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I miss firejoemorgan.com. I think they could maybe be harsh at times, but they were seldom wrong, and that site is still the first thing I think of when I come across a really awful piece of sports writing; its recent silence has left a void. Yesterday I came across an ESPN the Magazine (quit looking at me like that — I get it free!) “Page 2” piece that really demands the FJM treatment.

I’m certainly no Ken Tremendous, but I’ll give it my best shot. And so without further ado I give you Mike and Mike – whose show I’ve never actually heard, and now I know why – on the Yankees’ offseason. It doesn’t seem to be available online, so I’ll just have to type out the highlights for you. Here we go:

The Big Question

THE YANKS NEEDED PITCHING, A FIRST BASEMAN, AND SOME PATIENCE. THE MIKES SAY TWO OUT OF THREE AIN’T GOOD.

Wait up. “Needed”? Did they sign Sabathia while I wasn’t looking?

GREENY:… after the success of the Rays and other small-market teams, is New York being smart by throwing money around instead of developing its farm system?

But… they haven’t spent any money yet!

Granted, they’ve offered Sabathia a pretty huge contract (though I don’t see how that prevents them from simultaneously developing their farm system). Moving on, then, I love the idea that since the Rays were successful last year, the best strategy for the New York Yankees would be to have a small budget – as if the Rays won because of that and not in spite of it.

Tampa doesn’t have a choice here; they’re not passing on Mark Texiera just because they prefer the young players in their system. If a one-legged man wins a race using a prosthesis, it’s inspirational, but that doesn’t mean you should train for your next 5K by cutting off one of your legs.

GOLIC: Unfortunately, what you don’t find with the Yankees is patience. They feel like they have to win right now.

Probably a fair criticism.

Last year, the team tried to go with young arms, but some of them got hurt, and it didn’t work. So while that may be the right thing to do, don’t expect them to do it… What I wanted to see is just how aggressive they’d get in bidding for the top players.

There’s that past tense again. Are they writing from the future? Tell me, Mikes, how was the Inauguration? Did Springsteen play?

GREENY: This strategy

The one they haven’t actually implemented yet?

is indicative of the biggest problem the  Yankees have: they lack a vision. Take the Steelers.

They play football.

… They have a blueprint for success and stick to it. The same goes for the Jazz.

There’s really not a baseball team you’d like to bring up here? Red Sox, maybe? A’s? No?

They’ve had the same coach for 20 years and the second-best record in the NBA in that time.

Is he seriously suggesting that the Yankees should try to be more like the Utah Jazz?  Nothing against the Jazz, who are a model of competence and class when compared to the Knicks (though to be fair, so was Lehman Brothers), but would anyone actually like to swap the Yanks’ last 20 years for the Jazz’s? Would New York be better off right now if they’d made it to the World Series only twice and lost both times?

If the Yankees really decided to build from within, it would be shortsighted to leave those plans behind just because of one bad year and some injury problems.

That’s true – it would be. Hey, has anyone told Brian Cashman about this?

GOLIC: You know if they’ll be able to help themselves.

What?

I don’t know if he maybe meant “You don’t know if they’ll be able to help themselves,” or perhaps “You know they won’t be able to help themselves,” but I also don’t care. This whole piece is like a PSA for what happens when magazines lay off too many members of the editorial staff in one go.

Maybe I’ve been burned too often in the past. Or maybe I’m just in a generally grumpy mood right now. But for whatever reason, I’m feeling decidedly pessimistic about this year’s free agents.

Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait for next season to start (…any day now!). And I’m not trying to claim that C.C. Sabathia isn’t an awesome pitcher, or that Texiera’s not one of the  best first basemen in the game. Yet even if the Yankees get one or both of them – Sabathia seeming more likely at the moment, I suppose – I just can’t muster up much hope or faith for those signings working out. I keep imagining the moment when Sabathia turns to high-five his agent, as the ink dries on his record-breaking contract… and his rotator cuff dissolves into Jell-O. After the way the Brewers used him last season, and given his, erm, conditioning, isn’t an early injury all too easy to imagine? And yeah, Texiera’s great; so was Giambi in 2001. I know, I know, they’re very different players, there’s no direct correlation. It’s just that it seems like with the Yankees over the last few years – as it is for most teams, most of the time, really, but wasn’t for New York from 1996 to 2001 – it’s always something.

Besides, after Sabathia and Texiera, what’s the big prize? Has New York’s great baseball rivalry really been reduced to fighting over Derek Lowe? Nothing against Lowe, really who does at least have a lot going for him simply by virtue of not being Sidney Ponson; but no one’s going to buy advance tickets this spring for a mid-summer game thinking, “gee, I hope I get to see Lowe pitch that day!”

Speaking of huge free agent signings, I’ve spent a lot of time over the last few years defending Alex Rodriguez to all comers, and I suppose I’ll have to continue doing so; he’s earned it on the field. (Mostly). But I’m thoroughly annoyed with him at the moment, thanks to his apparent determination to stay under as much media scrutiny and mockery as possible at all times. You don’t want your privacy invaded and personal life scrutinized? DON’T DATE MADONNA! My god, how hard is it?

Anyway, I wonder if I’ve bought too much into the recent Yankee dream – expressed by Brian Cashman, wildly embraced by much of the internet – of a generation of homegrown star players. We all wanted Phil Hughes and Ian Kennedy to blossom this year; but of course young players, even when cheap, are huge risks in their own right. Am I investing too much in that ideal at the risk of failing to appreciate the beauty of a bombshell free agent signing? Is anyone else having trouble getting excited about C.C.? Should I be excited about Nick Swisher, even a little? Help me out, Yankee fans. How much pessimism is healthy realism, and how much is too much?

Aside from the fact that most of the Series wasn’t particularly competitive, and that it involved teams I can muster only very tepid enthusiasm for or against, I had a problem getting into the Fall Classic this year simply because I’m deeply distracted – not just with work, or personal stuff, but with the *#&@ing election, with which I’ve been unhealthily obsessed for well over a year now.

