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Yeah, that’s Reggie Noble on the front cover of the New York Times today.

Go. Figure.

[Photo Credit: Rich Schultz]

The wife and I went to Citifield yesterday and were fortunate enough to sit in some cushy seats where we thoroughly enjoyed watching the Yankees beat the Mets to the tune of 5-2.

Bartolo Colon didn’t skip a beat in his return from the D.L. He threw hard, in the mid-90s, and froze the Mets’ hitters with his two-seam fastball–he struck out six batters in the first four innings, five looking. Some of the juice went out of the building early one when Jose Reyes was removed because he tweaked his hamstring, a disheartening development for sure.

There was no score in the bottom of the fifth when Jason Bay worked the count full against Colon with one out. Bay hit a little squibber down the third base line and Colon didn’t bother sprinting for it. He smiled instead. No man, no sudden moves for me, Papi. Lucas Duda, a hulk of a man, singled softly to right, Josh Tole hit a hard line drive to left and the bases were loaded. When Colon fell behind 2-0 to the pitcher Dillion Gee, the Mets looked to be in business. But Colon worked the count even and then Gee hit a soft ground ball to Alex Rodriguez who stepped on third and threw to first to complete the double play.

And then things turned. Brett Gardner led off the top of the sixth and lined out to center field. Gee had matched Colon with six strikeouts through the first five innings, all swinging, and all but one swinging through a nifty change-up. But now, the third time through the order, the Yanks had him figured out. Curtis Granderson followed Gardner and hit a change up high over the wall in right center field. Mark Teixeira singled and then Alex Rodriguez had a good swing at a first pitch fastball, fouled it right back to the screen. He swung through a curve ball and I figured there was no way he was going to see another fastball. But he did and singled to right. Robinson Cano looked at a pitch for a ball and then hit a triple into the right field corner; he scored on a sacrifice fly by Nick Swisher.

That outburst proved to be enough. Eduardo Nunez doubled in his first two at bats, was robbed on a sensational catch by second baseman Justin Turner, and then hit a solo home run in the 9th. He made be a constant adventure in the field but it is nice to see Nunez hitting well. One thing I’ve noticed is that he can take some wild hacks in an at bat but then recover to square a ball up and hit it hard.

Cory Wade allowed a couple of hits but nothing more in two innings of work and the newly reacquired Serge Meatray pitched the ninth and gave up a couple of runs. Banter commenter, “The Hawk” put it best when he said “Ah, Mitre, making sure there’s no case of mistaken identity.”

Otherwise, it was a fine day for the Yankees who have now won seven straight.

It was a swell outing for the wife and me. We even stopped by Sripraphai for Thai food on the way home and when we finally returned to the Bronx we were tired but very heppy kets.

The Mets look to cool off the Yanks on a hot summer day in New York. The Bombers have won six straight will try to keep it rollin’ with Bartolo Colon back in action. The game is on Fox.

Brett Gardner LF
Curtis Granderson CF
Mark Teixeira 1B
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher RF
Russell Martin C
Eduardo Nunez SS
Bartolo Colon RHP

Don’t forget the sunscreen, never mind the announcers, and:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photography by Ondie]

Blowin’ up the Spot like Fred did to Rollo.

Before Jonathan Niese started to locate his curveball, a sharp, breaking hook that he can throw on the black, the Yanks scored three first inning runs. Then Niese composed himself and didn’t allow another run through six. Ivan Nova, on the other hand, couldn’t get his fastball down, and wasn’t getting the Mets to hit harmless ground balls.

Both teams got hits and had runners on base but the score was 3-1 by the time the starters were done. They had help from their fielders–Alex Rodriguez made a sensational play, fielding a ball to his right and then throwing Ruben Tejada out at first; Robinson Cano made a difficult short hop look easy as he turned a double play, Daniel Murphy fielded a hard line drive by Cano, Brett Gardner made a lovely running catch, and Mark Teixeira saved Rodriguez from throwing errors with slick scoops in the sixth and ninth.

The most exciting play of the game involved Jose Reyes who led off the seventh inning with his second base hit of the game. Justin Turner flew out to deep center field before Reyes had a chance to swipe second, but the shortstop tagged up and advanced to second anyway. Granderson’s throw came in on a bounce to Eduardo Nunez, the cut-off man. Nunez fumbled the ball and Reyes kept running. Nunez went after the ball, picked it up and threw it on a bounce to third. Everything happened so fast. The third base ump was caught in the outfield, running back to third, while the home plate ump rushed to the bag too. Rodriguez caught the ball and made a swipe tag at Reyes. The home plate ump, shielded by Rodriguez’s body signaled that Reyes was out. Then, as Rodriguez shook his fist, Reyes was yelling and soon Terry Collins was yelling too, and he said enough to get himself kicked out of the game.

