Daily Archives: January 14, 2009

My latest for SI.com looks at the Braves’ new rotation in the wake of the Derek Lowe and Kenshin Kawakami signings, including a scouting report on the 33-year-old Japanese import. Toward the end, I summarize the remaining free agent market for starting pitchers in two paragraphs:

After [Oliver] Perez and [Ben] Sheets, there’s only a handful of veterans that could be considered remotely reliable signings. That group includes Andy Pettitte, who continues to play chicken with the Yankees over a one-year deal, Paul Byrd, Randy Wolf, whose name frequently surfaces as a back-up option, Braden Looper and Jon Garland. Of those five, however, only Looper posted an ERA better than league average last year.

Beyond that group there’s a series of bad bets, be it on aging stars who’d be better off retiring (Tom Glavine, Pedro Martinez, Curt Schilling, Kenny Rogers, Orlando Hernandez), the perpetually injured (Jason Jennings, Mark Mulder, Bartolo Colon), roster fillers (Livan Hernandez, Sidney Ponson, Josh Fogg, Josh Towers) or assorted castoffs who will be lucky to land a non-roster invitation to camp (Steve Trachsel, Jeff Weaver, Kip Wells, Mark Redman, Matt Belisle, Esteban Loaiza, Kris Benson).

I realize now I left Odalis Perez and Jon Lieber out of the list of roster fillers and failed to find a place for Freddy Garcia. Nonetheless, that’s about it. In fact, you can cross Prior off the list, as he’s landed back with the Padres on a minor league deal. So, do you think the dearth of alternatives gives Pettitte any leverage over the Yanks? Should they peel off and sign Ben Sheets or Braden Looper before they’re forced to overpay for one of the next five or turn to one of the bad bets? Or should they walk away now and let Alfredo Aceves, Phil Hughes, and company fight it out over the fifth spot in the rotation?

For most of us, death will not announce itself with a blare of trumpets or a roar of cannons.  It will come silently, on the soft paws of a cat.  It will insinuate itself, rubbing against our ankle in the midst of an ordinary moment.  An uneventful dinner.  A drive home from work.  A sofa pushed across a floor.  A slight bend to retrieve a morning newspaper tossed into a bush.  And then, a faint cry, an exhale of breath, a muffled slump.

Pat Jordan, “A Ridiculous Will”

My father died on this day two years ago.  He was at home with his wife.  They were getting ready to watch their favorite TV show.  He had just eaten his favorite pasta dish.  He slumped over in his chair and that was it.  He officially lasted until the next day but really that was when he left us.

I always imagined that he would have a dramatic death.  He was a big-hearted and volatile man.  He was unafraid to get into it with, well, virtually anyone.  I saw him kick the hub cap off a moving vehicle that had cut us off on West End Avenue and 79ths street, and was with him when he pulled a vandal out of a parked car.  I thought he’d die in a pool of blood.  I worried about it constantly.  But he left quietly.

I think about him less now.  Of course, I still think about him but I am not consumed with it as I was for the first year after he died, when his absence was acute.  Almost every block in the city, certainly on the Upper West Side where he lived, holds a memory, some happy, others not so much, of the old man.  I miss his stories, I miss asking him questions about the theater and the Dodgers and Damon Runyon.

But I don’t miss how tough he was on me, or the fact that even as an adult, I felt anxious around him.  I don’t miss how competitive he was with me, and I don’t miss worrying about his financial state.  When he was alive, I don’t think there was a time when I wasn’t afraid of him, even if it was on a subtle or subconscious level. 

I feel relief now that he’s not around. I loved him very much and the feeling was mutual.   He was proud of me, he was proud all of his kids, as well as his neices and nephews.   He and I buried the hachet long before he died and I tried my best to accept and love him for who he was not what I wanted or needed him to be when I was a kid.  Like most parents, he did the best that he could.

But I don’t compare myself to him these days.  I am my own man. I remember his warmth and compassion, his laugh and his righteous indignation, and that for all his flaws he was a good man.  I’m proud to be his son.

Powered by the thought that the Mets would have been better off wearing a Nicorette patch on their 2009 uniforms rather than this, here’s the news:

• Harvey Araton of the Times has a nice piece on Willie Randolph’s appreciation of the talents of Rickey Henderson:

“I had the good fortune of playing in three decades, and when you play that long, you’re going to see some unbelievable players,” Randolph said Tuesday. “But for me, pound for pound, for the things that Rickey could do with his legs alone, I’ve never seen anyone change the complexion of a game like him.” …

“If you looked at his legs and whole body, you’d think he was one of those guys who was in the gym all the time, but he wasn’t,” Randolph said. “He was like Bo Jackson or LeBron James — built like a man when he was a kid.”

Hitting behind Henderson, Randolph said, was natural for him, being a patient right-handed hitter with good peripheral vision, the ability to wait on his swing until he saw Henderson take off and hit the ball to the opposite field.

On earlier Yankee teams, he hit behind a rabbit of lesser renown, Mickey Rivers, a character in his own right. “With Mickey, we would communicate because he didn’t know the signs and I had to let him know when the hit-and-run was on,” Randolph said. “With Rickey, nothing, really, other than sometimes in the on-deck circle he’d say about a pitcher, usually a left-hander, ‘I have trouble picking up this guy.’ So I knew he might not run and I could swing earlier in the count.” …

He and Henderson will forever be linked by friendship and their pairing in the Yankees’ batting order. “It was a pleasure hitting behind him, and a privilege to watch him,” Randolph said.

• The Times’ Jack Curry gives us the ever-quotable Henderson on his big day:

When Henderson was asked what his salary would be if he were in his prime in 2009, he boosted himself into Alex Rodriguez’s financial territory.

“I don’t think they could pay me what I’d probably be worth,” Henderson said. “Or I’d probably be one of the highest-paid players out there, as far as what I brought to the game because I brought so many different weapons to the game.”

• Curry also has an article on Tony LaRussa’s appreciation of Rickey:

“For the period of time that I’ve been around, I think the most dangerous player is Rickey,” La Russa said. “In our time, Rickey worried you in more ways than anyone.”

So step aside, Barry Bonds. Sit down, Albert Pujols. They are dominating players, but La Russa stressed how Henderson’s combination of patience, speed, power and instincts made him “the guy that you felt was the most dangerous as far as taking that thing away from you.” That thing was the lead and the game. …

“One thing you’d try to avoid, if you’re trying to get an out, is distractions,” La Russa said. “Rickey just made it impossible not to be distracted by him.” …

“Everybody tried to stop Rickey,” La Russa said. “The feeling was, you stop Rickey and you stop the other club. He never had an easy at-bat, and he still put together a Hall of Fame career. He was amazing.”

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