Monthly Archives: August 2012

David Lebovitz’s pickled peppers.

Let’s get small with Jean-Joseph Renucci.

I’m that dickhead who gives dirty looks to people wearing Red Sox gear in New York. It’s a private game I play and yeah, it’s pitiful. I haven’t seen as many Red Sox hats this summer, though. And when I do see them, my instinct is not to sneer but to be impressed. These are your Red Sox fans, not the bandwagon variety. Plus, there is little pleasure to be had in busting chops when a team is lousy. It’s just too easy.

Which isn’t to say that I’m not happy that the Red Sox have been awful. I just won’t crow about it.

[Photo Credit: Bags]

Oh, My My My. [Illustration Via: Gruesome Twosome]

Over at The Classical, Kevin Koczwara has a nice piece on our pal Glenn Stout:

As the series editor of The Best American Sports Writing, Stout’s eyes and opinion are important, and his up or down vote is one that can help advance a career, or not. He doesn’t have final say on what goes into each book, but he has the first say on a story. With each year, Stout’s reading load grows—there are more outlets, more submissions, more worthy stories. He culls those thousands of submissions and passes them on to that year’s guest editor. The edition editor then picks through the smaller batch and selects what he or she likes most; those final stories go into the book. Theirs is the last vote, but Stout’s comes first.

“There’s a certain aspirational sports writing that is being done that is more ‘I’ oriented that I think, rightly or wrongly, has been impacted [by] growing up reading this book,” Stout told me. “And that’s something that could not have been foreseen when this book began. I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. I mean, I love it when the writing works. But when I see the aspirational that doesn’t work then I hope I’m not responsible.”

[Photo Credit: NBC]

The bullpen was the story on Sunday. Rafael Soriano was hit in the hand by a line drive in the ninth inning but seems to be okay.

Yanks okay too as they beat the Indians, 4-2. Mike Axisa has the happy recap over at River Ave. Blues.

Yanks aim to not suck this afternoon in Cleveland.

We believe this can be achieved.

So, never mind the sermon: Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Mural by Spray, via This Isn’t Happiness]

Love and Happiness Loop (Monty Alexander)

[Photo Credit: Bags]

Hard Luck Hiroki Kuroda hit the first batter he faced last night, walked a guy and gave up a three-run homer. That was all the runs the Indians would score and wouldn’t you know it, it was enough to beat the Yanks–3-1 was the final.

It’s a game that is too frustrating to recall in detail. It’s Sunday morning now and thinking back on it too much would just needlessly angry up the blood. The Yanks had their chances.

Here’s the game in a nutshell: Top of the sixth, Jeter singles, Swisher walks, Cano singles. Bases loaded, nobody out. Teixeira hits one to dead center, deep part of the park. Ball reaches the warning track. Jeter scores, Swisher and Cano tag. Okay, nice enough. Then Chavez hits a bullet line drive but it’s right at the third baseman. Bad luck. Martin hits a shot to deep right field, but again, to the warning track. Bases loaded, nobody out, next three guys hit the ball well. One run.

Moving on.

[Photo Credit: Kurt Nimmo]

It’s our man Hiroki in Cleveland tonight. Chance for the Yanks to take advantage of a Rays loss. Justin Masterson is no slouch though.

Derek Jeter SS
Nick Swisher RF
Robinson Cano 2B
Mark Teixeira 1B
Curtis Granderson CF
Eric Chavez 3B
Russell Martin C
Raul Ibanez DH
Ichiro Suzuki LF

Never mind the waiver wire: Let’s Go Yank-ees!

Like some other dudes do…

[Photo Via: Zombiegotham]

I was at Citifield last night. Yes, even after Fat Guy did his Fruit Loops impression.

Spent the entire game like a dildo, checking Twitter on my phone as this improbable Red Sox-Dodgers trade unfolded. And checking Gameday to see how the Yanks were doing. Only looked up to see a pitch being thrown so that a foul ball didn’t come my way and hit me in the noggin.

Yanks won, as you all know. Derek Jeter got hit in the helmet and was pissed off. C.C. Sabathia pitched well, Nick Swisher’s two-run homer was the difference and Rafael Soriano had a Johnny Sweatgland How-Do-You-Spell-Relief? 9th inning, putting the tying runs in scoring position with nobody out. He got out of it, no runs allowed, the Yanks won, the Rays lost, and the Red Sox are about to get ride of close to $300 million headaches.

Otherwise, it was a dull night. Oh, yeah, Mets lost.

Yanks look to get their head out of their asses tonight in Cleveland.

It’s the return of the Big Fella. No panic here. But if the Yanks lose a couple this weekend, there will be cursing-a-plenty round these parts.

Derek Jeter SS
Nick Swisher RF
Robinson Cano 2B
Mark Teixeira 1B
Curtis Granderson CF
Eric Chavez 3B
Russell Martin C
Raul Ibanez DH
Ichiro Suzuki LF

Never mind the Rays: Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Credit: Alex Prager]

Dig this Instagram gallery over at SI.com.

[Photo Credit: Brad Mangin]

If you’ve never read Chris Health’s 2005 GQ profile of Merle Haggard, do yourself a favor and check it out:

“You know, I woke up this morning in a wimpy mood,” he says. “Men don’t like to be wimps. But I have reached the point, it’s really sad to mention, I have reached the point where… They always say you’ll know when it’s time. Speaking of the place in your life when you finally say: Do you want to die on a highway or do you want to die in bed? I’m tired of it. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of singing ‘Okie from Muskogee.’ I’m tired of the whole gig. Somewhere around my age, people begin to feel insignificant and small and unnecessary and not so much in demand.” There is plenty of work out there for him, but its attraction is waning. “I guess I’ve come to a point in my life where…I hate to admit fear. I hate to even admit fear’s part of my reasoning. But I have some dementia that’s coming around, and there’s a bit of a nervous tic—I don’t know what that’s about; I guess it’s growing old. And I don’t feel as bulletproof as I should feel…. I’ve traveled all over the world without a seat belt for forty-two years. Forty-three. And I’m a bit of a gambler and have a feel for odds. The odds are really against me.”

…There’s a steel and sadness in his face, a proud combination of force and frailty; whatever the gracious opposite of serenity is, that is what Merle Haggard oozes. He smiles. “There comes a time when you can’t do it anymore. It’s a double-edged sword: if I can manage to get over the wispiness and continue to go, I’ll probably live longer and probably enjoy it. But I’m at that pivot point in my life where I can swing that way and give my last bit of strength to the music of my life, or I can give it to my little family here.” He gestures toward the open kitchen, empty now, but through which his wife and children are constantly flowing, past the post on which their heights over the years have been marked. “And music has supported my little family; my little family knows what music means to me. I am music. Music is me, and I am music. But which one is which? Which one do you favor in the latter moments?”

[Photo Credit: Michael Macor, S.F. Chronicle]

Nice piece on Eric Chavez in the Wall Street Journal today by Daniel Barbarisi.

Photograph Via: The Indifference.

Serious Eats gives us Pearl Sugar Brioche Buns.

[Photo Credit: Carrie Vasios]

Here’s our great friend Pete Fornatale celebrating his father.

Yeah, it’s a rip-off–one of the biggest rip-off joints of our lifetime–but let’s take a moment to appreciate the passing of Colony Records. You don’t have to like a place to miss it.

Gothamist has the details.