Salute, Ichi.

[Photo Credit: Kathy Willens]

Check out this site (or get the app): Flipboard. Loads of cool digital magazines.

Here’s a collection of the first lines of Dutch Leonard’s novels.

Dig in. 

1950s

“Dave Flynn stretched his boots over the footrest and his body eased lower into the barber chair.”—The Bounty Hunters (1953)

“At times during the morning, he would think of the man named Kirby Frye.”—The Law At Randado (1954)

“Karla hesitated in the doorway of the adobe, then pushed open the screen door and came out into the sunlight as she heard again the faint, faraway sound of the wagon; and now she looked of toward the stand of willows that formed a windbreak along the north side of the yard, her eyes half closed in the sun glare and not moving from the motionless line of trees.”—Escape From Five Shadows (1956)

“Paul Cable sat hunched forward at the edge of the pine shade, his boots crossed and his elbows supported on his knees.”—Last Stand At Saber River (1959)

1960s

“At first I wasn’t sure at all where to begin.”—Hombre (1961)

“They were watching Ryan beat up the Mexican crew leader on 16mm Commercial Ektachrome.”—The Big Bounce (1969)

“The war began the first Saturday in June 1931, when Mr. Baylor sent a boy up to Son Martin’s place to tell him they were coming to raid his still.”—The Moonshine War (1969)

1970s

“Picture the ground rising on the east side of the pasture with scrub trees thick on the slope and pines higher up.”—Valdez Is Coming (1970)

“The train was late and didn’t get into Yuma until after dark.”—Forty Lashes Less One (1972)

“This morning they were here for the melons: about sixty of them waiting patiently by the two stake trucks and the old blue-painted school bus.”—Mr. Majestyk (1974)

“He could not get used to going to the girl’s apartment.”—52 Pick-Up (1974)

“There was a photograph of Frank in an ad that ran in the Detroit Free Press and showed all the friendly salesmen at Red Bowers Chevrolet.”—Swag (1976)

“A friend of Ryan’s said to him one time, “Yeah, but at least you don’t take any shit from anybody.”—Unknown Man No. 89 (1977)

“This is the news story that appeared the next day, in the Sunday edition of the Detroit Free Press, page one: FOUR TOURISTS DIE IN ISRAELI HOTEL FIRE Tel Aviv, March 20 (AP) – A predawn fire gutted an eight story resort hotel Saturday, killing four tourists and injuring 46 others, including guests who leaped from upper-story windows to escape the flames.”—The Hunted (1977)

“Mickey said, ‘I’ll drive. I really like to.'”—The Switch (1978)

“The gentleman from Harper’s Weekly, who didn’t know mesquite beans from goat shit, looked up from his reference collection of back issues and said, ‘I’ve got it!’—Gunsights (1979)

1980s

“In the matter of Alvin B. Guy, Judge of Recorder’s Court, City of Detroit: The investigation of the Judicial Tenure Commission found the respondent guilty of misconduct in office and conduct clearly prejudicial to the administration of justice.”—City Primeval (1980)

“One day Karen DiCilia put a few observations together and realized her husband Frank was sleeping with a real estate woman in Boca.”—Gold Coast (1980)

“In the winter of 1981 a multimillionaire by the name of Robinson Daniels shot a Haitian refugee who had broken into his home in Palm Beach.”—Split Images (1981)

“Moran’s first impression of Nolen Tyler: He looked like a high risk, the kind of guy who falls asleep smoking in bed.”—Cat Chaser (1982)

“Stick said he wasn’t going if they had to pick up anything.”—Stick (1983)

“‘He’s been taking pictures three years, look at the work,’ Maurice said.”—LaBrava (1983)

“The night Vincent was shot he saw it coming.”—Glitz (1985)

“Every time they got a call from the leper hospital to pick up a body Jack Delaney would feel himself coming down with the flu or something.”—Bandits (1987)

“Frank Sinatra, Jr., was saying, “I don’t have to take this,” getting up out of the guest chair, walking out.”—Touch (1987)

“Chris Mankowski’s last day on the job, two in the afternoon, two hours to go, he got a call to dispose of a bomb.”—Freaky Deaky (1988)

“The Blackbird told himself he was drinking too much because he lived in this hotel and the Silver Dollar was close by, right downstairs.”—Killshot (1989)

1990s

“When Chili first came to Miami Beach twelve years ago they were having one of their off-and-on cold winters: thirty-four degrees the day he met Tommy Carlo for lunch at Vesuvio’s on South Collins and had his leather jacket ripped off.”—Get Shorty (1990)

“Dale Crowe Junior told Kathy Baker, his probation officer, he didn’t see where he had done anything wrong.”—Maximum Bob (1991)

“Sunday morning, Ordell took Louis to watch the white-power demonstration in downtown Palm Beach.”—Rum Punch (1992)

“One evening, it was toward the end of October, Harry Arno said to the woman he’d been seeing on and off the past few years, ‘I’ve made a decision. I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone before in my life.'”—Pronto (1993)

“Ocala Police picked up Dale Crowe Junior for weaving, two o’clock in the morning, crossing the center line and having a busted taillight.”—Riding the Rap (1995)

“Foley had never seen a prison where you could walk right up to the fence without getting shot.”—Out of Sight (1996)

“Tyler arrived with the horses, February eighteenth, three days after the battlship Maine blew up in Havana harbor.”—Cuba Libre (1998)

“They sat at one of the sidewalk tables at Swingers, on the side of the coffee shop along Beverly Boulevard: Chili Palmer with the Cobb salad and iced tea, Tommy Athens the grilled pesto chicken and a bottle of Evian.”—Be Cool (1999)

2000s

“The church had become a tomb where forty-seven bodies turned to leather and stains had been lying on the concrete floor the past five years, though not lying where they had been shot with Kalashnikovs or hacked to death with machetes.”—Pagan Babies (2000)

“Dennis Lenahan the high diver would tell people that if you put a fifty-cent piece on the floor and looked down at it, that’s what the tank looked like from the top of that eighty-foot steel ladder.”—Tishomingo Blues (2002)

“Here was Antwan, living the life of a young coyote up in the Hollywood Hills, loving it, but careful to keep out of the way of humans.”—A Coyote’s in the House (2004)

“Late afternoon Chloe and Kelly were having cocktails at the Rattlesnake Club, the two seated on the far side of the dining room by themselves: Chloe talking, Kelly listening, Chloe trying to get Kelly to help entertain Anthony Paradiso, an eighty-four-year-old guy who was paying her five thousand a week to be his girlfriend.”—Mr. Paradise (2004)

“Carlos Webster was fifteen the day he witnessed the robbery and killing at Deering’s drugstore.”—The Hot Kid (2005)

“Honey phoned her sister-in-law Muriel, still living in Harlan County, Kentucky, to tell her she’d left Walter Schoen, calling him Valter, and was on her way to being Honey Deal again.”—Up In Honey’s Room (2007)

“They put Foley and the Cuban together in the backseat of the van and took them from the Palm Beach County jail on Gun Club to Glades Correctional, the old redbrick prison at the south end of Lake Okeechobee.”—Road Dogs (2009)

2010s

“Xavier watched two Legionnaires stroll out form the terminal to wait for the flight: dude soldiers in round white kepis straight on their heads, red epaulets on their shoulders, a wide blue sash around their waist, looking like they from some old-time regiment except for the short pants and assault rifles.”—Djibouti (2010)

“Raylan Givens was holding a federal warrant to serve on a man in the marijuana trade known as Angel Arenas, forty-seven, born in the U.S. but 100 percent of him Hispanic.”—Raylan (2011)

Bonus

“A time would come, within a few years, when Ruben Vega would go to the church in Benson, kneel in the confessional, and say to the priest, ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been thirty-seven years since my last confession…. Since then I have fornicated with many women, maybe eight hundred. No, not that many, considering my work. Maybe six hundred only.'”—”The Tonto Woman,” a short story that appeared in Roundup: An Anthology of Great Stories By The Western Writers of America (1982)

(In this case I think you need all of the above to truly capture Leonard’s touch. By the way, “The Tonto Woman” was made into a tasty short film that was nominated for an Oscar.)

“Joe Sereno caught the Odyssey night clerk as he was going off: prissy guy, had his lunch box under his arm.”—Naked Came the Manatee, a novel written serially by Dutch and 13 other mostly Florida-based writers including Carl Hiaasen, Dave Barry, James W. Hall and Paul Levine. (1996)

“They had dug coal together as young men and then lost touch over the years.”—Fire in the Hole, a short story published as an e-book (2001)

“A German prisoner of war at the camp called Deep Fork had taken his own life, hanged himself two nights ago in the compound’s washroom.”—Comfort to the Enemy, a serial published in the New York Times (2005)

[Photo Credit: David Guralnick / the Detroit News]

Some fine pitching and nifty fielding* kept the bats quiet and the Yankee Stadium crowd subdued for most of the night but there was reason to cheer early and late as the Yanks beat the Jays, 4-2.

Ichiro! singled in his first at bat, good for the 4,000 hit of his career. The game was held up for a few minutes as Ichiro’s teammates came out to congratulate him. The Blue Jays applauded too.

Adam Warren started out okay but was relieved in the 4th inning by David Huff after giving up a couple of runs. Huff was terrific and made a highlight-reel play in the 8th inning. With a man on first and 1 out, Josh Thole (who hit a long solo home run earlier) laid down an excellent bunt. Huff, a lefty, fell off to the right on the mound after he let go of the pitch. The bunt rolled past him on the first base side of the mound. Huff took off after it, fielded the ball with his glove and then shuffled it to first with his glove hand. Ball came out cleanly and the Yanks got the out. Huff got out of trouble and the score remained tied.

R.A. Dickey was great, cruised along, and only allowed 4 hits when Robbie Cano singled in the 8th and then a knuckle didn’t buckle and Alfonso Soriano crushed it for a home run.

It was enough for Mo who gave up a 1 out double to Raijai Davis and then picked Davis off second. Yesterday, David Cone referred to Davis’ base running as “daring” when a couple of gambles paid off for the Blue Jays outfielder. He didn’t use the word again tonight (never mind that Davis might have been safe). Mo struck out Edwin Encarnacion and the game was over. Ninth straight time the Yanks have beaten the Jays. The only drag was that Dickey hit Jayson Nix in the hand with a pitch and the news isn’t good–a fracture for Nix. Man, you’ve got to feel for the guy.

Dickey, who won the National League CY Young last season, is now 9-12. He sat in the dugout for ten minutes after the last out was made, likely still thinking about the pitch to Soriano that did him in.

[Photo Credit: Black Book]

*It’s easy to bag on Brett Lawrie because he’s so jacked-up but he’s made a couple of brilliant plays at third the past two days–athletic, great footwork, beautiful throws, impressive.

It’s Adam Warren with the start tonight against R.A. Dickey.

Brett Gardner DH
Ichiro Suzuki RF
Robinson Cano 2B
Alfonso Soriano LF
Curtis Granderson CF
Eduardo Nunez SS
Lyle Overbay 1B
Jayson Nix 3B
Austin Romine C

Never mind the knuckler:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

Here’s Bryant Gumbel’s editorial from the latest episode of HBO’s Real Sports:

“Finally tonight, what are we supposed to do with Alex Rodriguez? Embrace him? Pity him? Scorn him? I can easily understand any or all of those reactions because I think he’s a liar and a fraud. But what I don’t understand are the expressions of shock and outrage over his alleged drug use because, frankly, this country’s crazy about drugs. In case of addiction one can go to drug rehab at Muse to get help.

Modern Americans reach for a drug for any and everything – for problems real and imagined. It’s why we consume more pills than any nation on earth and why TV ads are relentlessly selling us Xarelto, Abilify, Stelara, Prodaxa, and dozens of other drugs we never ever guessed we supposedly needed. Many of them who are addicted to these drugs, are often recommend to visit Orlando rehab center for early treatment.

Americans are only about five percent of the world’s population yet we take 80% of the world’s painkillers and a whopping 99% of the world’s Vicodin. We have four million kids on Ritalin, 22-million women on antidepressants, over 30-million adults on sleeping pills, 32 million on Statins, 45 million on another drug I can’t even begin to pronounce. The list goes on and on. There is drug and alcohol treatment in Miami that can help the ones that are addicted to drugs and unwanted medication they use as a temporary escape. The professionals at alcohol detox austin can help victims overcome addiction issues.

So think what you will of Alex Rodriguez but when so many moms and dads are active parts of a national drug epidemic, let’s stop crying that a ballplayer’s the one setting a bad example for kids. And let’s skip the expressions of outrage and shock because however you may choose to view A-Rod’s alleged drugs use, there’s no denying the ugly reality that that’s become the American way.”

Jackpot.

This site looks amazing. Dig the post by David Bordwell  (found via Kottke).

That’s what the Yanks did yesterday. They trailed in both games and came back to win ’em both. Ivan Nova was roughed-up early and then pitched a solid game; Phil Hughes did well, too. Robbie Cano was the star in the afternoon with Chris Stewart’s 3-run home run the big play, and Jayson Nix was the guy at night, hitting a game-tying homer and then the game-ending base hit in the bottom of the 9th.

Yanks 8, Jays 4.

Yanks 3, Jays 2.

According to Chad Jennings, “You guys can feel it,” Austin Romine said. “When you come in here it’s loose; it’s fun. We’re not out of it until we’re out of it, and that’s every game. We’re scrapping. We’re getting big hits from guys when we need it. Case in point tonight with Nixy coming up huge with that line drive to left. It’s fun. We’re having fun.”

Is this the start of a run or just a nice week? Either way, it’s always fun to see your team win both games of a double header.

[Photo Credit: Melissa Ann Pinney via MPD]

Ah, just got Elmore on the brain.

Yanks and Jays play 2 today.

Brett Gardner CF
Ichiro Suzuki RF
Robinson Cano 2B
Alfonso Soriano DH
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Curtis Granderson LF
Lyle Overbay 1B
Jayson Nix SS
Chris Stewart C

Nova goes first; Hughes tonight.

Never mind the nonsense:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Credit: hisaya katagami…man, I just love this picture.]

The great American writer Elmore Leonard died this morning. He was 87.

He was a constant inspiration, a sharp, no-bullshit storyteller with a fondness for his characters and for the way people–cops and crooks alike–talk. He wrote beautiful, terse, evocative prose. He was not one to waste words.

If you’ve never read Leonard’s essay on writing, do yourself a favor, huh?

3. Never use a verb other than ”said” to carry dialogue.

The line of dialogue belongs to the character; the verb is the writer sticking his nose in. But said is far less intrusive than grumbled, gasped, cautioned, lied. I once noticed Mary McCarthy ending a line of dialogue with ”she asseverated,” and had to stop reading to get the dictionary.

4. Never use an adverb to modify the verb ”said” . . .

. . . he admonished gravely. To use an adverb this way (or almost any way) is a mortal sin. The writer is now exposing himself in earnest, using a word that distracts and can interrupt the rhythm of the exchange. I have a character in one of my books tell how she used to write historical romances ”full of rape and adverbs.”

5. Keep your exclamation points under control.

You are allowed no more than two or three per 100,000 words of prose. If you have the knack of playing with exclaimers the way Tom Wolfe does, you can throw them in by the handful.

Over at the Atlantic dig this from Elmore (and stick around to watch the video):

THE DAY VICTOR turned twenty he rode three bulls, big ones, a good 1,800 pounds each—Cyclone, Spanish Fly, and Bulldozer—rode all their bucks and twists, Victor’s free hand waving the air until the buzzer honked at eight seconds for each ride, not one of the bulls able to throw him. He rolled off their rumps, stumbled, keeping his feet, and walked to the gate not bothering to look at the bulls, see if they still wanted to kill him. He won Top Bull Rider, 4,000 dollars and a new saddle at the All-Indian National Rodeo in Palm Springs. It came to … Jesus, like 200 dollars a second. That afternoon Victorio Colorado, the name he went by in the program, was the man.

He left the rodeo grounds as Victor to celebrate with two Mojave boys, Nachee and Billy Cosa, brought along from Arizona when the boss, Kyle McCoy, moved his business to Indio, near Palm Springs. The Mojave boys handled Kyle’s fighting bulls, bringing them from the pens to the chute where Victor, a Mimbreño Apache, would slip aboard from the fence, wrap his hand in the bull rope tight as he could get it, and believe he was ready to ride. He’d take a breath, say “Let me out of here,” and the gate would swing open and a ton of pissed-off bull would come flying out.

“His mind made up,” he told the Mojave boys at Mi Nidito in Palm Springs, “to kill anybody’s on his back. See, he behaves in the chute. What he’s doing, he’s saving his dirty tricks till he has room to buck you off and stomp you, kick out your teeth.”

Check out this old American Film article on him:

American Film

I haven’t seen “Justified,” the TV series based on characters created by the Elmore but from all accounts it is excellent. Over at the Star-Ledger, Alan Sepinwall talks to the Master:

We talk about director Barry Sonnenfeld’s 1995 version of “Get Shorty,” the first truly successful (in both creative and commercial terms) Leonard adaptation after a long fallow period. The conversation quickly turns to how the creative team on the sequel, “Be Cool,” got wrong so much of what Sonnenfeld and writer Scott Frank got right.

“I told Barry Sonnenfeld, ‘When somebody delivers a funny line, don’t cut to someone else laughing or nudging or grinning, because they’re all serious,’” he recalls. “And he knew that. But then when they shot the sequel, they forgot all about that, and everybody’s laughing all the way through. There’s a guy named Cedric the Entertainer (in the cast). Well, I can’t have a guy named Cedric the Entertainer in one of my stories!”

He lived to 87 and never stopped working. I hope he knew how much pleasure he gave so many of us. We can mourn his passing but let’s also celebrate his lasting achievement. I’d like to think he’d want it that way.

Here’s a cool old relic from the last great era of Yankees dysfunction. It’s a clip of Goose Gossage losing his shit in front of the New York media in 1982–the beginning of a miserable, drawn-out decade for the organization, when all that ’70s glory turned to pinstriped shit.

This year has nothing on the Bronx Zoo hangover years.

From Volume 1 of Celebrities at Their Worst.

Nice little piece on Bobbito by David Gonzalez in the Times the other day:

His love of the game has taken him around the world. With Kevin Couliau, he made the documentary “Doin’ It in the Park,” which is a valentine not just to the game, but to the neighborhoods where it is played. He promoted it guerrilla style, through his Open Runs, which is like a pickup basketball flash mob gathered on several hours’ notice through an e-mail blast. This summer he organized in Riverside Park what he said was the first-ever full-court 21 tournament, the ultimate city game.

“You go to any park in New York, and the kids are playing 21,” he said. “Essentially, it’s a game where you have no teammates. You have multiple people guarding whoever has the ball. Every change of possession goes the opposite way. It’s a rough game. There’s no out of bounds and no shooting fouls.”

…“The beauty of outdoor pickup is there is no other environment where you are going to find such a diverse group of people participating in free recreation,” Bobbito said. “You don’t find that at a sports club or a university gym. Those require memberships. The park is free.”

