Four more for DJ, oh, and the return of Phil Hughes.
Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Mark Teixeira 1B
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher RF
Jorge Posada DH
Russell Martin C
Brett Gardner LF
Never mind getting sentimental:
Let’s Go Yank-ees!
[Picture by Bags]
Over at Chicago Magazine Jonathan Eig has a piece on Minnie Minoso. Minnie was the first black man to play for either Chicago team in the majors. He is one of the best players not in the Hall of Fame and he’s some kind of treasure. Dig it.
What do you get at the ice cream truck? I like the strawberry shortcake jammy. Or a vanilla cone with sprinkles. Or, if I’m really knuts, a bomb pop like we did way back when.
Man, it’s hot today. The kind of day you want to escape from New York and find a place to swim. Or just hit an air conditioned movie theater and hang out all day.
It was already steamy early this morning on the way to work. When I got off the subway I held the door open for a family running to get on. They were tourists. The husband was the last one on and he thanked me. I think he was Spanish which made me think of my uncle in Belgium who has been in Spain on his vacation for the past few weeks.
Dude sent me this picture.
Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ bout.
Man, it’s hot out there.
Yo, C.C., time to dead this two-game skid with the quickness. Bring the Thunder.
Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Mark Teixeira DH
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher RF
Jorge Posada 1B
Brett Gardner LF
Francisco Cervelli C
Never mind Thomas Wolfe:
Let’s Go Yank-ees!
Our man RI Yank spotted this street art while on vacation in Rome.
Ted Berg talks turkey with Peter Gammons:
The Seeds of Discontent
By John Schulian
George Solomon made sure I hit the ground running. I covered a couple of Redskins practices- it couldn’t have been much different than covering the Kremlin. Then I took off for Detroit to cover a three-game series with the Orioles, who were very much in the pennant race. And to write two features on them, too, even though I’d never covered a big league game before and they had never laid eyes on me. And I had to cover the Howard University-Wayne State football game, too. My football story was a stinker, but the baseball stuff I could do, partly because I had always followed the game and partly because the Orioles were so easy to get along with. All I remember from that weekend is typing, checking my watch, grabbing cabs, and drinking Vernor’s ginger ale when it was still strictly a Detroit delicacy. It was a trial by fire, and I knew I’d passed when George apologized for not being able to play my Monday feature on Jim Palmer on the front of the section.
It didn’t take George long to figure out that I wasn’t meant to be a beat reporter. It was like I had SHORT ATTENTION SPAN written in neon lights on my forehead. Besides, we had Len Shapiro as the first-string Redskins reporter, and he was terrific-–intrepid, fearless, tireless, all in the face of the paranoid monster that was George Allen. Lenny will tell you today that covering the Redskins, the prize beat in the Post sports department, took years off his life.
Shirley Povich
I filled in wherever George wanted me, the Redskins, a big NFL game, the NBA. But mostly I wrote features and series. One series was about black dominance in the NBA (to show you how long ago this was) and another was about the NFL psyche. I remember Shirley Povich, a lovely, classy gent whose sports column was an institution at the Post for half a century, coming up to me after part one of the NFL series ran and saying, “This is too good for a newspaper.” I was deeply gratified by the praise, but at the same time I was surprised that Shirley, who had been the Post’s sports editor when he was barely out of his teens, would say something like that. I’d read somewhere that Jimmy Cannon had said nothing was too good for a newspaper. He wasn’t in the same league with Shirley when it came to being gracious, but I think Cannon was right on the money about that one.
I had freedom at the Post and yet I didn’t. Nobody told me what to write, so I could continue trying to figure out what my voice was. That was one of the great things about the sports page in those days: it was a laboratory for writing. As time went on, there would be stylish writing throughout all of the country’s best newspapers, much of it inspired by the Post’s Style section, where there was great work done on society dames, movies, TV, books, and rock and roll. But the Post’s sports section was my new playground, and I was happy to be there.
I would have been even happier if George Solomon had let me turn one of my ideas into a story once in a while. But George didn’t do business that way. He bubbled over with his own ideas, many of them good ones but some clinkers too, and he had the energy level of a hyperactive two-year-old. As a result he didn’t expect you to ever be tired. I remember coming off one of his hellish road trips-–Columbus, Ohio to St. Louis to Milwaukee to Toronto to Cleveland in five hectic, work-filled winter days-–and the first thing he said to me was, “Come on in the office. We’ll talk about what you’re going to do next.” I told him that what I was going to do next was pick up my paycheck and go home and go to bed. And that’s what I did.
It wasn’t long before I realized that I was probably the only writer on the staff who questioned authority. Everybody else was too damned nice. I mean, the place was crawling with good guys -– Tom Boswell, Dave Brady, Ken Denlinger, Paul Attner, Angus Phillips, David DuPree, Gerry Strine, Mark Asher. But I never heard any of them raise their voices. And they had reason to, particularly after the copy desk got through making a hash of their prose. All they’d do, however, was whisper among themselves while they licked their wounds. I couldn’t make myself do that. I marched into George Solomon’s office one day and said, “I’ve had more stories fucked up here in five weeks than I had fucked up in five years in Baltimore.” And that was the God’s truth.
Back to woik. Krush Groove.
The wife tells me that one day she’d like to go see the fireworks on the Fourth of July. I say, “Sure, Dear,” and hope she doesn’t ask again until July 5th next year. When I think of going to watch the fireworks I think, “Who do I know that might have a good view?” Because the idea of sitting around for hours in a huge crowd, at the end of a hot, sticky day, well, that just ain’t my idea of fun, no matter how cool the light show is. It’s my New Yorker’s instinct to stay away from crowds at all costs.
Maybe I should just suck it up. Nah. I just need to find a spot, get an angle, work some magic.
After all, nothing like making the wife a heppy ket, is there?
Mariano Rivera is sore, according to the New York Post. Nothing that requires an MRI, understand, and Rivera is “not concerned,” but it’s something to be be aware of.
I’m still grumbling over Burnett’s performance in the seventh last night. Didn’t buy the papers on my way to work, just looked at them on-line now. C’mon, Meat, you’ve got to be better than that.
[Photo Credit: Mike Stobe, Getty Images]
Thanks in part to a generous strike zone tonight’s starting pitchers A.J. Burnett and Josh Tomlin cruised. They had something to do with it too, and both pitchers were in fine form. The Yanks didn’t get a hit until the seventh inning when Mark Teixeira singled. Robinson Cano followed with a base hit and then Nick Swisher drove them home with a double to the gap in left center.
A 2-0 lead seemed formidable the way Burnett was throwing but he found trouble in the bottom of the inning. He walked Grady Sizemore, who moved to second on a wild pitch but got two outs when Lonnie Chisenhall popped a ball in foul territory. Alex Rodriguez went back for it, Brett Gardner raced in. Neither of them caught it though somebody sure as hell should have made the play. So Chisenhall walked and Burnett fell apart. He gave up an RBI single to Shelley Duncan and then a three-run home run to Austin Kearns. Revenge of the ex-Yanks.
Burnett pitched good enough to lose.
An eighth inning solo homer by Curtis Granderson gave the Yanks hope but Cory Wade served up a two-run shot to Carlos Santana in the bottom of the inning and the fireworks were set to pop in Cleveland.
A hard, unfortunate loss on George’s birthday.
Final Score: Indians 6, Yankees 3.
Nuts.
Baseball all day. Hope everyone has some good eats, stays cool (ah, dreams of a pool or a lake), and most importantly, stays safe.
The Captain is back. Cliff’s got the preview.
Here’s the line-up:
Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Mark Teixeira 1B
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher RF
Jorge Posada DH
Russell Martin C
Brett Gardner LF
Let’s Go Yank-ees!
[Picture via the cool ass site, Swampy]
Mike Fox on “The Africa Project,” 1966
In the fall of 1984, my brother, sister and I met Mike Fox, one of my dad’s old friends. My sister and I were thirteen. A few months later, Mike and I started a correspondence that continues to this day. Here’s his first letter to me.
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It was all set up. Freddy Garcia pitched a wonderful game and the Yanks led 2-1 going to the bottom of the ninth on a wet afternoon in Queens. Enter Sandman and the Great Mariano retired the first two batters.
That’s a wrap, right? The fans headed for the parking lot. But it’s not always that easy, even for the best. Jason Bay walked, Luke Duda singled and with two strikes Ronny Paulino slapped a cutter that didn’t cut far enough into right field and the game was tied.
Then, a ground ball went through Ramiro Pena’s legs:
Brett Gardner came up firing…
…and nailed Duda at the plate to send the game into extra innings.
But that was it for Mo and it came as no surprise with him gone, Jason Bay drove home the winning run for the home team in the bottom of the 10th. So the Yanks blow a chance for the sweep and the Mets head out to Los Angeles feeling better about themselves.
Final Score: Mets 3, Yanks 2.
As the Dude says, “That’s a bummer, man.” But these things happen, even to Rivera. So let’s not get un-Dude about anything. It was still a good weekend even if the Yanks couldn’t put the cherry on top. Tomorrow is another day.
Let’s Go Yank-ees!
Three-quarters of the Yankees’ infield have been voted to start the All-Star Game (Mark Teixeira will have to settle for finishing behind Adrian Gonzalez who is the best player in the American League). Curtis Granderson has also been voted as a starter. Russell Martin and Mariano Rivera are also in. Meanwhile, Ivan Nova has been sent down to the minors. Looks as if Phil Hughes is back and they want to keep Nova pitching regularly.
It is rainy in New York so the game might take a while. Here’s the line-up:
Brett Gardner LF
Curtis Ganderson CF
Mark Teixeira 1B
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher RF
Russell Martin C
Ramiro Pena SS
Freddy Garcia RHP
Never mind the hangover:
Let’s Go Yank-ees!
