Daily Archives: August 28, 2008

Yesterday’s game was the last the Red Sox will ever play at the first Yankee Stadium. It was also the last I’ll ever see from the seating bowl of the old ballpark. I have two games remaining in the bleachers this season, including the Stadium’s final game against the Orioles on September 21, but that final game will be overrun with hype, anxiety, and mixed emotions. In providing two other, more specific “last”s, yesterday’s game provided me with a sense of personal closure regarding the old park.

Twenty years ago almost exactly, I saw my first game at Yankee Stadium from a seat in the front row of the upper deck in right field. The Yankees won that night on a walk-off home run in the bottom of the ninth by Claudell Washington. Yesterday afternoon, I was a few rows higher behind home plate and the Yankees won on a walk-off single in the bottom of the ninth by Jason Giambi. I’ll save my reminiscences of the games in between for another time, but I wanted to share a few of the photographs I took of yesterday’s game.

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So I’ve been getting up early all week, and as I’m generally an insomniac night-owl type, it has not been going particularly well. Last night I made the mistake of lying down for a few minutes while watching the game; I fell asleep around 8 PM, and woke up long, long after it was over. The thing is, I was absolutely, 100% positive that I’d seen the Yankees win it, on a Johnny Damon home run… and it wasn’t til this afternoon that I realized I must have just dreamed it.

Sigh.

Today, however, I was wide awake when the Yankees beat the Sox 3-2, in dramatic fashion, with Jason Giambi singling in the winning run off Michael Flatley Jonathan Papelbon. (Have I really been reduced to making stale, cheap “Lord of the Dance” jabs out of pure bitterness? Yes. Yes I have. Try and stop me). This is one of those seasons where you just have to appreciate the small victories: so yes, the Yankees lost two of three to the Sox (though I could have sworn… man, that was a vivid dream), and are almost certainly not going to make the postseason this year; but it was a good game, and the last that Boston will ever play in the old Stadium.

Mike Mussina was excellent, again, but when he left the game was tied, and he didn’t get the win. I don’t think he can make it to 20 now — and because the BWAA changes its thinking at roughly the pace of a frail, elderly snail, that may well hurt his Hall of Fame chances, etc, etc. But it’s been such a pleasure to watch him do his thing this year. Today his fastball was actually quicker than usual (a whopping 89 mph at one point! Heavens!), and he allowed two runs on five hits in seven strong innings. The Sox only scored in the fifth, when they strung together a single, a hit by pitch, another single (an RBI for Varitek), and a fielder’s choice.

Meanwhile, the Yankees couldn’t do much more than peck at Jon Lester until the 7th, when Cody Ransom (he of the awesomely badass name) doubled, and Jason Giambi (he of the awesomely badass Porn ‘Stache of Doom) homered. That was it until the bottom of the ninth, when – on a night when the Yankee bullpen really couldn’t have handled many extra innings – the Yanks loaded the bases, the Sox summoned Papelbon from the pen, and the ‘Stache took matters into its own hands.

Anyway, I’m really looking forward to blogging about the playoff games I’ll dream about this fall. Will the dream-Yankees be able to beat the dream-Twins in the ALDS? Or will dream-Abreu morph into a giant aardvark and swallow my high school English teacher whole, as he did in the fall of ’06? Tune in and find out. There’s only one October!

I was at the game today (Emma will be along later with the recap), and the Yankees were giving away DVDs of a “Virtual Tour” of the new Yankee Stadium. I haven’t watched the thing yet, but opening up the front flap I saw this:

If nothing strikes you as odd about that, look a little closer:

I’m speculating wildly here, but that image in the background looks a lot like a mock-up designed for companies interested in acquiring naming rights to the new Stadium. I’ve not seen any other conceptual image of the new Stadium with any letters to the right of the center field video screen, so I’m guessing whomever layed out this DVD package is in a boat load of trouble right now.

Update: I watched the DVD and, again, there is no lettering to the right of the video screen in any image shown.

It is a gorgeous day in New York City.  I picked up some San Marzano tomatoes at a nearby Farmer’s Market and then noticed a twenty dollar bill on the pavement.  Two gentlemen were standing a few feet away from me and they saw it too.  I was closer so I bent over, picked it up and looked around to see if anyone would claim it.  One of the men said, "I think it was that girl in the white t-shirt, go after her."  So I did.  I hustled half a block away and asked the woman in the white shirt if the bill was hers.  She looked confused. 

Ethics, Belth, ethics. 

I could have kept the dough.  It didn’t look like it belonged to her.  But I gave it to her anyhow and said, "Welp, if it ain’t yours, at least you are twenty dollars richer now."  I held out my hand for her to slap me five, but she balked.  Maybe she thought I was asking for half of it in return.  Ah, people just don’t slap each other five like they used to, do they?

