Daily Archives: February 17, 2010

More Vermeer…

Woman Weighing Pearls (Woman Weighing Gold), 1662-64, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

Man, spring seems so far away from New York. But down south and out west, the players have begun to arrive at training camp.  Joe Girardi met with the press this afternoon.

Great Expectations. So, what’s new?

Triple Decker Fun:

Plus:

Plus:

Equals, Such:

I was a picky eater as a kid. As an adult, I’m far more curious and willing to try new things. I’m no food adventurer but I’m not so ascared either. I like most vegetables. I give myself little missions–learn to like brussels sprouts, learn to like fennel. I haven’t gotten to lima beans yet.

I’ve been trying to like radishes for a minute now and I’m just not there. I don’t hate them but I can’t get into them either.  I’ve sliced them paper thin, salted them and made quick pickles. I’ve tried them plain, tossed into salads, and…nothing. A bitter garnish. Not terrible but not inviting. The taste is too strong, too peppery for me. Still, I like the idea of radishes. The crispness, the snap. The color. They look great.  So I keep an eye out for something that’ll turn me around.

I found it in the latest issue of Saveur magazine. 

(more…)

Steve Goldman and the BP crew will be at the Yogi Berra Museum and Learning Center to talk about the upcoming season and the new BP annual on Sunday, February 28th from 3-5 in the afternoon. For more information, call:  (973) 655-6891.

If you are in the neighborhood, stop in and see what the smart guys have to say.

Some sad news to report as former pitcher Jim Bibby passed away last night. I’ll never forget the images of Bibby, an enormous man, pitching in the 1979 Whirled Serious, the first Serious I vividly remember. He just seemed so much bigger than everyone else, including the Cobra and Pops Stargell.

Condolences go out to his family.

[Photo Credit: Sports Illustrated]

Back in December of 2008, I linked to a terrific article that Roger Ebert wrote about his college classmate, William Nack. Ebert lost his lower jaw and the ability to speak four years ago, but he has never stopped writing or watching movies. In the latest issue of Esquire, Ebert is profiled by the talented Chris Jones:

Roger Ebert can’t remember the last thing he ate. He can’t remember the last thing he drank, either, or the last thing he said. Of course, those things existed; those lasts happened. They just didn’t happen with enough warning for him to have bothered committing them to memory — it wasn’t as though he sat down, knowingly, to his last supper or last cup of coffee or to whisper a last word into Chaz’s ear. The doctors told him they were going to give him back his ability to eat, drink, and talk. But the doctors were wrong, weren’t they? On some morning or afternoon or evening, sometime in 2006, Ebert took his last bite and sip, and he spoke his last word.

Ebert’s lasts almost certainly took place in a hospital. That much he can guess. His last food was probably nothing special, except that it was: hot soup in a brown plastic bowl; maybe some oatmeal; perhaps a saltine or some canned peaches. His last drink? Water, most likely, but maybe juice, again slurped out of plastic with the tinfoil lid peeled back. The last thing he said? Ebert thinks about it for a few moments, and then his eyes go wide behind his glasses, and he looks out into space in case the answer is floating in the air somewhere. It isn’t. He looks surprised that he can’t remember. He knows the last words Studs Terkel’s wife, Ida, muttered when she was wheeled into the operating room (“Louis, what have you gotten me into now?”), but Ebert doesn’t know what his own last words were. He thinks he probably said goodbye to Chaz before one of his own trips into the operating room, perhaps when he had parts of his salivary glands taken out — but that can’t be right. He was back on TV after that operation. Whenever it was, the moment wasn’t cinematic. His last words weren’t recorded. There was just his voice, and then there wasn’t.

Now his hands do the talking. They are delicate, long-fingered, wrapped in skin as thin and translucent as silk. He wears his wedding ring on the middle finger of his left hand; he’s lost so much weight since he and Chaz were married in 1992 that it won’t stay where it belongs, especially now that his hands are so busy. There is almost always a pen in one and a spiral notebook or a pad of Post-it notes in the other — unless he’s at home, in which case his fingers are feverishly banging the keys of his MacBook Pro.

He’s also developed a kind of rudimentary sign language. If he passes a written note to someone and then opens and closes his fingers like a bird’s beak, that means he would like them to read the note aloud for the other people in the room. If he touches his hand to his blue cardigan over his heart, that means he’s either talking about something of great importance to him or he wants to make it clear that he’s telling the truth. If he needs to get someone’s attention and they’re looking away from him or sitting with him in the dark, he’ll clack on a hard surface with his nails, like he’s tapping out Morse code. Sometimes — when he’s outside wearing gloves, for instance — he’ll be forced to draw letters with his finger on his palm. That’s his last resort.

While you are at it, dig this piece by Ebert on food–Nil by mouth:

I mentioned that I can no longer eat or drink. A reader wrote: “That sounds so sad. Do you miss it?” Not so much really. Not anymore. Understand that I was never told that after surgery I might lose the ability to eat, drink and speak. Eating and drinking were not mentioned, and it was said that after surgery I might actually be able to go back to work on television.

Success in such surgery is not unheard of. It didn’t happen that way. The second surgery was also intended to restore my speaking ability. It seemed to hold together for awhile, but then, in surgeon-speak, also “fell apart.”

A third surgery was attempted, using a different approach. It seemed to work, and in a mirror I saw myself looking familiar again. But after a little more than a week, that surgery failed, too. Blood vessels intended to attach the transplanted tissue lost function, probably because they had been weakened by radiation. A fourth surgery has been proposed, but I flatly reject the idea. To paraphrase a line from “Adaptation’s” orchid collector: “Done with surgery.”

During that whole period I was Nil by Mouth. Nobody said as much in so many words, but it gradually became clear that it wouldn’t ever be right again. There wasn’t some soul-dropping moment for that realization. It just…developed. I never felt hungry, I never felt thirsty, I wasn’t angry because the doctors had done their best. But I went through a period of obsession about food and drink. I came up with the crazy idea of getting some Coke through my g-tube. My doctors said, sure, a little, why not? For once the sugar and a little sodium wouldn’t hurt.

[Photo Credit: Ethan Hill]

Brian Cashman is intereviewed over at No Maas today. Some good stuff in there, including this:

No Maas: During the offseason you stated that you wanted a right-handed OF on the bench to hit LHP, which is understandable considering Granderson’s track record versus lefties and that Brett Gardner is not yet proven. We advocated for Reed Johnson who is better against left-handed pitching than both Randy Winn and Marcus Thames. Why did you move in another direction?

CASH: We looked at Reed Johnson quite a bit. He’s a tremendous player. He smashes left-handed pitching. But he has had health issues.

This is how I looked at it. I just traded Melky Cabrera, I just traded Austin Jackson, I don’t have much outfield depth in the farm system…so my 4th outfielder has to have a history of playing full seasons. I need an everyday guy. My outfield depth is an area of weakness. I need someone my manager can turn to.

Randy Winn didn’t hit left-handed pitching this past season, but he has in previous seasons. He can play all the all the outfield positions, he can pinch hit, pinch run, steal a base for you….he gives you better coverage for our lack of outfield depth.

Reed Johnson plays like Brett Gardner. He plays hard. He plays really hard. He has make up. He has tenacity. Everything I want. He gets after it extremely hard, but I can’t afford any health issues with our lack of depth.

I really wrestled with some of these decisions, more so on the smaller ones than the bigger ones. But I have to give my manager more coverage. If someone gets hurt, I’ll be happy we have Randy Winn there.

Nice job by John Kreese. Kudos to No Maas for a good get.