Monthly Archives: June 2008

Once again, it was a nice performance by Joba Chamberlain last night in Houston.

Pete Abraham has Chamberlain’s post-game interview while David Pinto explains why Joba belongs in the starting rotation.

This is one of those Interleague weekends that look like the misbegotten results of one of those old Choose Your Own Adventure books.  The Rangers vs the Mets?  Padres vs. the Tribe?  Nats vs. the M’s?  Yanks in Houston.  Right…

Shawn Chacon and Joba Chamberlain share at least one thing in common–they both rock a baseball cap with the hard, flat bill.  That’s probably about it, though.  Chacon, a familiar face to Yankee fans, is a veteran junkballer; Chamberlain, a hard-throwing young stud.  They both pitched well on Friday night, each allowing a run over six innings.  Chacon gave up three hits and walked four.  For Chamberlain, it was his best start yet–he’s been a little better in each of his three turns since joining the rotation.  He walked four and gave up six hits only striking out a couple of hitters.  88 pitches in all.  Really, it was more like 80–he walked two batters intentionally.  Joba worked in-and-out-of trouble–picked Lance Berkman off second for a big out in the fourth.  Robinson Cano made a smooth play behind him too and Melky Cabrera got in plenty of running out in center.  And while the Astros ran at will against the combination of Joba and Posada, the Yankee catcher made a big throw to nail Michael Bourn at third in the sixth inning.

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Houston Astros

2007 Record: 73-89 (.451)
2007 Pythagorean Record: 71.5-90.5 (.442)

2008 Record: 33-34 (.493)
2008 Pythagorean Record: 32-35 (.475)

Manager: Cecil Cooper
General Manager: Ed Wade

Home Ballpark (multi-year Park Factors): Minute Maid Park (99/99)

Who’s Replacing Whom:

25-man Roster:

1B – Lance Berkman (S)
2B – Kazuo Matsui (S)
SS – Miguel Tejada (R)
3B – Ty Wigginton (R)
C – Brad Ausmus (R)
RF – Hunter Pence (R)
CF – Michael Bourn (L)
LF – Carlos Lee (R)

Bench:

R – Mark Loretta (IF)
S – Geoff Blum (IF)
L – Darin Erstad (OF)
R – Reggie Abercrombie (OF)
R – Humberto Quintero (C)

Rotation:

R – Roy Oswalt
R – Brandon Backe
R – Brian Moehler
R – Shawn Chacon
L – Wandy Rodriguez

Bullpen:

R – Jose Valverde
R – Oscar Villarreal
R – Doug Brocail
L – Wesley Wright
L – Tim Byrdak
R – Geoff Geary
R – Chris Sampson

15-day DL: R – Felipe Paulino

Typical Lineup:

R – Hunter Pence (RF)
S – Kazuo Matsui (2B)
R – Miguel Tejada (SS)
S – Lance Berkman (1B)
R – Carlos Lee (LF)
R – Ty Wigginton (3B)
L – Michael Bourne (CF)
R – Brad Ausmus (C)

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Earlier this week, Jay Jaffe wrote:

The obituaries have been all too full of familiar names in recent weeks, men whose life’s work brought me a great deal of joy, countless hours of entertainment, and plenty of food for thought. Since Memorial Day alone, we’ve lost director Sydney Pollack, actor Harvey Korman, musician Bo Diddley, and sports broadcaster Jim McKay. Today’s bad news is the passing of writer Eliot Asinof. He was 88.

Tim Russert died today. He was just 58. I don’t know his work well but understand that he was well-regarded. He was certainly accomplished and I liked him enough when I did happen to see him on TV. I know he was a big baseball fan. He died of a heart attack. He was at work. Oh, man.

I love used book stores, I’m just a sucker for ’em.  These days, used book stores are doing a lot of thier business on-line which takes some, but not all of the fun out of book-hunting.  It just so happens that one of our own, a Banterite who goes by the handle "unmoderated" runs a used book store (pictured below).  I’ve been using him recently in my search for old books and he’s been great to work with.  Check out the store on-line and please consider supporting one of the gang. 