[Photo Via: Life and Times]

Check out this cool post by Nick Schager over at Esquire.com on Drew Struzan:

Drew Struzan is responsible for some of the most enduring cinematic imagery of the past thirty years, even if few fans recognize his name. That should be partially rectified by this week’s release of Struzan: The Man Behind the Poster, a documentary that pays tribute to the famed movie-poster artist, whose illustrated one-sheets for Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Back to the Future, Harry Potter, and countless other film franchises are both instantly recognizable and beloved. Hand-painted and marked by photorealistic portraits and signature scenes in evocative montages, Struzan’s work remains the standard to which most action, fantasy, and sci-fi posters aspire, conveying emotion and excitement with a compelling style far superior to the modern era’s Photoshopped-to-death posters. In honor of his prolific and peerless career, we present a look back at thirteen of his most compelling creations.

And please dig Struzan’s website. 

I contributed a short essay on “Buffalo Gals” to Herc Your Enthusiam, HiLoBrow’s series on old school (pre-1983) rap records:

There wasn’t anything like “Buffalo Gals” before, nor after. Though you could categorize it as an early sample record, in the vein of “Pump Up the Volume,” it’s really a novelty record, the brainchild of British trendsetter and former Sex Pistols manager Malcolm McLaren.

For McLaren, style was substance. After a trip to New York where he saw Afrika Bambaataa spin, McLaren co-opted New York’s hip hop scene for his next record — the dancing, record scratching, the fashion (all of which are on display in the “Buffalo Gals” video). He flew New York DJs The Supreme Team to London to provide scratches, and got Trevor Horn, a successful young British producer — he had been part of The Buggles, whose version of “Video Killed the Radio Star” was in 1981 the first video ever played on MTV — to make the record.

“Buffalo Gals” is a culture clash of stuff — samples of phone calls, breaks, a synth bass and pads, the catchy “duck, duck, duck” refrain, the title chorus taken from a Piute Pete record, the scratching: “Oh, that scratching is making me itch.” It sounds like a bunch of stuff cobbled together but it works — and for DJs it goes with other records, because there’s so much in it.

Check out the rest of the series here.

We moved four months ago, but the process still isn’t over. We never quite finished clearing out the garage and attic at our old place, but since new renters were set to move in on Sunday, we spent Saturday packing everything out and all day Sunday trying to find space in the new garage for all the stuff we had left behind. We still aren’t done, but at least we can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

So as the Yankees and Red Sox were squaring off for the final game of their three-game set at Fenway Park, I was knee deep in a sea of boxes and assorted debris covering my driveway. I had hoped to be done by the first pitch, hoped to be lying down on the couch enjoying a nine-inning reward for the day’s work, but as it was I was stuck listening to John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman.

Listening to a baseball game on the radio (or an iPhone, in this case), is a completely different experience than watching on TV. Baseball’s languid pace fits perfectly with radio, as most radio announcers are comfortable enough to let the game breathe and take on a life of its own. The twenty-second gap between pitches allows for choices; an announcer can weave elaborate stories with history and anecdotes in and around an at bat, or he might simply choose to let the ambiance of the ballpark filter through to the listener.

With Sterling and Waldman, there isn’t much ambiance. They tend to prattle on throughout the game, sometimes talking about the action on the field, other times remembering Broadway musicals from the 1950s, and so it was on Sunday night. F.P. Dempster was on the mound for the Red Sox, and although he gave up a double to the smoldering Robinson Canó in the first inning, the game didn’t get interesting until CC Sabathia toed the rubber in the bottom half.

Sabathia was good his last time out, but even at the time that looked more like an aberration than a correction, and the CC we’ve grown used to seeing was back on Sunday. He walked Jacoby Ellsbury to start the inning, then gave up a single to Shane Victorino before finally walking David Ortíz to load the bases with one out. After a sacrifice fly from Johnny Gomes and a single off the bat of Jarrod Saltalamacchia, the Sox were up by two.

But the game really started in the top of the second when Alex Rodríguez walked up to the plate. A-Rod has always been a polarizing figure, and he’s been accustomed to hearing boos in every ballpark, including his own, for the majority of his career, but it’s never been anything like this. With everything that’s been going on off the field for Alex (and things got even crazier on Sunday as general manager Brian Cashman revealed that he no longer talks to A-Rod because of legal concerns), his on-field appearances over the past two weeks (and the past three days in Boston) have been met with the loudest and most sustained booing that any baseball player has ever had to endure.

And so it was as A-Rod strode to the plate for his first at bat on Sunday night. With the boos raining down, F.P. Dempster threw his first pitch behind Rodríguez, and the boos immediately turned to cheers. Everyone in the park (except, apparently, home plate umpire Brian O’Nora) knew what was probably going on, and when F.P.’s next two pitches were aimed at A-Rod’s belt buckle, it was clear that he was doing his best to send a message. His fourth pitch was a bit higher and a bit tighter and drilled Alex in the arm.

As Fenway exploded with glee, O’Nora flew into action, warning F.P., the Boston dugout, the New York dugout, and a peanut vendor in the front row. Remember when George Brett flew out of the third-base dugout after being called out in the Pine Tar game? Joe Girardi’s reaction to O’Nora’s warning was pretty much identical. He sprinted out to engage O’Nora and was thrown out almost immediately. Sterling and Waldman were in complete disbelief over the entire scene, and they wondered aloud about why Girardi would’ve been ejected so quickly. “We know he didn’t swear at O’Nora,” explained Sterling, “because Girardi does not swear.”

When I finally got to watch the recording hours later, the video told a different story. Girardi was furious that F.P. hadn’t been thrown out, and even a novice lip reader would’ve had no trouble deciphering his words for O’Nora before and after being tossed: “You fucked up! You fucked up!” Next Girardi turned on Dempster and reviewed his performance: “That’s bullshit! You’re a fucking pussy!” (Buster Olney reported on Monday morning that Girardi probably tripled his career profanity total in those five minutes.)

I’ve never seen Girardi so angry, and I can’t say that I blame him. Not only did O’Nora fail to act, but he essentially condoned F.P. Dempster’s moral crusade. Apparently it’s now okay for a pitcher to throw at a player because he doesn’t like what he’s doing and saying off the field, but it’s no longer okay for a manager to defend his player. As several members of the media said in the moment and afterwards, if baseball doesn’t suspend F.P., they’ll be just as guilty as O’Nora.

So Rodríguez stood at first base, but even more important than that, his team stood united behind him. Players from both dugouts and bullpens had wandered out onto the field during the dispute, but it was clear that Yankee players were just as angry as their manager. A-Rod eventually came around to score after Curtis Granderson doubled him to third and Eduardo Núñez singled him home, and he received a hero’s welcome when he returned to the dugout. Even as members of the front office continue to distance themselves from Alex, his teammates seem to have embraced him. Just another item on the long list of contradictions concerning Mr. Rodríguez.

But back to the game. Lyle Overbay tied the game with a sacrifice fly, Sabathia had a quick and easy bottom of the second, and the Yankees went ahead 3-2 when A-Rod extracted a tiny bit of revenge (there would be more later) with an RBI groundout in the third.

Things started to look bleak almost immediately after that. Sabathia gave up a run to tie the score in the third, two more in the fourth, and then he walked in a sixth run in the fifth. I really don’t know what to say about Sabathia anymore.

In the top of the sixth, drama walked to the plate in the form of Alex Rodríguez. With F.P. Dempster still on the mound, A-Rod put a good swing on a 1-0 fastball and the boos suddenly went silent. It was the type of ball we’ve seen countless times from A-Rod over the past ten years, launched towards center field by a vicious swing but deceptive in its length. Ellsbury drifted back, but it quickly became clear that he wouldn’t have a play. He looked up and watched it soar deep into the night before settling several rows back in the bleachers, 446 feet from home plate.

It was a monster home run, but it meant much more than just a single run. The ball landed in the stands just as A-Rod rounded first, and the cameras caught him screaming in triumph and stealing a glance towards the mound. It wasn’t just about cutting the lead to 6-4; this was something personal. He sprinted around third, looked into the Yankee dugout, then paused for an extra second at home and did his best Big Papi impression, standing at the plate with two index fingers pointed skyward, either completely oblivious to the boos or soaking them in like warm sunshine. Needless to say, he was mobbed when he arrived back in the dugout. When asked afterwards about how he felt while rounding the bases, A-Rod didn’t hide behind any cliché about helping the team. His response was short and sweet: “It was awesome.”

But the Yankees didn’t stop there. It wasn’t long ago that a 6-3 deficit heading to the sixth inning would be too much of a mountain for the Yankees to climb, but no longer. They would load the bases with one out after Núñez and Overbay singled and Chris Stewart worked a walk, finally pushing F.P. Dempster from the game and bringing Brett Gardner to the plate. Gardner had been one of the more animated Yankees on the field after A-Rod’s beaning, so he might’ve been disappointed to be facing a reliever instead of the starter, but he still managed to punish F.P. He launched a shot to the gap in right center for a bases clearing triple that might’ve been an inside the parker if he hadn’t had to come to a complete stop near second when it looked like it might be caught, and suddenly the Yankees had a 7-6 lead.

Just as A-Rod had done at the beginning of the inning, Gardner let loose a scream as he dusted himself off at third. His triple might’ve come off of Drake Britton, but all the runs were charged to F.P. Dempster, a point that Gardner made after the game. “There’s no doubt what the guy was trying to do, but it is what it is, and he gave up seven runs today.” Those seven runs shouldn’t have been much of a surprise. F.P. has a career record against the Yankees of 0-6 and 7.57 — that’s not an airplane, that’s his ERA.

The Yanks added a run in the seventh (Mark Reynolds rapped a single to center to score Granderson) and another in the ninth (Stewart singled in Jayson Nix), and Mariano Rivera closed things down for a 9-6 win, but Sunday night was about Alex Rodríguez. As clueless as he sometimes can be, right now he seems to understand exactly what’s going on. (When a reporter asked afterwards if he thought F.P. should be suspended, Rodríguez chuckled and said, “I’m the last guy you should be asking about suspensions!”) He’s sitting in the eye of the storm that he created, but somehow he seems more comfortable than he ever has. Coming off a severe injury and an invasive surgery, fielding endless questions after every game, enduring barbs from his team’s front office, and facing hostile crowds every night, A-Rod is somehow playing the best baseball we’ve seen from him in two years.

Alex Rodríguez is the villain, and he likes it.

Okay, are the Yankees’ cooked, have you given up hope, or do you believe that they can still make a run? If you think they’ve still got a chance then tonight’s performance is a big one for the Big Fella. Biggest game of the year, in fact.

Brett Gardner CF
Ichiro Suzuki RF
Robinson Cano 2B
Alfonso Soriano LF
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Curtis Granderson DH
Eduardo Nunez SS
Lyle Overbay 1B
Chris Stewart C

Never mind the ESPN Dummies:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Credit: Elliott Erwitt]

You Gots to Chill.

[Photo by Thomas van der Zaag via MPD]

Hiroki was due for a bad start but he wasn’t horrible yesterday. The Sox score 3 runs in the 4th inning thanks to an error and a blown call by umpire Bill Welke. But when you only score a single run that stuff is secondary, right?

The final: Red Sox 6, Yanks 1.

Notes from Chad Jennings and Pete Abraham.

[Photo Credit: Jim Rogash, Getty Images]

Our man Hiroki vs. Big John Lackey.

Brett Gardner CF
Ichiro Suzuki RF
Robinson Cano 2B
Alfonso Soriano LF
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Curtis Granderson DH
Eduardo Nunez SS
Lyle Overbay 1B
Chris Stewart C

Never mind the Fox announcers:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

Coolin’.

[Photo Via: Write from the He[art]]