Overheard on the subway this morning. Two teenage boys.
“The Mets are going to kill the Yankees this weekend.”
“Fuck you.”
“The Mets have more heart. The Yankees are overpriced and old.”
“Yeah, and they’re still better than your wack-ass Mets.”
“Fuck you.”
“Jealous.”
“Girl Reading,” By Lucian Freud (1952)
As in another win against the tough Tampa Bay Rays. It’s Nova tonight.
Jeter SS
Granderson CF
Rodriguez DH
Cano 2B
Teixeira 1B
Ibanez LF
Swisher RF
Chavez 3B
Martin C
Never mind the preamble: Let’s Go Yank-ees!
[Photo Via: Quirino Paulino]
Man, every time I hear the name “Joey Votto” I think of Bob Sheppard.
Over at SI.com, Tom Verducci makes the case for Votto being the best hitter in the game:
I could throw a gazillion other numbers at you to help define the wizardry of Votto, but I like these three best:
• Votto has not popped up to the infield all season. In fact, he has popped out to the infield only three times in 2,138 plate appearances over the
past four seasons.• The average NL hitter bats .198 when he is behind in the count. Votto hits .300 when he is behind in the count.
• Votto has pulled a ball foul into the stands only once in his entire major league career. Once.
“Sure, I remember it,” he said. “It was my rookie year. It wasn’t that deep — and maybe 20, 30 feet foul. I haven’t hit a long home run foul in my whole career.”
I was stunned when Votto told me that. We were talking about pull hitting last Friday because I was intrigued that he had not hit a home run to rightfield all year. (Lo and behold, he smacked a Wandy Rodriguez breaking ball into the rightfield seats about two hours later.) I told him I’ve noticed that he almost never gets out on his front foot with the barrel well in front of the plate — a mistake of timing that often creates the empty drama of the majestic but worthless foul “home run.” And that’s when he told me he never has hit one of those crowd teasers.
Dag.
[Photo Via: Elevated Encouragement]
Rest in peace Ray Bradbury. A master.
Here is the Paris Review Q&A with Bradbury:
Science fiction is the fiction of ideas. Ideas excite me, and as soon as I get excited, the adrenaline gets going and the next thing I know I’m borrowing energy from the ideas themselves. Science fiction is any idea that occurs in the head and doesn’t exist yet, but soon will, and will change everything for everybody, and nothing will ever be the same again. As soon as you have an idea that changes some small part of the world you are writing science fiction. It is always the art of the possible, never the impossible.
Imagine if sixty years ago, at the start of my writing career, I had thought to write a story about a woman who swallowed a pill and destroyed the Catholic Church, causing the advent of women’s liberation. That story probably would have been laughed at, but it was within the realm of the possible and would have made great science fiction. If I’d lived in the late eighteen hundreds I might have written a story predicting that strange vehicles would soon move across the landscape of the United States and would kill two million people in a period of seventy years. Science fiction is not just the art of the possible, but of the obvious. Once the automobile appeared you could have predicted that it would destroy as many people as it did.
The good peoples at Saveur give us 28 recipes for Strawberry season. Indeed.
[Photo Credit: Straight from the Farm]
The Spurs and the Heat are up against it now. Both had 2-0 leads, both have lost 3 straight and have to win on the road in order to force Game 7. I think Miami has a better chance of doing that, but I’d like to see the Spurs win Game 6 and then I don’t care what happens. Got no trouble rooting for OKC. My only rooting interest is to see the Heat lose. Be great if the Celtics can do it. I’m not convinced they can but I can always hope…
[Photo Credit: Banksy]
Standing at the bus stop last night I overheard two men in their thirties talking.
“Did you see this yet?”
“Adam Sandler: Not funny. Not even a little bit.”
“Dude, he makes me laugh.”
“He’s a galloping horse’s ass on parade and so are you.”
“Bet you wish you had his money.”
“Bet you’re right about that.”
They both laughed.
This is the kind of game we pined for during the first couple of months this season when the Yanks seemed like they were behind 2-0 before the game started. A laugher, free and easy.
That’s what we got tonight as the Yanks took advantage of some poor fielding by the Rays, who made three errors, and an off-night from James Shields. It was nice to see Nick Swisher smack a couple of base hits but even better to watch Russell Martin line a grand slam over the fence in right field (he had three hits in all).
Andy Pettitte pitched a wonderful game. Over seven-and-a-third, he allowed a couple of hits and a couple of walks and struck out ten, though after almost every inning he walked off the mound talking to himself. Not muttering it was more like lecturing. Just another old craftsman, working out some kind of private contest for himself, perfection required.
Final score: Yanks 7, Rays 0.
Ahhhhhhh.
[Photo Credit: Pus-Say; Sleepless Dreams; Mike Stobe/Getty Images]
Yanks and Rays at the Stadium.
Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Mark Teixeira 1B
Raul Ibanez LF
Nick Swisher RF
Eric Chavez DH
Russell Martin C
Never mind the shift: Let’s Go Yank-ees!
[Photo Credit: Joe Martz]
Jonathan Abrams profiles Stephen Jackson over at Grantland:
Jackson is a person whose past influences his present and will probably shape his future. Is he a good person who occasionally mixes in the bad? Or a bad person sometimes inclined to do good? The answer, with most like Jackson, is not as black and white as the familiar jersey he wears again.
“A lot of people mistake my passion for the game with being a thug or a gangster,” he said. “I’m far from that. I’m just a guy who come up in the hood and came from nothing and made something and hasn’t changed. I’m still going to be in Port Arthur all summer walking around with no shoes on, eating crawfish, barbecue, going fishing. I’m going to be the same guy, and I take pride in saying that because a lot of NBA players are not touchable. They’re not real. But I take pride in being a regular guy that people can walk up to and I’m not Hollywood. I want people to understand that that’s the person I am and I’m not changing for nothing.”
Over at SI.com, our pal Jay Jaffe says the Mets’ moment in the sun may not last.
[Photo Credit: Michael G. Baron]
Oh, man. The question is–how to find a good baguette in New York?
“Cigar Box Pitcher and New York York Herald,” By William Harnett (1880)