Generally speaking, I enjoy the cards featured in the 1973 Topps set. There are plenty of action shots (even if some of them seem like they’ve been taken from a distant parking lot), and there’s something groovy about the shadowed figure of a ballplayer transposed against a colored circle. Yet, not all of the cards featured in the set are attractive.

Like this one. As you can see, former Yankees and A’s third baseman Rich McKinney was one of the wilder looking athletes of the 1970s. There’s that large chin, prominent enough to make Jay Leno and Bruce Campbell blush. Coupled with his long, curly hair (a classic 1970s perm that some have called a "white Afro"), McKinney looked anything like a Yankee. Even his 1972 Topps card shows him wearing only an airbrushed Yankee cap alongside an actual White Sox uniform. Nonetheless, the Yankees and their suffering fans had to endure "Curly Mac’s" presence for all too much of the 1972 season.

After the 1971 season, the Yankees acquired McKinney from the White Sox for pitcher Stan Bahnsen in a deal that was panned by Pinstriped fans almost from the start. While McKinney had excelled in a pinch-hitting and backup infield role for the ’71 White Sox, he had never been an everyday player and had never exhibited the defensive skills needed to play third base on more than a part-time basis. For this, the Yankees parted with the 26-year-old Bahnsen, a reliable young starter who filled a vital role as the team’s No. 3 starter behind Mel Stottlemyre and Fritz Peterson. It hurt that much more when Bahnsen won 21 games in his first season with the White Sox.

Strangely, Yankee management expected McKinney, his chin and his Afro to fill the third base void that had been created five years earlier by the trade of Clete Boyer to the Braves (for another failed Yankee, Bill Robinson). Reality soon set in. Within days of his Yankee debut, it became evident that McKinney was overmatched—especially in the field. On Saturday afternoon, April 22, with the Yankees less than a week into the strike-delayed season, the Bombers played the rival Red Sox at Fenway Park. McKinney hit well that day, with three hits in four at-bats, including his first pinstriped home run. Yet, no one remembers any of that. In attempting to field his position, McKinney made four miscues at third base. In the first inning, he booted Danny Cater’s ground ball, permitting an unearned run to score on the play. Later that inning, McKinney made his second error, allowing two more unearned runs. In the second inning, McKinney mishandled another Cater ground ball, with an unearned run scoring on the play. And then in the sixth inning, McKinney committed a fourth error, this time on a Rico Petrocelli grounder, with yet another unearned run scoring on the play.

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My friend and colleague Steven Goldman had me on the second installment of his new Pinstriped Bible Podcast (if Pinstriped Bible, and Pinstriped Blog, why not just Pinstriped Podcast?) over at the YES site. The interview was taped Wednesday night and was posted yesterday. Steve and I discuss writing about baseball and the Yankees in equal measure, so check it out (alternate link).

Final: Yanks 4, A’s 1. 

C’mon.  Please.

Let’s go Yan-Kees.

Two days ago I saw a guy in a suit talking on his i-phone. It was 8:15 in the morning on the northeast corner of 7th avenue and 50th street.

“Hi, the is Willie Randolph,” he said smiling, “I’m looking for a new job.”

It’s just about come to that for the Mets who lost another game today that can be safely described as pure agony. It’s been like Groundhog Day for Met fans only each day brings new and horrible twist. I mean only a nihilist, an absurdist, sadist or a true Met-hater could take pleasure in what’s happened, really ever since Yadier Molina hit that dinger a few years ago. Otherwise, there isn’t much funny about what’s going on with this team.

These Mets aren’t as bad as the worst team money can buy, they’ve got some great stars, but they’ve also been a constant letdown for a year now. If there has been anything funny about them it’s been the steady stream of caustic, often furious commentary that I’ve heard from my fellow New Yorkers, the Met fans. They are self-knowing in their suffering and they roll with that quality during the worst of times. They aren’t funny because they are suffering, they are funny because they are just funny as they are suffering. And I mean that as the highest of compliments.

