Daily Archives: September 23, 2009

After today’s game, the Yanks are done with the Angels and the west coast for now. 

AJ looks to put together another solid start.

Hell with the beach balls, let’s go Yan-Kees.

When I first saw that Brian Bruney had switched his uniform number to ‘99,’ I thought that he had become the first Yankee to sport the highest of the two-digit numbers. After all, the Yankees have always been a conservative organization. They would never let one of their players wear a number like ‘99,’ or ‘0,’ or ’00.’

As so often happens, the subsequent research did not support my initial instinct. While it’s true that no Yankee has ever worn ‘0’ or ’00,” the No. 99 has come into play once before. Former Yankee outfielder Charlie Keller, a mainstay of the forties and early fifties, beat Bruney to the punch by well over 50 years. During the 1952 season—his final year in the major leagues—Keller played in only two games as part of a late-September comeback, but wore different uniform numbers each time. In one game, he wore No. 28. In the other, he took the unusual route and wore No. 99, giving himself a strange milestone achievement in Yankee lore.

I have no idea why Keller wore 99 for that one game. Perhaps he sensed the end of his career was near and wanted to do something flashy before he stepped aside completely. That’s simply speculation on my part. What is not speculation is this: Charlie Keller was one of the more underrated Yankees of his era, a damned fine hitter who registered high OPS numbers before anybody knew what in the world OPS meant.

Just how good was Charlie Keller? For his career, most of which came in pinstripes, he compiled a .410 on-base percentage and a .518 slugging percentage, both lofty numbers. Like so many left-handed power hitters in team history, he made good use of the short porch at the original Yankee Stadium, all while displaying one of the keenest batting eyes of the 1940s. As a Yankee, he never struck out as many times as he walked in a single season. Not even close. When observed more broadly, Keller was a primetime player from 1939 until 1946, a period of time that saw him reach 30-plus homeruns three times, 100 walks five times, and 100-plus RBIs three times. For nearly a decade, Keller (who played mostly in left field), center fielder Joe DiMaggio, and right fielder Tommy “Ole Reliable” Henrich formed what might have been the greatest outfield of all-time.

Keller retained his standard of excellence in World Series play, even elevating his level of power. In 72 at-bats spread over four different World Series, Keller pumped five home runs to the tune of a .611 slugging percentage. He also batted .306 in postseason play, helping the Yankees to four world championships in five attempts.

All of these accomplishments would have formed a prelude to a Hall of Fame career, if not for a chronic back injury that rendered Keller a part-time player by the age of 30 and forced him to retire completely by the age of 35. Even given his shortened career, a few Sabermetrically inclined writers have made pleas for his case as a Hall of Famer, especially if he’s given credit for having lost all of 1944 and most of 1945 to military service in World War II.

Beyond the numbers, Keller also brought some distinct imagery to the American League landscape of the forties and fifties. With his dark, bushy eyebrows and solid-as-stone 190 pounds on a five-foot, ten-inch frame, Keller took on an intimidating stature at the ballpark and in the batter’s box. As physically strong as any player of the era, Keller found himself being called “King Kong” by members of the writing establishment. Reserved and serious, Keller hated the nickname—hey, being likened to a giant gorilla has never been a desired comparison—but it fit, both in terms of description and lyrical quality. For a good part of his career, he was known as King Kong Keller first, and Charlie Keller second.

Clearly, Keller deserves to be remembered, both for his numbers and his raw power. Like Willie Randolph, Hank Bauer, Eddie Lopat, and Vic Raschi, he remains one of the most under-recognized Yankees of all-time. So the next time you see Brian Bruney wearing his No. 99 in a game, think about Charlie “King Kong” Keller, at least for a little bit.

Bruce Markusen writes “Cooperstown Confidential” for The Hardball Times.

Today’s news is powered by the Double Dutch Bus:

• Guess who is coming to throw out the first pitches this weekend?:

The Yankees announced on Tuesday that they plan to welcome United States Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor and Panama President Ricardo Martinelli to throw ceremonial first pitches this weekend at Yankee Stadium.

Sotomayor, a Bronx native, will take the mound on Saturday, prior to the Yankees’ game against the Red Sox. Martinelli will perform the honors the evening before, on Friday, as New York opens its important three-game series with Boston.

The invitations are part of the Yankees’ continuing celebration of Hispanic Heritage Month.

• AL Cy Young contender Zack Greinke speaks of the comfort of pitching in KC:

Had he waited until free agency, or even just until the end of this year, he would have been in line for tens of millions more. But security had substantial appeal, especially given that Greinke recognized that Kansas City offered him a comfortable environment, on and off the field.

Even so, Greinke’s growing confidence becomes evident in hearing him suggest that he could succeed outside of the cocoon of the only organization that he has ever known.

“[The environment] had a lot to do with [signing the extension], for sure,” said Greinke. “Now, maybe New York would bother me, but I don’t think anywhere else would bother me anymore. Even though I’m in Kansas City, I’ve gotten used to it a lot more. New York, I still might have trouble in New York. I probably would. But I think almost everyone does.”

(more…)

by Hank Waddles

I am optimistic to a fault. There are some things that I worry about, I suppose, but in general I assume that everything’s going to work out for the best. Perhaps that’s what drew me to baseball as a boy. Baseball is a game of hope, much more so than any other sport out there, in the long term as much as the short. If you’ve ever watched until the last pitch with your team down seven runs or thought about your team’s playoff rotation in the early days of March, you know what I mean. Baseball is hope.

Except when the Yankees are playing the Angels. I can’t explain what happens to me when these two teams hook up, especially when the games are in Anaheim. Take Tuesday night, for instance. A normal person would’ve looked at that early 5-0 lead and felt confident. The optimist would note that Ervin Santana was getting hit hard and that Chad Gaudin looked remarkably like a number four starter, but the pessimist would answer that Santana’s diving changeup had led to seven early strikeouts and that Gaudin was, well, Chad Gaudin.

The optimist would look at all those two-out, two-strike counts and head for the kitchen to grab a snack, but instead I sat nailed the couch, certain something bad was on the way. Sure enough, something bad usually was. It started in the fateful fifth, when an Angel hitter worked a full count after two were already out. (The name on the jersey said Figgins, but we all know it could’ve been any of a dozen pesky Angles, all cut from the same bedeviling cloth. In fact, I’m not sure why they don’t just stitch ECKSTEIN on everyone’s back and be done with it.) Rather than striking out and grabbing his glove, Figgins lofted a pop fly to right which slithered around the foul pole. It was cheaper than any Yankee Stadium home run, which seemed just about right. Damn those Angels.

Two batters later, our old friend Bobby Abreu earned another full count, but Gaudin walked him, and to borrow a phrase from Vin Scully, the Angels finally had a look at the game. Up next was Vlad Guerrero, who quickly hacked his way to an 0-2 count. If ever there were a time to throw a pitch about two feet off the plate, this was it, but instead Gaudin spun a little breaking ball belt high across the center of the plate. The only surprise was that the ball stayed in the park. Minutes earlier Gaudin had been a single pitch away from five shutout innings and a shot at a win; now he was walking slowly to the bench.

Vulture Aceves quickly got out of the fifth inning, but the Angels kept chipping away, scoring their third run when pinch hitter Gary Matthews, Jr., lined an 0-2 (!) pitch to right, and their fourth when Abreu drew a bases-loaded walk on a 3-2 pitch. In the eighth, Yankee-killer Howie Kendrick reached on an error by Canó, then took off for second on the first pitch and kept going to third when Posada’s throw sailed into the outfield. Moments later Kendrick was trotting in behind a Macier Izturis single, and the game was tied. Damn those Angels.

But then a funny thing happened. Brett Gardner walked up to the plate to lead off the ninth inning, and my optimism returned. “If Gardner gets on base here, the Yankees will win,” I told myself. “He’ll steal second on the first pitch and someone will knock him in.” I had it almost right.

Gardner singled and stole second on the secondpitch. The Yankees managed to survive some questionable bunting decisions (Jeter squared on a 3-0 pitch, but I have to believe he was taking all the way, and Damon followed with a risky two-strike bunt that pushed the runners to second and third) and A-Rod game up with a chance to win the game. He turned on the first pitch he saw from Darren Oliver, sending a sac fly to left and plating Gardner with the winning run.

Rivera closed up shop, and my optimistic heart started pumping again. Instead of worrying about a sweep, I was now expecting A.J. Burnett to bring home a series win with a good start on Wednesday. Instead of worrying about the division lead, I noted that the Yankees had clinched a playoff spot, ending our long national nightmare. Instead of obsessing on the Angels, I thought about the Twins and Tigers and a path to the World Series.

Is it too early for that? Of course not. Baseball is hope.