Blog Archives

With Mother’s Day fast approaching, I thought this would be an ideal time to remind anyone looking for a gift to consider my wife Emily’s photo note cards. 

Check out her site. 

Spring is a good thing.

The talented Mr. Hughes is back and will take the hill for the Yanks tonight against the Tigers.

Rah Rah Ree, Kick ‘Em in the Kneee/
Rah Rah Ras, Kick ‘Em in the Other Knee

Maybe this will satisfy Allen Barra. And maybe you can snap your fingers to this:

(more…)

CC Sabathia threw a strong game against the Tigers on Monday night. He allowed four runs–one in the first, and three in the sixth–but pitched better than that. In fact, he only made a couple of mistakes all game long, including a hanging change-up that Magglio Ordonez barely punched over the right field wall. He struck out seven and didn’t walk a batter. Problem was, Justin Verlander was even better and the ninth inning rolled around by 9:15, a virutally unheard occurance for the Yankees.

It was a tidy, efficient, and brisk pitcher’s duel. Verlander allowed back-to-back hits to start the eighth but the Yankees could not score against Bobby Seay. Robinson Cano led off the ninth against Fernando Rodney, lacing the first the pitch to the left center field gap for a double. He scored on a single by Nick Swisher, who advanced to third on a base hit by Melky Cabrera.

With runners on the corners, Jorge Posada came up as the pinch-hitter. He got tied up with an inside pitch and hit a weak grounder to the left side. Brandon Inge fielded it, tossed it to second, and the relay throw miraculously got Posada in time for the double play. That’s an exaggeration on my part, a slow-footed catcher pushing forty shouldn’t be expected to have the legs to beat out even a slow ground ball, but good gosh, Jorge!–it looksed as if he had seventy pounds of cement in his drawers.

A run scored but the rally was squarshed. Ramiro Pena flew out and the game was over before 9:30.

Final Score: Tigers 4, Yankees 2.

No two ways about it, right now, the Yankees are…lacking.  Still, it was an encouraging start for Sabathia.  No cause for panic, but if you are so inclined, why not do it right?

Over at SI.com, I’ve got a write-up of the two new New York ballparks.

Citi Field is state-of-the-art nostalgia (which brings to mind George Carlin’s old routine about “jumbo shrimp”), an amalgam of similar urban ballparks like Camden Yards, the Ballpark at Arlington and Progressive Field, though its spiritual predecessor is Ebbets Field. The results are appealing but also generic. The creative decisions seem arbitrary, like the nooks and crannies in the outfield wall, which don’t serve any other purpose than to add an eccentricity to the playing field. The older ballparks, like Fenway, had such features because they were conforming to a limited urban footprint, not because they deemed them a source of amusement. It is designed like an urban ballpark even though it is sitting in the middle of a wide-open parking lot (talk to the people in Arlington about that incongruity).

The main entrance takes fans through the Jackie Robinson Rotunda, a grand civic gesture to one of the game’s true pioneers. It is an airy room, with staircases and escalators on each side. The tribute to Robinson is earnest, handsome and impressive. “It feels like social studies homework,” one fan, an intelligent, liberal New Yorker told me. A giant blue number 42 sits in the middle of the room, the ideal photo op. The blue — which the Mets appropriated from the Brooklyn Dodgers, just as they took their orange from the New York Giants — is the only Mets-related aspect of the room.

And there’s the rub. As tremendous as the Robinson Rotunda is, it seems out of place, even indulgent, because of the lack of corresponding Mets tributes. This is not to suggest that the Mets build a similar monument for Tom Seaver. Yet the lack of balance has left many Mets fans grumbling. The Mets have a history worth celebrating, but its invisibility at Citi Field underscores the organization’s inferiority complex. Perhaps it is a great Freudian slip, Fred Wilpon saying that his team is just a poor stand-in for the Brooklyn Dodgers, the team he’d really want to own.

The Yanks turn to Andy Pettitte to stop the bleeding tonight in Boston.

Let’s see if the Bombers can sneak away with a “w” or if they’ll be swept away. Got to figure it’ll be a long night.

Nothing has gone right for the Yankees this weekend but still, it’s gorgeous in New York. Why let the Yanks spoil the day? After all, the suffering won’t begin until after 8 tonight. In the meantime, it’s hot like the summer and it’s Sunday.

That counts for something.

And so does this:

Today felt like having duct tape slowly peeled off your arm for more than four hours. A tough-luck loss on Friday night was just the start of what is turning out to be a long, ugly weekend for the Yankees in Boston. About the only way to be feel any pleasure is to admire the Yankees’ fortitude–they showed a lot of fight–and just laugh at the WWF-ridiculousness of these games against Boston.

Yanks-Sox turns baesball into something else, the back-and-forth suggests a heavyweight boxing match even more than it does wrestling. But even in defeat, there is something satisfying about watching your team give it a balls-out effort. Nevermind the horsesh** pitching.

The Bombers put an early beating on Josh Beckett jumping out to a 6-0 lead. But Jason Variteck’s grand slam in the fourth brought the Sox back and by the time Beckett and AJ Burnett were done the score was 8-8. So much for the hype, the two big starters were doo doo. In the end, the Red Sox bullpen was better than the Yankee bullpen and that was that.

Oh, it was typical Yankee-Sox, a regular opera: lead-changes by the handful, big homers by Mike Lowell and Johnny Damon, two long balls by Robbie Cano, a suprising error by Dustin Pedroia, a missed call by the second base ump, Damon crashing into the left field wall. Rock-em-sock-’em-robots stuff. Took forever.

“Did this start yesterday?” said Tim McCarver in the 8th inning.

You know, the usual. 16-11 was the final in favor of the Sox.

So not awesome, man. 

Well, so long as its gunna be loud, why not put a beat behind it that we can dance to?

The late great Joe Cuba.

It’s that time again as this weekend gives the first meeting of the young season between the Yanks and Sox. Saturday afternoon on Fox, Sunday Night on ESPN.  There will be lots of noise on-line, in the papers, and on TV. The usual hype n hyperbole.*

You know the drill.  Right, Chuck?

* Though Beckett vs. Burnett has the potential to worth the hype.

This looks like it might be worth checking out. 

From the wildman who brought us Fingers, one of the grubbiest New York City movies of the late Seventies.

Here’s A.O. Scott’s review of James Toback’s new documentary:

A lot of people, even passionate boxing fans, might prefer to forget about Mr. Tyson rather than spend 90 minutes in his company. But “Tyson” is worth seeing even if you have no particular interest in the sport or the man.

It may lack the detachment and the balance that Barbara Kopple brought to “Fallen Champ: The Untold Story of Mike Tyson,” the 1993 documentary she made for NBC, but Mr. Toback’s film, partly because it restricts itself to Mr. Tyson’s point of view, offers a rare and vivid study in the complexity of a single suffering, raging soul. It is not an entirely trustworthy movie, but it does feel profoundly honest.

“Son, in this life, you don’t ever walk by a red dress.”
–Buck O’Neil

I think Buck would have approved of the gal dancing to Rufus (Pretty in Pink) Thomas at Wattstax. My goodness.

Good lookin’ to our man in Tokyo for the link.

Roy White is famous for being an underappreciated Yankee.   Why he doesn’t have his own Yankeeography is beyond me.  But I’m preaching to the choir.  Here at Bronx Banter, we have much love for the quiet Yankee.  White had a fine career and has just written a new book, Then Roy Said to Mickey…The Best Yankee Stories Ever Told. 

White will be at the Yogi Berra Museum and Learning Center in Montclair New Jersey tonight at 6:00 p.m.  If you are in the vicinity, be sure to check it out.

* photograph courtesy of Corbis.

The massive center field scoreboard area that dominates the visual attention at the new Yankee Stadium comes to life at night. While it can never be truly ignored, even during the afternoon, it is a living, breathing presence at night.

Showtime.

As Yankee fans gather at their new cathedral and take in the experience, walking along the wide concourses, cramming into the Stadium store–which has been packed each time I’ve gone through–there is some sense of carry-over from the old place. Roll call from the bleacher creatures. They are more a part of show than ever because the creatures’ roll call was originally a spontaneous act of their own imagination and collective spirit.  It was not drawn up in a board room. 

The tradition is alive and well in the new place. And the players seem to love it. When Johnny Damon was called he made an elaborate gesture, a comic, rock star pose, pointing to the bleachers. Nick Swisher, spun around and did a nifty move, designed to work the fans up, as well.

The creatures had gone through the outfielders when the A’s lead-off hitter reached first. They chanted Mark Teixeria’s name, and the first baseman, holding the runner on, interrupted his concentration to wave. All part of the show.

* * * *

Earlier, when I walked into the stadium, I saw a group of kids in their early twenties, decked in Yankee gear. “Who’s pitchin?” said one of them. “Yo, we’ve got to cheer for Giambi tonight, man,” said another, smoking a Newport. They nodded their heads.  “Yeah, let’s root for Giambi.”

