That’s what it’s going to be for the Yanks to miraculously qualify for the playoffs let alone being able to get passed Roy Halladay and the Jays today. It is another beauty of a day out there. Not that the weather helped matters any yesterday. (I was painting my apartment and had the pleasure of hearing John Sterling deliver the bad news.)
Still, today is a new day and you never know what’s going to happen on a baseball diamond.
Let’s Go Yan-Kees.
After my last guest shot on New York Baseball Today the producer said that I should feel free to dress down the next time. “You can be casual,” he said, explaining they were looking to capture the true fan experience. So I wore a t-shirt yesterday. The producer, who is a good guy, nearly gasped when he saw me and when we were finished he mentioned that the t-shirt was too casual, which just goes to show everyone has their own idea of what is casual.
Ted Berg and I had to do three takes because of various screw-ups on our part and also because we kept going long. It’s amazing what a skill it is to not only sound articulate when you are looking into a camera but to be able to get your point across in a pointed and succinct manner. Especially when your natural inclination is to be expansive. I tripped over a bunch of my words during our third and final take but still had a good time with Ted. Hey, it’s a learning process, right?
Anyhow, here’s the bit:
In other news, here is an update on the story about the police at Yankee Stadium during “God Bless America,” and something to make you really depressed: the high cost of watching the Yanks play in their new ballpark.
And, oh, one last note: how beautiful was Mariano Rivera’s performance last night? It was vintage stuff, wasn’t it?
It is a gorgeous day in New York City. I picked up some San Marzano tomatoes at a nearby Farmer’s Market and then noticed a twenty dollar bill on the pavement. Two gentlemen were standing a few feet away from me and they saw it too. I was closer so I bent over, picked it up and looked around to see if anyone would claim it. One of the men said, "I think it was that girl in the white t-shirt, go after her." So I did. I hustled half a block away and asked the woman in the white shirt if the bill was hers. She looked confused.
Ethics, Belth, ethics.
I could have kept the dough. It didn’t look like it belonged to her. But I gave it to her anyhow and said, "Welp, if it ain’t yours, at least you are twenty dollars richer now." I held out my hand for her to slap me five, but she balked. Maybe she thought I was asking for half of it in return. Ah, people just don’t slap each other five like they used to, do they?
I walked away and when I passed the two guys I told them I didn’t think it was hers. "Well, maybe you’ll get it in return someday," one of them said, "and much more than twenty bucks."
Who knows? Karma is a funny thing. Speaking of which, the Yankee season has boiled down to me rooting for Mike Mussina to win twenty games more than anything else. Knowing his "luck" he’ll end up with eighteen or nineteen. But luck can change at the drop of a dime.
Enjoy the day, and let’s go Yankees.
I looked up from the morning paper this morning on my subway ride to work. We must have been near Columbia University. A young woman with a bob of red hair and thin, square glasses that made her look as if she stepped right out of an underground comic book, got on the train and stood above me. She was wearing a black t-shirt with white lettering: "Make Cupcakes Not War."
That’s mad corny, I thought to myself and went back to my paper. A little while later, I put the paper away and took out my headphones when I looked down and noticed that the girl had a tatoo of a cupcake on the top of her right foot. She was wearing flip flops and the tatoo was beautifully done. The cupcake had pink frosting and a red cherry on top. The girl’s toes were painted yellow, her fingernails, pink.
I couldn’t resist so I stood up a minute before I was to get off the train, pulled off my headphones and asked her if she was a baker.
"No."
"What’s with the cupcakes?"
She smiled and looked down. "My roommate and I just love cupcakes. We make them all the time. It’s a little weird, really."
"No, that’s cool. I guess you guys are big fans of Magnolia."
"Naw. We make much better cupcakes at home."
"Very cool."
With that I excused myself and headed off to work.
Okay, well they weren’t technically on Broadway but close enough. Point is, the Yanks got served again by the Red Sox. Thought they’d get saved by the mercy rule, but you’ve got to be down by ten for that to kick in, and right now there is no mercy for the Yanks or their fans.
It was close for a minute–a two run game after seven–then Jose Veras and David Robertson got bombed in the eighth and that was that. 11-3 was the final. Sidney Ponson gave up four runs and didn’t make it out of the fourth while Paul Byrd kept the Yankees off balance allowing just a couple of runs over six (I think the Bombers must have hit three or four homers foul against him.) Alex Rodriguez had a pair of doubles in his first two at bats, bouncing back from a tough game on Tuesday but that turned out to be a minor positive note in what turned out to be another uninspired loss.