David Robertson pitched a scoreless eighth, the Yanks tacked on a few insurance runs and Mariano Rivera, in a non-save situation, came in to get the final two outs in the ninth.

Final Score: Yanks 5, Mets 1.

A satisfying win. Nunez had four hits. The last one was off a high fastball and he hacked at it like a lumber jack chopping wood. It made that crisp, hard crack that is as true a sound as you ever want to hear in baseball, and it was good enough to drive in a run. Nunez is a work-in-progress in the field and I hold my breath on every ball that is hit his way, but he’s hanging in there and contributing.

[Photo Credit: Chris (archi3d) and Nick Laham, Getty Images]

The Subway Serious starts again tonight with a little more juice than usual because both teams are playing well. The Yanks want to avoid getting swept and winning two-of-three would be great, of course.

The boys at SNY break it down:

And Cliff has the preview over at PB:

Since starting the season 5-13, the Mets have gone 36-27 (.571), a winning percentage that, over the full season, would put them in first place in the Central and Western divisions of either league and in second-place in either Wild Card race. Prior to running into Justin Verlander Thursday afternoon, the Mets had won six of their last seven, four of those coming against first-place American League teams, and in the four games prior to facing Verlander they scored 52 runs (an average of 13 per game).

So the Mets, despite recent appearances, are no laughing matter. Jose Reyes is having an MVP-quality season. Carlos Beltran has come all the way back, at least at the plate. Angel Pagan has hit .325/.398/.444 since coming off the disabled list in late May. Ronny Paulino has put up similar numbers in wrestling the catching job away from sophomore Josh Thole. Jason Bay has hit .327/.389/.490 over the last two weeks and has become a Russell Martin-like stealth threat on the bases having stolen eight bases in nine attempts this season, including four in as many tries in those last two weeks. As you’ll see below, the three starting pitchers the Yankees will face in this series, Jonathan Niese, Dillon Gee, and R.A. Dickey, have all been pitching well of late.

Never mind the hub-bub:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Credit: Joseph O. Holmes]

I watched some of the Orioles-Cardinals game last night and saw our old pal Lance Berkman hit two long home runs, one righty, the other lefty. Man, they were both crushed. Made him dream “What If?” for a second. I know there wasn’t a place for him in the Bronx, and he would have cost more than Nick Swisher, who is also younger, so I’m not saying they should have kept him. But I’ve always enjoyed watching “The Big Puma” and wished he could have stayed around longer.

Regardless–or irregardless, as they like to say in the Bronx– I’m happy to see him playing so well.

Banana pudding is the reason to go to Magnolia Bakery. Turns me into a fat f***apotamus, man. For real.

Saveur offers a Carolina Banana Pudding recipe. Dig in.

[Photo Credit: Serious Eats]

When I finished reading “Blindsided: The Jerry Joseph Basketball Scandal” by Michael J. Mooney my first thought was how nice it will be to see the piece in the next edition of “The Best American Sports Writing.” The story features good reporting and is well-constructed. It is also written in the kind of clean, succinct prose that I love. Best of all, it took me somewhere unexpected, all without drawing attention to writing style. It is top-notch storytelling. I am a newcomer to Mooney’s work but he’s been around and is accomplished. Check out his website for more, and do yourself a favor: read this story.

[Photo Credit: AP]

Favorite rap group in the world is EPMD.

Hardcore but not rough enough to bleep it.

“Cleaverage 10”

JKB Fletcher gets Super.

“Streak 11”

Randy Wolf walked Brett Gardner in the bottom of the first this afternoon on a full count pitch. Gardner stole second. then Wolf went to 3-2 on Nick Swisher then walked him too. When he got to 3-2 to Mark Teixeira on a foul tip, Gardner had swiped third, with Swisher trailing him to second. The home plate ump threw Wulf a new ball. It went over his glove, so Wolf turned around, walked to the ball and picked it up. Gunna be one of those days, is it? he might have said to himself. Wolf struck Teixeira out but then gave up a line drive double to Robinson Cano. Before the inning was over, he’d thrown over thirty pitches.