Giambi was accorded a gracious, though not overly effusive hand when he came to bat in the first inning (those are reserved for players who’ve won titles).  He cracked a line drive to straight away center field. The sound of the ball hitting the bat rang out, that lovely sound that never grows old. Brett Gardner sprinted after the ball–and perhaps because it was right over him he took a funny-looking route–and after eleven steps, he jumped up and snagged it. I thought he had a bead on it, at the last moment I expected him to make the play. Still, it was an impressive catch, and soup to nuts, from Giambi to Gardner, it was one of those moments that bring you to the game, and reminds you that no matter how many bells and whistles, no matter how many distractions, the game is the real show.

(more…)

The Original:

Flipped:

I just caught up with Howard Bryant’s recent ESPN story on Jackie Robinson Day, and this grabbed my attention:

Only one major league player — New York Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter — reinforces his words of praise for Robinson with the financial support the foundation seeks.

The foundation asks for real money — to sponsor a four-year scholarship for a select number of students at $15,000 per year, or $60,000 total — to reach its goal of creating leaders for today and tomorrow instead of reflecting only on the accomplishments of yesterday.

Jeter doesn’t just sponsor a Robinson scholar. He endows a scholarship in his name, in perpetuity, at the $250,000 level. Every four years, when steroids and police rap sheets overwhelm sports, Jeter, silently, has put another kid through college.

Silent hero, eh?

The ‘Stache formely known as the Giambino, speaks.

Meanwhile, over at It’s About the Money, Stupid, Jason Rosenberg has more unpleasantness about the new stadium:

A few weeks back, we went to a friends’ house for an afternoon. While watching the Masters with my friend (a Wall Streeter), we were discussing this and he made an interesting point. He said to me: “Jason, even if I had those great seats that cost $2500 a ticket, I can’t take a client there. It’s not worth the risk.” I asked him about what risk he was talking about and his answer surprised me as I hadn’t thought of that: “If someone recognizes me sitting behind the dugout and it comes out that I used my Firm’s resources for those seats, and we’ve taken TARP money from the government, I don’t want that sort of publicity or getting calls from The Post.” He’s not a famous guy at all, but there’s a fear that someone might see him and he’ll get “outted” for using Firm money to attend a game. He also told me that he’s not alone with this fear.

Most of us have stories about how we lost a prized autographed ball or how our mother threw away our baseball card collection. When I was nine, a family friend who worked at NBC gave me an official 1980  World Series ball signed by Bryant Gumbel, who was working sports at the time. A few years later, my brother, exacting revenge for something that undoubtedly deserved it, played with the ball in the mud, and it was forever spoiled.

Rich Lederer managed to ruin a ball signed on the sweet spot by both Ted Williams and Mickey Mantle.  Here’s how he did it.

From the good people at SNY.

According to the Yankee’s site, tonight’s game has been postponed.

The Coen brothers wrote the role of Walter Sobchack in The Big Lebowski with John Goodman in mind.  In fact, they would have filmed Lebowski before Fargo, but Goodman’s schedule was already booked.  Before he arrived on the Lebowski set, I asked a veteran crew member what he was like.

“Do you remember the part he played in Barton Fink?  That’s pretty much him.”

A million laughs one moment, dark and brooding the next.  The few times I saw him work, Goodman was very hard on himself. He was not a particularly gracious man, at least not to a young guy like myself (though he was charming around women).  Which doesn’t explain anything about him, of course. That’s not so unique.  But I was disappointed in his performance, thought it was uneven, especially because it was written for him, and because he’s often so good.

Goodman was the subject of a good article in yesterday’s Times. He is currently playing the part of Pozzo in a revival of Waiting for Godot.

Mr. Goodman will forever be associated with Dan Conner, the working stiff he played so memorably on “Roseanne,” giving the part not just size and humor but also an edge of melancholy. Mr. Goodman now looks back fondly on the “Roseanne” years, but for a while, he said, he felt trapped in the show.

“I resented it at the time,” he said. “It’s one of those arrogant things that happen to you when you don’t realize the breaks you’re catching.” He added: “I don’t feel this way anymore, but for a couple of years I put myself above the material. I hate saying it, but it’s true, and I’m ashamed of it.”

A friend of mine who knows his Beckett told me last week that Goodman was the stand-out in this production. This article made me root for him.

Mr. Goodman said: “Right now I’d rather be here than anywhere. I’d rather be here, trying to find the goddamn part, and I hope I never do find it, because I don’t want to slide into complacency. What would I do then? Start cockfights in my dressing room?”

Yo, here’s another cool late-night, low-lights, vibey record.  From the Hurdy Gurdy Man himself, Donovan. 

Dig it: