Daily Archives: March 12, 2010

Cheap Laffs are the Best:

The wife picked this one:

Hope II, by Gustav Klimt (1907-08)

One advantage of today’s game being canceled is that it gives me room to share this roundtable discussion about the fifth-starter competition and spring training competitions in general that Jay Jaffe and I participated in over at Steven Goldman’s Pinstriped Bible on YES. A quick sample:

Cliff: . . . what Girardi is looking for (I assume and hope) is execution of pitches, game planning, the ability to set-up hitters, work out of jams, miss bats, avoid hard contact, turn lineups over, etc. This is the one time of year when I agree with those who diminish the importance of statistics. The sample is indeed too small, thus one bad outing, due to the after-effects of the flu or fatigue toward the end of an outing in which the pitcher in question is extending his pitch count, can ruin an ERA. Also, as Girardi has said, the first couple of spring starts are really tune-ups in which starters don’t use all of their pitches and are just trying to build arm strength and get a feel for things. So for Hughes and Chamberlain, as well, the charge is to execute in a high-pressure situation, to show what they can do, but I don’t think that necessarily means the pitcher with the better ERA is going to get the job. If Joba continues to struggle but suddenly finds it in his last two spring starts and looks like the guy from 2007 again, I think the job will be, and should be, his.

Read the rest here.

As expected, more rain washed the Yankees out again Friday afternoon, canceling their game against the Nationals. The Yankee bus turned around before reaching the Nationals’ complex in Viera. Andy Pettitte, who threw a simulated game for his first turn, threw three simulated innings this time as well, getting up to 50 pitches. Joe Girardi says that he’ll be sure to have Pettitte face live batters for his remaining four turns. Austin Romine caught Pettitte. Now they’re saying Derek Jeter had food poisoning yesterday, not the flu. The Upcoming Schedule on the left sidebar is updated with next week’s pitching assignments.

Dig this smooth cover of the Al Green classic:

Later sampled here:

…and here:

A couple of nights ago I got on the BX 7 and said hello to a driver that I didn’t recognize. It was rush hour, the bus was crowded, and the driver, who looked to be in his mid-fifties, drove in fits and starts, with a heavy foot on the break. It was enough to make you sick to your stomach, one of those instances that made me appreciate competent drivers.

I appreciate good workers in all walks of life–I’ve talked about my old barber at length in this space–which is why I make it a point to say “thank you” to the motorman–or woman–on the subway as I leave the train. I dig professionals. Who says “thanks” to them, after all? And yet, they help get us where we need to go. I always appreciate people who are professional because that’s what I aspire to be–though I don’t always succeed.

That in mind, I went to Resto, a Belgian-influenced restaurant on 29th street, with an old pal last night. I’ve been meaning to go for a minute now, mainly to try their hangover pasta, a dish that comes highly recommended. Unfortunately, they don’t serve it for dinner, but any disappointment I felt about that news was overshadowed by how we were greeted by the wait staff. It was early in the evening and only a few tables were filled. It seemed like a free-for-all in terms of who would wait on us because we were approached by three different people in quick succession.

The first dude hovered over out table. I said hello. He ignored me and asked if we wanted tap or bottled water. He left and was replaced by another guy who I said hello too as well. He said hi back, which was an improvement, but then he stumbled through the specials which I had to prompt him to share with us. When he left my friend said, “Dumb and dumber.”

“The food had better be good,” I said.

Then came the third waiter, a brunette, maybe in her early thirties, wearing the Resto uniform t-shirt with the slogan, “Funny, She Doesn’t Look Flemish.” She asked if she could help us with anything on the menu. Relieved, I asked her question after question and then asked her to recommend a salad. She didn’t hesitate in suggesting a raw kale salad with toasted almonds and brown butter vinagrette, “I get it every time I come here to eat.” She explained that the kale was  Tuscan kale, not at all the tough, dark green that we eat cooked. Since that looked like the last thing we’d order and it was the first thing she suggested, we ordered it.

She introduced her self as Lou Ann–it was something with a Lou, I think I’ve got it straight–and answered all of our questions thoughtfully and directly. She was assertive but not a hustler–and spoke to us in a plain, engaging manner. I told her that we were happy to have her helping us after the first two dipshits and she assured us that she’d be our waiter for the rest of the meal.

She was right about the kale salad. The greens had a slightly coarse, pleasing texture, and they were tender, without any bitterness. It was very simple but outstanding. We also had the deviled eggs, served over a fried pork toast, the most popular starter in the place according to Lou Ann. They were sinful but too heavy for me, a little greasy. One was enough for a taste.

We also both had burgers and they were simple but excellent, comparable, if not preferable to the ones I’ve recently had at The Spotted Pig and Five Napkin Burger.

I wanted to try dessert but there was no need. I resisted the urge to try the waffle ice cream sandwich or the apple crumble pie served with gingerbread ice cream and salty carmel. (Salty carmel? Drool.) I had a satisfying cup of tea instead and my pal ordered a regular cup of coffee that he said was so good that he’d come back just for the coffee. On our way out I interruped Lou Ann as she attended to another table to tell her that she was very good at her job. I hope her bosses notice–along with the more than tasty food, her service–attentive but not intrusive–helped make for a warm, pleasant evening.  A reason to go back, for sure.

Which I will do, for the Tuscan kale salad and a stab at that hangover pasta.

I’m hardly an expert on the mechanics of a pitcher, but even I can tell that the finish of Lance McCullers’ delivery in this game against the Blue Jays looks rather painful. When your head is completely turned toward first base just as you’ve released the ball toward home plate, there is something desperately wrong.

As a young reliever with the Padres, McCullers had the kind of talent over which scouts salivate, a powerful right arm that could manhandle opposing hitters. Some folks called him “Baby Goose” because his style mirrored Hall of Fame teammate Rich “Goose” Gossage. I remember well when the Yankees acquired McCullers as part of a package that sent slugging Jack “The Ripper” Clark to the Padres. Reacting to the news with boyish fervor, I thought that the trade would help the Yankees on two fronts. With a 95 mile-an-hour fastball and a knee-bending slider, McCullers appeared to be the young relief ace who could effectively replace the erratic Dave Righetti. That, in turn, would have allowed the Yankees to put Righetti back in the starting rotation, thereby strengthening one of the weakest areas of the team.

Unfortunately, the Yankees didn’t receive my memo. They stubbornly resisted the temptation to change Righetti’s role, instead announcing that McCullers would become his primary setup man in the bullpen. McCullers then compounded the problem by flopping in his first season in pinstripes. After having pitched remarkably well for three seasons in middle relief, McCullers did not take well to a similar role in the Bronx. His ERA rose by more than two runs, from 2.49 to 4.57, despite a reduced workload in 1989. Often unhittable in the National League, McCullers found hitters in the junior circuit to be far less impressed with his arsenal of riding fastballs and diving sliders.

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A month into spring training has yielded little in terms of newsworthy occurrences in Yankee camp.

The team announced it would not discuss or negotiate contract extensions for Mariano Rivera, Derek Jeter, or manager Joe Girardi until after the season, which is consistent with recent club policy. Nick Johnson missed time with back stiffness (uh-oh), but then rejoined the lineup (phew!). Indications, per Girardi, are that Johnson will bat second and that speed isn’t important, since Mark Teixeira and Alex Rodriguez are hitting behind him. That means Curtis Granderson, who Girardi hinted would be the team’s starting center fielder, will likely bat seventh or eighth, depending on Nick Swisher’s exploits. Granderson in center, coupled with Brett Gardner’s wet-noodle bat, means Randy Winn, um, win(n)s the left field job.

That brings us to the first of three major subsections of this week’s column.

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That’s a term you rarely hear in baseball, but Thursday night’s exhibition game between the Braves and Yankees was rained out, and in spring training, that doesn’t result in the game being merely postponed. It’s canceled. A.J. Burnett threw three innings under simulated conditions to stay on schedule, working in his curve for the first time this spring. Jorge Posada caught him. Francisco Cervelli was outfitted with a new S100 batting helmet which he’ll wear at the plate indefinitely to protect against another pitch-induced concussion (though he’ll switch to a less bulky standard helmet when running the bases). Derek Jeter has the flu. More rain possible on Friday. And those are the issues of the day.