Wolf recovered and went seven innings. Gave up another pair of runs in the third and the Yanks had more than enough because C.C. Sabathia was terrific. The Brewers didn’t stand a chance against him as Sabathia pitched into the eighth inning and struck out thirteen, matching a career-high. Mark Teixeira hit a solo homer run (25), career homer number 300, and Francisco Cervelli drove in two runs.

Final Score: Yanks 5, Brewers 0.

Ahhhhh. The Yanks swept the Brewers and will head across town against a hot Mets team feeling good about themselves. The only thing that could halt their good vibes is losing all three in Queens. Here’s hoping that doesn’t happen.

In the meantime, today was a good day. Every day in first place usually is.

It’s C.C. and the Killer B-Squid-id-ad this afternoon at the Stadium:

Brett Gardner CF
Nick Swisher RF
Mark Teixeira 1B
Robinson Cano 2B
Jorge Posada DH
Andruw Jones LF
Eduardo Nunez SS
Francisco Cervelli C
Ramiro Pena 3B

It’s absolutely gorgeous in New York for this Goldbricker’s Delight.

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

Well, you know, what can I say?

Speaking of old New York, I was on Columbus Avenue last night with my sister and my cousin, an 18-year-old Belgian girl who arrived in New York two days ago. It’s her first trip to the States so we went out for a burger last night. She is a good kid, shy, but speaks English pretty well. We strolled up Columbus after dinner, past 81st Street where my grandparents used to live. Most of the neighborhood has changed, but here is one spot, between 82nd and 83rd, that remains. It was almost arresting to see it there, a piece of my childhood in tact.

Looks as if Bartolo Colon will be back to pitch against the Mets on Saturday. Phil Hughes will return shortly as well (and for you comedians out there, yep, the Yanks reacquired Serge Meatray and designated the vocal stylings of Buddy Carlyle for assignment). I’m curious, when Hughes comes back, who gets bumped from the rotation? Can’t be Nova, right? That leaves Freddy Garcia and Colon. Freddy won’t take well to losing his spot, and if he does, he may ask for his release. Colon has pitched better but may be more flexible. Whadda ya think?

The Miss Black North Carolina Series, by my pal Kevin McGoff.

It’s warm in New York.

Bombers and Brewha’s at it again tonightski:

Brett Gardner LF
Curtis Granderson CF
Mark Teixeira 1B
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher RF
Jorge Posada DH
Russell Martin C
Eduardo Nunez SS

Never mind the letdown:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photograph by the most talented Robin Cerutti]

THE DEEP END OF THE POOL

By John Schulian

Like every other job candidate at the Post in those days, I had to get the approval of Ben Bradlee, the executive editor who had covered himself in glory with the paper’s Watergate coverage. One of the first things he said to me was that he liked my Jimmy Breslin style. As soon as I heard that, I knew I’d better develop my own style, and do it fast. If I was going to prosper at the Post, I couldn’t be a cheap imitation.

I realized I was in the deep end of the pool the instant I walked into the place. It was crawling with heavy hitters and on-the-make newcomers, intrepid reporters and positively wonderful wordsmiths, all of whom seemed to buy into Bradlee’s theory of creative tension. I’d hate to think of all the intramural treachery that went on there — and that was in addition to going out and bumping heads with the New York Times and L.A. Times and Boston Globe and Wall Street Journal. On top of that, the people at the Post seemed exceedingly full of themselves-–no surprise, I suppose, since I showed up in the wake of Woodward and Bernstein bringing down Nixon and his cronies. In fact, the paper was building its Batman and Robin an office back by the sports department. Nobody thought it was funny when I asked if they were going to take high school football scores on Friday nights. What did I know? I’d just come from Baltimore, where people took their work seriously, but not themselves.

I’m probably going to wind up sounding negative about my time at the Post-–it was not the greatest 17 months of my life-–but I want you to know that it was an honor to work there. I was never on a better paper, never kept company with more talented people, never had more of a sense of the glamour of the newspaper business. Bradlee was forever strutting around in his Turnbull & Asser shirts-–the kind with bold stripes and white collars-–and he loved to go slumming in the sports department so he could see what we’d dug up on the Redskins. He was big pals with the team’s owner, Edward Bennett Williams.

One day I get into the elevator to go up to the newsroom and a guy jumps in at the last minute. He’s dressed the same way I am: tan corduroy sport coat, blue button-down collar shirt, Levi’s, cowboy boots. One big difference, though: he was Robert Redford and I wasn’t. They were making “All the President’s Men” then, and Redford must have been hanging around to do research on Bob Woodward, whom he played in the movie. When we got off the elevator, it was like I was invisible.