I walked away and when I passed the two guys I told them I didn’t think it was hers.  "Well, maybe you’ll get it in return someday," one of them said, "and much more than twenty bucks."

Who knows?  Karma is a funny thing.  Speaking of which, the Yankee season has boiled down to me rooting for Mike Mussina to win twenty games more than anything else.  Knowing his "luck" he’ll end up with eighteen or nineteen.  But luck can change at the drop of a dime.

Enjoy the day, and let’s go Yankees.

As has been discussed in numerous Banter posts over the years, Bobby Murcer was one of the few bright spots for the Yankees during the initial post-Mantle years. Murcer wasn’t Mantle, but he had enough similarities and attributes to merit the comparisons.

Murcer’s affiliation with the Yankees lasted over 40 years, from his being drafted by them in 1964, through his call-up to the big club for good in 1969, to his 2^nd tour of duty with the Bombers beginning in 1979 and then his ascension into the broadcast booth in 1983.

What made Murcer so likable? Undoubtedly it was his easy-going, self-effacing manner. He rarely spoke poorly of anyone. His love for the Yankees was always easy to see. His voice was certainly Southern, but easy on the ears of those tuned to the games.

So, when news of his brain cancer diagnosis and surgery hit the wires in late 2006, it made what was planned to be his relatively straight-forward autobiography into something much more spiritual and intimate.

Released on his 62nd birthday, "Yankee for Life: My 40-Year Journey in Pinstripes" reveals the soul of the man who wouldn’t be (and couldn’t be) Mantle. We open with Bobby and his wife Kay recounting his headaches, forgetfulness and the lethargy during the latter part of 2006, and after numerous tests, the shocking diagnosis, delivered to him on Christmas Eve. Though Murcer is understandably rocked by the news, his upbringing helps him see through the darkness and begin the fight.

With that foundation, the book takes us back to his Oklahoma City roots, and the seemingly classic sports fable. A boy from the not-quite-well-to-do part of town, born with a seeming congenital desire to play baseball for the Yankees. A natural athlete …. a multi-sport star in high school and college. He marries the quintessential girl next door / high school sweetheart Kay. He signs with the team of his dreams.

Of course, if you have seen Murcer’s CenterStage or Yankeeography, and/or you’ve followed Murcer’s career to some extent, you know most of the rest of the story. Nonetheless, "Yankee for Life" is a candid, humorous and forthright insight into a man whose passions can be boiled down to family, God and baseball.

Part of what keeps this book from being a stale read is the almost conversational style of writing throughout. As assisted by Glen Waggoner, Murcer laces his stories with "let me tell you"s and "you know how …".

In terms of new material, Murcer devotes entire chapters to

• "Pinstripe All-Stars 1969 to today"
• Recollections of his announcing partners
• An entire chapter to his favorite partner, Phil Rizzuto
• His love of New York City
• His opinions on various hot-button issues in baseball (he’s got some interesting thoughts on the Mitchell Report, vis a vis Andy Pettitte and Roger Clemens)

Late in the book, Murcer states his ultimate goal of throwing out the first pitch at the new Stadium in 2009. Sadly, that won’t happen. But "Yankee for Life" will keep Murcer in our memories long after they tear down the old ballpark, and is a worthwhile addition to the library of every Bomber fan.

I looked up from the morning paper this morning on my subway ride to work. We must have been near Columbia University.  A young woman with a bob of red hair and thin, square glasses that made her look as if she stepped right out of an underground comic book, got on the train and stood above me.  She was wearing a black t-shirt with white lettering: "Make Cupcakes Not War."  

That’s mad corny, I thought to myself and went back to my paper.  A little while later, I put the paper away and took out my headphones when I looked down and noticed that the girl had a tatoo of a cupcake on the top of her right foot.  She was wearing flip flops and the tatoo was beautifully done.  The cupcake had pink frosting and a red cherry on top.  The girl’s toes were painted yellow, her fingernails, pink.

I couldn’t resist so I stood up a minute before I was to get off the train, pulled off my headphones and asked her if she was a baker.

"No."

"What’s with the cupcakes?"

She smiled and looked down.  "My roommate and I just love cupcakes.  We make them all the time.  It’s a little weird, really."

"No, that’s cool.  I guess you guys are big fans of Magnolia."

"Naw.  We make much better cupcakes at home."

"Very cool."

With that I excused myself and headed off to work.

Youse guys stink, says Hank.

Aw, heck, while we’re at it, Yanks get the Gas Face too: