Monthly Archives: April 2012

Reggie Miller was elected to the basketball Hall of Fame a few days ago. Knicks in Indy tonight.

Go sports.

Because some things are too cool not to share:

Via Kottke.

Time for the Diabolical.

Laff of the Day:

Spring greens wild and other goodness from the earth over at ever-beautiful Hungry Ghost.

Harry Crews passed away late last week. Check out his website.

Paul Iorio remembers his teacher at the Huff Post.

Here’s an NPR interview Crews did with Terry Gross in the 1980s and here is a recent one with Vice Magazine.

Rest in Peace.

Here’s an authentic welcome home after you’ve been gone for a minute. It’s not even that I need to eat a dirty water dog. I just need to see a stand with the words “Sabrett” printed on an umbrella to make me feel right.

Over at the Hardball Times, our old friend Dave Studeman looks at the most critical at-bat of all time.

“Sun Setting Over a Lake,” By Joseph Mailord William Turner (1840)

Albert, Prince, sure. Now, Joey Votto and Matt Cain get paid in full.

Dag.

Will Coach Cal get his first championship? No.

Here’s a good book for you: “Townie,” by Andre Dubus III.

And here is Jill Owens’s wonderful interview with the author over at Powell Books:

Jill: The way that writing seemed to teach you empathy, very directly, was impressive.

Dubus: I’m going to be on the road, and I’m going to have a three-minute interview on some morning TV show. The broadcaster probably won’t have time to read the book. They really want you to just pitch the book. They’ll ask, “What’s it about?” And I’ll end up saying, “I was bullied; I became a fighter, then I became a writer and writing saved my life.”

It sounds so reductive and horridly simplistic, like a TV movie of the week, when I describe it that way. I have disdain for that, but it’s the truth. [Laughter]

I love that line from Hemingway, “The job of the writer is not to judge, but to seek to understand.” We know he didn’t mean that writers aren’t judgmental in life. We can all be judgmental pricks like everybody else, and he certainly had his moments as a man. My father also wrote a beautiful essay about this in his own way, and I think what Hemingway was saying is that when you’re at the desk, the writing asks you to be larger than you may normally be. To be more patient, more merciful, more tolerant, a more disciplined listener, less judgmental, more compassionate.

What’s always drawn me to fiction as a reader is character-driven fiction — not the plot-driven stuff. I don’t like really wordy fiction. I’m not a metafiction fan. I don’t like a bunch of words just for the writer to show off the words. I really like them to be doing something around character and story.

I very quickly found that I couldn’t become my characters without just emptying myself of myself. And very, very soon after I began to write, I really couldn’t imagine punching someone in the face.I very quickly found that I couldn’t become my characters without just emptying myself of myself. And very, very soon after I began to write, I really couldn’t imagine punching someone in the face. You know that scene in the book with Donny C., when he was trying to stick the knife in his neck? I talked to him, and I realized, I would have fought this guy before. He’s obviously a bad-ass punk with a knife, but I’m going to talk him down.

It was writing. It was a combination of the daily practice of emptying myself of myself to receive these characters, combined with my spiritual distaste for the hangover that violence gives you.

One of the things that was confusing, and hopefully I was clear about this in the book, is that I had such mixed feelings. The little boy in me was so pleased at how tough I’d gotten, that I had the courage to step into any situation.

I didn’t go into any great detail about this, because it was really hard to write about without sounding like a blowhard. But in the fight with those Merrimack college kids… There were 11 of them, and I took on all 11 of them before my buddy showed up beside me. We kicked 11 guys out of the campus.

The little boy in me was so thrilled I’d become this kind of guy. The man in me was increasingly concerned. So, it was a combination of this spiritual distaste for violence, which I’d always hated and still do, with the daily practice of writing, that put me on a track that I haven’t gotten off of since.

I’m so full of shit in so many ways, you know. I always say I don’t believe in God, and I really don’t think I believe in a creator. I have a real hard time with that view that seems to me kind of childlike and simplistic. But I do believe in the divine, and I do believe in grace and mystery and spirits, probably, and maybe even angels. I don’t believe in the devil. I love Tom Waits’s line from “Heartattack and Vine”: “There is no devil, there’s just God when he’s drunk.”

From the wide open spaces of New Mexico to the confinement of the city. Sometimes, it takes a few days to adjust, man. This was one of those times because it is easy to get used to that big sky out west. And all that space. I’ve often felt overwhelmed by it. This time, I embraced it and it felt good.

Still, I not sorry to be home. Never am.

[Photo Credit: Elevated Encouragement]

When in Albuquerque…

“Napoleon Dynamite” is an odd deadpan comedy. I remember the first couple of times I caught it on TV I didn’t know what to make of it. Then one day I saw it through to the end and it made me laugh though I didn’t know if I liked it exactly. It has a distinct tone and is self-aware but so sure. My pal Jay Jaffe loves it and every time I catch the movie on TV I can hear Jay laughing and that makes me happy.

Anyhow, it’s worth watching for this scene alone (and a nice job by the director in framing this scene so we can see Napoleon’s entire body):

“Two Tahitian Women,” By Paul Gauguin (1889)

If you’ve never read “The Boxer and the Blonde” by Frank Deford, well, here’s a reminder. It’s a good one:

The boxer and the blonde are together, downstairs in the club cellar. At some point, club cellars went out, and they became family rooms instead. This is, however, very definitely a club cellar. Why, the grandchildren of the boxer and the blonde could sleep soundly upstairs, clear through the big Christmas party they gave, when everybody came and stayed late and loud down here. The boxer and the blonde are sitting next to each other, laughing about the old times, about when they fell hopelessly in love almost half a century ago in New Jersey, at the beach. Down the Jersey shore is the way everyone in Pennsylvania says it. This club cellar is in Pittsburgh.

The boxer is going on 67, except in The Ring record book, where he is going on 68. But he has all his marbles; and he has his looks (except for the fighter’s mashed nose); and he has the blonde; and they have the same house, the one with the club cellar, that they bought in the summer of 1941. A great deal of this is about that bright ripe summer, the last one before the forlorn simplicity of a Depression was buried in the thick-braided rubble of blood and Spam. What a fight the boxer had that June! It might have been the best in the history of the ring. Certainly, it was the most dramatic, alltime, any way you look at it. The boxer lost, though. Probably he would have won, except for the blonde—whom he loved so much, and wanted so much to make proud of him. And later, it was the blonde’s old man, the boxer’s father-in-law (if you can believe this), who cost him a rematch for the heavyweight championship of the world. Those were some kind of times.

The boxer and the blonde laugh again, together, remembering how they fell in love. “Actually, you sort of forced me into it,” she says.

“I did you a favor,” he snaps back, smirking at his comeback. After a couple of belts, he has been known to confess that although he fought 21 times against world champions, he has never yet won a decision over the blonde—never yet, as they say in boxing, outpointed her. But you can sure see why he keeps on trying. He still has his looks? Hey, you should see her. The blonde is past 60 now, and she’s still cute as a button. Not merely beautiful, you understand, but schoolgirl cute, just like she was when the boxer first flirted with her down the Jersey shore. There is a picture of them on the wall. Pictures cover the walls of the club cellar. This particular picture was featured in a magazine, the boxer and the blonde running, hand in hand, out of the surf. Never in your life did you see two better-looking kids. She was Miss Ocean City, and Alfred Lunt called him “a Celtic god,” and Hollywood had a part for him that Errol Flynn himself wound up with after the boxer said no thanks and went back to Pittsburgh.

Lost amidst the concerns over the shoulder inflammation experienced by Michael Pineda, one of the most interesting stories of Yankee camp has involved the status of two outfielders who are at a crossroads in their careers. Justin Maxwell and Chris Dickerson are both capable of serving as fifth outfielders on a major league roster, but they are finding no room in a crowded and well-established outfield. The Yankees are set to open the new season with five outfielders, with three of the slots taken by starters Brett Gardner, Curtis Granderson, and Nick Swisher, and the other two going to DH platoon partners Andruw Jones and Raul Ibanez.

Unfortunately, the Yankees cannot send either Dickerson or Maxwell to Triple-A, at least not without passing through waivers. Both players are out of options, and both are likely to be claimed by another team if the Yankees try to sneak them through the waiver wire. So the Yankees may be forced to trade one or both of them, or risk losing them for nothing more than the waiver price.

Maxwell, in particular, has opened the eyes of the Yankee brass with his speed, range, and live bat. Like Dickerson, he can play all three outfield positions, which is important given the defensive limitations of Ibanez and the age of Jones. Mad Max might also be the fastest runner in the organization, making him a potential weapon as a pinch-runner. But he’s also 28 years of age, hardly the age of a true prospect, and coming off of major surgery to his throwing shoulder.

So what should the Yankees do? Perhaps the most sensible thing would be to chuck the obsession with a 12-man pitching staff and carry Maxwell as the sixth outfielder. But I just don’t think the Yankees are daring enough to try something different. If that’s indeed the case, then a trade would make the most sense. There are teams, such as the Mets, who are desperately in need of outfield help. With Andres Torres sidelined by leg problems and most of their alternatives better suited to backup or minor league duty, Maxwell could probably start in center field for the Mets right now. The Mets and Yankees hardly ever make trades, but the circumstances might be right for a current exchange, provided the Mets are willing to fork over a C-level prospect from the lower reaches of their minor league system…

***

The injury to Pineda will not only change the configuration of the starting rotation, but it will alter the dynamic of the bullpen. With a healthy Pineda, Freddy Garcia appeared to be the odd man out of the rotation and likely would have been ticketed for long man duty in the pen. Now that Garcia will be starting, the Yankees will have an opening for a long reliever. It figures to be one of three Triple-A prospects: D.J. Mitchell, David Phelps, and Adam Warren. Of the three, Warren throws the hardest, but Mitchell may be best suited to relief work because of his hard sinker.

Earl Weaver would certainly approve of the Yankees’ plan to use a pitching prospect in long relief. The former Orioles skipper was a big believer in breaking in his young pitchers in the relatively pressure-free role of long relief. If they succeeded out of the bullpen, Weaver would then challenge them further by pushing them into the rotation. Weaver certainly had a long record of success with young pitchers in Baltimore, from Jim Palmer and Dave McNally to Doyle Alexander and Ross Grimsley to Mike Flanagan and Scott McGregor.

The Yankees can only hope for similar success from either Mitchell, Phelps, or Warren.

***

After a poor start to the spring training season, Raul Ibanez has shown some life in a body that is closing in on 40. He has hit three home runs over the last week, while showing power to both left and right field. Even if Ibanez had continued to struggle in Grapefruit League play, he was never going to lose his job on the Opening Day roster. Still, the Yankees remain on red alert with regard to the DH position. If Ibanez struggles over the first couple of months of the season, do not be at all surprised if the Yankees cut bait with him and look very seriously at the possibility of signing Johnny Damon. Ibanez is coming off a subpar season in Philadelphia, and given his age, it shouldn’t be any shock if he turns out to be cooked as a major league hitter.

Of all the remaining unsigned free agents, Damon is the best available player. He still has sufficient power and speed to make him dangerous, even if he can’t play the outfield anymore. His OPS of .743 was significantly better than Ibanez’ mark of .707. And he did so without the benefit of having Citizens Bank Park as his home field.

So why hasn’t Damon found a job yet, with the regular season just days away? Damon has been hurt by two factors this off-season: he’s insistent on wanting an everyday DH role because of his pursuit of 3,000 hits, and he’s a Scott Boras client, which can be a discouraging factor to some potential suitors. If Damon were smart, he’d willingly sign as a platoon DH with the Yankees, if only because some playing time is better than no playing time. If Damon were to hit well enough, there’s always a possibility that the Yankees would expand his role and make him the regular DH, though he’d have to concede some DH time to Alex Rodriguez, Derek Jeter, and Nick Swisher. But by continuing to sit on the sidelines, Damon won’t be able to impress anybody.

Yankees aside, I hope that Damon signs with some major league club between now and May. Not only can the man still hit, but he brings an energy to the ballpark and to the clubhouse. He’s a fun player to watch. Without a doubt, Johnny Damon should play somewhere in 2012.

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

Spent last week in New Mexico.

Albuquerque.

Man..it sure was nice.

This here is one sweet tune.