There was a copy boy at the Post-–the head copy boy, to be specific-–who wore Gucci loafers and was said to have a degree from the University of Virginia. And there was a copy girl who was an absolute babe-–absolute babes are a rarity in the newspaper business–and was said to have a tattoo of a butterfly on her ass.

In the midst of all that whatever-it-was, there was Donnie Graham, son of Katherine, the publisher who stood so tall during the Wategate era. Donnie would be publisher one day, too, but on his way there, he spent time doing every kind of job there was at the paper, from loading trucks to reporting to taking a turn as an editor in the sports department. This in addition to having been a beat cop in D.C. for a year or two. All of which is to say he was as decent and down to earth as he could be. I forget what job he had at the paper when I was there, but he still used to swing by sports to shoot the bull. One day he comes up to me while I’m pounding away on my typewriter and asks what I’m working on. I tell him it’s a feature about a former University of Maryland quarterback who washed out of the NFL and is playing semipro football in Baltimore on Saturday nights. And I mean down-and-dirty semipro football, on a field as hard as an interstate highway. “Oh,” Donnie says. He didn’t need to say anything else. I could tell he thought this one was a loser. But I wrote the hell out of it, and when I came into the office the day after it ran, there was a note from Donnie saying that in the hands of a good writer, anything could be a wonderful story. With the note was a copy of George Orwell’s essays. Memories don’t come much better than that.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the pressmen’s strike a month or so after I started at the Post on Labor Day 1975. The paper was getting ready to change from hot type to cold type and jobs were being lost in the backshop. One night everything went sideways, blood got spilled, the paper didn’t come out, and the next thing I knew, my fellow members of the Newspaper Guild and I were voting on whether to honor the pressmen’s picket line. I thought we should. Many more people thought we should cross it. And so we did. A few people actually left the Post because of that. I wasn’t one of them, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel a sense of shame and betrayal every time I crossed the picket line. I did, and it has stayed with me to this day.

I’m still not sure exactly why the Post came after me, particularly when so many good young sportswriters around the country would have sold their wives/mothers/firstborn for a chance to work there. Nor am I sure whether it was Donnie Graham or George Solomon who spotted me first. Sometimes I heard that it was my SI story on the Baltimore fight promoter that stirred their interest. Other times it was a funny but barbed Evening Sun feature I’d done about students at the school where the Colts trained standing up to the team’s abrasive general manager.

A funny thing about that fight promoter. Well, not funny, because he died in the time between my departure from the Evening Sun and my arrival at the Post. His name was Eli Hanover and he was barely into his 50s, one of those guys who’s so full of piss and vinegar that you figure he’ll outlive everyone. George Solomon told me he tried to get hold of me to write something about Eli, but I was off on an assignment for Sports Illustrated and nobody knew how to reach me. (Ah, those were the days.) The Post had a new sports columnist, a guy named William Barry Furlong who had had a truly distinguished career as a magazine freelancer, and he wound up writing about Eli. But all he did was lift things from my SI story, quotes and paraphrases and anecdotes. I don’t recall his having another source for his column. I hope he did. I hope he made at least one phone call. But if he did, I don’t remember it. Uncharacteristically, I didn’t say anything about it, not to Furlong, not to Solomon, not to anyone. It was one of those things I just filed away and said, Okay, pal, it’s good to know that’s how you play the game.

Click here for the full “From Ali to Xena” archives.

Still fit for magazine covers:

Joe Posnanski has the piece:

No man in the history of American sports—perhaps even in the history of America—has spent a lifetime facing more expectant silences. And it is happening again. Another afternoon. Another silence. Strangers stand at a respectful distance and wait for Lawrence Peter Berra to say something funny and still wise, pithy but quirkily profound, obvious and yet strangely esoteric. A Yogi-ism.

It ain’t over till it’s over.

When you come to a fork in the road, take it.

You can observe a lot by watching.

In this case the strangers waiting in the silence are a mother and son. They had been touring the Yogi Berra Museum in Little Falls, N.J., in anticipation of having the boy’s bar mitzvah here. The family had decided that there is no better place for a boy to become a man than in the museum of the greatest winner in the history of baseball. And when they got word that the legend himself was present, they had to meet him, of course. They found him here, in the museum office, looking for a glass of water.

“I cannot believe it’s really you!” the woman says to Yogi Berra.

“It’s really me,” he says.

Meanwhile, here’s a video from SI: