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Re Run

rerun

It was too comfortable, the feeling the Yankees gave us a few weeks back, as they crushed, killed and destroyed everything in their path. They have sputtered back down to earth somewhat, baseball having a way of evening out and all, and so we are left feeling, well, less comfortable.

The offense was dormant for much of the evening tonight–shhh, baby’s sleeping–and the Yanks trailed 4-2 in the eighth inning. Nothing infuriating, nothing inspiring, just another sluggish game.

In the eighth, Alex Rodriguez singled with one out and then Godzilla Matsui yanked a breaking ball into the not-so-cheap cheap-shot seats and the game was tied.

Mariano Rivera worked around a lead-off base hit in the ninth to keep the score tied. Then Brett Gardner led off the bottom of the inning, worked the count full and fouled off what looked to be ball four. Swing at anything close, right? Well, he ripped the next pitch into center for a single, to hell with the base on balls. Derek Jeter fell behind 0-2, not looking to bunt, and then Gardner stole second on a slider that went for a ball. Jeter grounded out pushing Gardner to third.

With the infield drawn in, Franciso Cervelli singled hard through the left side, ran to first, rounded the bag and raced into the outfield as Melky Cabrera and Robinson Cano and the rest of the team chased him like a flock of geese headed south for the winter. On the double.

Final score: Yanks 5, Blue Jays 4.

AJ Burnett slammed Cervelli in the grill with a cream pie and if he could pitch half as well as he could celebrate, boy, the Yanks will be okay.

Back Fer Mo

fight

Yanks need a win not a brawl.

Punch Drunk Love

This is what I imagine Derek Jeter will look like if he lets himself go in his old age. Question is, who is Pesci? Francisco Cervelli?

ragin

On the Fritz

kekich

Fritz Peterson once won twenty games for the Yankees but he’s best remembered for being a wife-swapper. He is more than both, of course. Peterson has just written a book and will be at the Yogi Museum in Jersey tomorrow night to talk about it.

According to a press release from the museum:

Former Yankee pitcher Fritz Peterson will be at the Yogi Berra Museum & Learning Center on Thursday, Sept. 17 from 7 p.m.-8:30 p.m. for a discussion and signing of his new book, “Mickey Mantle Is Going To Heaven.”

The book covers Peterson’s rather interesting life on and off the field including what Sports Illustrated called “The Trade of the Century” when he and teammate Mike Kekich swapped wives after the 1972 season. He also discusses the quirks and foibles of his time, and interactions with the likes of Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford, Bobby Murcer, Thurman Munson and Jim Bouton.

Peterson, who joined the Yankees in 1966, one of the team’s worst seasons, would become an All-Star and 20-game winner. He also started for the Yankees in the last game ever played at the original Yankee Stadium, which was renovated after the final game of the 1973 season. And Peterson had the all-time lowest ERA (2.52) at Yankee Stadium with the legendary Whitey Ford second at 2.55.

The storm of publicity from Peterson’s wife-swapping, which he is most remembered for, ultimately damaged his career. Yet today he is active in charity work and is a prostate cancer survivor, and continues to seek salvation through his faith.

To orders personalized copies of Peterson’s book or for more info, call (973) 655-2378.

I know from swingers, Mr. Peterson, and you are no Gay Talese.

If you are Jersey, be sure to check this out. Should be fun.

Dream Machine

reds

Joe Posnanski’s new book, The Machine,  is about the 1975 Reds. It is compulsively readable and learns even smart dudes like Rob Neyer new things about that team. Neyer chats with Pos over at ESPN today.

Oh, and the book hits the shelves today as well.

Diggum.

Heel of a Guy

Sitting in the row in front of Emily and me last night at Yankee Stadium was a young woman–mid-twenties–wearing a Derek Jeter t-shirt and jeans. Hippie-chick. Ponytail, flip flops. She was there with her father. She leaned forward to watch the action, giving the wife and me a clear, almost unavoidable, look at the crack in her ass. Now generally speaking, this is nothing that I would complain about, and it is not that she had an unattractive rump, but I was turned off. I joked about it to the wife but it wasn’t funny for long.

Then the wife ate a hot dog, her second in the last two weeks. This is notable because the wife hasn’t eaten a hot dog since the first Bush administration. She had it with ketchup and I resisted the urge to rag on her for that bit of goyishness. So I called a friend to tell her the news. And in the course of our conversation I mentioned the unsightly ass crack.

