Monthly Archives: October 2009

Great post by Glenn Stout on watching baseball in October:

Goodbye, peace. Hello, anxiety. See you later, common sense. Distraction, my old friend, where you been keeping yourself? The playoffs are here and minute by minute my façade of indifference crumbles. The twenty-fifth man on the roster is more important to my life than anything Barack Obama is going to do. I scour the internet for umpire ball/strike ratios. I forget to let the dogs back in, decide the car can go another month before I fix the muffler, and let God rake the leaves.

Dinners out can wait. We see the neighbors way too often. I never liked the movies that much anyway. Sleep is overrated. So is exercise. Forget supper – I’m running to the corner for a six pack. And some Doritos. And some Tums.

Tick tock tick tock.

Anything going on today?

Got oh, say nine some odd hours to kill?

We’ll be here, as always, today, tonight, through October and beyond.  In the meantime, dig Tyler Kepner’s playoff predictions over at the Times. And chat away.

I was so amped last night I had a hard time calming down. I didn’t fall asleep until well after midnight.

Like most of us, I’m eager for the playoffs to begin. I’m curious and excited to see how CC and AJ and Teix, Mr. Rodriguez and the rest of the ‘something-to-prove’ posse do.

Ain’t the suspense just ripe?

The Twins beat the Tigers 6-5 in 12 innings tonight to win the AL Central. The game was sloppy, infuriating at times, tense and nothing short of thrilling. The reason why we keep coming back. The Metrodome would not go out like a sucker. At least not on this night, a night that baseball fans will not forget for some time. If you root for the Tigers this is as painful as it gets, and for the Twins?  Nirvana.

We have our Cinderella.

The Twins will be spent and riding off high octane adrenaline tomorrow night in the Bronx. They will be feeling even better about themselves if they manage to steal a win in New York. The Yanks are 7-0 against them this year and must to guard against being too confident–thoughts of the 1988 Mets-Dodgers leap to mind. They need to stomp on these sweet Twinkie dreams with the quickness. Let’s hope our boys come out and play with a sense of urgency. 

Momentum thy name is CC!

This is David vs Goliath, [pure and simple. Yanks are the better team and it is not even close. Still, we all know the Twins can pull out a miracle. Stranger things have happened. They’re hot right now.

But before we get back to the Bronx, for one night, the Twins and baseball are flying high like Sly Stone:

Will today be the final baseball game at the Metrodome? Were the Twins smart enough to take Miguel Cabrera out drinking last night?

I say the Tigers pull it out and Cabrera has a big day. But I’m pulling for the Twinkies.

Let’s Go Baseball.

According to Sam Borden, Jose Molina will catch AJ Burnett in the ALDS.

Wow.

Will the Yankees experience another “golden moment” like the one depicted here? We all hope so, but the bar has been set extremely high. If you want to warm the soul of a Yankee fan over the age of 35, just mention the tiebreaking “play-off” game of 1978. Although it wasn’t technically a postseason game—all tiebreakers are considered extensions of the regular season—it had all the feel of an October playoff game, perhaps even a World Series game, with the highest imaginable stakes on the table. Win the game, and you earn the Amercan League East crown, along with a ticket to the League Championship Series against the Kansas City Royals. Lose the game, and you get—nothing. No division title, no consolation prize, not even a runner-up trophy. Nothing.

With the Yankees and Red Sox deadlocked at 99 wins and 63 losses through 162 games, the rules mandated a one-game tiebreaker between the two rivals. Since the Red Sox had won an earlier coin flip determining home field advantage, they enjoyed the luxury of playing the game at a place most unfriendly to the Yankees, Fenway Park. In a coincidental twist, Red Sox manager Don Zimmer selected Mike Torrez, a former Yankee, to start the game. Just 12 months earlier, Torrez had won the clinching game of the 1977 World Series for the Yankees against the Los Angeles Dodgers. Now Zimmer was asking Torrez, a 16-game winner, to reverse the situation on the Yankees and place them on the losing end of a clinching October celebration.

Yankee manager Bob Lemon had an easier decision to make in selecting his starting pitcher for the tiebreaker. Even though he would be pitching on only three days rest, the choice of starters was obvious. Lemon handed the ball to rail-thin left-hander Ron Guidry, who had been unhittable for much of the summer on the way to winning an astonishing 24 of 27 decisions and clamping American League opponents to an ERA of under 1.8 runs per nine innings.

Thanks to a lineup loaded with right-handed power hitters like Jim Rice, Carlton “Pudge” Fisk, Butch Hobson, and George “Boomer” Scott, the Red Sox posed a formidable match for the letter-high fastballs and tilting sliders thrown by the Yankees’ southpaw. Yet, it was Boston’s premier left-handed hitter, the venerable Carl Yastrzemski, who started the scoring by driving one of Guidry’s pitches down the right-field line. The ball, though not hit particularly far, was well directed, staying just to the left of the famed “Pesky Pole.” Yaz’ drive landed in the right-field stands, giving the Red Sox an early 1-0 lead.

In the meantime, the Yankees did little against Torrez, who kept New York scoreless over the first six innings. The Sox then added to their lead in the bottom of the sixth inning. Leading off the inning, Red Sox shortstop Rick Burleson pounded out a double and moved up to third on Jerry Remy’s sacrifice bunt. Rice—who would win the American League’s MVP Award over Guidry in a controversial decision—followed with a line-drive single to center field. Rice’s 139th RBI of the season gave the Sox a tidy 2-0 lead, with only three innings remaining.

In opening the top of the seventh, Torrez showed no signs of tiring. He retired Graig Nettles, putting the Red Sox within eight outs of the AL East title. Then, without warning, Torrez weakened. He allowed back-to-back singles to Chris Chambliss and Roy White. Presented with the Yankees’ first real scoring opportunity of the afternoon, Lemon made his first move. He sent up Jim Spencer, always a tough out against right-handed pitching, as a pinch hitter for Brian Doyle, a light-hitting second baseman who was playing only because of a season-ending injury to Willie Randolph. Rather than opt for a left-hander (such as Tom Burgmeier or Andy Hassler) from his bullpen, Zimmer stayed with Torrez. The veteran right-hander fulfilled his manager’s confidence, retiring Spencer on a harmless fly ball. Now, with two on and two out, No. 9 hitter Bucky Dent stepped to the plate.

A few Yankee fans must have shouted profanities at their radios and televisions, wondering aloud why Lemon didn’t send up a pinch-hitter for Dent, by far the Yankees’ weakest hitting regular player. The 1978 Yankees had a very good bench, loaded with capable veteran bats like the free-spirited Jay Johnstone, the underrated Gary Thomasson, and the intimidating Cliff Johnson.

But there were two problems. First, the rules of the day mandated the Yankees and Red Sox play the tiebreaker with 25-man rosters, not the expanded rosters allowed in September. Second, while the Yankees had depth in the outfield and at catcher, they had little in terms of the middle infield. With Randolph hurt and Doyle already removed for a pinch-hitter, Lemon would have to bring in Fred “Chicken” Stanley to play second base. If he now pinch-hit for Dent, he would have no one available to play shortstop. (Perhaps Lemon could have done something radical and played his gifted backup outfielder Paul Blair at second base, but that would have been a gamble of radical proportions.) So Dent, the starting shortstop, would have to hit for himself.

Torrez delivered his second pitch, which Dent fouled off his left foot. Dent hopped several times near home plate, stung by the force of the foul tip. He hobbled back to the on-deck circle, where Mickey Rivers offered to loan him his bat. Taking his teammate up on the offer, Dent returned to continue his at-bat against Torrez.

On the next pitch, Dent lifted a high fly ball toward left field. The ball had only moderate depth, making it nothing more than a routine fly ball in most major league ballparks. But this was Fenway Park. The ball had plenty of depth to reach the park’s famed left-field wall. There was just one question: did the ball have enough height to clear the wall, or would it hit the top of the wall and remain in the field of play?

Yankee fans watching the game on television struggled to see the ball against the October background of late afternoon sun and shadows. “Deep to left,” cried Bill White, announcing the game on WPIX-TV in New York. “Yastrzemski will not get it… it’s a home run!! A three-run home run by Bucky Dent…” White’s words provided Yankee fans with confirmation of something they could not believe they had seen—a home run by the Yankees’ weakest hitter, a man who had managed all of four home runs during the first 162 games.

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Pete Dexter will be at Barnes and Noble near Lincoln Center tonight at 7:30. He’ll be talking about his new book Spooner.

I’m so there.

I didn’t pick this cause it’s been sampled, or because I especially like the strings, but simply because there are few sounds in this world that are more beautiful than the sound of Clifford Brown playing the trumpet.

Mr. Leitch on Mr. Jeter:

Jeter is just a magnet for positive energy. Whatever he actually does on the field, fans and teammates believe in Derek Jeter because he believes in himself. When he jogged back to the dugout after his groundout, his pace and cadence were the same as they would have been if he’d knocked the winning run home. He’s always like that. Jeter, above anything else, is a study in the power of human confidence. He has become the hero of the Bronx because he effortlessly exudes the qualities we wish we had ourselves: He is always confident, always composed, always in control. Baseball is an unpredictable game; failure is a constant. But Jeter doesn’t allow himself to absorb it, or even really acknowledge it. He just keeps cruising along, as if playing shortstop for the most scrutinized, glorified sports franchise in the world every day for the past fourteen years is the most natural thing on earth.