The Yanks are making this easy. The way they are playing it’s as if the end of the season can’t come soon enough. They don’t seem to have any fight in them right now. Man, even if they are going to miss the playoffs it’d be nice to see them play spoiler. That seems like a stretch though doesn’t it?
Meanwhile, even more upsetting is this piece from Deadspin. Reportedly, a fan was escorted from the Stadium recently for wanting to use the restroom while "God Bless America" played. Did you guys even know the Yankees had a policy about fan movement during the playing of "God Bless America?" I sure didn’t. Over at Futility Infielder, Jay Jaffe pulls no punches:
I’ve taken many a restroom break during “God Bless America” during my days and nights at Yankee Stadium, and I’ve not only never been harassed by anyone for doing so, I was never aware that they actually had a policy — almost certainly illegal and blatantly unconstitutional — to try to quell such activity. Nonetheless, given the ever-eroding quality of my own experiences at the stadium in recent years, I fear that the allegations are true.
Yankee Stadium security deserves no benefit of the doubt here, nor in this instance does the Steinbrenner family if they’re the ones who have ordered the policy be implemented. Forcing paying customers to stand at rapt attention during a song isn’t some cute little attempt at patriotism to bolster the legacy of Mr. Born on the Fourth of July Steinbrenner, it’s FASCISM. Roughing them up over their failure to stand still during a canned recording of a song that’s been drained of all meaning by its endless repetition is in diametric opposition to what the song and the country it so proudly celebrates stand for; this is about as un-American as you can get.
Furthermore, this incident puts the lie to any claim regarding “the hallowed ground of Yankee Stadium” at a time when the ballpark’s history is being celebrated and its demise mourned. The Yankees deserve to reap all of the bad PR they’ve sown with this, and the Steinbrenner family can cram it up their Yankee Doodle Dandies until they figure out why they’re in the wrong.
I didn’t know about this Yankee Stadium policy but I think it an outrage. It doesn’t exactly surprise me but it is beyond disappointing.
Sho nuff, this has been a down year for our boys. Games like last night just underscore what has been a frustrating season this has been. Still, there’s thirty games left. Soon enough, fall will be upon us and there will be no more baseball until the spring. It’s looking like there won’t be October baseball in the Bronx, which only makes me appreciate what an impressive run the Yanks have enjoyed since 1995. So even if they team isn’t that wunnerful, at least we get to watch baseball for a little while longer. And that’s nothing to sneeze at.
Ponson vs. Byrd tonight. Can’t get any worse. And even if it does, we’re prepared. Damn the torpedos and let’s go Yan-Kees.
I’m as guilty as anyone of beating a dead horse as far as Alex Rodriguez is concerned. Course it ain’t as bad as it was a few years ago, but since it is the theme of the day, here’s one last link to ponder. From It’s About the Money, Stupid, the question is asked: Who is more clutch: Alex Rodriguez or Derek Jeter?
I called a friend of mine who roots for the Mets this morning to comisserate about a pair of tough losses last night. In no time, it became a competition to see who is suffering more, to figure which loss was more devastating. Misery does love company, don’t she?
The Mets blew a 7-0 lead and lost in 13 innings to their division rivals, the Phillies. That makes for a rough, sleepless night. However, the Mets are just a half-a-game out of first place.
The Yankees, on the other hand, are almost out of it completely. They aren’t "officially" sunk yet, but last night’s loss seems extra painful because it was a game that sums up their entire season. Right now, the Yankees are simply not a team that creates many opportunities, and when they do have opportunities they are not cashing in on them. Spiritually, they are the antithesis of the Dynasty teams. Toss in the fact that the loss came to a Boston team that is not at full strength, and that ain’t helping matters. Neither is the thought of the Yanks needing a win with Sidney Ponson on the hill tonight. Granted, Ponson hasn’t pitched badly for the Yanks. Still, y’all what I’m talking about.
After the game last night I was apoplectic and I sent my friend Rich Lederer an e-mail:
"A Rod picked the wrong time to go into a slump. Was 0-5 tonight. Hit into two HUGE double plays. They were booing the sh** out of him at the Stadium and for once I can’t defend him. He really came up small when they needed him. For as great as he is, he’s just not steadily the kind of big game hitter as Pujols or Vlad or Manny are.
