Daily Archives: August 11, 2004

One of the best parts of kitty-sitting for my cousins while they vacation on Cape Cod is using their state-of-the-art kitchen. In New York space matters, so having the luxury of a long, wide chopping block is my idea of a great time. I love to cook, even for myself. Last night I was too tired to deal, but with a six-burner gas stove staring me in the face it was hard to resist. (Having plenty of good ingredients at my disposal doesn’t hurt either.) So I cooked myself dinner.

I made a variation of an Amatriciana, a staple pasta dish and one of my favorites. Okay, it was a bastardized version of the very simple dish. I used tortellini instead of bucatini or spaghetti. And I threw in some cracked green olives and beef stock and fresh basil too for kicks. While I was cooking I listened to the Bob Murphy tribute from Shea Stadium that took place before the game. Hearing a montage of some classic Murphy calls brought a smile to my face; without thinking much about it, I will miss him more than I ever thought I would. Then the good people at Shea chose the most ham-handed cheeseball song to accompany a video tribute. It was like a parody right out of “The Simpsons,” and was especially amusing on the radio.

After I ate, I was browsing through my cousin’s bookshelf. I found two books by Anthony Bourdain, “A Cook’s Tour,” and “Kitchen Confidential.” I had read “KC” a few years back. It is an entertaining and corse memoir of Bourdain’s life as a chef in the restaurant business. I thought it was funny, over-bearing and depressing. If you ever want to convince someone that the restaurant business is hell, just give them a copy of “Kitchen Confidential.”

Anyhow, the reason I bring it up is because I poked around “A Cook’s Tour” and found a baseball-related tidbit in the introduction. And it all comes back to baseball right? Bourdain describes a small, dilapidated village in West Cambodia:

There are no smiles in this town, just glares of naked hostility. The clothing of choice is the moldering remnants of military-issue fatigues. There is a ‘karaoke’ booth in the lobby, next to the standard pictogram of an AK-47 with a red line through it (NO AUTOMATIC WEAPONS IN THE LOBBY). ‘Karaoke’ means, presumably, that the bison-sized women lounging around by the front desk with their kids are available for purposes of sexual diversion. The best-looking one is a dead ringer for Hideki Irabu. (We traded that lox to Toronto, didn’t we? Or was it Montreal?) My Khmer translator, who has hardly opened his mouth since we entered Khmer Rouge territory, says that the last time he stayed here, during the last coup, he got a terrible skin rash. He intends, he says, to sleep standing up. Now he tells me…

“Yeah, I gotta rash man.” Irabu used to remind me of a cross between Jackie Gleason and a Japanese Elvis impersonator. But a Cambodian hooker isn’t half-bad either. I wonder if her name was Boo Boo?

It was evident from the first batter Kevin Brown faced last night, that the tall right-hander was off his game. Alfonso Soriano fouled off several pitches and eventually walked on a 3-2 pitch. Standing on the mound looking in for the sign, legs apart, right hand dangling by his side, Brown’s body looks gnarled and mangled. He looks like an abstract sculpture, or perhaps a strong German Expressionist drawing. With each pitch, he puts forth so much energy you wouldn’t be surprised if it was the last one he ever threw. I can’t help but occasionally make sound effects, great grunts and gutteral yells, as Brown releases the ball.

Brown was deliberate and had little command as the Rangers rolled to an easy win in Arlington. On the other hand, Ryan Drese pitched well. The Yankees hit the ball on the screws several times, with nothing to show for it. In the first inning, Gary Sheffield smoked a ball foul that missed being a double by a few feet. Drese came back with a nasty off-speed pitch and Sheffield really opened his left shoulder as he waved at it. This has been the pitch that exposes Sheffield’s weak shoulder and the Yankee slugger doubled-over in pain. Drese followed with another change up–this one further outside–and Sheff swung and missed. (In his second at bat, Sheffield line out hard to Hank Blalock at third.) Ouch. Both Sheffield and Brown looked ennervated and bruised. Must be the dog days of summer. The Yanks managed a couple of cheap hits, but couldn’t get a rally going.

The Red Sox beat up on the Devil Rays in Boston and gained a game on New York. They now trail by nine-and-a-half games. Taynon Sturtze will start tonight, replacing Javier Vazquez who has a case of pink-eye.

Cool, Calm, Collected

Joe Torre took George Steinbrenner’s public critique on Kenny Lofton’s defense in stride. According to Jack Curry in the New York Times:

“We know because of the fact that he’s George, he’s going to say things,” Torre said. “I said when I signed this contract it wasn’t going to bother me. It’s different in my brain now where I stand here.”

…”Last year I thought maybe the eight years was enough,” Torre said. “Maybe we were tired of each other. I thought it was geared toward having me just work my contract out and that would be the end of it. After this spring, the contract changed my whole perspective.”

…Torre teased Lofton about being the focus of Steinbrenner’s wrath.

“We talked in spring training that this is the owner and the Boss will be the Boss,” Torre said. “It goes away. The Boss doesn’t go away. It goes away.”

Torre is like a cop out of an old New Yorker cartoon who has seen it all. He arrives on the scene and calmly clears the crowd, “OK, show’s over, nothing to see here. Show’s over. Let’s move along.”