Don’t get me wrong: if the Yankees or Mets had been in the Series, I would absolutely not have been so focused on silly stuff like a global economic crisis, and I would most likely have been checking baseball sites eight times a day instead of FiveThirtyEight.com (Baseball Prospectus writers: is there anything they can’t do?). As it is, it seems my baseball obsession has finally, temporarily, met its match.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to talk politics here; it seems no comment section is safe these days, and I myself completely lost my sense of humor on this topic weeks ago. But that’s why baseball’s more important to my mental health than ever. At a time when it sometimes seems like an innocuous remark about the weather can provoke partisan shrieking, it feels like one of the last safe havens.

In the office where I’m currently working, there’s an older man, who I’ll call Pete, a very friendly and affable guy, with whom I happen to disagree on virtually every conceivable political point. It was clear from my first day on the job a couple months back that, issues-wise, we were each more or less the other’s worst nightmare. There was, however, exactly one thing we had in common … campaign-finance reform! No, I’m kidding, you were right the first time: baseball.

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God knows why — I’ve been to dozens and dozens of games over the years — but the very first thing I think of, when I hear the words "Yankee Stadium", is Game 6 of the 2004 ALCS. I couldn’t first remember some nice come-from-behind affair against the Sox, or one of those sharp Andy Pettitte LDS wins over the Twins, or my first game with my dad as a kid, or learning to keep score? No, I go back to a frigid and drizzly night, in the far reaches of the upper deck, sitting by myself because by the time I’d managed to log onto Ticketmaster, they only had single tickets left.

And somehow, it’s actually a nice memory. I was wearing just about every item of clothing I owned in a futile attempt to layer for warmth, topped off with my ancient and oversized Paul O’Neill t-shirt, and using a garbage bag I’d brought from home as a poncho. This was my first Championship Series game ever — I’d seen a few Division Series games, but that was it, I’d never been there for any ALCS or World Series moments in person. And so I was absolutely determined to enjoy myself, no matter what — alone, freezing, damp, broke, watching the Yankees engage in one of the greatest chokes in sports history against that loudmouth Schilling… whatever. I wasn’t about to let anything get me down. (Plus, I was so sure they were going to pull it out the next night. Way too sure).

There was an earnest, attractive young Japanese tourist couple on my left, wearing full-on plush Godzilla-head hats. They didn’t speak much English, but the man did turn to me a few innings in and manage to ask why the crowd was booing Schilling for repeatedly throwing over to hold the runner on first. "That’s his job, yes?" he wanted to know, perfectly reasonably. While I was trying to figure out the best way to phrase my reply, the man to my right, who turned out to be named Joey, leaned over and beat me to it.

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The Yankees ended the season on a good note, at least — I’m going to pretend the second game of the double header, started by the inimitable Sidney Ponson, isn’t happening; humor me — beating the Red Sox 6-2 and earning Mike Mussina his long-deferred 20-win season. It’s a statistical acheivement that I think we can all agree is an arbitrary and ineffective way of measuring a pitcher’s worth… but still pretty damn sweet. A few weeks ago I didn’t think he was going to pull it off, and I’m very glad I was wrong.

The Red Sox never mounted a sustained threat against Mussina, who allowed two walks — he didn’t allow even three in a single game this year –and three hits in six innings, using just 73 pitches. He left the game then, surprisingly, with a three-run lead, courtesy of a Xavier Nady fly ball that had bounced off the top of the wall by the Pesky Pole and into the stands for a home run. Mussina explained afterwards that his elbow was still sore from the comebacker it took in his last start; I figured that was probably the case, because otherwise you’d have expected him to lunge at Joe Girardi with a bat sometime during the eighth inning, when Joba Chamberlain, Brian Bruney, and Damaso Marte allowed two runs and looked like they might be about to collectively blow it. No jury would’ve convicted him.

But Mariano Rivera came to the rescue (of course), entering the game with the tying run on base and, calcified shoulder and all, nailing down a win for Mussina for the 49th time. And Mussina wasn’t sweating it, at that point: "I knew with Mo in the game, it was going to be all right." Me, I still half expected Carl Everett to pop out of the Fenway shadows and ruin everything. Instead, the Yankees tacked on three insurance runs off Jonathan Papelbon in the top of the ninth, and whatever else fell apart this season, at least this one thing went right.

After eight years with the Yankees, Mussina says he’ll take some time now to decide if he wants to keep pitching. Personally I’d be happy to see him back, but at the same time, it’s very rare for an athlete to walk away at the absolute top of their game; if Moose pulled it off, I’d have a ton of respect for that decision.

—

UPDATE: So the Yanks went ahead and played the second game of the doubleheader, despite my protestations, and it was actually somewhat dramatic — as dramatic as a meaningless late-September Spring Training game can be, anyway. All the scrubs were in, and Sidney Ponson pitched very well, I suspect just to spite me.

The Yankees were down 3-2 with two outs in the ninth when Robinson Cano drove in the tying run. But Jose Veras couldn’t stave off the Sox in the tenth; he loaded the bases, someone named Jonathan Van Every singled home Alex Cora, and the Sox won 4-3. I say we all just agree to consider Mussina’s win the end of the 2008 season and leave it at that.

Your 2008 New York Yankees are, obviously, a major disappointment… but they’re not actually bad, either. Last night’s 9-2 win was their 82nd of the season, which means they’ll finish at .500 even if they lose every single game remaining. And they’ll almost certainly finish with well over 83 wins, which is more than can be said for the 2006 World Champion St. Louis Cardinals. Okay, that’s an extreme example, but still: in the AL Central the Yankees would be two games out of first with this record, and they’d actually be winning in the NL West. Now clearly wins do not translate so exactly across divisions, and you cannot aim for 80-odd wins if you’re playing in the AL East, and yes, the Yankees have lots of very real and significant problems, yes the offense was surprisingly mediocre, yes Sir Sidney Ponson started 14 games. Still, technically, this is not a bad team, not by general MLB standards. They’re just not good enough.

They were last night, though, and they thumped the White Sox. The first pitch was more memorable than much of the actual game; it was thrown out by Emilio Navarro, who at 102 years of age is now the oldest living pro baseball player in the world. Navarro is a tiny man, and came up to about the belly button of Jorge Posada, who caught Navarro’s first pitch (tossed in from halfway to the plate, but with some zip on it). But he looks amazingly good for his age, walked without assistance, and took his time soaking in the applause on the field, grinning and leisurely tipping his cap to the fans and savoring the moment; he looked like he was having a ball.

Mike Mussina then started things off unpromisingly by loading the bases, twice. But he escaped with just one run allowed, and after that he went on cruise control: five more innings, smooth and easy. Old frenemy Javier Vazquez was pitching for the White Sox, and the Yankees came back off of him right away, with a Derek Jeter single and a Bobby Abreu homer in the bottom of the first – Abreu’s first of two consecutive bombs.

The Yankees kept tacking on, one in the third inning and four in the fourth; Ozzie Guillen wisely removed Vazquez before he could face Abreu again, but Horacio Ramirez was not much of an improvement, and the Yankees got a little Conga line going around the bases. They added two more in the fifth, and the New York bullpen trio of Jose Veras, Humberto Sanchez, and Chris Britton finished things off with little incident. In other news, Juan Miranda made his major league debut tonight with two walks, and later in the game Francisco Cervelli stepped in behind the plate, apparently recovered from his controversial broken wrist.

I’d love to see Mike Mussina win 20, but I’ve been pessimistic about it for a while now and I think that’s partly because I still associate Moose with coming excruciatingly close to milestones rather than reaching them: like during that heartbreaking game at Fenway in 2001, where he was just one out away from a perfect game (I think even one strike away, though I may be mentally exaggerating there) when Carl Everett – CARL EVERETT! – ruined it with a single. Anyway, I generally enjoy Mussina’s moments of snarky exasperation (at least when not directed at an umpire or errant infielder during a game), but he has some kinda touching moments of sincerity in this nice Bats post from Tyler Kepner.

Finally, apropos of nothing, Alex has requested that I share the below YouTube clip with all of you. (Actually, he asked if I could “work it in” to my recap…but stunningly enough, the  topic didn’t come up directly in the course of last night’s game). So I’ll give it to you now with no additional editorial comment.

You’re welcome.

As Tom Waits put it so succinctly, "it’s hard to win when you always lose."

New York has emptied out for Labor Day weekend – every year at this time I wish I had a car, just so I could park it – and judging from the game thread, outside of the Stadium there were about 17 people watching the Yankees play Sunday afternoon. This is probably for the best. In a performance that wasn’t so much lousy as just listless, the Yankees lost to the Blue Jays 6-2.

It was a fairly gutty outing from Andy Pettitte, but not a good one. He recovered from an ugly three-run first inning (not helped by Xavier Nady, who lost a fly ball in the sun) to allow just a solo shot in the second and nothing else until the seventh, going deeper than expected. But then he ran out of steam all at once, and Jose Veras couldn’t pick him up; in the end Pettitte was charged with all six earned runs. Meanwhile, the Yankees’ only scoring came on solo shots from Alex Rodriguez and Jason Giambi, and while they had several promising opportunities with runners on base… stop me if you’ve heard this one before.

The game’s only silver lining was the long-awaited appearance of Alfredo Aceves, scourge of the Mexican Leagues — and of Toronto, apparently. For some reason, I was expecting him to be some scrawny kid, but instead Aceves is brawny and tough-looking, with a shaved head, wearing #91 in honor of childhood hero Dennis Rodman. He threw two perfect innings, with three strikeouts.

So I’ve been getting up early all week, and as I’m generally an insomniac night-owl type, it has not been going particularly well. Last night I made the mistake of lying down for a few minutes while watching the game; I fell asleep around 8 PM, and woke up long, long after it was over. The thing is, I was absolutely, 100% positive that I’d seen the Yankees win it, on a Johnny Damon home run… and it wasn’t til this afternoon that I realized I must have just dreamed it.

Sigh.

Today, however, I was wide awake when the Yankees beat the Sox 3-2, in dramatic fashion, with Jason Giambi singling in the winning run off Michael Flatley Jonathan Papelbon. (Have I really been reduced to making stale, cheap “Lord of the Dance” jabs out of pure bitterness? Yes. Yes I have. Try and stop me). This is one of those seasons where you just have to appreciate the small victories: so yes, the Yankees lost two of three to the Sox (though I could have sworn… man, that was a vivid dream), and are almost certainly not going to make the postseason this year; but it was a good game, and the last that Boston will ever play in the old Stadium.

Mike Mussina was excellent, again, but when he left the game was tied, and he didn’t get the win. I don’t think he can make it to 20 now — and because the BWAA changes its thinking at roughly the pace of a frail, elderly snail, that may well hurt his Hall of Fame chances, etc, etc. But it’s been such a pleasure to watch him do his thing this year. Today his fastball was actually quicker than usual (a whopping 89 mph at one point! Heavens!), and he allowed two runs on five hits in seven strong innings. The Sox only scored in the fifth, when they strung together a single, a hit by pitch, another single (an RBI for Varitek), and a fielder’s choice.

Meanwhile, the Yankees couldn’t do much more than peck at Jon Lester until the 7th, when Cody Ransom (he of the awesomely badass name) doubled, and Jason Giambi (he of the awesomely badass Porn ‘Stache of Doom) homered. That was it until the bottom of the ninth, when – on a night when the Yankee bullpen really couldn’t have handled many extra innings – the Yanks loaded the bases, the Sox summoned Papelbon from the pen, and the ‘Stache took matters into its own hands.

Anyway, I’m really looking forward to blogging about the playoff games I’ll dream about this fall. Will the dream-Yankees be able to beat the dream-Twins in the ALDS? Or will dream-Abreu morph into a giant aardvark and swallow my high school English teacher whole, as he did in the fall of ’06? Tune in and find out. There’s only one October!

Above: Carl Pavano holds the Orioles at bay.

It was a thrilling night in Baltimore, as tens of thousands witnessed what appeared to be a live Carl Pavano on a Major League pitching mound. Long assumed to be only a hoax or legend, the Pavano was caught from multiple angles by the YES Network cameras. Not only do we now appear to have definite proof of its existence but — perhaps most stunning of all — the Pavano was videotaped throwing five innings for the win, as the Yankees beat Baltimore 5-3.  

Above: Carl Pavano arrives at the ballpark before last night’s game.

The Yankees, seemingly unafraid of the mysterious creature crouched in their dugout, scored  two runs in the first, on an Alex Rodriguez double and a Jason Giambi “infield hit” (he should send the official scorer a bouquet). The Pavano, however, appeared to be spooked by all the noise, crowds, and sudden movements; it allowed far too many base runners in its first two innings, and was lucky to let no more than three runs score in the second. Thereafter, however, it settled down, and went on to have — under the remarkable circumstances — a fairly decent outing.

Above: A young Yankee fan in Camden Yards enjoys Pavano’s pitching performance.

The Yankees retook the lead in the third on a Jason Giambi bomb and never gave it back, eventually tacking on a fifth run when Hideki Matsui homered. (According to Variety, the film rights for Godzilla vs. Pavano have already been snapped up by Universal). Brian Bruney, Jose Veras, and Mariano Rivera pitched a combined four innings to lock down the victory for the Pavano, which by then had retreated to the visitor’s locker room in search of something dangerously sharp, heavy and precariously balanced, or poisoned.

Above: Pavano relaxes in a hot tub after the game.

[UPDATE: EDITOR’S NOTE:  The Pavano spotted by thousands in Camden Yards last night, and hailed as a real phenomenon by viewers around the world, now appears to have been an elaborate hoax. Further investigation has revealed compelling evidence suggesting that this was all a daring prank, and that "the Pavano" was, in actuality, an incredibly lifelike and realistic suit worn by Scranton pitcher Kei Igawa. We sincerely apologize for the error.]

It’s been a weird season; I’ve only recently begun to adjust to the fact that the Devil Rays are 10 games ahead of the Yankees in mid-August. But I thought if there was one thing we could count on in this life, it was Kansas City sucking worse than New York… they’re not trying to take that from us, too, are they?

The Royals beat the Yankees 4-3 Friday night in a game I would’ve called a heartbreaker if everyone’s heart hadn’t already been broken a week or two ago. I missed staring at Michael Phelps’ torso for this? Gil Meche pitched pretty well, but not so well that he would necessarily have won if the Yankee offense wasn’t still acting like RBIs cause gonorrhea.

Andy Pettitte wasn’t at his best but minimized the damage: seven innings, three runs, it could easily have been worse. Meanwhile the Yankees stranded 11 men and, during the game’s first three innings, went 0-for-8 with runners in scoring position. Still, the game was tied at three in the ninth inning when… wait for it… Mariano Rivera threw a wild pitch that allowed the Royals to score what would prove to be the winning run. Rivera blowing games with wild pitches — I had to pause the Tivo and check to make sure the universe hadn’t just collapsed on itself. If that’s not a sign that this just ain’t their year, I don’t know what is.

Because we’re now at the point of the season where you have to take your entertainment where you can, I’m absolutely thrilled that Cody Ransom has been called up, one of my favorite names of the spring. I actually actively avoided reading about him in Cliff’s farm report and elsewhere, because I want him to remain, in my mind, just the fastest gun on the cattle ranch. I’m trying not to get too good a look at him on TV, either, since it’ll just spoil the image. Cody Ransom, if it isn’t already, needs to be the name of a tough, reluctantly violent man of few words with a mysterious past who brings harsh justice to a wild border town in an old school western. Or I can see "Cody Ransom" as a full-on John Wayne* in Rio Bravo type; Don Zimmer would be the old coot sidekick – the Walter Brenner role – and Sidney Ponson can play the once-great drunkard pal. "A game-legged old man and a drunk," the Kansas City pitcher will say, "That’s all you got?" And Cody Ransom will stare him down and reply, "That’s WHAT I got."

…What? We’ve gotta make our own fun these days.

—
*Wayne has played characters with names including, but not limited to, John T. Chance, Chance Buckman, Rooster Cogburn, Lon McQ, George Washington McClintock, Cord McNally, Taw Jackson, Cole Thornton, Matt Masters, Ranger Captain Jake Cutters, Nathan Cutting Brittles, Joe January, Quirt Evans, Rusty Thomas, Rusty Ryan, Wedge Donovan, Duke Fergus, Duke Hudkins, and Stony Brooke. Has any actor ever had a better body or character names? I don’t think so.

So maybe I owe Sidney Ponson an ap– … an apol– …nope, can’t make myself write it. But to be fair, I might’ve been a little hard on Sir Sidney. After all, I’ve been mocking Ponson ever since the Rangers released him (or, okay, technically, I’ve been mocking him since about 2005), but he’s managed to be mostly on the right side of mediocre for the Yankees this year, and that’s a lot more than I expected. He was solid again last night as the Yankees beat the Rangers 5-3.

With that said… we all know Ponson’s been lucky this year, but did you know just how lucky? Really, really lucky: Ponson has gotten more run support than any other Major Leaguer with 60+ innings pitched this season, 7.34 runs per game. There’s really no such thing as karma, is there?

Anyway, when Ponson loaded the bases with nobody out in the second inning last night, I suspect I wasn’t alone in assuming an implosion was imminent. Two runs scored on Chris Davis’ single, but with two outs, David Murphy tried to score on an Ian Kinsler singler and was called out at home thanks to a vintage block by Pudge Rodriguez. Catchers block home plate all the time, of course, but Rodriguez really BLOCKED home plate, setting up several feet in front of it just as the ball arrived, and he took the full brunt of Murphy’s weight. Both players lay stunned for a couple of minutes; Murphy was pulled an inning later, while Rodriguez came out immediately with a bruised knee.

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If you love inning-ending double plays, this was definitely the game for you. Otherwise it pretty much blew. Though — trying to accentuate the positive here — the cold remains of Richie Sexson were, for one night at least, reanimated. Maybe tomorrow he’ll eat Tommy Hunter’s brains.

Josh Hamilton, in his first-ever at-bat against Andy Pettitte, hit a two-run homer in the first inning, and that pretty much set the tone: the Rangers led the rest of the way, eventually beating the Yankees 8-6. Hey, remember when Hamilton put on that great show during the Home Run Derby at Yankee Stadium, and everyone was awed by his swing and his story and you just couldn’t help rooting for the guy?… I’m starting to get over that.

The game was fairly close much of the way, but it never really felt close. Pettitte didn’t collapse, but his five innings were a steady bleed: five hits, three walks, five runs. Rangers starter Matt Harrison pitched the game of his young and pretmaturely balding career, giving up just two runs in six and a third innings, thanks in large part to New York’s 1,213* double plays.

The Yankees fought back from 4-0 to make it 4-1, then 5-2. In the top of the seventh they loaded the bases with one out, but got only one run home, when Johnny Damon walked to force in Cano. (I could swear that when Joe Girardi pinch hit Melky Cabrera for Justin Christian with the tying runs on base, while sending Pudge Rodriguez in as a pinch runner, I could actually hear the distant anguished howls of Banter commenters several states away). In the bottom of that inning Brian Bruney gave up a three-run double to Chris Davis, giving the Rangers a six-run lead — but New York turned around in the eighth and closed the gap to 8-6, on Sexson’s grand slam.

So about the best thing you can say about last night was that the Yankees didn’t give up… but, still, they really looked like a stumbling team. (Probably it doesn’t matter much: Robison Cano walked three times last night, which means the apocalypse is nigh and this will all be moot). I don’t know if they’re shaken up by Joba Chamberlain’s unnerving and still-ambiguous injury, but if so you can’t really blame them – the fans sure are.

But hey, turn those frowns upside down, guys: Sidney Ponson is starting tonight! If anybody needs me I’ll just be under my desk, in the fetal position.

*guesstimate.

At the end of June the Mets acquired Trot Nixon. (Not primarily because, as Michael Kay would have you believe, they needed Nixon’s “tough” and “gritty” presence in the locker room, but because Moises Alou is as old as God and much more easily injured). I noted this transaction with a “huh, makes sense” – the signing cost them nothing, couldn’t hurt – and then I was immediately surprised by my own calm. Because, man… did I ever used to hate Trot Nixon.

I mean I hated him. Back when he was on the Red Sox, just about every time he came to the plate I’d feel compelled to point out to a roommate or friend just how much I disliked the man. He was one of a whole bunch of similarly squat, goateed white guys on the Sox back then – Varitek, Mueller, Millar – and I loathed all of them.

The thing is, watching Trot Nixon’s first game with the Mets, I couldn’t for the life of me remember why, specifically, I’d reserved such vitriol for the guy. What the hell did Trot Nixon ever do to piss me off so much? I know I used to have reasons — I would happily expound on them at the drop of a hat — but now I can’t remember even a single one. Probably he said something catty about A-Rod once.

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I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite fastballs…

Joba Chamberlain pitched this afternoon against the Orioles’ Dennis “Who?” Safarte today, and the Yankees won 13-3, snapping their losing streak at three games. Not that three games amounts to much of a “streak,” really, but given the opponents and manner of the losses, it certainly felt like one. And sometime during the seventh inning, as you may have heard, the Yankees traded the intrepid Kyle Farnsworth for some dude named Pudge Rodriguez. Brian Cashman is a mad genius.

I’m sorry for the lateness of the recap; I got delayed at Shea, donating blood in exchange for free Mets tickets. Yes, really. I did it last year because I was writing about it, and I was going to skip it this season, but the New York Blood Center people kept sending me these increasingly desperate letters and emails with headlines like “There’s something special about your platelets!” so I finally caved.

Anyway, today’s game started off unpromisingly when the Orioles scored an unearned run off Joba in the first, on an Aubrey Huff blooper following a Robinson Cano error. The Yankees struck back right away, though, in the bottom of the inning: Jeter and Abreu walked, and Alex Rodriguez’s base hit scored two runners on an errant throw; not long after, Rodriguez scored on a passed ball.

Joba was good, again. He’s gotta be due for a real blow-up of a bad start – I mean, you would think – but fortunately it didn’t come today, in the middle of a losing streak. Things got sticky for him in the third, with a series of hits plating another run, but even there Chamberlain wasn’t getting shelled by any means. “They were aggressive early on the fastball,” Chamberlain said after the game. ”When Josie recognizes that… and our offense scores runs, it’s pretty easy.” Easy. Right. In the end Chamberlain threw 98 pitches over six innings, allowing five hits, one earned run, and once again no walks.

In the bottom of the third, Abreu, DHing for the day, knocked a two-run homer into the screen of the right field foul pole, and the Yankees never really looked back. Chamberlain settled down, not that he’d been unsettled really, and a few frames passed quietly – until, in the sixth, the Yanks started tacking on: another Abreu hit, a very bloopy Giambi bloop, a rare and fantastic first-to-third from the ‘Stache on a Cano single (watching Giambi run first-to-third is like spotting a really horribly ungainly unicorn), an Xavier Nady double, a bases-loaded walk to Damon, a bases-loaded passed ball… it was a tough day for Orioles relievers.

In the 7th, Edwar Ramirez soared a ball over Kevin Millar’s head and was immediately tossed from the game. Didn’t seem like a logical spot for retaliation, if any retaliation was even necessary — but Ramirez’s complete and utter lack of reaction to getting thrown out did raise my eyebrows. Usually pitchers at least PRETEND to be surprised in a “whoa how’d that get up there?!?!” kind of way. So who knows? But Dave Robertson and Dan Giese finished up the game with a minimum of fuss and just one additional run allowed. Abreu hit another homer, A-Rod knocked out his 23rd of the year, and even Richie Sexon got a single, scoring on Nady’s second double of the day; lucky run #13 scored on a Justin Christian grounder.

There’s already been much discussion of the Farnsworth/I-Rod trade. After the game, Farnsworth was visibly choked up, which made him seem like an empathetic, three-dimensional guy for the first time in a while; and not to promulgate outdated gender double standards or anything, but nothing gets to me like watching a tough guy cry (or, as in this case, even almost cry). Listening to Joe Girardi’s voice break when discussing Bobby Murcer’s death just killed me a few weeks back, and watching ol’ Farnsy blinking back tears had me making sympathetic distressed noises at the TV. I mean this is a guy who strides across the clubhouse in camo underwear reading gun magazines, you know?

Meanwhile, though you have to have a ton of respect for his skill, I’ve never warmed up to Ivan Rodriguez — even before the steroid allegations, he seemed suited to playing the villain, though he was always fun to watch. Maybe I was just jealous of his shapely eyebrows.

No, it’s hard to criticize this trade… except that I’m absolutely indignant that the Yankees never ONCE had a real brawl, not one, during Farnsworth’s entire tenure. This is a colossal waste – I mean, that’s pretty much the main reason to have Kyle Farnsworth on your team, as far as I’m concerned. A missed opportunity that will haunt the team for years.

Well, yesterday was Hall of Fame Induction Day, and as a Brooklyn resident I’d just like to take the opportunity, on this touching and historic occasion, to say:

WALTER !@#&^?! O’MALLEY?! Are you !@*^$! kidding me?!?

What the hell is wrong with these people? What kind of organization inducts Walter O’Malley and not Buck O’Neil — or, for that matter, Bowie Kuhn and not Marvin Miller — and what do they take to help themselves sleep at night?

Kevin Kennedy and Mark Grace were blathering on in praise of this beady-eyed* backstabber on FOX yesterday, before the Sox game. “Oh, he was so influential,” they droned.

Sure he was. So was Arnold Rothstein. So were the rats who carried bubonic plague across Europe, but I don’t see anyone making any speeches or plaques for them.

…Okay, look, it’s possible I’m overreacting just slightly. I know all about the revisionist history that paints Robert Moses as the real villain of the Dodgers’ story, and I’m sure there’s at least a few shreds of truth to that. So I hope no L.A. Dodgers fans will take any offense. After all, it’s not your fault that your team was built on a pile of pilfered bones, blood, and tears. Enjoy Casey Blake!
—
*When I say beady-eyed I’m not kidding. Look at him. And this is the presumably flattering photo they picked for PR purposes. Look deep into these eyes and tell me if you see any trace of genuine emotion or a human soul in there. You don’t, do you? They’re flat, like a doll’s eyes. I’m just saying.

There were a lot of questions heading into tonight’s Sox-Yanks game, literally the 2,000th time these teams have faced each other. Could Joba hold his own against Josh Beckett in a hostile environment? Could the Yankees continue their recent timely hitting? Would the real Kyle Farnsworth reemerge at the worst possible time? Would the Yankees make a big trade ahead of the deadline? Is there any way in hell the new X-Files movie will possibly be any good?

Answers: Yes, not really but things worked out anyway, yes, yes, and not according to Manohla Dargis. The Yankees beat the Red Sox, 1-0, in a tense, emotional pitcher’s duel; they also learned that team has acquired lefty reliever Damaso Marte and outfielder Xavier Nady from the Pirates in exchange for minor leaguers Jose Tabata, Ross Ohlendorf, Phil Coke, and some other AA dude you’ve probably never heard of. More on that later.

As for the game itself, Josh Beckett was very good, scattering nine hits and a walk through seven innings and allowing one run – and that on a dinky little Giambi shift-beater to the left side in the third inning. Beckett’s curveball was nearly untouchable, tight and well-spotted, and though the Yankees had plenty of hits, they only really threatened twice. But Joba Chamberlain was even better, in maybe his best (and certainly his biggest) start as a Yankee. He also went seven innings and struck out nine in an impressive shutout, and seemed to get stronger as he went along.

There was a great atmosphere at Fenway – in addition to all the usual Sox-Yanks hype, exacerbated by the suddenly tight race, the fans were thrilled to welcome back David Ortiz, who returned from a wrist injury tonight. He  didn’t look quite like himself just  yet, and the Yankees exploited his injury, pitching him in relentlessly to put pressure on the  wrist.

The game was marked by a series of lousy calls – on balls and strikes, and also a few very close plays on the bases – some of which went the Yanks’ way, others not. So everyone was already a little on edge by the seventh, which is when Kevin Youkilis – who’s accumulated quite a history with Chamberlain in just one year – stepped into the box. Chamberlain went 2-0 on the Greek God of Walks before his third pitch sailed way up and in, and barely missed Youklis’ helmet while the first baseman threw himself out of the way.

Youkilis, of course, brushed himself off and stepped back in the box in a totally businesslike–oh, wait, sorry, no. Youkilis threw a fit to the ump, not that I blame him, and the Sox gathered at the edge of their dugout as the atmosphere turned stormy and both benches were warned. Chamberlain went on to get the strikeout, and Youkilis stalked back to the dugout looking not entirely gruntled.

(more…)

My impression is that for much of this year and last, Andy Pettitte has pitched pretty well without particularly great stuff – he has decent control, usually, and he knows what he’s doing out there, and so I remember writing a lot of sentences that began something like, “Pettitte wasn’t sharp tonight, but…”

Well, this wasn’t one of those games. Pettitte was excellent Tuesday night, carrying the Yankees to a 5-0 win, and the fact that this outing came against the Devil Rays is no longer any sort of disclaimer. He went eight innings and allowed just four hits – two of them infield singles, another a bloop. There were some very good (by Yankee standards) plays made behind him, sure, but he was dominant, throwing not just a ton of strikes but really nasty, tricky strikes, exactly where he wanted them. Pettitte’s only remotely tough inning was the seventh, when with Rays on first and third and two outs, he induced Willy Aybar to hit a grounder towards the gap between third and short — at which point Derek Jeter made a terrific play (you heard me), ranging far to his right to snag the ball, then executing his patented twisting jump-throw to nail the runner at second and end the inning.

Pettitte was only half of a tense pitcher’s duel that lasted five innings: Scott Kazmir had very, very impressive stuff, though in the end he wasn’t all that efficient. (Even after all this time I’m reluctant to even mention the name “Scott Kazmir” because it still sends my Mets fan friends into such fits of seething rage. Every GM makes mistakes but I can’t help feeling that if I were Steve Phillips I would forgo the ESPN commentating and dedicate my life to charity and self-abnegation in a futile bid for karmic redemption). For a while there it looked like Kazmir might be gearing up for a no-hitter, he was plowing through the Yankees’ Giambi-less, Damon-less, Matsui-less lineup with such ease. But he flashed a little mortality in the third, when Robinson Cano and Jose Molina managed consecutive singles and, after two frustrating outs, Captain Intangibles himself drove both runners in with a double to right field.

The game stayed taut until the eighth, when the Yanks tacked on off of Rays relievers Gary Glover (good pitcher name, there, vastly better than teammate Grant Balfour’s) and Jason Hammel. Melky Cabrera semi-redeemed himself after some thoroughly lousy earlier ABs with a home run, and Jeter singled, then scored from first on Abreu’s double. After sliding home, Jeter stayed down for a very long second, and I thought for sure he was injured, but apparently not – he gathered himself, got up, and walked back to the dugout with no visible limp, and no one on the Yankees’ staff seemed concerned. Obviously Jeter had a very nice game overall, but in that one moment, it really looked like he was either in significant pain or just bone-tired.

Anyway, after that Mariano Rivera sat down, Edwar Ramirez stood up, Cano eventually singled in Abreu, and the Yanks took a one game lead in their season series against the Rays; they’re now 7.5 games out of first place, and still 4.5 out of the Wild Card (hey, Twins… knock it off!).

I clicked over to SNY after the game to try to get the Mets highlights, and the dudes on SportsNite were all saying that this was a “statement game” by the Yanks. Hmmm… maybe, maybe not. Isn’t it pretty to think so?

(Sorry.)

So you know how we were all wondering where the Yankees’ offense was? Well… this is so embarrassing… it turns out it was just buried in my sofa cushions this whole time! I found it yesterday afternoon, when I was looking for my keys.

Yes, it took a few days longer than they might have hoped, but the Yankees snapped out of their funk in a big way Wednesday night – and overcame a predictably lousy start by Sidney Ponson – with an 18-7 blowout of the Texas Rangers. That’s the most runs New York has scored all season, and every starter had at least one hit, but the key contributor, once again, was Jason Giambi and his Porn ‘Stache of Doom. It was 3-1 Rangers in the third inning when the Big G put the Yanks ahead with an upper tank grand slam; he came through again in the seventh with a two-run double that put the Yankees up 8-7 after Ponson, left in too long, ran out of luck and coughed up a 6-3 lead.

That seventh inning was decisive, a nine-run explosion made possible by Texas’s poor bullpen and exacerbated by Ron Washington’s curious management choices. While Edwar Ramirez had taken over for Ponson and pitched two shutdown innings, the unfortunate Warner Madrigal (not a typo) made his first-ever appearance for the Rangers in this tense one-run game and left, many batters later, with an ERA of 162.00.

Meanwhile, watching Ponson start a game, even when things are going relatively well, is like taking a time machine back to 1906 San Francisco and strolling around. You just can’t enjoy yourself because you know disaster is right around the corner. In fact, what I like about Ponson – perhaps the only thing I like about Ponson – is that he makes me look good; I can predict with absolute confidence that he will pitch poorly for the Yankees and in the long run I really don’t have to worry about him proving me wrong.

(more…)

The Subway Series got off to an ever so slightly rocky start for the Yankees this afternoon with a muggy, slow 15-6 crushing. Dan Giese was both uncharacteristically sloppy and, apparently, contagious, as the Yanks’ bullpen spent much of the afternoon in the throes of a prolonged nervous breakdown. The result was a rout that … wait, what was that noise?! Did you guys hear that? Oh, never mind – it’s just Carlos Delgado’s massive sixth inning grand slam finally landing.

Ahem. Anyway, neither starter was all that great today– Pelfrey only made it through five innings – but the Yankees kept stranding runners like it was going out of style, for a grand total of lucky 13, while the Mets let neither Giese or any of his ineffective replacements off the hook.

But, on the plus side… it only took four hours!

There were too many big hits today to recap in full, but here are the essentials: the Mets took the lead in the first inning on a David Wright RBI single, then again in the third on a Carlos Beltran home run, and finally for good on a Carlos Delgado double off Edwar Ramirez in the fifth. Delgado’s back-breaking grand slam — deep, deep, DEEP into the right field bleachers — came just an inning later, off of Ross Ohlendorf, and Delgado went on to set a new Mets franchise record with nine RBIs, after an additional three-run homer two innings later.

The Yankees did have their moments early on – Giambi and his ‘Stache of Doom came through again; Jeter banged out his 400th career double; A-Rod 3 for 4 with a long home run – but nothing that really constitutes an even silver-ish lining.

In fact, this could be a pretty tough weekend all around for the Yankees, given the pitching matchups. Obviously it goes without saying that baseball’s a funny game, and anything can happen on a given day, and blah blah blah, but: Sir Sidney Ponson vs. Pedro Martinez? Oy. Sure, Pedro’s not his old self, and his last start was a disaster… that still just doesn’t sound good, does it?

Those of you brave enough to face the Ponson Adventure this evening, comment away here. I’d recommend emulating tonight’s starting pitcher in at least one regard, though, and keeping plenty of booze on hand.

(… title courtesy of Alex Belth, thus sparing you all from the truly repugnant Joba-related puns I’d been planning. You owe him more thanks than you’ll ever know).

I missed Tuesday night’s game, which was apparently for the best. On Wednesday, by contrast, the Yankees were able to meet the goal Joe Girardi set for them during his pre-game interview: “to not stink." Indeed, the team smelled like lilacs and Driven during their 10-0 cruise past the Pirates.

Joba! I’m sure eventually we’ll all settle down and get used to Chamberlain pitching every fifth game, but the bloom’s not off the rose yet. Plus “Joba!” is still super fun to say. He was excellent last night, throwing 6.2 controlled innings of 7 K, 1 BB, 0 R ball and earning his first official win (though the Yankees won the last three games he started, too).

For the most part, Chamberlain dominated. He got in a bit of a jam in the second inning, with two runners on and no out, but both had reached base on relatively soft base hits, and Chamberlain followed with a strikeout and a fly out. Jack Wilson then stroked a hit to short right field, but Pirates third base coach Tony Beasley made the puzzling decision to send Ryan Doumit – who, remember, is a catcher – home from second, even though Abreu was already picking up the ball as Doumit rounded third. (Third base coach: one of those thankless jobs where, if people actually know your name, it means you’ve screwed something up). Abreu’s throw home was good, and Jorge Posada stood there waiting for Doumit for so long that he would’ve had time to plant a small spice garden next to the batter’s box if he’d felt like it. Inning over, and that’s about as sticky as things ever got.

As for the offense, the Yankees picked away at Zach Duke until he was removed for a pinch-hitter after five innings, at which point they unloaded on the Pirates relievers. Whether this was a “the bats are waking up!” moment or a “the Pirates’ bullpen is terrible!” moment, I’m not entirely sure.

The scoring began in the first, when Derek Jeter and Bobby Abreu scored on a Jason Giambi groundout – helped out by an error on Pirates’ shortstop Jack Wilson, the victim of an aggressive (though clean) Alex Rodriguez slide into second. The (newly darkened!) Porn ‘Stache of Doom struck again in the third, scoring Jeter, who had his best game in many moons: three hits, two of them doubles. On top of that, he eked out a hard-earned walk in the sixth that set the stage for the game’s biggest blast, a three-run Bobby Abreu homer that broke the game open. Robinson Cano homered, too, and had three hits total; every starter had at least one, except Chamberlain, and even he did his part offensively.

At the plate, Joba takes just the kind of swings you’d expect him to: full speed ahead, aiming for the fences, to the near-hysterical amusement of the Yankees bench. I was briefly concerned that Jeter and Posada were going to pull something, they were laughing so hard. Chamberlain did work a walk his first time up, however, then laid down a nice bunt his next time up, and finally got some good wood on the ball in the sixth, though he hit it straight to the right fielder. When his flare was caught Joba strode off the field all serious and poker faced, until he got a few feet from the dugout, at which point he could no longer suppress a massive, infectious grin.

He finished his night in with two outs in the seventh inning, not quite able to close it out before his pitch count climbed to 114 (76 of them strikes); but Ross Ohlendorf finished the frame for him, and Jose Veras preserved both the win and the shutout in the ninth.

Finally, much has been written about the 1960 World Series, but I recently happened across a nice piece of writing about the 1927 Series between the Yanks and the Pirates. This was one hell of an overmatch; that ’27 New York team, as I’m sure most of you know, won 110 games and is widely considered one of the most dominant ever. It’s by Frank Graham, who covered the team for the old New York Sun, and I found it in an old book called Press Box: Red Smith’s Favorite Sports Stories. (Which has a few gems, in case you’re wondering, but an awful lot of pieces on boxing and horse racing, neither of which I’m very invested in unless I have money on the line). Here’s Graham on the day the Yanks arrived in Pittsburgh, and took batting practice before the first game:

In the stand the Waner brothers, great ballplayers in their own right but little men, stood talking with Ken Smith, New York Mirror reporter, as the Yankees slugged the ball. Ruth hit one over the fence in center field, Gehrig hit one high in the seats in right field. Meusel hit one over the fence in left field. Lloyd turned to Paul.

"Jesus," he said fervently. "They’re big guys!"

Paul shook his head. The Waners walked out. Most of their teammates followed them. They had seen enough. It is undoubtedly true that right there the Yankees won the Series. Before a ball had been pitched in competition, they had convinced the Pirates that theirs was a losing cause.

And, later in the article, with the Yanks up two games to none and back in New York:

…a newspaperman in a cab with Lazzeri and three other players said:

"If you fellows don’t wind this Series up in these next two games, I’ll shoot you."

And Lazzeri said: "If we don’t beat these bums four in a row, you can shoot me first."

The other players nodded. That’s the way everybody on the ball club felt.

Here’s my question: who would win a Series between the 1927 and 1998 Yankees? I’m inclined to think that modern athletes — bigger, fitter, stronger, possibly injecting cattle hormones — will generally win out, but how do you bet against Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig at their absolute peaks, plus a staff of Waite Hoyt, Herb Pennock, and the fabulously named Urban Shocker? Discuss.