Daily Archives: May 17, 2010

When the Yankees arrived in Boston a little more than a week ago, I wrote about how the Red Sox didn’t suck and were getting their season back on track. Then the Yankees went out and beat them 24-6 in the first two games of that series. Thing is, I still believe what I wrote. Even with those two games included, the Sox arrive in the Bronx tonight having won eight of their last 13 and 15 of their last 25. That’s not a breakneck pace, but it is a .600 winning percentage, which translates to 97 wins and, typically, a postseason berth.

The big news in Boston is that Big Papi is back, hitting .387/.412/.710 over his last eight games and having launched five home runs already in May with the month just half over. The big news in the Bronx is that Phil Hughes is the best pitcher in the American League right now. Hughes takes on Daisuke Matsuzaka tonight, which sounds like a mismatch except Matsuzaka just twirled a gem against the Blue Jays in his last start (7 IP, 3 H, 1 R, 0 BB, 9 K). CC Sabathia takes on an achy Josh Beckett tomorrow. The Yankees should sweep this quick two-game set, but even if the do, the Red Sox still don’t suck.

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Last Friday, David Ortiz hit two long home runs against the Tigers, reminding us that he can still turn on a fastball. At least for one night. He creamed both pitches, too. Shades of the old Big Papi not the Old Big Papi.  

The question remains: Is Ortiz back, or was that just a blip? Today at ESPN, Howard Bryant has a long profile on the Boston slugger:

“You have to remember how proud David is,” said his former Minnesota Twins roommate Torii Hunter. “He treats people well. He makes you feel good. He makes it fun to come to the ballpark and play this game. Now, he’s having a tough time, and it looks like the same people he used to make laugh want him out? How would you feel?”

…Last year was supposed to be old news. He had conquered the bad start. He thought he had proved that last year was not evidence of a trend.

“Do you understand that this is killing me?” he tells me one day. “Do you know when I’m going good I cannot sleep because I’m trying to remember everything that I did right so I can repeat it the next day and the next? And that’s when I’m going good. When I’m going bad, it’s even worse because everybody looks to me to be the guy who comes through for this ballclub. It’s like I never sleep anymore.”

Photo by Al Bello/Getty Images

I’ve long ago made peace with the fact that I cannot simply brush off Yankee losses, even in April or May. I am invested, so each defeat carries a sting. The good news, though, is that there’s always another game waiting around the corner and the team is usually at or near the top of the standings. I mourn, I recover, I move on.

But every once in a while a game comes along that cuts a bit deeper; Sunday was one of those games. It started out fine, of course, as the Yankees led 3-1 after six. Worked well for me, since my parents were in town and the kids were eagerly showing off their bike-riding skills outside. I could join the fun in the front yard, comfortable knowing that the bullpen would somehow stumble through the seventh before handing off to Joba in the eighth and Mo in the ninth.

But of course, it didn’t work that way. I managed to sneak in just in time to catch Joba walking off the mound after loading the bases, but I was only mildly concerned. Rivera was on the way, and everything would be fine. Soon enough, it wasn’t.

The thing about baseball, is that we get used to failure. Derek Jeter is my favorite player, a player who has come through in big situations an awful lot in his career, but when he came up as the tying run in the ninth inning, I can’t honestly say that I expected victory. I hoped, but I did not assume.

It’s different with Mariano. He might not be favorite player, but he is the one I expect to succeed every single time. Game 4 in Cleveland, Game 7 in Arizona, and Games 4 and 5 in Boston are all burned into my psyche, but even when taken together, those four games can never outweigh all of the other evidence telling me that Rivera is invincible.

So when Rivera is touched for a loss the way he was on Sunday, it amounts to much more than just a loss in the standings. It shakes me to my core, calling into question all that I believe in. The game itself becomes secondary as I struggle to make sense of what I’ve just seen: Mariano has failed.

Greater writers than I have tried to explain the wonders of Mariano Rivera; rather than attempting to improve upon them, I’ll use the words of the greatest writer of all time. Mariano “is an ever-fixed mark that looks upon tempests and is never shaken; [he] is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.” Sure, Shakespeare was talking about true love, but when it comes right down to it, is there any greater love than Mo?

“Untitled (Tomato and Knife)” By Richard Diebenkorn (1963)

Here’s a great cookbook from Fuchsia Dunlop.

Peep the review from Tigers and Strawberries.

Over at ESPN, Mark Simon looks at the MVPS of the recent Yankees-Red Sox rivalry. The results may surprise you.

[Photo Credit: Cafe Press]

An American Master…

Interesting piece on Duke Ellington’s music and race in America by Claudia Roth Pierpont in The New Yorker:

What did he feel about—what did he contribute to—the mire of American race relations during the last century? Harvey G. Cohen’s “Duke Ellington’s America” (Chicago; $40) attempts to get under the skin of this apparently most imperturbable of men, and the results, if hardly conclusive, are fascinating. One of Ellington’s few confidantes, his sister, Ruth, believed that he concealed himself under “veil upon veil upon veil,” and Cohen is not the first Ellingtonian to treasure the smallest telltale sign of his subject’s human susceptibilities. There is, for example, an uncharacteristically angry letter to a white business associate with whom Ellington wished to break (which is nevertheless signed “with great respect,” and turns out not to have been sent). Cohen’s extremely intelligent and formidably documented book—a welcome change from much that has been published about Ellington—is not a standard biography; Ellington’s personal life and sexual mores are officially beyond its scope. Nor is it a critical work, since it contains no musical analysis and not a great deal of musical description. Cohen’s long hours in the Smithsonian’s huge trove of Ellington papers were devoted to the business records and the scrapbooks, and, as his title suggests, he has broad social issues on his mind. Even Ellington’s professional life is examined in circumscribed areas, almost all of which touch at some point upon race. The question is whether, sooner or later, everything did.

Early in the book, Cohen quotes Ellington’s longtime collaborator Billy Strayhorn objecting to a movie project about Ellington that Strayhorn was told would have a racial theme. “I don’t think it should be racial because I don’t think he’s racial,” Strayhorn protested. “He is an individual.” But Strayhorn concluded, in a line of thinking that seems emblematic of the era and of the personalities involved, “You don’t have to say the darn thing.” Cohen keeps Ellington’s individuality firmly in sight, while detailing such targeted subjects as his relationship with Mills, the white man who has been lauded for launching Ellington’s career and—both before and after they split, in 1939—accused of exploitation; Ellington’s travels with his band in the harshly segregated South of the nineteen-thirties and forties; the overt, if often forgotten, racial programs of much of his music; and his sometimes contentious relationship with the civil-rights movement of the nineteen-fifties and sixties.

A different set of subjects—Ellington’s musical development, his band members, even his women—might have yielded something closer to the post-racial portrait for which Strayhorn argued, a portrait more in accord with the high personal horizon on which Ellington’s sights were set. But “the darn thing” will not go away, and race remains unsurprisingly essential to the story of America’s first widely recognized black artist, and of what he had to say.

You can order “Duke Ellington’s America“, here.

Early beat today, from the more bounce to ounce department:

Sébastien Tellier – Look from Record Makers on Vimeo.

Look lively and Happy Monday.

Drag of a loss yesterday as the Yanks gear-up for two, two-game series against the Rays and Red Sox this week. Still, it’s not nearly as bad as it is in Flushing. The Mets were swept by the Marlins over the weekend and are now in last place. In the Post, Mike Vaccaro writes: The Manager Must Go:

You know whom Manuel sounds like when he constantly praises his team for not quitting? He sounds like Rich Kotite. Absent anything resembling a representative Jets team back in the day, Kotite made playing hard sound like a sacrament rather than a job requirement. It is of little consequence that the Mets play hard more often than not; they also lose more often than not.

It has taken them exactly 16 days to go from a game ahead in first place to six behind, in last place, and as depressing as that may be to Mets fans it is also indicative of just how quickly a baseball season can turn. The season is still salvageable, the wild card winner in the National League still projects to somewhere in the high 80s or low 90s in wins. But at some point you have to prove that an eight-game winning streak in April isn’t the best you’ve got.

Rich Kotite? That’s cold, man.