Only I mentioned it loudly enough for the young woman to adjust in her seat and tuck her shirt in. And then I felt like that biggest jerk in the world. I thought of apologizing but then that might have only made matters worse. I didn’t mean to blow up her spot like that.

It took me two full innings to get over it and concentrate back on the game.

I was sitting in Todd’s seat. I thought about him and felt worse. Acting like a mo mo in his seat. But then I remembered how forgiving Todd was and I calmed down some. Then the game got exciting–Derek Jeter and Mark Teixeira combined for a slick play to end an inning, Brett Gardner gave the Angels a taste of their own medicine, and Mariano Rivera finished it off.

The wife was happy, so proud of her hot dog experience. She enjoyed the Stadium–liked it even more than the previous one–and we went home happy. Though I’m still not proud of embarrassing that girl.

What to do about AJ? Worry?

Bow Down

This is more than nifty:

Chink in the Armor

david robetson

According to Tyler Kepner, David Robertson went for his second M.R.I. today and he won’t be pitching for ten days to two weeks. Perhaps he will be ready for the playoffs but I’m not so sure we should count on it.

Difference Maker

My thought at the start of the season still holds…the key to the Yankees playoff hopes is AJ Burnett. Todd Drew’s boy. The guy Rich Lederer sold me on. AJ Burnett: an uneven pitcher with a golden arm.

ajburn

The Yanks are cruising to October now, so naturally, I’m starting to get worried, cause that’s how neurotics roll. Are they using up all of their mojo? Can this last? You know the line of thinking. But really, I think it all comes down to Burnett. If he pitches like an ace, the Yankees will be awfully tough to handle. But if he’s a bust, well then, nothing is certain.

The man, and this team, still have something to prove.

R.I.F.

reading

I looked up from my book this morning to see where we were. The subway is crowded again, kids are back to school. In the row across from me, almost everyone was reading–the newspaper, a magazine, a novel, a textbook, their blackberries. Sometimes people ask me if I mind commuting on the subway. I look at them like they are crazy. When else would I have time to read?

There was an engaging piece last week in the Times by Alexis Mainland about reading on the subway. Dig:

The middle-aged woman with the black cardigan around her shoulders had assumed a meticulously calibrated posture: feet shoulder-width apart, arms slightly bent, fists loosely clenched, muscles relaxed yet alert.

She was not preparing for a tae kwon do bout, but performing her personal version of the underground battle engaged in daily by millions of New Yorkers: reading, intently, on a sardine-can D train heading swiftly toward Brooklyn in the evening rush. Without holding on.

“I am a New Yorker,” the woman, Robin Kornhaber, 54, told me as if those five crisp words explained everything. “I can do anything on the subway.”

Straighten it Out

jobs

Joba’s on the hill tonight as the Yanks look to sweep the Rays.

The kid needs a good outing. Here’s hoping he comes through this evening.

Let’s Go Yan-Kees.

Excuse Me While I Kiss the Sky

Todd Drew’s seats from Yankee Stadium II. Now resting comfortably on Marsha Drew’s deck down south.

seats 9 and 10

I am honored to announce that Todd Drew’s Lasting Yankee Stadium Memory has been selected by Leigh Montville to be in The Best American Sports Writing 2009 (due out next month). This is only the second blog entry that has ever been included in the series (Derek Zumsted’s piece on Bugs Bunny was the first).

We have enjoyed many fine moments here at Bronx Banter since the blog began in late 2002, but no single moment has made me prouder. It is a moment laced with sadness because Todd is no longer with us. However, I’m certain that he would not want us to dwell on that. I’m not sure that it would be easy for him to be the center of attention either, but I do know that he worked hard on his writing and cared deeply about good writing. To be included in this series–one that he adored to no end–would have knocked him on his ass.

I like to think of him as bursting with pride right about now.

Quick story about this piece. Todd’s first draft was written in the second person. When I first read it, I intended to end the series with it because it was so strong (for various reasons, having nothing to do with the article, that didn’t happen). But there is something about the second person that generally rubs me the wrong way. So I asked Todd if he would be willing to try it in the first person. He was more than happy to oblige, as Todd was always looking to improve his work, try something new. A few days later, he sent me the article, now in the first person.

And he had it right the first time. It was meant to be in the second person. Which is the version that appeared on the blog and will now be in the company of the other great work in The Best American Sports Writing 2009.