Rich, who was born and raised in California, and is a level-headed sort, replied:
I know you have been an A-Rod supporter, but I believe you are being overly harsh when judging him. He had a bad game tonight. Big deal. The truth of the matter is that he is held to a different standard than all the other Yankees. It’s so silly. The better he does, the more fans expect. Hell, it’s no surprise to me that he doesn’t come through given the burden he carries. The whole thing is so silly. As much as I like Guerrero, I will trade you Vlad for A-Rod right now. And every other day of the week.Funny, no mention of Pettitte’s poor performance. Or Giambi. Even though both are making the big bucks. Giambi, in fact, makes more than any player not named Rodriguez. But nary a word. Why? Because you don’t expect as much out of him. As such, he gets away with it.Look, I’m not here to defend A-Rod’s poor game tonight. These things happen. But I will defend him (inclusive of tonight). He is a great player. No single game will change that. His clutch stats over the course of his career are just fine. Unfortunately, they are not measuring up this year. Bring back Morgan Ensberg.
For the record, here are Rodriguez’s rate stats with runners in scoring position since 2000 (thanks to Diane Firstman for the numbers):
Season BA OBA Slug%
2000 .295 .414 .597
2001 .307 .402 .647
2002 .366 .479 .752
2003 .281 .383 .527
2004 .248 .346 .439
2005 .290 .410 .484
2006 .302 .431 .508
2007 .330 .457 .659
2008 .246 .400 .413
Ladies and Gentlemen, your 2008 New York Yankees.
Last night in the comments section, Schteeve asked, "If the 2008 Yankees were a character from fiction who would they be?"
Chyll Will offered: "Gollem: Seems he was good maybe five hundred years ago…Garfield: Old, fat, and not nearly as entertaining as he used to be. Or The Family Circus: stuck in a time warp and way out of touch with reality."
Mr OK Jazz TOKYO wrote: "Charles Foster Kane: Started out with ideals and became a bloated, pompous mess with no friends, spending money wildly and ending up alone in an over-priced tomb."
Jeb had a bunch of winners: "Daisy Buchanan from The Great Gatsby: Looks good, but has no integrity and will ultimately disappoint you. How about Dorian Gray? Seemingly young and virile, but with a picture of themselves in the attic that’s aging beyond belief…For some reason I initially kept thinking of Bob Ewell from To Kill a Mockingbird but there was no way that could work unless Yankee fans are Arod’s daughter and we’re put Cashman on trial for Arod’s sins….Hey it does kind of work."
Man, our readers are so cool. What else ya got?
Yanks hope they can hang with the knuckler tonight.
My grandfather and my niece picking corn in Belgium, 1988
When I was growing up my brother, sister and I took turns visiting my mother’s parents in Belgium during our summer vacation. Each year one of us would go over and stay for a few weeks where they lived, in a small village between Brussels and Waterloo. My grandmother loved getting dressed up and hauling us around to visit relatives all across the country. My grandfather and I would come along and would be polite though we were bored out of our minds. I prefered to stick around my grandparent’s house, where the days moved slowly and were generally organized around food.
My grandfather taught me how to drive on the old stone streets near his home. I was nervous about driving—learning how to do it on a vehicle with a choke didn’t help matters any. He insisted I get over my fears and get on with it. So we’d drive a few minutes down the road, bumping along to the corn fields where we’d pick baby corn–this was corn for the cows not sweet corn–and then come back home, saute the little guys in some olive oil and eat them whole for lunch.
The driving wasn’t much fun for me, but picking the corn, shucking it and giving the outside leaves to the cows next door, and then eating those little suckers is one of my fondest memories of summers abroad.
Tonight is the first of the final three games the Boston Red Sox will play at Yankee Stadium. Here are some links n things…
First off, Steve Lombardi breaks down the pitching match-ups at Was Watching.
“When they tear down a ballpark like that, obviously the history that’s going on in New York, you miss it,” Mike Timlin said. “It’s one of the first major ballparks that I ever played in, when I was coming up with the Blue Jays. You step back, you feel the history, you know what has happened in Yankee Stadium. Yeah, you’ll miss it.”
(Amalie Benjamin, Boston Globe)
Jeff Horrigan, writing in the Boston Herald, and Anthony McCarron, writing in the New York Daily News, look at the Yankee-Sox rivalry in the Bronx.
It has become an enervating task, to get oneself up for another Yankee-Red Sox game, outside this site the vitriol will once again elevate to a point that I no longer find comfortable or commensurate with these regular season games. This may sound crazy, but it would almost be nicer if our teams were in fourth and fifth place, fighting for nothing, and we all could watch the games for the sport of it, rid ourselves of the overlying tension of the rivalry and the zero-sum nature of the results.
Peace to Matt Cerrone for the link:
Today on 
‘s New York Baseball Today, SNY’s Brian Custer and Ted Berg, and Alex Belth from Bronx Banter, talk about who could be called upon to replace John Maine in the rotation, and whether the Yankees need to sweep the Red Sox to stay in the race, which you can watch by clicking play below:
So there I was bummed out by the news of my barber’s retirement when, apropos of nothing, my twin sister sent me this link:
Jonah Keri weighs in on Mike Mussina’s fine career over at ESPN:
Mussina deserves to be a Hall of Famer, even if he never wins 20 games in a season, or 300 in his career for that matter.
If you insist on using wins as a barometer, you could argue that only six pitchers in major league history have as many wins as Mussina, with a higher winning percentage: Hall of Famers Lefty Grove, Christy Mathewson, Grover Cleveland Alexander and Jim Palmer, and Roger Clemens and Randy Johnson, two of the 10 best pitchers of all time. If you’re into fancier analysis, you could point to the Gray Ink, Hall of Fame Standards and Hall of Fame Monitor tests, all of which show Mussina with more than enough credentials to surpass the average player already enshrined in Cooperstown.
But the argument over Mussina’s candidacy based on his (in)ability to win 20 games in a season raises a bigger issue: Baseball’s media and fans (mostly the media) butcher the numbers in their attempts to evaluate a player’s accomplishments, or his overall worth.
For most of us, death will not announce itself with a blare of trumpets or a roar of cannons. It will come silently, on the soft paws of a cat. It will insinuate itself, rubbing against our ankle in the midst of an ordinary moment. An uneventful dinner. A drive hom from work. A sofa pushed across a floor. A slight bend to retrieve a morning newspaper tossed into a bush. And then, a faint cry, an exhale of breath, a muffled slump." *
A Ridiculous Will —Pat Jordan
The summer is almost over: The last days of Yankee Stadium are upon us. Over the weekend, my neighborhood was crowded with kids returning to Manhattan College. A few days ago I went to Brooklyn to get my haircut. I hadn’t been in a few months and was starting to look downright shaggy. When I walked into the shop, early in the morning, the owner Ray was sitting in his chair. I noticed the place looked bigger and asked where my barber, Efrain was.
"He’s gone," said Ray.
As in retired, not dead. Up and left three weeks ago. Moved to Florida with his wife. Didn’t tell any of his few remaining clients. He only gave Ray a few days notice.
"His legs have been hurting him," said Ray.
I felt stunned although not surprised. I had been waiting for the day that I walked into the shop to discover that Efrain was gone–retired or dead–for some time now. I sat in Ray’s chair and listened to him as he cut my hair. But I didn’t really hear him. I could only think back on Efrain.
Last night, Mariano Rivera’s son worked as the bat boy for the Yanks and he wore #42 just like his old man. With one out in the ninth inning, the boy was perched on the top step of the dugout, leaning over the fence. Tony Pena told him to step down and the boy sat next to Pena on the bench. Girardi was next to them. I wondered what it must be like to be the son of a big leaguer. The rest of the men on the team must really accept you into the fold.
The next time the YES cameras cut back to the dugout the boy was back on the top step. Joba Chamberlain was next to him. They watched the kid’s father put the Orioles down quickly. When Nick Markakis checked his swing on a full-count pitch, Joba said, "That’s it" as the team moved out of the dugout and onto the field. The home plate umpire pointed at Markakis, who had held-up on a check swing just a few pitches earlier. An appeal was made to third but Laz Diaz just smiled as he walked off the field.
The young Rivera, like his old man, was calm and composed. A few minutes later, the YES cameras showed the kid following behind his father, a double-vision of #42. For a moment I wondered, what if Rivera is a mean parent? What if he is cold and distant? What if the kid will never be able to live up to the pressure of being the son of a famous athlete? Then I allowed myself to have a nicer fantasy–what if being Mariano Rivera’s son really is all it’s cracked up to be? What if he’s a great dad?
Reality lies somewhere inbetween I’m sure, but that looked to be about as cool a bring-your-kid-to-work-day as you could ever see, right?
Bob Klapisch writes about his very scary injury for the first time today. Excellent, sobering piece by Klap. Check it out.
Wonder what kind of comedy we’ll see out of Carl Pavano and the Yanks tonight…
