Blog Archives

Tonight’s game has been called on the count of rain. They’ll play two tomorrow.

Unknown, found via Uniwatch

Since we’re on a Reggie kick today, here’s a tune from Tribe’s fourth record with a reference to Buck Tater:

Our old pal Josh Wilker will be in town later this week (and into early next week) to promote his critically-praised memoir Cardboard Gods. First up, Thursday night. Josh will be featured at a No Mas event at the Nike Store in Soho from 7:30-9:30. He’ll be reading from the book and signing copies too. Oh, and there’ll be a bubble-blowing contest as well.

I’m so there.

“When you unwrap a Reggie bar, it tells you how good it is.” – Catfish Hunter

I don’t remember the first time I met Dayn Perry but it must have been about five years ago now. This was back when he was writing for Baseball Prospectus in addition to Fox Sports. We hit it off immediately and have remained pals ever since. Dayn’s got that easy Southern charm that makes for wonderful company. When he told me that he was writing a book about my boyhood hero Reggie Jackson I was more than somewhat eager to see what he’d come up with. We spoke about Reggie and the writing process often while he was working on the book and Dayn went so far as to mention me in the acknowledgements.

The book, Reggie Jackson: The Life and Thunderous Career of Baseball’s Mr. October, drops today. Dayn and I caught up recently to chat about all things Reggie and what it was like writing a biography.

Dig:

Bronx Banter: There are two big biographies out this spring, one of Willie Mays and the other on Hank Aaron. Both books are well over 500 pages and aim to be the definitive work on their subjects. Your book is leaner at 300 pages. What was behind your thinking in making this a trimmer rather than an exhaustive narrative?

Dayn Perry: Part of it was that the publisher wanted me to stay as close as possible to 100,000 words. The initial manuscript I submitted was about 20,000 words longer than the final product, so I undertook some heavy editing toward the end of the process. On another level, though, I wanted a brisk, readable book that included all the important events in Reggie’s life and aspects of his character. My hope is that we’ve achieved that.

BB: You wrote this book without Reggie’s participation. Was that because he didn’t want to talk with you?

DP: On a couple of occasions, I spoke with Reggie’s business manager and requested an interview, but I never received a response. My understanding is that he didn’t want his cooperation to detract from the book he was working on at the time with Bob Gibson and Lonnie Wheeler. That’s understandable, of course.

BB: What, if any, obstacles did it present?

DP: It made it easier because I much enjoy the solitary aspect of writing, and the more of that I’m allowed the better my work is going to be. I still conducted 50 or so interviews for the book, and they made it a better work, I think. But I think of myself more as a writer than a reporter, so the nuts-and-bolts writing–the craft aspect–is the most fulfilling part of the job. Also, I think cooperation with the subject can sometimes lead to a varnishing or leavening of the work, even if it happens unconsciously. Obviously, I had no such concerns. It’s an honest, fact-based account, but I didn’t have to worry about satisfying him at every turn.

BB: Did Reggie prevent anyone from speaking to you?

DP: Not to my knowledge. A number of former teammates of his declined to speak with me once they learned Reggie wasn’t cooperating with the project, but so far as I know he didn’t actively work to undermine my efforts.

BB: There has been so much written about Reggie, particularly during his years in New York. What does your book offer that is new?

DP: My book sheds new light on the Mets’ decision not to draft him and covers his Angels years and retirement for the first time. Some people are going to be familiar with his Oakland years, and even more people are going to be familiar with his New York years. But so much of that time is forgotten or neglected by history. I think the totality of his life–the scope of his life–is something most people haven’t grasped yet.

(more…)

The Dog, By Francisco De Goya (1820-22)

From Dwight Garner’s review of The Last Hero: A Life of Henry Aaron:

Mr. Bryant’s book can be read as a companion piece, and a reply of sorts, to “Willie Mays: The Life, the Legend,” the recent biography by James S. Hirsch. These two ballplayers were both born in Alabama during the Great Depression (Mays in 1931, Aaron three years later), and both were among the last Hall of Famers to have played in the Negro Leagues. Their years on the field overlapped almost exactly. But they could not have been more different as personalities. Mays was joyous and electric, on the field and off, while Aaron was introverted, sometimes painfully so. They became lifelong, if low-key, antagonists.

Mr. Bryant, a senior writer for ESPN magazine, quotes the sportscaster Bob Costas as remarking, about Mays, that we “associate him with fun” and remember him with fondness. With Aaron, he added, “it is all about respect.” That quotation lingers like wood smoke over “The Last Hero.” These biographies of Mays and Aaron, taken together, are a striking and elegiac assessment of race relations in America during the 20th century. They are elegant portraits, as well, of two different ways of being a man. Wrap them both up for the 14-year-old in your life. The volume that’ll be left standing when the major book awards are handed out, though, is Mr. Bryant’s, I suspect. His is the brawny one, the one with serious and complicated swat.

…Aaron is clearly a hard man to get to know, and I’m not sure Mr. Bryant entirely does. His life off the field is detailed haphazardly: his two marriages, his children, his passions. His own words, quoted here, are mostly unmemorable. But “The Last Hero: A Life of Henry Aaron” had the forceful sweep of a well-struck essay as much as that of a first-rate biography. In an era in which home runs are now a discredited commodity, Henry Aaron looms larger than ever: a nation has returned its lonely eyes to him.

[Photo Credit: Rich Lederer of The Baseball Analysts]

This comes from Bags:

I grew up in Detroit. Used to go to old Tiger Stadium with my Dad. He once finagled seats right behind home plate for a game with the Yankees. The thing I remember most vividly was Dave Winfield. The man was huge. Just huge. Wait. Not huge. More like a giant. And he had this regal air about him. We were both speechless. I actually think that was the seed of my Yankee fandom, right there. I wasn’t as amazed by Dave Winfield as I was by the idea of New York City.

Tiger Stadium was near the epicenter of one of the great quirks of Detroit. There is a food phenomenon in Detroit known as the Coney Island Hot Dog. (It has nothing whatsoever to do with the place near Brighton Beach.) It is a natural casing dog that is fried on a flat griddle. Ever so slightly spicy. Then it goes on a soft bun. And is topped with a meat chili. And a lot of finely diced onions. And old school yellow mustard.

There are Coney Island restaurants all over Detroit. Coney Island is a food genre. Sort of like Famous Rays here. Anyone can open a Coney Island. But the ones in Detroit are “sub-branded” as they say in advertising. So there is a Layette Coney Island, and an American Coney Island, and a National Coney Island, and all kinds of other Coney Islands, scattered all over the city and the suburbs.

But here is the part I love. The two original Coney Islands are in downtown Detroit, on Lafayette Street. A short walk from old Tiger Stadium. And they are dead next door to each other. The food at one is indistinguishable from the other. But they compete. American versus Lafayette. Lafayette versus American.

They’ve been at it for 40 years. I vaguely recall going there as a very little kid with my Dad and having to walk past the gauntlet of guys out front representing the two places trying to get you to go into theirs and not the other one. Just a classic bit of Detroit weirdness that goes back to when Detroit was this vibrant place full of life and comfortable people and great (now vanished) places like the Lindell AC and the London Chop House.

Anyway. Long way around the bend, here is the story to go with the photo:

I found myself about two hours from Detroit a year or so ago. Had a noon flight back to NY. It was a Sunday. I got up at 5:00 am and drove to downtown Detroit and had myself 4 Coney Dogs with everything. For breakfast. At 6:52 am. Just me and the counter guy and the cook and some belligerent drunk. Beautiful.

Then I drove to the airport and had one more at the Coney franchise in the new terminal there.

For dessert, as Kris Kristoferson would say.

Lena Horne died last night in Manhattan. She was 92.

Bill Madden’s new book, Steinbrenner: The Last Lion of Baseball will be released next week. I’m not sure what new ground the book will cover, but Madden was given access to the personal musings of former Yankees GM Gabe Paul–who tape recorded his thoughts–by Paul’s son, Gabe Jr. Early buzz has it that Madden’s book is especially strong on Steinbrenner’s early years in New York (again, I’m curious how it’ll be an improvement on Dick Schaap’s outstanding, Steinbrenner!)

The Daily News has two excerpts from the book: one and two.

Madden will be out at the Yogi Berra Museum and Learning Center this Thursday to discuss the book. If you are in the vicinity, stop by and check him out. Should be fun.

Sending much love to all the moms out there. Hope everyone has a great day.

My cat Moe Green was sitting on the window sill in my office this afternoon when a gust of wind knocked his ass down. I heard him land and looked up to see him on the floor looking back over his shoulder at the window, slunk down low. I sat up to see if a bird had gotten to close to the window but this was no bird. Just the wind.

A few hours later, I walked up to Johnson Avenue where I saw parts of two big trees on the sidewalk–a huge branch was hanging on the telephone line above. Police barrier outside of the Hunan Balcony. I walked home with my groceries and heard a rumbling like the wheels on a skateboard. But it was a cluster of trees just behind me, thrashing.

It was some serious wind, man. And Moms Nature was ‘spressin her own bad ass self from Philadelphia to Boston this afternoon. The Mets won in extra innings again today against the Giants at Citifield and the sharp late afternoon light and shadows covered the field. In Philly, the shadows were just as daunting a short while later. I know about the Phillies because Fox cut to their game when the Yanks and Sox were delayed with two outs in fourth inning, Yanks up 6-3. CC Sabathia was on the mound pitching to his old catcher Victor Martinez. CC was in his rhythm, not rushing, and  didn’t anticipate how quickly the storm was going to hit. But it went from no rain to downpour within thirty seconds.

Cut to the Braves-Phils, and start grinding your teeth.

(more…)

The banged-up Yanks are even more banged-up today after a painful win on Friday night in Boston. Cano is out today; Nick Johnson is headed to the DL. But CC Sabathia is on the hill. He’ll go against Clay Buchholz, who has been Boston’s best starter this year.

Never mind the payback, just win, baby.

[photo credit: Yohei Yamashita]

It’s cool, gray and rainy in the Bronx this morning.

Reminds me of Belgium.

[photo credit: thepetitfour and Last Night’s Dinner]

I just like the lines.

Long time Banterite Bags took this picture. Gunna be showing a lot more of his pictures from now on. So, lucky us ya hoid?

;

Sripraphai could be my favorite restaurant in New York these days (they’ve just opened a second location). I’ve been about a dozen times over the past three or four years and still have yet to try so much on their extensive menu.

If you like Thai food, what are you waiting for already?

[Photo Credit: Kelly Bone and ext212]

The Sox come into the weekend series on the upswing, having just swept four from the Angels. But, as Tyler Kepner notes, so far in 2010, it’s not the same old Red Sox:

“You have to have enough time to get into the season, usually a couple of months, before you can draw any conclusions,” General Manager Theo Epstein said. “I don’t think anyone here was drawing any conclusions; we were just acknowledging that we weren’t playing sound baseball. We were beating ourselves. We were making a handful of mistakes a game, basically not doing the little things the right way that collectively put us in a tough position to win ballgames.”

The Red Sox focused last winter on preventing runs, tightening their defense at several positions and spending $82.5 million on a five-year contract for starter John Lackey. But results have been hard to quantify.

Through Wednesday, Boston’s 4.63 earned run average was about a half-run higher than the A.L. average, and their fielders had committed 20 errors, the most in their division. Statistically, errors can be misleading; range is more important. But the first inning Thursday showed why the Red Sox tried to emphasize defense in the first place.

Oh, yeah, and then there’s this: the Rays, who were 32-49 on the road last year, as 12-1 away from home to start the season.