I’m left thinking, “Whew, at least that’s not us.”

2004 and 2001 aren’t that long ago. Reminds me of Eddie Murphy’s old routine about getting hit by a car in Brooklyn. “Damn, that looked like it hurt too.”

Our team has it’s own problems but there isn’t the same degree of angst in the Bronx, is there? It’s maybe not happy but it isn’t rock bottom. Girardi’s job isn’t on the line. Whether the Yankees officially recoginze this as a re-building season or not, it is considered just that by a sizable part of their fan-base. And the team will provide pleasure regardless of the final record–watching A Rod hit, Joba start, Jeter strut, Jorgie, squat, Mariano close. Giambi’s Porn Stach of Doom. If they aren’t going to be great the least they can be is fun.

Over at River Ave Blues, Ben Kabak rounds up the latest on the new Yankee Stadium.

Bronx Liason features a Q&A with Dan Graziano of the Newark Star-Ledger:

BL: You said earlier that this team’s clubhouse has shown some fire of late. What sort of uncharacteristic behavior would the casual baseball fan be surprised to hear about the Yankees who are often portrayed as robotic, corporate, drones?

Graziano: The mustache thing, I guess. Mussina’s quote board. I just get a different feel in there than I used to. I mean, fans like to talk about those Tino Martinez/Scott Brosius/Paul O’Neill teams playing with “fire,” but that didn’t translate to the clubhouse. That clubhouse was quiet, corporate and stuffy. This one is much looser in general, and a more comfortable place for us to do our jobs for sure. This is a more approachable, friendly group of players who seem to like each other a great deal. They’ve even come to tolerate Alex. [laughs]

Finally, in the New York Observer, Howard Megdal profiles the new best thing for the Bombers.

Boys, when they are young and troubled, do not talk to each other about what bothers them, no matter how close the friendship. There is no real intimacy among us. We talk about things of the exterior, about sports. Baseball was not merely a subject for us, it provided us a social form as well.

From “Why Men Love Baseball,” by David Halberstam

Halberstam was talking about boys, but I think the same often applies to us when we become men. Not that the conversation here at Bronx Banter, and so many other blogs, is just for men, of course. Still, I believe that most men are drawn together because of a mutual interest–sports, cars, video games, record collecting–and that’s how we express intimacy.

The Halberstam bit quoted above is part of a satisfying collection of the author’s sports writing, Everything They Had (edited by Glenn Stout). It is a handsome volume that features pieces on fishing, baseball, football, and basketball. The Stuff Dreams are Made of, an expert analysis of the Lakers and Celtics in the 1987 NBA Finals finds Halberstam at his best, and is just one of many highlights.

An ideal father’s day gift if there ever was one.

Oh no, I’m getting Happy Feet!

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Monday afternoon’s loss and the subsequent reaction from the press served as a reminder that Mariano Rivera has been so good for so long that analysts and writers alike seem to forget that he’s fallible and is, in fact, capable of giving up home runs. The unusual component was that this was the second home run Rivera allowed in the series against the Royals, only the fourth time, as the New York Times pointed out, Rivera had allowed two homers in a series in his career.

Rivera’s reaction, throwing down the rosin bag in disgust and grimacing at his mistake, made backpage headlines here in New York. Why? It’s a natural reaction for anyone who is accustomed to excellence. It wasn’t bratty. It was born out of frustration at making what he deemed to be a basic mistake.

“I got too much of the plate,” Rivera told reporters. “If I make my pitch, I’ll be OK.”

Rivera has blown saves before, and has given up game-costing home runs in the regular season before. (See Bill Mueller, Bill Selby, etc). He has even uttered those same words when explaining home runs he’s allowed.

Four years ago, after blowing two of his first three opportunities of the season, all you heard on talk radio and read in the papers was, “Is Mo done? And if so, who will replace him?” Rivera then rattled off 33 consecutive saves to prove he wasn’t done, and continues to take care of himself to ensure he’s healthy enough to honor the remainder of his contract. Mariano Rivera is many things and has been the Yankees MVP for many years. By reputation and numbers, he may still be the best closer in baseball. One thing he is not, is perfect. This should not be huge news or treated with the level of drama that resulted from the Guillen home run.

Readers of this blog and many other Yankee fan blogs recognize that. The general tone was that the team still is not hitting with runners in scoring position – a trend that has been consistent for four seasons now – and that the Yankees split a four game series against a Royals team that wins as many road games as the Washington Generals.

Thank you, Mark LaMonica, for bringing sanity to the discussion.

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Michael Bamberger has a good piece on Chipper Jones, professional craftsman, in the latest issue of SI. The story reminded me of just how difficult it is to play the game, as well as how hard it is to stay healthy once an athlete reaches his mid-thirties. The mental and physical grind is considerable, no matter how well-paid these guys are. But my favorite part concerns just how tricky it is to measure success, even for a sure-fire Hall of Famer. Numbers are so enlightening in baseball, much more so than in the other major sports, but they can’t tell us everything:

When Atlanta was in Philadelphia in May, Glavine started the second game of the series, still looking then for his first win of the season. In the fourth, with the Braves leading 5-0, Phillies cleanup hitter Ryan Howard headed to the plate. With the Howard Shift on, Jones moved from third to short, and the shortstop, Yunel Escobar, a young Cuban émigré whom Glavine barely knows, moved to the outfield grass just to the right of second base. Glavine walked out to Jones and said, “I’m hearing whistling, from their dugout or bullpen — from somewhere. I don’t know if they’re stealing signs or what. Tell me if you hear or see anything.”

Jones was surprised. He could never remember Glavine coming off the mound to ask him a question before, let alone one about possible sign stealing. He was flattered that Glavine recognized that Jones could stay focused on the batter but also open his ears to the external sounds of the game, if that’s what his pitcher needed him to do. More than anything, he was impressed. He could feel Glavine’s urgency, his need to win a baseball game.

Glavine retired Howard, and when the inning was over, Jones told Glavine that the whistling was coming “from one of our guys” — from Escobar, a serial whistler — and that fans in the stands were whistling in response to him. Nobody, he said, was stealing signs.

The Braves won, and Glavine got the decision. The box score shows that Jones went 2 for 4, with a home run. It doesn’t show how he helped settle down his pitcher. What Chip Jones did that night was nothing and everything.

He went to the team hotel, slept in, woke up, got his old body moving again and headed back to the park, looking for any little baseball thing that he could do right.

There is always more to learn about the game. I feel as if the more I know, the more I realize how much I have yet to learn. There are always more nuances, details and insights to soak up. And that’s why we do this every day.

“We’re consistently inconsistent. That’s the best way to put it.”
Derek Jeter

There isn’t much mystery left for baseball fans today when batting averages and ERA’s are updated by Game Day after each at-bat. You don’t have to wait an entire week to see the league leaders. It’s all right there at our finger tips. Not only can we see pitch sequences, we learn how fast the pitch was thrown and at what angle.

One of the last remaining elements of suspense for me are west coast games, because I don’t generally stay up for them, and I never have. When I was a kid, I’d doze off in the first few innings. Now, I just won’t put myself through it. I get too worked up. If I had been watching Tuesday night’s nail-biter I don’t know how I would have settled down to fall asleep. So I’ll watch the first few innings and then turn the TV off. After I saw Alex Rodriguez strike out for the second time–he was absolutely baffled by Justin Duchscherer–I said, that’s it for me.

I like the anticipation that comes with waking up in the morning, wondering what actually happened while most of the east coast was sleeping–or at least the early birds like me. The heat wave is gone in New York, and there was a lovely, cool breeze that accompanied me on my walk to the subway. I don’t check the scores on TV the moment I get up, or catch them on the radio or turn my computer on. I walk to the subway and buy the papers.

What a drag it was to discover that the Yanks took it on the chin last night in Oakland, 8-4. “Damn,” I said as I scanned the back page of the News; the kid who sells the papers looked up at me with a quizzical expression. And such a nice morning too. Oh, well. On with the day. Still, no matter the result, I cherish the moments of anticipation, filled with fantasy and imagination, the ten minutes it takes to reach the subway, that lead up to discovering what actually happened.

It’s Rasner vs. Duchscherer tonight in Oakland.

Can the Bombers jump to two whole games over .500?

I can’t call it, man.

Let’s Go Yanks!

Or…

Joe P takes on Joe D and Junior Griffey.  This is a good one. 

The 13 strikeouts just boggles the mind. 

A friend send me this link to a great audio piece on James Brown. 

Peep, don’t sleep.

Eliot was one of the great characters in baseball.
–Jim Bouton

 Eliot Asinof, the accomplished author most famous in baseball circles for Eight Men Out, his classic narrative of the 1919 Black Sox Scandal, passed away yesterday at the age of 88. Asinof enjoyed a long, varied career, that saw him through the dark days of the blacklist, and later found him flourishing as a screen writer, journalist–he was a frequent contributor to the New York Times magazine in the late ’60s and also wrote for Sports Illustrated–and author (he wrote about civil rights in Bed Stuy, Brooklyn, the television industry as well as many novels).

One of his novels, The Fox is Crazy Too, about a con man/master criminal who pretends to be insane to escape responsibility for his crimes, was found alongside a handful of books and a postcard addressed to Jodie Foster in John Hinckley Jr’s hotel room the day Hinckley shot President Ronald Reagan. Asinof was once married to Jocelyn Brando, Marlon’s sister, and he also dated Rita Moreno.

This morning, I received the following e-mail from Roger Kahn:

Eliot was a fine and gifted friend, with a remarkable work ethic and an enduring anger at what he perceived to be injustice. Aside from his writing, quite an aside, he was a good ball player, a good carpenter, a good chef, and an excellent pianist.

He was an Army lieutenant during World War II, sent to lead a platoon on Adak Island. Since a Japanese invasion of the Aleutians seemed imminent, this was not exactly a plum assignment. "You’ll love it on Adak," his colonel told him. "There’s a beautiful woman behind every tree."

As Eliot told me more than once, "When I got there, I found there are no trees on Adak Island."

Ralph Blumenfeld, writing in the New York Post, once described Asinof as "balding and muscular, a cross between Ben Hogan and Leo Durocher on looks." After graduating from Swarthmore college in 1940, Asinof played in the Phillies farm system for a few years before being drafted. "My bonus was a box of cigars," Asnioff told Blumenfeld, "and I didn’t smoke."

In 1955, Asinof published a baseball novel, "Man on Spikes," roughly based on the career of a friend as well as his own stint in pro ball. In a recent e-mail, John Schulian told me: 

You could smell the sweat of honest labor on Asinof’s work.  If you’ve read "Eight Men Out," you know what I mean.  But there’s something about "Man on Spikes" that touches me even more profoundly, for here was a guy who’d kicked around in the bushes describing just how back-breaking and heartbreaking that life can be.  I never met Asinof, but I like to think that he carried what baseball taught him to his grave.

In the original New York Times review, John Lardner wrote:

Eliot Asinof, in giving his reasons for writing "Man on Spikes," says, "The folklore and flavor of baseball fascinated me then [when he was playing ball in the Philadelphia Phillies’ farm system, some years ago], and it still does today." That sounds a little ominous; but Mr. Asinof, I’m gald to say, has not let his sense of the game’s folk-meaning involve him in a Bunyaneque or a comic-Faustian or a dream-symbol treatment of baseball. "Man on Spikes" is a plain and honest book, the first realistic baseball novel I can remember having read."

Years later, in a piece on the All-Star team of baseball fiction, Daniel Okrent wrote (also in the Times):

In print for about an hour and a half in the middle 50s, Asinof’s book is about a young man of endeniable talent, whose career is thwarted and eventually destroyed by the arrogance of the men who ran baseball back then, and the servitude players were forced to live in. It is a harsh book, unsettling and, finally, depressing. It is also perhaps the truest baseball novel ever written.

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