So join me in a toast, to Todd Drew.

This is a great moment for us all, the entire Banter community. I’m thrilled to share it with you.

Jugglin’

Should Joba Chamberlain go back to the pen for the playoffs?

Rob Neyer tackles this loaded question over at ESPN.

I say, yeah, put the big fella back in the pen for now. Why not have Hughes and Chamberlain in the bullpen?

Play it Again

Nope, it doesn’t get old. The Yanks are gorging themselves on the Rays and just about everyone else they face. And it sure feels good.

*

David Price pitched a wonderful game for the Rays, allowing a solo home run to Nick Swisher and an RBI single to Alex Rodriguez. Chad Gaudin was more efficient, allowing just one run (homer to Evan Longoria). Phil Hughes coughed up the 2-1 lead by giving up a solo shot to Jason Bartlett in the eighth but Mariano Rivera pitched a scoreless ninth and then Swisher planted a line drive into the first row of the right field bleachers in the bottom of the inning. Cue Sinatra, AJ and his pie, with the hugging and mugging and jumping at home plate. It was Swisher’s 26th dinger of the season, just his fifth at home.

Final Score: Yanks 3, Rays 2.

Derek Jeter struck out three times and went 0-4 but got plenty of cheers regardless.

That makes 90 wins for the Yanks, and for the moment, life is good in the Bronx.

* Here’s where Steely Dan got the intro bit…

Better Late…

jimmy smith

Just got in the door from Vermont, lugging bags up from the car, schvitzin’, hungry, cranky.

But just in time to put up a game thread, relax and watch the Yanks.

Heard something about a visit to Dr. J. Andrews for David Robertson which is not a good sign.

Otherwise, life is good and Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

The Natural

There was one kid who stood out among all the others. The one a coach is always hoping he’ll see: the kid who went after ground balls with a kind of liquid grace, whose hands were sure, who listened. Ernies Alemais was the coach doing the talking. First he talked to the kid and found out he had played four years of Little League but now, at 11, had no team to call his own and said he didn’t have the time to look for one. And then, when the fielding, throwing and hitting drills were done and a six-on-six Whiffle Ball game was, too, Ernies talked to the kid’s grandmother about a better tomorrow.

uptown

On the patch of Bronx real estate where he runs the Uptown Sports Complex between a funeral home and an OTB parlor, Ernies told her of the talent he had seen in her boy and how that talent could keep him in school and maybe someday take him to college. The kid’s grandmother smiled as if she had just been thrown a life preserver. Then she dipped into her purse and offered Ernies a tip.

He smiled and put his hand on hers. “I don’t want a tip,” he said. “I want your boy to come back.”

The words were the kind Ernies Alemais lives to speak, and the kind he never heard when he was a kid himself. To look at him now at 35—well-scrubbed, meticulously casual in sandals, jeans and T-shirt, a Dominican Matthew McConaughey—it is hard to believe he never heard someone preach the gospel he lives by. But he was that rare Dominican kid who grew up without baseball.

There were no places like the Uptown Sports Complex when Ernies was growing up. His father wasn’t around either, though he gave him the first name with the odd spelling after seeing it on a bodega. But there was no time to teach Ernies baseball.

“I asked my dad a few years ago why he didn’t teach the game to me,” said Ernies recently, standing next to one of the hitting cages in the Complex. “He had no words for me. No words. He was sorry.”

That was enough for Ernies, an achiever who was the captain of the football team and class president at John F Kennedy in the Bronx during his senior year when it won the city championship. He was too small to play D-1 football, so six months after he graduated, Ernies got a job in building maintenance where he would remain for the next sixteen years. His aversion to school was in no small part because of his lifelong struggles with dyslexia.

“I got left back in third grade and they wanted to put me in Special Ed but my mother wouldn’t have it,” he said. “In junior high, I had Resource, which was between regular school and Special Ed.”

Ernies has always been bothered by his dyslexia, something he likes to keep private. But when he realized his dyslexia was going to come out in this post, he told me, “Well, if it’ll help one person who has dyslexia realize they can achieve things despite this handicap then go ahead and put it in. I’m not ashamed of it. I’ve compensated for my lack of book smarts with charisma,” he says.

“He isn’t cocky,” says longtime friend Jesse Garcia (also known around these parts as “Dimelo”), who was a year behind Ernies at JFK. “If he doesn’t know something he’ll ask. He doesn’t have a problem saying ‘I don’t know.’ I was reading about Derek Jeter the other day and the article said he feels that he’ll never fail. That’s like Ernie. He might fail but he always acts like there will be a successful outcome.”