…Then Jeter showed up, in 1996. He was a fully formed True Yankee from the get-go. Jeter had been a Yankees fan all his life, which, considering how miserable the team was during much of that time span, showed real commitment for a kid who grew up in Michigan. Jeter was instantly the face of a franchise that, with the retirement of Don Mattingly, desperately needed one. Jeter was everything a marketer or a fan could hope for from a baseball superstar: humble, fresh-faced, energetic, bi-racial, constantly hustling, seemingly innocent, entirely devoted to the game of baseball…he was a new kind of Yankees hero. He was not a hulking slugger or bigmouthed self-promoter. He was the Professional. He was, for a franchise always eager to bulk up its own iconography, the ideal brand, someone willing to play the part as long as you let him play his game. The titles came, and the Yankees were shaped in Jeter’s image, intense competitors devoted to the team at all costs. He was—instantly—the true New York sports hero.

Man, is this ever cool.

And while you are at Zell’s Pinstripe Blog, dig this depressing stuff:

Today’s news is powered by . . . The Year of the Cat:

• Yanks set team record for dingers.
• A-Rod has a nice inning for himself.
• Limited number of playoff game seats go on sale tomorrow.
• 20 moments that shaped baseball in NY this season.  Here is the top Yankee moment:

1. June 24 at Atlanta

The offense is sagging and the Yankees are five games back in the American League East race. Brian Cashman flies in for a surprise visit, challenging the hitters in a meeting. Joe Girardi is ejected while the Yankees are being no-hit in the sixth. Francisco Cervelli’s homer fuels a seven-game winning streak, and the Yankees never look back.

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Monday morning commute. IRT. Let me speak in stereotypes.

Skinny white girl about twelve comes on the train. She’s wearing a colorful outfit–purple pants, turquoise cowboy boots. Bends down to put her metro card in her bag. Middle-aged black woman behind her turns around and tells the girl that she has bumped into her three times. The woman’s voice is sharp. The girl, shy, apologizes. Then, the girl’s father, milktoast white guy, steps in and tells the woman that she’s being a little harsh. They exchange words. 

A gay Latin guy, wearing headphones, comes to the black woman’s defense. Calls the little girl a racist. Starts going on about how she shouldn’t be treated any differently because she’s a white girl.  Which reminded me of an old family saying. 

Think Yiddish accent:  It’s not you, mind your own, sit down, shut up.

Then, burly white guy in a business suit tells the gay guy that if he’s such a gentleman, he should stand and give up his seat to one of the women. Next, an older Latin woman starts arguing with the Latin guy in Spanish.

And that’s what you call a New York brush fire. The black woman and the Latin guy got up and exited at the same station, leaving a few parting words on their way out. The white girl, dazed, and her father, relieved, exhale.  A think Dominican mother sitting next to me smiles at the girl and the girl thanks her. I talk to the Dominican mother about the nature of angry people and racism.

Happy Monday, folks.

Alex Rodriguez had already hit a three-run homer in the inning when he came up with the bases loaded. Mark Teixeira was intentionally walked ahead of him. The Rays were not about to let Teixeira hit his 40th home run, which would have given him the American League home run crown (he ended the season tied with Rays’ first baseman Carlos Pena). So Rodriguez lofted a fly ball over the fence in right center field, good for a grand slam.

You know how you can’t leave the court without making your last shot, or leave the hitting cage without squaring one up? Well, talk about a way to end the season. Dag. It was the 30th dinger of the year for Rodriguez, and his 100th RBI. Not bad for mising five weeks, eh?

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Final game of the year today. AJ Burnett starts, with Joba due to pitch in relief.

Wunnerful season so far. Let’s hope this is just the start.

Go Git ‘Em Boys!

From Daily News beat writer Mark Feinsand:

Could Joe Girardi’s desire to get the backup catcher some at-bats be a sign that he has bigger things in store for Molina in the playoffs?

Molina, who went 1-for-4, has caught six of A.J. Burnett’s last seven starts, helping the righthander get back on track with three solid outings in a row following a rocky month. Burnett makes his final start of the regular season tomorrow, and Girardi said Molina would be behind the plate, further fueling speculation that Molina and not Jorge Posada will catch Burnett in the postseason.

This was a frequent topic of discussion between Michael Kay and David Cone during Friday night’s YES telecast.

The refrain went something like this:

“Why would you take the bat of either Jorge Posada or Hideki Matsui out of the lineup? … Joe Girardi doesn’t believe in personal catchers…”

The argument reminded me of 2005, when a similar debate regarding who would catch Randy Johnson took place. Joe Torre, then the manager — who also said he didn’t believe in personal catchers — opted to have John Flaherty catch the Big Unit. Johnson failed miserably in his Game 3 start, allowing five earned runs in three innings of what would be an 11-7 loss. Flaherty was pinch-hit for in the bottom half of that third inning. Ultimately, since the Yankees’ offense got Johnson off the hook, Torre’s choice of who to list at the No. 2 position didn’t cost the Yankees the game.

This year’s predicament is different for a couple of reasons: 1) The feud between Burnett and Posada didn’t go public until mid-August. By that time in ’05, Flaherty had already been catching Johnson for two months. 2) Posada’s bout with Burnett isn’t nearly as nasty and didn’t cause ripples in the clubhouse like his ordeal with Johnson. It’s not like Burnett hasn’t pitched well with Posada as his battery mate, either. His start against the Red Sox and Josh Beckett on August 7 at the Stadium was arguably his best of the season.

However, Burnett’s stats since the August 22 debacle at Fenway don’t lie. Subtracting the September 1 start at Camden Yards — in which he gave up six earned runs in 5 1/3 innings with Posada behind the plate — Burnett has averaged 6 1/3 innings pitched, had four outings where he allowed two runs or fewer, and averaged 1.26 strikeouts per innings pitched.

Based on the recent success, Molina probably should catch Burnett. Who starts at DH — either Posada or Matsui — will likely be determined by the Yankees’ ALDS opponent. The Yankees could be looking at either Rick Porcello or Nate Robertson of Detroit, or Nick Blackburn or Carl Pavano of Minnesota, depending on whether Burnett pitches Game 2 or 3. The only scenario that might push Girardi to lean toward Posada at DH is if the left-handed Robertson opposes Burnett. This enables Girardi to take advantage of Posada’s right-handed bat. Doing so would leave some to wonder how Matsui and his .984 OPS against lefties this season could be benched. Isn’t this a good problem for Girardi to have? Why isn’t that being mentioned?

Cone’s take on the debate was that in the postseason, good pitching beats good hitting. First and foremost, a team has to feel comfortable with the starting pitcher. Further, that pitcher has to have confidence in his catcher. By that logic, Molina should catch Burnett next week, whenever his turn is.

As a fan — and let’s face it, we’re all fans here — as long as it’s been since the Yankees won a playoff series, do you care who catches or DHes as long as they win?

Neither do I.

I couldn’t concentrate on the Yankee game tonight (they lost 5-3). Instead, I watched the Tigers lose to the White Sox and thought about what I’d do if I rooted for the Tigers.

Objects would be thrown, items would be broken. Dag, it’s enough to drive you to drink.

At least it makes for an exciting final day of the regular season, don’t it?

Uh, and this is neurotic, superstitious gahbige, but for what it is worth, the Yanks have won exactly 103 games four times in their history: 1942, lost the World Series; 1954, second place; 1980, lost in the playoffs; and 2002, lost in the playoffs. If they win tomorrow, they’ll finish the season with 103 wins.

Then again, I grew up on 103rd street so the number is cool by me. But if I was a superstitious sort…I’m just sayin!

So the Twins pull out a 5-4 win and now it is on the Tigers to win tonight. Man, it’d be great if the Tigers lose somehow, giving some real juice to the final day of the season.

Andy Pettitte goes for the Yanks tonight.

Nobody get hurt and nobody gets hurt.

Time to pad some stats. Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

(And, Let’s Go White Sox.)

Just loved this recent post by my man Steinski:

Like the pack rat I am, I’ve been carrying around the December 1975 copy of Esquire – the theme of the issue is Great American Things – because it contains a lovely profile of Duke Ellington written by photographer/director/author Gordon Parks, illustrated with his photos. In the mid-1950’s Parks traveled with Ellington and his band (probably for LIFE Magazine), and his reminiscences of that time have charming insights about Duke and the band.

In one particularly great story, Duke (also referred to as Edward and Big Red) is sleeping in the backseat of a car driven by Harry Carney, with Parks as a passenger.
Harry Carney, who had been with Edward longer than anyone else in the band, became his driving companion, or better, his private chauffeur. The three of us were approaching San Francisco early one morning after an overnight drive from Los Angeles. In the distance, the Golden Gate Bridge floated eerily in the dawn mist rising above the bay. Harry called Edward, who was asleep in the back seat. “Hey, Big Red, wake up and look over yonder. Looks like something you might want to write about.” Duke stirred awake, wiped his eyes and looked at the bridge. “Majestic. Majestic. Goddamn those white people are smart,” he mumbled and fell back to sleep.

And Duke wasn’t the only one who was good off the cuff. The story continues:

When we reached our hotel, Paul Gonsalves was stumbling out, stoned out of his mind. Edward sleepily looked him over.

“Where you headed so early, my man?”

“Fishing,” Paul answered without stopping.

“Fishing? You’re not dressed for fishing, man.”

“Shit, Duke, I ain’t trying to impress no fish. I just wanna catch some of the bastards. See you later.”