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When the Yankees lost the 2001 World Series to the Diamondbacks there was a silver-lining to the defeat–it saved the life of utility infielder, Enrique Wilson. Had the Yankees won the Serious, Wilson would have been on the flight headed for the Dominican Republic that tragically crashed in Queens. From Buster Olney’s ‘The Last Night of the Yankee Dynasty’ on the Belle Harbor crash:

The victory parade that would have taken the Yankees up New York City’s Canyon of Heroes for the fifth time in six years was canceled, so Enrique Wilson, the team’s utility infielder, decided to change his flight home. He was supposed to return to the Dominican Republic on Nov. 12, eight days after the end of the World Series, but moved up his departure a few days. He was at home when he heard that American Airlines Flight 587 – the plane he was supposed to be on – had crashed in Belle Harbor, a neighborhood in Queens. Two hundred and sixty-five people were killed in an accident that shook a city still reeling from the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks.

When Wilson saw Mariano Rivera in spring training the next year, the reliever expressed great relief that Wilson was still alive. If Rivera had held the lead against Arizona, Wilson would likely have been on Flight 587. “I am glad we lost the World Series,” Rivera told Wilson, “because it means that I still have a friend.” For Rivera, this was further confirmation that they were all subject to God’s will.”
(thanks to joejoejoe for providing the excerpt)

Had the Yankees managed to beat the Tigers last weekend in the ALDS, Corey Lidle would still be alive. These are just some of the thoughts that ran through my mind tonight during an intermidable commute home from Manhattan to the Bronx. I could not concentrate on reading, I did not not want to listen to music. I wished I had someone I could talk to, and I looked around for anyone wearing a Yankee cap but found nobody. I was left to my thoughts and felt very alone. When I got off the subway on 231st street, I ran for the BX 7 bus in a driving rain and just missed the damn thing. I did not have an umbrella and so I waited for more than twenty minutes in the rain, the hollow pit in my stomach now climbing up to my chest, which became tighter by the moment. A crowd of people formed but hardly anybody spoke.

It’s so interesting to see how death affects people. Before I left work this evening, there was already a good dose of gallow’s humor floating around. “I bet A Rod is to blame for this,” said one co-worker, obviously joking. Another walked past my desk and said something about how Steinbrenner always manages to steal the Mets’ thunder. I shot him a dirty look and said, “Wow, that’s messed up.” He registered my reaction and said defensively, “If you can’t laugh at life, what have you got?” Rage shot through me. What kind of insensitive jerk, I thought. Then I remembered something callous a family member said to me about the Twin Towers on the afternoon of 9.11 and was reminded that in a time of death or existential crisis there is no “right” or “proper” way to act. Some people will instinctively use humor to avoid the pain of the situation. They may say things that strike others are completely inappropriate. Really, it’s unfair to judge anyone’s reactions in these moments.

As I stared into space on the subway, I wondered why I was feeling so empty, so sad. I’ve never had any special affection for Lidle, a mouthy pitcher who seemed to have burned his fair share of bridges in different clubhouses across the big leagues. Nevertheless, he was a familiar face. Though I didn’t know him personally, we all watched him on TV, lending the illusion of intimacy. This summer, I saw Lidle in the Yankee clubhouse on several occasions, walked up the runway to the dugout right behind him on one occasion, in fact.

I was sitting in the middle of the Yankee dugout, staking out a prime seat for Joe Torre’s pre-game press conference, one late Sunday morning in August when Lidle walked past me, down to the far end of the bench, to conduct a TV interview. A middle-aged woman interviewed him, and a young camera operator with a baseball cap turned backwards, stood next to her. Lidle, an altogether average-looking man, wore a Yankee cap and a warm-up suit and held a bottle of water in his right hand as he sat on the bench and looked into the camera. The smell of freshly-cut grass permeated the air, and though the Yankees would not take batting practice on this morning (it had rained the night before), the grounds grew were busy attending to the field as the organist played a medley of pop tunes–first “Sonny,” then “I’ve got you Under My Skin,” and then “I Feel Fine.” I overheard the woman asking Lidle about being a Yankee and him saying, “One month exact.” Had he seen any Broadway shows since he’d been in town? No, he had not. “I understand you are a big poker guy,” she said, hoping to engage him. Lidle had a blank look on his face and answered her questions in a bland manner, as if he was on automatic pilot. He told her about a Texas Hold ‘Em celebrity event he hosted in the off-season. Eric Chavez, Scott Erickson, and David Wells were just some of his friends who had shown up.

The interview did not last long. After Lidle walked away, the interviewer looked disappointed. She asked her cameraman, “Did he sound O.K.? He wasn’t very talkative.”

“He could just be tired like the rest of us,” he said.

The cameraman began packing up his equipment as the organist transitioned into “I Can See Cleary.”

The first time I remember seeing my father cry when I was a boy was the day after Thurman Munson died. When they had a ceremony for Munson at Yankee Stadium, my father sat in his chair in the living room and sobbed. I was nine at the time and just couldn’t understand why he was so upset. After all, he didn’t even like the Yankees. He explained to me that sometimes it is sad when a person dies, no matter who they are, even if they did play for the Yankees. When I got older, I understood what he was telling me. But it wasn’t until my trip home on a chilly, wet, October night, that I really felt what he meant.

A small plane crashed into a high rise building on 72nd street on the east side on Manhattan this afternoon. According to reports, the plane not only belonged to Yankee pitcher Corey Lidle, but he was apparently on board and killed as well. Lidle’s passport has been recovered. There may have been another Yankee on the plane too but this is not official. (My first thought is that Lidle played high school ball with Jason Giambi.) Intial reaction here in my office brought back memories of 9.11. For Yankee fans, this tragedy also brings back thoughts of Thurman Munson who was killed in a plane crash in the summer of 1979. It is foggy, almost a bluish gray, in mid-town Manhattan and it is raining as night falls. This is absolutely stunning, terrible news.

Update

5:30 p.m. The Mayor is giving a press conference. He has not released any names. Bloomberg said that the two people on the plane were the instructor and a student with about 75 hours of flying experience. According to the Mayor, the plane was small and flimsy and that it pretty much burned-up. The crash does not seem to have caused major damage to the building. Apparently the plane took off from Teterborough airport in New Jersey, circled around the Statue of Liberty a few times and then headed up the East River. Radar lost contact with it around the 59th Street Bridge. They still do not know why it turned toward Manhattan Island at 72nd street.

Last month, Tyler Kepner wrote an article about Lidle’s interest in flying for the New York Times:

He earned his pilot’s license last off-season and bought a four-seat airplane for $187,000. It is a Cirrus SR20, built in 2002, with fewer than 400 hours in the air.

A player-pilot is still a sensitive topic for the Yankees, whose captain, Thurman Munson, was killed in the crash of a plane he was flying in 1979. Lidle, acquired from the Philadelphia Phillies on July 30, said his plane was safe.

“The whole plane has a parachute on it,” Lidle said. “Ninety-nine percent of pilots that go up never have engine failure, and the 1 percent that do usually land it. But if you’re up in the air and something goes wrong, you pull that parachute, and the whole plane goes down slowly.”

Tyler Stanger, Lidle’s flight instructor told Kepner:

“He was probably my best student,” Stanger said in a telephone interview. “He learned very, very quickly, and a lot of it is desire. He had huge desire.

“Really, anyone can learn how to fly. If you can drive a bus, you can fly an airplane. But to learn quickly takes money and time. Of course, Cory had plenty of money, and it was the off-season, so he had the time.”

…”On the mound, he has to hold in all the emotions and keep completely focused. It’s the same thing flying: If you’re in an emergency, you can’t waste any time worrying. You have to take command of the situation. A lot of people I fly with don’t have that mentality. Cory does.”

Chilling.

“You never complain about pressure because you understand it goes with what you do,” Torre said yesterday at a news conference at Yankee Stadium. “With the danger of failing is the elation of winning. You can’t get elated unless there’s a danger.”

Joe Torre was sharply dressed yesterday as he addressed the media at Yankee Stadium. His wife, Ali, was with him. After talking to several people about the situation, and then reading the papers this morning, it occurs to me that Torre needs the job as Yankee manager as much as they need him. Perhaps even more so. With two ex-wives, four kids, and more than a few houses to maintain, Torre was simply not going to walk away from $7 million. But it is more than that, of course. Torre will be paid handsomely (if not quite as handsomely) as a TV analyst and a regular on the lecture circut when he finally hangs up the spikes, but he’ll never have the prestige and glamour that he currently enjoys as the manager of the Yankees.

That is a lot to give up and Torre is obviously willing to allow himself to be left hung-out-to-dry for several days by the owner as the local media speculated wildly about his future. In the past he has put-up with being second-guessed by his owner, and allowed Steinbrenner to trash his coaches, stuff Buck Showalter would not put up with (you can see Lou Piniella telling George to take-this-job-and-shove-it if he had been in the same situation as Torre was this week). Of course, the Boss at 76 is different from the man who ran the team by fear and intimidation in the 70s and 80s, and Torre has achieved far more success than any manager George had before him. Still, I can’t help but feel how much the job matters to Torre, and am struck by how much he’ll deal with in order to keep the position.

The other thing that struck me was the following passage from Tyler Kepner’s coverage today in the Times:

“The interesting part is, when you say it’s been six years, if I’m not mistaken, it was 18 years when I got here,” Torre said. “And then in ’98, it was: ‘Hey, it’s been two years since you won. What happened?’ There’s a lot of luck involved.

“I don’t want you to think I’m backing off any accountability. I’m in charge here, it’s my responsibility to make sure we get the job done, and we didn’t get the job done. But there’s a lot of luck.”

For all the talk of the character and guts and will that the ’96-’01 Yankees had when compared with the ’02-’06 teams, some observers believe that the critical difference between the two is nothing more than pure luck. And here is Torre saying as much himself. He should know. Torre’s monumentally bad luck for most of his career as a player and as a manager has been well-documented. Then he enjoyed one of the most improbable runs of luck, good fortune, whatever you want to call it, that any manager in baseball has ever been blessed with (certainly in the free agent era). Now, he returns to the hot seat once again, hoping to roll a lucky seven one more time before the ride is finally over.

Eastward Ho, boys.

Joe Torre is now meeting with the print media at Yankee Stadium. TV and radio are not there. Check with Pete Abraham’s Lo Hud blog all afternoon for updates. I’m listening to the feed on the FAN and the word is: Torre is staying.

According to George King in the New York Post, Joe Torre will not be fired as the skipper of the Bronx Bombers. Meanwhile, at the Daily News, Mike Lupica and Bill Madden continue to lead the charge in the campaign to see Joe go. From what I’m hearing the issue will be resolved one way or another by tomorrow (just in time to steal one more day of headlines from the Mets).

And just FYI, over at SI.com I’ve got a tribute to Buck O’Neil, who passed away a few days ago. We should all hope to lead lives that are half as full as the one Buck lived. He was simply a tremendous spirit. Baseball, nah, the world in general, needs more like him.

“The great thing about baseball is that there’s a crisis every day.” Gabe Paul

That goes double for the Yankees, especially after another crushing playoff defeat. Before a long winter of more A Rod mishegoss, of trade talk and free agent signings, the first order of business in Yankeeland is the future of manager Joe Torre. The belief is that George Steinbrenner will can Torre and replace him with one of his longtime favorites, Lou Piniella. If that happens, Torre’s run as Yankee manager, one of the more remarkable stories in the Steinbrenner Era, will finally come to an end. The Boss was in New York yesterday and issued a predictably terse statement.

According to an article by Joel Sherman and George King in the New York Post:

Steinbrenner was described by sources as trying to cool off yesterday from the Yankees’ ouster on Saturday as a way to assure that his decision about Torre is not rash. However, in a brief conversation with reporters at his midtown hotel yesterday, Steinbrenner clearly had not morphed into a Torre ally.

Steinbrenner said, “We will see what happens” when queried about Torre’s future. When asked about why he is waiting to make a decision, The Boss responded, “I am going to think it over.” Steinbrenner said, “No, I don’t have to” give Torre a vote of confidence.

The Yankees’ owner will return to Tampa today where he is expected to meet with executives to discuss what to do with Torre.

Reggie Jackson told the New York Times:

“It seems like the great job he was doing all year, all that’s forgotten,” Jackson said in a telephone interview.

“I imagine you could blame a guy for making bad moves, but I don’t know how you can blame a guy for the team going 20 innings in a row without scoring a run. I don’t know how you get to be a bum when those things happen. Like him or not, agree with his decisions or not, that’s what happened.”

Torre has enjoyed a terrific run of success with the Yankees, still there have been some fans who are ready to see him go (though I imagine if Torre gets the boot, there will be a great cry from other fans which will only help cement Torre’s legend). They are not alone. Some writers, like Mike Lupica, and Tim Machman, think it’s time for him to go as well. Over at SI.com, John Heyman writes:

There is no evidence Torre will survive this time. Some folks within the organization say they can see Brian Cashman, his longtime ally, fighting to save him. But even if Cashman, who himself has surely noticed Torre’s strategic failings this season, puts up a fight, it’s a losing fight now and can’t be based on anything beyond abject loyalty, nostalgia and a sense of debt.

Torre became a Hall-of-Fame manager here with a stunning four titles in five years. But he was always better with personalities than strategy. This year, he failed on both accounts. Club officials have noticed how Torre failed to get the best out of Rodriguez, and Torre’s frustration showed on his lineup cards in the playoffs, insulting the superstar player Cashman acquired by batting him sixth, then even moving him to eighth. By Game 4, when Rodriguez was in the No. 8 hole, it actually seemed like more of a message than a strategy. In any case, it was a desperate act.

Bob Klapisch talks about how Torre has lost touch with his players. Gary Sheffield was puzzeled by Torre’s decision to move Rodriguez to eighth in the batting order and bench Jason Giambi in what turned out to be the final game of the season, and could likely be the last game of Torre’s Yankee career.

Anyone feeling hungover this morning? I am and I didn’t even have anything to drink last night. The Yankees’ entertaining and highly enjoyable season ended prematurely yesterday, with a whimper then a thud, and we fans can’t help but feeling angry and sad–completely helpless. There will be plenty of blame to go around (if you think we’ve seen the peak of the A Rod bashing, hold onto your hats). Will they fire Joe Torre, How Could This Have Happened?!, etc, etc. Guys, I just don’t have it in me to dig into the dirt right now, so you’ll excuse the lack of links. The Yankees weren’t the only team to take it on the chin in the first round–look at the Twins, who also had a rewarding regular season. But that’s what makes baseball unpredictable, wonderful, and, at times, painful.

I think I’ll be pulling for the A’s in the ALCS. I don’t have anything against the Tigers, and I think they have the best home uniforms in the game next to the Yankees. But I have to admit that I was slighly put-off by their post-game celebration on the field after the game. I understand there has been bupkus to cheer about for Tiger fans, and I think the effusiveness expressed by the players were genuine and sincere. So it’s not like I was offended on principle or anything. But this was just the ALDS. What ever will they do for an encore? I felt they were gilding the lily some, but, what the hell do I know? The only thing I came away with watching Kenny Rogers lead the charge, standing on the dugout showering fans with champagne, was the thought that he will not win another game in October. Oh, but maybe that’s just the bitterness talking.

No matter. Like I mentioned, it is a beautiful, crisp, Sunday morning on the east coast. The sun is out and the leaves are turning. I want to thank all of the regulars–and semi-regulars–who make Bronx Banter the community it is. Again, you guys are the best. And for those who have been with us for more than a minute now, you know just cause the season is over for the Yanks, doesn’t mean we’re going anywhere. We’ll be here for ya through the long winter.

Keep coming back.

The Tigers handled the suddenly hapless Bronx Bombers with ease today, pounding New York 8-3 and ending the Yankees’ season. Jeremy Bonderman pitched well, while Jaret Wright made an early exit (he gave up two dingers in the second inning). The offense was completely flat. Jeter had a hit and Posada hit a late home run, but Alex Rodriguez, dropped to eighth in the order today, was horrid, and Gary Sheffield and Robinson Cano were not far behind. The end came swiftly and without mercy for the $200 million Yankees. They are sure to get decimated by the press in the coming days and weeks. Rodriguez may get so much abuse that the Yankees may consider trading him.

This was nothing short of a stunning way for an entertaining season to end. The Tigers deserve a good measure of credit–their pitching was especially strong. But after Game One, the Yankees played tighter than a tick’s ass and they are left with the bitter taste of defeat to ponder for the next four plus months. Or as everyone’s favorite whipping boy put it:

“You kind of get tired of giving the other team credit,” third baseman Alex Rodriguez said after another terrible October. “At some point you’ve got to look in the mirror and say, ‘I sucked.”‘

This one stings right now. But keep coming back and we’ll commiserate together. Hey, you guys are the best.

The Yankees have their backs against the wall today and their season hangs in the balance. Will the hard-throwing Jeremy Bonderman make like his teammate, The Gambler, and pitch the game of his life today? Is there any way that Jaret Wright can come through for the Bombers?

Talk about tight spots, dig my situation. I’m in Vermont for Emily’s sister’s wedding (she was married in Mexico last spring, this is the U.S. celebration). The ceremony isn’t until tomorrow but there is a family barbeque today. Guess what time it starts? 5:00, smack dab in the middle of the biggest game of the year for the Yanks.

My first thought when I learned the Saturday schedule was to tape the game and watch it later in the evening. But that’s when I thought the Yanks would win on Friday. Even if I prevent the other Yankee fans from watching it on the TV here, they’ve got cell phones, and scores will be floating around the party for sure. What to do? How to be a dutiful fiancee and make small talk when I’m sure to be distracted? Can you feel my pain?

I’ll just have to find a way to suck it up, just like the Yanks. I know I’ll be able to do it and I know they will too.

Go git ’em, boys.

Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

The worst case scenerio reared its ugly head tonight for the Yankees as Kenny Rogers, the consumate October choke-artiste, came up aces for the Tigers, throwing the best money game of his career. It was nothing short of Ripley’s I tell you and I can’t recall being more livid watching a game all season. Rogers had a nasty curve ball that he used for a strike-out pitch, to go along with his normal assortment of slop. His control was excellent and he had the Yankees at his mercy. Did he make a deal with the Devil? This certainly wasn’t the Kenny Rogers we knew in New York.

The Yankees had a runner on base in each of the first eight innings but could not score a run. The team went 0-18 with runners on base, and as result lost Game 3 in humiliating fashion, 6-0. Rogers kept the Yankees off-balance, had them chasing a diving change-up out-of-the-zone, and frozen, looking at fastballs perfectly placed on the black. In all, Rogers had eight strike outs in 7 2/3 innings of work. Moreover, Rogers was increasingly animated and charged-up on the mound as the game progessed.

The Yankees, it seems, can not buy a break in this series. In the fifth inning, with the score 3-0, Bernie Williams narrowly missed a two-run home run. He chased ball four in the dirt and struck out instead. When Robinson Cano went down next, Rogers screamed at his catcher, “C’mon, godammit, give me the ball.” In the top of the sixth, Derek Jeter smoked a line up the middle. The ball caught Rogers–an excellent fielder–in the glove and he was able to pick it up and throw Jeter out. In the bottom of the inning, Carlos Guillen’s two-out line drive hit off Jeter’s glove for a hit, opening the door for the Tigers to score two more runs. And that’s the way the cookie crumbled for the Bombers who now look to Jaret Wright to stop the bleeding and salvage the season. Think about that for a moment and see if you can sleep well tonight. (Emily, always the voice of reason said to me, “Well, if Kenny Rogers can pitch a great game what makes you think Jaret Wright can’t do the same thing?”)

Randy Johnson allowed five runs but he wasn’t entirely awful. A three-run second inning featured an awful defensive throwing play by Jason Giambi. It was just not the Yankees night, pure and simple. Things happen fast in the first round. The Yankees and Twins were the hot teams going into October, but Minnie was swept by the Oakland A’s and the Yankees are hanging on for dear life. Alex Rodriguez and Robinson Cano have done bubkus in the series (though Cano got his first hit, a single, tonight). Damon, Giambi and Abreu did dick tonight. The entire team mustered just five hits.

But this is no time for pointing fingers. The entire team has got to suck it up and show-up in full-force tomorrow. Otherwise, what has been a fine and awfully enjoyable season will end prematurely and regrettably. Time to see what kind of fight these guys have in them.

Hang tough, guys. The Yanks’ll get ’em tomorrow. Nobody said it was going to be easy.

The notion of Alex Rodriguez as an over-priced flop has been the single largest media story around the Yankees in years. Rodriguez does not go 5-5 in playoff games like Derek Jeter–he hasn’t done much of anything substantial in his past two-and-a-half playoff series. Forget about what he has done in the past–his lifetime post-season numbers are far from embarassing–New York is a what-have-you-done-for-us-lately town. I hear Yankee fans everywhere hating on A Rod, and the papers fuel the flames. The back page of the Daily News today shows a close shot of A Rod after a strike out. He is looking down, a sullen expression on his face, as he lifts the helmet off his head in frustration. The headline reads “Awol.” The New York tabloids relish humiliating Rodriguez when he does not play well, especially in the playoffs.

Even far-minded critics like my man Jake Luft are harping on Rodriguez’s failure, which grows more glaring with each mediore game. Buster Olney has a great blog entry on the subject today over at ESPN. A Rod hit the ball well in Game One, but only had one hit to show for it. He whiffed three times in Game Two. The first and lasat K you have to give to Verlander and Zumaya, the other two at-bats are on Rodriguez.

But New York’s obsession with hating Rodiriguez says more about Nee Yorkers themselves, and the nature of the tabloid competition here, than it necessarily does about Rodriguez himself. (Just like ovation Torii Hunter got from Twins’ fans after mis-playing a ball into an inside-the-park home run said something about Minniesota fans. I know Hunter is different to them than A Rod is to Yankee fans, I’m just saying. ) Not that A Rod doesn’t contribute to the matter but the resentment that people express says more about what they demand from the highest-paid player: nothing short of being the absolute best in every way. They feel entitled to take the guy down if he doesn’t match their expectations.

It’s not that Yankee fans don’t want him to do well. They do want to see him succeed. He got a bonafide ovation as he walked to the plate in his first at bat of the series. But when he fails the fans turn on him quickly and without mercy. He reminds us of our own failures, our own inability to meet certain “clutch” situations all the time in our own lives. Not only that, he confirms our worst fears about ourselves–that we won’t do well. Watch a Rodriguez at-bat with a group of Yankee fans and most of them expect him to fail, and go so far as to root against him. It’s a weird kind of maschochistic thing, I don’t get it.

I heard two construction workers talking about the Yanks in the local deli this morning and their entire riff on A Rod was what a bum he was for making all that money. “If you or I performed like that in our jobs, Frankie, we’d be out of jobs, am I right?”

“And then he sits there and takes pitches. How do you take pitches.”

“They teach you in little league you gotta swing the bat, right?”

“I can’t believe a guy gets paid all that money to leave the bat on his shoulder.”

And so forth. You’ve heard it all. It’s not as if Rodriguez has not have some big hits as a Yankee–he has. But he has to have them in the playoffs. Now. He’s the only star player in baseball whose entire season is judged almost exclusively by how he does in the playoffs. 120 RBI? Should have been 148. Get bent. What have you done for me lately?

It is a very real media story and while we’re all sick of it but it could get the guy run out of town if he fails and the team bows out early. That would be a shame because headcase or not, after three years in New York, Rodriguez is probably the best third baseman in Yankee history, and that’s pretty awesome. He’s not Nettles with the glove by a long stretch, but he’s a much better hitter. Better base runner, better player. But a bigger mystery. When the game looks hard for a player, when he’s a scrappy guy like Wally Backman or David Eckstein, fans identify them with and give them a pass. It’s the Wayne Cherbet syndrome, you know what I mean? The game is hard for A Rod too, even though he’s supremely gifted. It’s just difficult in a different way, a way people can’t relate to or identify with. They just see that he’s good looking and very rich and he’s strikes out three times in a playoff game.

But now it’s time for Mr. Rodriguez to meet our old pal, the Gambler Kenny Rogers. If you don’t get at least two hits tonight, it’s only gunna get worse tomorrow, kid. So as Don Corelone said to Johnny Fontaine, “You can act like a MAN! (slap) What’s the matter with you?” Go get ’em, bro, leave it all out on the field and kick some ass. Remember, the Gambler is a bigger headcase than you. Doubles in the gap, dude, doubles in the gap. The story won’t go away until you come through. Make it happen.

Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

The Tigers tied the best of five series against the Yankees on a sunny and crisp fall afternoon in New York. They followed the ideal formula to beat the Bombers: a few well-timed hits (the revenge of Marcus Thames), add some pop (Carlos Guillen), mix in some decent starting pitching and then get to your devastating bullpen. Final score: 4-3. Justin Verlander was effectively wild as the Yankees did not score early, which tends to mean they’re going to have a long day. Other than Johnny Damon’s three-run, upper-deck home run, were effectively shut down all game long. Jason Giambi hit a long ball that went foul, Bobby Abreu hit a long single that was just short of a dinger too. And Mike Mussina could not protect a 3-1. The worst of for Mussina came when he left an 0-2 mistake rigth over the plate to Curtis Granderson, who tripled home the go-ahead run in the top of the seventh.

Joel Zumaya was sick for the Tigers, striking out Jeter, Giambi and Alex Rodriguez late in the game and throwing steadily over 100 mph. Rodriguez went 0-4 and took the brunt of the fan’s abuse. He didn’t have a good game, however, his first and last strike outs, well, those were cases where you just have to credit the pitcher now, don’t you?

For a fine re-cap of the game, check out Tyler Kepner’s story today in the Times. Pete Abraham has a host of good links for a change.

Now, we’ve got ourselves a serious. You may have your doubts about Randy Johnson, who is looking to make-up for his lousy showing in Game 3 of the 2005 ALDS (and I think he will), but as a friend said to me yesterday, “It’s not so much that I’m confident in Johnson, it is that I am positive that Kenny Rogers will be awful.” Tonight gives a new twist to the title “Grumpy, Old Men.” Johnson and Rogers may have different styles, but they both seem like miserabl sobs in their own special way.

I’m headed up to Vermont for the weekend. I’ll be checking in and providing pre-and-post game articles, though there may be fewer links than usual, on the count of they’ve only got a dial-up connection where I’m going to be out in the sticks. Cliff returns on Sunday from his honeymoon. Here’s hoping he’ll have something to sink his teeth into (i.e., ALCS Preview) when he arrives.

If you’ve got free time, check out a Q&A I did with Wade Boggs earlier this week. It includes a link to one of SI’s great interviews of all-time–from the 1986 Baseball Preview issue, Boggs, and Don Mattingly sit down to talk hitting with Ted Williams.

There is a serious mix of clouds and sun in Manhattan this morning and it is decidedly cooler than it has been for the past few days. The fall has returned. Now, this feels like weather for October baseball. It will be brisk and chilly out there this afternoon. Mike Mussina and Justin Verlander square off shortly after 1 pm at the Stadium.

Let’s Go Yanks!

Game Two will be made up at 1 pm tomorrow afternoon. Shoot, I went home and hung out with my cousin Eric. Didn’t much rain up here in the northern Bronx but better safe than sorry, right? There will be a lot of distracted Yankees fans at work on Thursday. Well, we always beg for day games. Now, we’ve got one. Have a good night, peoples. I’ll catch you in the a.m.

Update 11:20 p.m. Yeah, it’s coming down pretty good here now. It would have been a slopfest like we saw last year if they had tried to get this one in. They made the right call.

Believe it or not, it’s even warmer and muggier in the Bronx tonight than it was last night. But there it is, strange things sometimes happen. Like Mark Kotsay’s inside-the-park home run this afternoon in the A’s, Twinkies game, or two Dodgers getting tagged out at the plate by fomer Dodger catcher Paul LoDuca (Yo, Paulie, you know, Paulie) in the course of about ten seconds. Kotsay hit a sinking line drive to center field. Torii Hunter charged the ball which took a late, vicious curve down and to the right–the TV analysts on ESPN said it “knuckled.” Hunter, a highlight reel centerfielder and all-around infectiously aimable dude, dove and it got past him. Kotsay didn’t get a great jump out of the box but when he saw the ball get past Hunter he started to book his ass off. After he scored easily, Kotsay popped up from his slide and thrust his fist in the air. Hilarious. As for the Dodgers, I still don’t know what they were thinking there. One of the guys, especially the trail runner, J.D. Drew, has got to try and run LoDuca over. Still, I am pumped for Carlos Delgado, and I think it’s great that CliFFFloyd hit a bomb.

In the bowels of Yankee Stadium there is a cafeteria for the writers. During the playoffs, the room is converted into the press room where the pre-and- post game interviews are conducted. Through the far end of the room is a door which leads to the downstairs press room, a large, windlowless concrete room lined with tables and chairs and lots of men (and some women) typing away on laptop comupters. The sound of all of all the fingers tapping away on keyboards sounds like the patter of gentle rain on a tin roof. It is extremely active this evening, three hours before the game. The Yankees are on the field taking bp. Reporters are writing their stories.

I go upstairs to the main press box. The first person I see after the security guard lets me in is a middle aged woman wearing a Yankee hat and a navy blue Yankee polo shirt. She is holding a clear plastic box of chocolate chip cookies. “Hey, you wanna cookie?” she says to me opening the box and holding it toward me. “Do I?” I say and grab a large, doughy cookie. I turn right and hit the head. As I’m peeing, I eat the cookie and I hear the woman out in the hallway offering everyone she sees a cookie, the same way she asked me. And they say nobody is nice a Yankee Stadium.

This would be a money game for the Yankees to win tonight. It’s a Must game for the Tigers. Mike Mussina is a big ticket pitcher; he’s expected to win these kind of games. I’ve always liked him, so you know I’m pulling for him to come up big. Justin Verlander is a very good young pitcher too. He struggled in the second half (he was awful in August), but had a couple of strong starts late in the year and you just got to love his stuff. He seems like he’s going to be a real pitcher and not just a thrower. If the Tigers can get a two or three run lead going into the seventh, they can snake out a win for sure and then we’ve got ourselves a series. Part of me thinks the Yanks are going to continue the pound-a-thon and just roll, while the other part of me thinks that A Rod will blow and Sheffield will make a crucial error, Verlander and the pen will be great and the Tigers will find a way to win. I’m a twin, what can I tell you? I see both sides of the cern.

Yo, if they are going to hit dingers off Mussina, let’s just hope nobody is on base when they do, that’s all I’m saying.

Hope everyone enjoys the game but in order to do so you are going to have to wait around for awhile it seems. They played the anthem and the crowd waited for the Yankees to take the field. But they never did and the fans didn’t know for why? Well, evidentally, there is threatening weather a-comin’ this way with the quickness, or so says the doppler radar. The rain is supposed to hit between 8:15 and 8:30 and keep up for a good hour-and-a-half. Yikes. Luckily, I brought some good reading material. Too bad I forgot my gollaches. Kind of funny to see the game called before it starts to rain. People are just scratching their heads, going, oy. Call the babysitter, we’re gunna be here awhile.

Irregardless, as they like to say in the Bronx, Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

When I left the Stadium last night it was close to midnight. Most of the exits on the ground floor were already closed so I had to walk around the park the long way, through the outfield bleachers, to reach the street. The bright stadium lights were dimmed and it was still humid. Incredibly, the place was virtually empty. I was surprised at how fast everyone was gone. The subway stations were desolate too–the night crew already had long hoses out and were washing down the platforms. When I reached the 1 train at 168 street, I was a little unnerved by just how alone I felt. Nobody was around, which is never a comfortable feeling for this New Yorker.

It wasn’t long before an Asian couple wearing matching Wang shirts joined me on the platform. I struck up a conversation with them. Yes, they were both originally from Tawain but they had met as students here in the States, at Syracuse University. Now, they are co-workers in southern California. They made the trip back east, in part, to see Wang pitch last night. I asked if they were a couple or just co-workers and they told me they are returning to Syracuse this weekend to get married. Just the two of them (they have no family in the States). How cool is that? I told them that I just got engaged and we became fast friends. We rode the train uptown together and they insisted on taking pictures with me before I got off at my stop. We hugged goodbye.

Couple of mid-day links for your face:

Emma Span on the different clubhouse cultures in the Bronx and Queens, uber-Yankee blogger, Pete Abraham with some cherce links, Larry Mahnken recaps Game 1, Tom Verducci on Derek Jeter, Jack Curry on Jim Leyland, Ken Rosenthal on the Yankee offense, and finally, an interview with yours truly for the Sports Media Guide site.

ALCS Game One: Yanks 8, Tigers 4

The auxiliary press box takes up four full sections in right field. Each row actually takes up two rows of seats, one with a long wood board laid across the top to serve as a table. A security guard named Lee Brown shows me my seat. He is a lanky middle-aged man, with a high forehead and an afro and has the features of the jock-turned-actor, Bernie Casey, only he’s thinner. So, I am sitting in the front row, second box from the right. Not three feet to my left is a 25 inch Television set, resting on an additional wood platform. Each row has its own TV, which is playing the Fox broadcast of the game. The TV feed is about three seconds delayed and it is truly surreal being so close to a set, seeing the game the way we normally do in the privacy of our own homes, our own lives, out of the corner of my eye as I look out onto the real Yankee Stadium field.

After the anthem and the pageantry, two jet planes fly over the Stadium. “This gunna be awesome,” says Lee as he moves to far right corner of the loge section. As they pass by, Lee salutes and releases with an exaggerated gesture, waving the planes goodbye. The field is cleared and then “Hell’s Bells” by AC DC starts to play. The door to the bullpen in left center field opens as six umpires climb out of the Yankee dugout and slowly amble towards the plate. As they move the song continues to play. They plod slowly but with purpose like an unintentional Quentin Tarrantino parody.

(more…)

I arrived at Yankee Stadium tonight at twenty to seven, just shy of two hours before first pitch. I heard a couple fighting on the train ride up. “That’s not what I’m sayin, you don’t listen,” the guy said. “I know what you’re sayin, you just intrepret me wrong,” she answered. I tried to engage a non-descript-looking and desultory dude to no avail. But when I climbed the stairs to the street a block away from the Stadium in the Bronx, I was greeted by an unseasonably warm evening, laced with the last bits of humidity this Indian Summer has to offer. They say it may even rain later on. The sun was setting, and you could feel that something different was in the air. Traffic was blocked off, and there were a lot of cops around. Things felt orderly.

I just missed magic hour, the sun was already well down, and there was just a little bit of natural light left. I got to the area where a cop has to check your security in order to pass. The cop, as always, is a young Latin guy, maybe late twenties, big, brown eyes, neatly trimmed mustache. I’ve seen him each time I’ve been at the Stadium this year and I greet him with a smile. He asks for my ID, checks it, and tells me to go ahead without any further recognition. Running parallel along the third baseside of the Park is a basketball court and a ratty baseball field. With no lights and precious little daylight left. But Kids were still playing hoops on the basketball court, and behind that, other kids were winding down a baseball practice. My favorite part of playing baseball as a teenager was staying late at practice taking grounders from my coach until it simply got too dark to see.

I moved towards the Yankee Press area. A group of cops are standing around. I hear one say, “With a strip on the roof? And you wouldn’t rock that Sh**?” Not too many people yet, certainly no crunch, this was also that last pause in of the long regular season before the team and the fanbase kicks off another October. First team to eleven wins. And it is definitely Broadway tonight in the Bronx. When I turned the corner to the final stretch before approaching the club box and press areas, I was almost knocked over by a wave of cologne. Guys stood in small groups, talking on their cell phones. Pretty, sun-tanned, guys with make-up, some smoking cigars.

The Yankees set up a tent outside of the press area to accomidate all the media that will be here tonight. Three women in their mid-twenties are behind the desk. “Belth. That’s B as in Bronx,” I say to the women. “Did you say B as in boring?” says one of the girls who was sitting down (the prettiest one was standing). “No, but I say A as in aardvark. Or P as in–” “P as in pig,” the girl says. “Or as in pneumonia,” I say using an old Elaine May line. I wait. No laugh. Okay, then, moving on.

I go up to the press box to see where I’m to be seated. There is an auxillary press box set up in the loge seats out in right field. I figured I would be seated there. I checked out the chart in the press box behind home plate and ran into a sportswriter I have known for a few years. He was on the phone and told me to hang on. I looked down at the field and saw the Tigers taking bp. I leaned against the top railing of the press box, and looked down and saw a fat meat sandwhich of some sort. And fat fingers picking it up. The fat fingers belonged to a fat sportswriter who typed with furious speed and grace on a small laptop keyboard. His fingers moved with the light touch that some big men like Fatty Arbuckle have dancing.

The sportswriter I was waiting on got off the phone and talked to me about something that was on his mind as he walked to towards the elevator. I was going the other way but walked with him. In the middle of thought, he was distracted by someone else and immediately walked away. I stopped walking and looked after him. When he got to the door that leads to the elevator he finally looked up and saw me. I raised my hand, “OK, catch up with you later.” And he looked haggard and quickly dipped through the door after the man he was now speaking with.

As I walked the corridors of the Lodge section I was struck by how quiet it still was. It is so cinematic walking through a stadium, every so often catching another glimpse of the field. I stopped and talked to a security guard. Finally somebody normal.

I finally got to my seat just before seven. Front row of the press box in right field. Only the railing is in front of me. Tough to get one in here but a homer is always possible. Incredibly dope seats. You guys know that I’m appreciating every moment and am truly humbled by the opportunities I’ve worked so hard to create.

Chien Ming Wang v. Nate Robertson.

Bring the muthafargin’ Rukus.

Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

Don’t you guys miss ol’ Cliff right about now? I know I do. I’ve grown accustom to reading his series previews just as much as you have. But our man is still on his honeymoon over in Italy (he returns on Sunday). I’m not much for predictions and previews myself, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out what heads are saying about the Yankees-Tigers match-up in the ALCS. Dig the linkathon:

Tyler Kepner, Steven Goldman, Joel Sherman, John Donovan, Dayn Perry, David Pinto, Rany Jazayerli, SG, ESPN, Mitch Albom, Mike Plugh, Sam Borden, Ben Kabak, Don Amore, Steve Lombardi, and Brian Borawski.

There, that should get you started. Yo, I’m mad excitable and it’s not even 9 a.m. Another October, another chance for the Yanks to make a run at the title. These are good times indeed. I’m trying to stay calm and enjoy every moment of it, cause I know it won’t last forever. It’s been another great season for the Yanks and another great season here at Bronx Banter with all of you guys. I look forward to watching the playoffs unfold along with you. And that’s word to Big Bird.

Let’s Go Yan-Kees!