Ernies is a featured player in a long essay I’ve got on summer sports in New York City over at SI.com:

It’s not that sports matter more to New Yorkers than they do to Philadelphians or Angelinos. What distinguishes sports here is New York’s quintessential diversity. In any given area of town, you will find any number of games being played by any number of nationalities, side-by-side.

Take Van Cortlandt. On this Sunday afternoon, I saw over a dozen soccer games, three cricket matches and six softball games being played at once in the open field on the west side of the park. A group of proud, hard-looking black and Spanish women trudged across the great field after a softball game just as a collection of dapper-looking West Indian and Pakistani teenagers convened for a cricket match.

Next to the field is the oldest public golf course in the country; and next to that are the riding stables. Below both are public pools, a cross-country track, tennis and basketball courts and more baseball fields. A couple of blocks away, tucked off 240th Street, is Gaelic Park, a treasure shared by Manhattan College and the Gaelic Athletic Association.

In the summer, off-the-boat Irish boys, strong, pink necked and pale legged, play terrific games of such primordial Viking sports as Gaelic football and hurling (think of field hockey, lacrosse, and baseball mashed together). Young women play football too, and then pound beers over by the picnic table. The field comes equipped with a bar. When I visited, a few hundred people sat in the bleachers. Across the field in the small press box, an old-timer fixed himself a cup of Barry’s tea and spread butter on a thick slice of Irish Soda Bread. “They ran out of scones today,” he said. A thin man in front of him packed up his laptop, having just finished an article on the women’s football match, and changed into shorts and spikes as he prepared to referee the hurling match.

“We multi-task,” he said.

I also saw a bunch of street basketball, at 145 and Lenox, at the Rucker and at Dyckman. And I got to meet Ruth Payne, a fascinating woman and double dutch coach who helped double dutch become an official varsity sport in the New York City school system. The fifteenth of eighteen kids, Payne never married and doesn’t have any children of her own. But early in her life she became the designated family babysitter and subsequently has been a mentor to dozens of children from her neighborhood of Bed Stuy, Brooklyn. Like Alemais, she is one of the good ones.

Emma Span helped out with reporting on this project and the accompanying videos were produced, shot, and edited by Collin Orcott, a talented J-school student who interned at SI this past summer. We put a ton of work into the assignment and I’m pleased with how it turned out.

Hope you enjoy.

Double Mint Fun

The Yanks swept the Rays yesterday at the Stadium. First game was a close one until the Yanks pulled away in the eighth. Final score: 4-1. Then, they blew the Rays out in the second game, 11-1. The gives the Yanks 89 wins on the season and a robust nine game lead on the Red Sox.

My how life am grand.

Back to Business

The steam-rollin’ Yanks were shut out by one of the game’s best last night, ending a seven-game winning streak. The boys are back at it again this afternoon as they aim to start a new one. I won’t be able to catch it, but Emma will and she’ll be back later on with a re-cap. And our boy Dimelo is up in Toronto with crew reppin’ NYC and the Banter.

Meanwhile, it is gorgeous up here in Vermont, so I’m a cool out with Emily’s family–it’s reunion weekend don’t ya know?–and try not to peak at the score on my blackberry too much. Helps have a seven-and-a-half game lead, don’t it?

Bound to Happen

So Roy Halladay wasn’t going to be bump forever and he turned in a beaut, a one-hit shutout as the Jays rolled 6-0. According to Jonathan Abrams, writing in for the New York Times:

Johnny Damon veered straight into the clubhouse after Friday’s game. Not in anger, but in amazement. He confirmed what his eyes had just seen but his mind could still not quite grasp.

Just as in his previous three at-bats, the ball came out of Roy Halladay’s hand in the eighth inning with the velocity of a fastball and the zigzag movement of a changeup. Damon had struck out on three pitches in his fourth and final at-bat. Now, he smiled.

“Just making sure that it wasn’t just me that thought that pitch was impossible to hit,” he said.

I’m up in Vermont with the wife’s family this weekend so I missed the game. But it doesn’t take too much to imagine how last night’s game panned-out. Fortunately, the Red Sox also lost so New York’s lead remains at seven-and-a-half. Turn the page and keep it movin’.

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"This ain't football. We do this every day."
--Earl Weaver