Blog Archives

Boitday, that is. Join me in raising a mug to our own Diane Firstman. Then smash that mug on the floor and rock out to this:

Self-Portrait, By Lucian Freud (1985)

Stephen Strasburg makes his Major League debut tonight. Over at SI.com, Joe Posnanski tells us what it all means while Cliff analyzes the debuts of some other hyped phenoms.

I remember this one:

Dwight Gooden
Team: New York Mets
Opponent: Houston Astros
Date: April 7, 1984
Line: 5 IP, 3 H, 1 R, 0 HR, 2 BB, 5 K, W

The fifth-overall pick in the 1982 draft out of Tampa’s Hillsborough High School, Gooden struck out 300 men in 191 innings in A-ball in his full-season debut in 1983, and in 1984, he broke camp with the Mets as a 19-year-old who had never pitched as high as Double-A. Gooden was sharp in his debut and, after a hiccup in his second start (3 1/3 IP, seven hits and six runs, all earned, while taking the loss against the Cubs), he went on to enjoy one of the best starts to a pitching career in major league history. In 1984, Gooden won the Rookie of the Year award on the strength of a 17-9 record, 2.60 ERA, and a league-leading 276 strikeouts (in 218 innings!). In 1985, he won the NL Cy Young award and the major league pitching triple crown, leading the majors in wins (24 against just four losses), ERA (1.53, second only to Bob Gibson’s 1.12 in 1968 since the arrival of the live-ball era in 1920) and strikeouts (268). Things went downhill from there, in part because of the 744 2/3 innings Gooden threw over three seasons prior to his 22nd birthday, but also because they couldn’t go up. The impossibly high expectations Gooden created for himself led to a vicious cycle of self-destructive behavior including alcohol and drug addictions which continue to disrupt his life to this day.

My mom has always loved music. She loves to sing and whistle (and even hum). Ma is game, too. She’ll listen to rock n roll, soul music, funk, jazz, and her “classic music.” But she’s never been a big record-buyer. When I was growing up, she had some Judy Collins records and Simon and Garfunkel lps, and of course, her Jacques Brel albums. Oh, how she looooved Jacques Brel. And we had an Edith Piaf record, too.

Most French-speaking peoples of my mom’s generation revered Edith Piaf.

I always think of Edith Piaf–of my mom singing in French, of Nuke Laloosh mistaking Piaf for a “crazy Spanish singer” in “Bull Durham”–whenever I hear Rice Pilaf. Edith Pilaf?

Sounds good, tastes good. Sometimes the French know what they are doing…

[Photo Credit: Janet is Hungry]

Guest Writer: John Schulian

It is a sign of the times that our movie heroes no longer go traipsing off to Mexico to scratch their itch for unlikely nobility, filthy lucre, or good old-fashioned trouble. The show-me-your-papers crowd in Arizona would have us believe there are so many illegals heading north that even celluloid mercenaries looking south of the border better stay home lest they be trampled. Myself, I’d suggest that the abundance of lead being slung in Mexico’s drug wars makes telling stories about brave yanquis, especially the contemporary variety, about as plausible as having Madonna sing with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

Once, however, the land of Villa welcomed Humphrey Bogart so he could die a greed head’s death in “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre” and Robert Mitchum, fresh out of a very real jail, as he tracked down a missing Army payroll in “The Big Steal.” You should know about “The Magnificent Seven,” of course, just as you should “The Wild Bunch”: two classic Westerns that sprang from the idea of American bad men finding something good inside them under Mexican skies, the former ending with a triumphant ride out of town, the latter with a fireball of dark glory. And then there is a hugely entertaining Western that is too often forgotten, “The Professionals,” which is about early 20th Century mercenaries who are crazy brave but not stupid. Four of them, to be exact: Burt Lancaster, Lee Marvin, Robert Ryan, and Woody Strode, each possessing more testosterone by himself than there is in all of Hollywood today.

Lancaster was a former circus acrobat who did his own stunts and, legend has it, could handle himself in a street fight. Marvin fought his way through World War II as a marine in the Pacific, and, with a mug like his, he must have put up his dukes a few times as a civilian, too. Ryan boxed in college (and was nothing less than splendid in the fight racket noir “The Set-Up”). Strode played football at UCLA, broke the NFL’s color line (alongside college teammate Kenny Washington), wrestled professionally, died a righteous death in “Spartacus,” and, though he was 52 when “The Professionals” was released in 1966, looked like he was made of steel cable.

(more…)

Over at River Ave Blues, Mike Axisa takes a look at Cito Culver, the Yankees first-round pick:

I’m not a big fan of the pick; it’s definitely a reach. For what it’s worth, Oppenheimer called it an “easy decision.” Whenever a guy’s best tool is his throwing arm … well it’s always a cause for concern because you’d like the other skills to be refined. It’s not an indefensible pick though; there’s nothing wrong with selecting a premium up-the-middle athlete that will stay there for the next decade-plus.

I’ve seen some people quick to dub this another C.J. Henry pick, but the only similarities between the two are that they’re African American shortstops taken out of high school. Henry was more of a hacker who projected to hit for power but not average, and wasn’t guaranteed to stay at short. Culver’s basically the opposite.

There were definitely better players on the board, and so it’s not the best pick they could have made. No need to declare this one a bust yet. The last thing prospects provide is instant gratification. Frankie Piliere noted that Culver got huge grades late in the year, so he peaked at the right time.

Over at Was Watching, Steve Lombardi isn’t impressed either:

…Today, with their first pick in the 2010 draft, the 32nd overall pick, the Yankees selected Cito Culver – probably two or three (or maybe four?) rounds earlier than he should have been selected – passing on talent like Anthony Ranaudo, Bryce Brentz, Ryan LaMarre and Seth Blair (just to name a few).

Considering all this, and then factoring in that the Yankees had screwed up their first three picks in the draft just about every year from 1998 through 2008, I have to wonder about what’s going on in the Yankees front office with respect to handling the draft? (“What about 2009?” some may say? Well, the jury is still out on that one.)

At some point, Damon Oppenheimer – and his bosses, Mark Newman and Brian Cashman – have to be held accountable for the way they’ve been wasting the Yankees “prime” picks, draft after draft, no?

Hey, yo. Forgive a day of light posting. My Internet connection was on the fritz.

Emma’s Burt Lancaster piece is the first of five we’ll have on Million Dollar Movie this week celebrating the great American star.

More food, music, art and yeah, Yankee Baseball tomorrow…

[Photo Credit: efn.org]

Get to work.

Perk up with this:

Let’s try that again, shall we?

The Jays beat up on the Yanks last night. Here’s hoping the Yanks have a little something for that ass this afternoon. Go git ’em, boys.

Let’s Go Yan-Kees.

[Picture by Bags]

We Like Ike..

…If I stay here I’ll go knuts…

Miles and ‘Trane. ‘Nuff said.

It might be way too early in the season for the good, fresh corn, but it’s never too early to think about Mexican corn on the cob.

Saveur has the recipe.

[Photo Credit: Bionic Bites]

“I don’t want to make it sappy and say it was love,” Jim Joyce said about the reception he got today at Comerica Park. “But the support I got was just … love.”

Baseball brings us together. It’s a truism that can smack of cliche when invoked in a sentimental or nostalgic frame of mind, but it’s true all the same. And sometimes the game chokes up even the tough guys and the cynics. (When I worked as an intern on Ken Burns’ “Baseball,” I discovered how Burns loved to see his audience cry, especially the tough guys.  “We got tears,” he’d say triumphantly.)

This togetherness is why I chose to write about baseball (and about being a baseball fan) when I started this blog seven-and-a-half years ago. That’s why most of you guys roll through. That’s what we do. Today at work, people that could not care less about baseball were talking about the umpire’s blown call. “WORST CALL EVER” said the headline on the front page of the Daily News. There is nothing like injustice to bring people together, nothing more binding than “He wuz robbed!”

But a funny thing happened on the way to infamy. The two principal characters displayed such authenticity that the moment of greatness prevailed despite Joyce’s terrible mistake. It started with Galarraga, who has been just beautiful. He’s got that vaguely European handsomeness, like his countryman Francisco Cervelli. He looks at people in the eye when he talks to them. I saw a handful of interviews with Galarraga last night and then again this evening and he seemed unfazed by Joyce’s error. He knew what he’d done out there on the field and was still riding the high of that accomplishment. He told the writers that they saw it too.

Everybody knows he got a perfect game. It really doesn’t matter what the record books say. That’s the beauty part. Bud Selig didn’t need to overrule anything.

Galarraga was so at ease with this basic fact that it stripped the drama of a victim. There was no outlet for any outrage. (Now, if the same thing had happened to a jacked-up spaz like Dallas Braden and a hard-nosed blowhard like Joe West it would have been like Wrestlemania and perhaps one of the trashiest scenes since Disco Demolition Night.) But Galarraga didn’t feel persecuted. He felt badly for Joyce. He knew the guy was hurting. After all, it’s got to be every umpire’s worst dream to blow a call of that magnitude. Galarraga didn’t let it ruin anything.

