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A middle-aged woman came on the subway this morning with a small girl, maybe four or five years old. The girl sat a few seats away from me and the woman stood above her. I didn’t pay much attention to them but I caught the woman scolding the girl a few times. I read the paper and listened to my iPod. Then I heard the woman over the music.

“You are going to make me hurt you one of these days,” she told the child. She was smiling, playfully, without malice.

“Don’t believe me?” she said. “You don’t think grandma will hit you?”

Her words echoed in my head. The little girl sneezed.

“Bless you,” said her grandmother. “You need a tissue, sweetie?”

Via Hardball Talk, Cash drops science, or something like that.

Over at PB, Cliff takes on Cashman’s comments about Joba Chamberlain.

Do you dream about baseball during the middle of winter? When it is grey and cold, chunks of ice on sidewalk, banks of snow against the buildings, do you picture long summer days, green grass, men spitting and laughing, the smell of beer and urine, the humidity, and the tension of even the most routine ball game? I can’t imagine what it must be like to live in a different part of the country, where it is warm and you can have a catch at any time of the year.

Here in the northeast, baseball is sleeping unless you go to an indoor hitting cage. The game seems distant now but thoughts of summer are never far away. I covet my fantasies and protect them as if wrapped in a blanket to protect them from the elements. I daydream about Mariano entering a game to his theme song and picture the grace and precision of Alex Rodriguez’s swing. I take comfort in knowing that Derek Jeter will bust ass down the first base line every chance he gets. Yet I am most excited about the unknown–which young player will make an impression, what will we see–even a minor detail–that we’ve never seen before?

I usually keep these thoughts to myself  but figured I’d share them with you since you might be dreaming too.

There are twenty days left before pitchers and catchers report to spring training for the Yankees.

[Photo Credit: Timothy A. Clary/AFP/Getty Images]

This is how Diane’s heart stays warm on a cold day:

Dig this piece on Laurel Nakadate in the New York Times.

Here’s her website. Houba.

There’s a piece on Bobby D the New Yorker in the L.A. Times Magazine. Check it outski.

Parsley and Pancetta salad. I’m a sucker for parsley, guess it’s the French in me.

This looks worth trying…from Saveur.

Over at the Times, Janet Maslin reviews a new biography of Bobby Fischer by Frank Brady:

“Endgame” is a rapt, intimate book, greatly helped by its author’s long acquaintance with Fischer, who died in 2008, and his deep grounding in the world of chess. Mr. Brady was the founding editor of Chess Life, the official magazine of the United States Chess Federation, but his book is entirely accessible to readers who have never heard of that publication. Nor does “Endgame” require any prior knowledge of chess luminaries, chess strategies (no charts here) or chess tournament etiquette. It requires no expertise to appreciate a one-liner like the one the 19-year-old Fischer delivered after a visit to a brothel in Curaçao. “Chess is better,” Fischer said.

Mr. Brady, a biographer dangerously drawn to megalomania (he has also written books about Aristotle Onassis and Orson Welles), takes a demystifying approach to Fischer’s eccentricities. He sees the person behind the bluster, and he presents that person in a reasonably realistic light. Mr. Brady also makes use of unusually good source material, from Fischer’s own unpublished manuscript to 50 years’ worth of his own conversations with Fischer’s associates, mentors and relatives. Note the omission of the word “friends.” Fischer never had them.

Fischer was a genius as well as a madman. Do yourself a favor and check out Bill Nack’s terrific SI piece on his search for the reclusive Fischer: “To find him, to see him, had become a kind of crazy and delirious obsession, the kind of insanity that has hounded other men in search of, say, the Loch Ness monster.”

[Photo Credit: Times On-Line]

Caught this on Saturday at the Times Square subway station. Dig Susan Keser’s website and listen to her play:

“It’s supposed to hurt,” said Rex Ryan after the AFC championship game last night.

Bitterly cold in New York today, the coldest day of the winter so far.

Baseball is coming…not soon enough for most of us but it’ll be here before we know it. Excited?

Naturally.

I know the thinking goes the Yanks’ 2011 hopes ride on whether or not A.J. Burnett has a strong season, but Mark Teixeira is my guy. I expect him to have a strong year–and a good start to boot. If he’s a monster, the Yanks sure will be tough. Over at It’s About the Money, Stupid, Mark Smith looks for Teixeria and Alex Rodriguez to rebound in 2011. Who do you think are the key players to watch?

[Pictures by Bags and Alex B]

Engine room, bring me my drink.

Same ol’ Jets, indeed.

[Picture by Bags]

They’ve been here before…be nice to see the Jets finally make it to the Super Bowl. Whadda ya say, Green? Winner gets Green Bay.

It won’t be easy against the Steelers but we’ll be root-root-rootin’ them on!

And that’s word to Wesley Walker:

Game One: The Great Rivalry Continues…Nagurski, Nitschke, Butkus, Bears, Brats, Brews…You gotta love it.

Chow Down:

Word to Pete Rock:

[Photo Credit: How Cook Like a Wolf]

Cold Sunday morning in New York. Take it away, Johnny:

Or here’s the original by Robert Service:

Brought to you by our pal, Matt B.

Well, sometimes you make a plan and while it might not be popular, you stick by the plan, you lay low, and then…you blow it all up. The Angels have been criticized this winter for not doing enough, but last night they went out and traded for Vernon Wells. Not just that, they are picking up the rest of his seemingly unmovable contract. MLB Trade Rumors collects some reactions to the deal; Hardball Talk has more.

What was it P.T. Barnum was supposed to have said?

Closer to home, old pals Johnny Damon and Manny Ramirez have agreed to join the Rays. At least it’ll be fun to see them around more often this season.

Houston Street after dark by Bags.

Bags goes to the Modern:

Peep this fun site, The Monkeys You Ordered (and thanks go to Brad for pointing it out):

Our dog is f****** huge.

Tonight at the Walter Reade Theater, a slept-on Jeff Bridges vehicle featuring John Huston:

I can’t make it, dang it, but man, it should be a good time.

Bowie Friday: