fisk hit the home run in Game 6, and then, in the intervening years, trying to make sure I saw them a couple of times every year, either in Boston or when I not-so-secretly arranged an SI road trip around a Red Sox trip to Oakland or Seattle or somewhere, and then thinking nothing of going from Indianapolis at dawn to Charlotte for the afternoon to Boston at night in order to catch Game 4 of the ALCS and feeling so high walking out of Fenway after a win, just about as happy, at 46, as a grownup can be. Forty years. You might call them 40 heartbreaking years. I call them 40 wonderful years with a few heartbreaks that make me realize how much this game is like life. That is why I will buy the digital cable baseball package next spring, and why I will find a way to see a few innings of at least 80 Red Sox games next year. I don’t get divorced if my wife cracks up the car. I don’t divorce my baseball team if the manager blows the pennant.

From the Yankee perspective, Jay Jaffe’s girlfriend Andrea Hardt, aka Pinky Yankadero, was at Game 7 and offers her memories of what will likely be the greatest game she’ll ever attend. And Steve Bonner, one of David Pinto’s loyal readers was at the game as well. I love his take:

People who don’t understand baseball like to say that Yankee fans feel it’s their right to win the World Series every year, that we take no joy in it because it is such a common occurrence. They are wrong, nothing is guaranteed, nothing is taken for granted and the joy I felt watching my team come back against their most bitter rival, against one of the best pitchers to ever pitch in the big leagues, to overcome a bust of a start by the Rocket, to still rally after Wells gave up the home run to Ortiz…well it’s the most pure sort of joy I think I am capable of feeling over something that I didn’t personally accomplish. I’ll never forget how lucky I am that this team happens to be my team.

Amen, brother.

Tom Boswell has a fine appreciation of Mike Mussina–not to mention Josh Beckett–in The Washington Post today. Boswell covered Moose when he was a young pitcher coming up wtih the Orioles, and probably understands the acerbic right-hander as well as anyone:

Though it hardly seems possible, Mussina will be 35 in a few weeks. Once, greatness seemed his certain destiny. Now, a lasting place in baseball history is almost out of his grasp; instead, mere excellence may be the consolation prize that galls him all his life. For this driven perfectionist who still thinks he can win 300 games and be a Hall of Famer, this was the night when he needed to prove to his harsh adopted town that he was a big-game pitcher.

… It was Mussina’s raw courage — the quality for which he is given the least credit — that ultimately marked this game as a prize worthy of any Series.

…For Mussina…this first World Series victory will have to suffice for many years of frustrations, so many figurative rain delays which have stood between him and historic greatness. For this one night, every promise he ever showed was fulfilled.

I understand why New Yorkers are quick to criticize Mussina. They are looking for results, not the process. But I think that Mussina is a great pitcher, and in fact, I probably find him more appealing because he’s had some rotten luck over the course of his career. It makes for a better story that way, to recognize a vunerability. But then again, look at what he has accomplished, and it is nothing to sneeze at. I know that I feel good about the Yankees chances of winning each time he takes the mound, and what more could you ask from a pitcher?

The pitching duel between Mike Mussina and Josh Beckett lived up to its advanced billing last night as the Yankees beat Florida 6-1 to take a 2-1 series lead. The game was much closer than the score suggests, but the Yankees were able to break it open late. Beckett was nothing short of dominant to start the game, blowing the Yankees away with a John-Blaze four-seam fastball, and a knee-buckling curve ball. He retired the first ten batters he faced. Mussina, Mr. Hard Luck himself, started the game behind the eight-ball once again when Juan Pierre led off with a bloop double that was misplayed by Bernie Williams. Nothing new there. Miguel Cabrera then collected his first hit of the Serious, slapping an inside fastball through the right side for an RBI single.

But that didnít deter Mussina who collected himself and settled down. According to Peter Gammons:

After that Mussina scratched and clawed and showed why he’s truly a big-game pitcher. He made big pitches throughout — using mainly a steady diet of cutters – and in the end came away the winner.

I read a great post on David Pinto’s Baseball Musings today and wanted to create a link to it, but then I couldn’t get back onto the site all afternoon. I received an e-mail from David this evening reporting that he’s having operating difficulties, but have no fear because Mr. Pinto has a back up plan. For all of you Baseball Musings fans, head over to the alternate site here and enjoy tonight’s game (Josh Beckett just blew away the Yankees in the first inning and his stuff looks nothing short of electric).