Then of course, Jim Joyce handled himself in such a way that I don’t think it’s an understatement to say that he’s a credit to his profession and to the game. We should all be that forthright, earnest, and professional in face of screwing the pooch. The umpires have been in the news for all the wrong reasons lately, but in what is clearly the biggest mistake by an umpire in years, Joyce was a full-grown man. He didn’t hide. He admitted that he was wrong. He was genuine. I don’t know what more can you ask from a person.

Jim Leyland said as much today. If Joyce had been defiant and arrogant the Tigers’ reaction would have been much different. But Joyce and Galarraga defused a potentially ugly situation and turned it on its head. This isn’t John Hirschbeck and Robbie Alomar patching things up after their dispute; this was unscripted, which is why it is so compelling. The players may be more removed than ever from us these days but this was something we could feel and understand. It was respect and compassion. Joyce and Galarraga will be linked like Ralph Branca and Bobby Thomson, signing autographs together for the rest of their lives.

MLB gave Joyce the option not to work today but he insisted. When the umpires walked onto the field, single-file, Joyce was crying. It was a humbling sight. I shivered trying to imagine myself in a similar spot. Joyce continued to tear-up as the line-up cards were exchanged. The Tigers sent out Galarraga, who stood next to Joyce. They didn’t embrace, but shook hands. Joyce eventually collected himself, and pounded the pitcher in the shoulder. The rest of the umpiring team gave him a bump on the chest and he nodded back, his chin tucked in, eyes still red. Then it was time to go to work.

It was a guy thing and it was a beautiful thing. And it’s why we’ll remember these guys forever. That game last night was transcendent and it brought out the best in these two men. It reminds us that greatness is about much more than being perfect.

[Photo Credit: AP Photo/Paul Sancya]

For Jim Joyce…Bromo, baby.

Yankees closer Mariano Rivera, after seeing a replay of the call Wednesday night at Yankee Stadium, said of about Joyce, “It happened to the best umpire we have in our game. The best. And a perfect gentleman. Obviously, it was a mistake. It was a perfect game. It’s a shame for both of them, for the pitcher and for the umpire. But I’m telling you he is the best baseball has, and a great guy. It’s just a shame.”
(Verducci, SI.com)

Armando Galarraga made history tonight, tossing the first 28-0ut perfect game. The Tigers beat the Indians, 3-0 and this game will be remembered for a long time for all the wrong reasons.

In the top of the ninth, Mark Grudzielanek hit a deep drive to left center field. The perfect game looked lost. Then Austin Jackson caught up to it and made a terrific catch. Fate was on Galarraga’s side. With two out, Jason McDonald hit a ground ball to the right side. First baseman, Miguel Cabrera, moved to his right, fielded the ball, then waited a fraction of a second before throwing to Galarraga, who was covering first.

Cabrera raised his arms as soon as he threw the ball and the runner was out. But Jim Joyce called him safe. He blew the call. Right in front of him. Blew it. Trevor Crowe grounded out for the 28th and final out.

I felt sick to my stomach watching it on TV. It was like getting kicked in the gut or lower. The fans in Detroit booed. It seemed like half of the Tigers team had to be restrained from jumping Joyce whose professional life may never be the same after one blown call. From what little I know about umpires, they take their mistakes to heart, so I can only assume this is the worst night of Jim Joyce’s life (and I feel for him as I imagine nobody feels worse about this than he does).

After the game, Joyce told reporters, “I just cost that kid a perfect game,” Joyce said. “I thought he beat the throw. I was convinced he beat the throw, until I saw the replay.”

Joyce’s mistake surely spoiled the best night of Galarraga’s life, but instead of letting this sickening feeling overshadow Galarraga’s brilliance, let’s just flip it—this was a wonderful feat. Joyce’s mistake only allowed Galarraga to accomplish something even more unique than a perfect game. A 28-out perfecto.

No matter what the record books say, this was perfection by Galarraga, plus one. An untimely mistake by Jim Joyce can’t spoil what we all saw and know to be true.

[Photo Credit: AP Photo/Paul Sancya]

Here is Joe Posnanski’s take; and here is audio from Joyce. Listening to Joyce, I got choked-up. You can hear how badly he felt, that he knew it wasn’t just a call, it was a “historic” call. Man, oh, man.

After a couple of poor outings, Phil Hughes pitched well against the Indians over the weekend and looks to continue his excellent first-half against the O’s tonight in the Bronx.

Go git ’em, Hoss and…

Let’s Go Yan-Kees.

[Photo Credit: N.Y. Daily News]