Via Kottke…

Fun.

I spent much of the weekend being pissed off at the Red Sox, who couldn’t win a single game against the Baltimore Orioles. Not one. In my irrational state of mind I even wondered if there might be some foul play at work. After all, what better way for Boston to get at the Yanks than by rolling over three days in a row in Baltimore?

With this poison still working its way through my system, I sat down to watch the Yankees and Red Sox on Monday evening, and it all became clear as soon as the Boston lineup flashed onto the screen: Pedro Ciriaco, Daniel Nava, Cody Ross, Mauro Gomez, Ryan Lavarnway, Jarod Saltalamacchia, Danny Valencia, Che-Hsuan Lin, and José Iglesias made up the Red Sox starting nine, and three of those guys ended the night hitting less than .200.

CC Sabathia was on the mound for the Yanks, and he showed no mercy. As he was slicing and dicing through Boston’s makeshift lineup (Dustin Pedroia was out with an injured hoof, and Jacoby Ellsbury was on the bench suffering from the 24-hour-lefty-on-the-mound flu), I missed the old Red Sox. Do you remember what an event these series were? Do you remember how every pitch carried with it the weight of the world and a world of possibilities?

I miss the swagger of Pedro Martínez, the horror of Manny Ramírez and David Ortíz, the robotic fierceness of Jonathan Papelbon, the impossible smugness of Josh Beckett, and even the nauseating arrogance of Curt Schilling. I miss the way Jason Varitek would tuck his batting helmet beneath his arm as he crossed the plate after hitting a home run, and the way Kevin Youkilis would slide his hand up and down the shaft of his bat as if he were, well, you know.

I hated all of that, but now I miss it like crazy. These Red Sox? About as compelling as milk. So even as CC was busy dismissing one anonymous BoSock after another, I couldn’t help wondering what this series might’ve been like. Worse than that, when the Yankees sent 13 men to the plate in the second inning to score nine runs and put the game on ice, my heart didn’t beat any faster.

Robinson Canó led off the inning with an absolute monster home run that ricocheted off  the Mohegan Sun Sports Bar a mere 446 feet from home plate, becoming just the second player in four years to turn the trick. Three batters later Curtis Granderson laced a two-run homer into the second deck in right, and before the cheering stopped, Russell Martin backed him up with a homer of his own for a 4-0 Yankee lead.

Canó came up later in the inning and rocked a double to right center, scoring two more runs. A quick word about Canó. Even though some have criticized him this season and accused him of playing below his ability, it should be remembered that people whispered the same things about Roberto Clemente, probably for the same reason. Canó finished the game 3 for 5 with a home run and two doubles, giving him a total of 48 two-baggers and 31 homers on the season. Not bad.

Following Canó was Mark Teixeira, playing in his first game in weeks. He had struck out in his first at bat against Boston starter Clay Buchholz, but he liked something he saw from the new Boston pitcher, Alfredo Aceves, and quickly jumped on it. It was a no-doubter; the ball leapt off Tex’s bat and settled in the second deck. If Teixeira can get his swing together in time for the playoffs (or keep it together), the Yankee lineup is suddenly much more formidable.

Nothing much happened the rest of the way — a solo home run from Nava and a sacrifice fly from Saltalamacchia accounted for the Boston scoring — save for the bottom of the eighth. I’ve always loved watching players get their first hit, so I was thrilled for Melky Mesa when his two-hopper found its way into center field for his first career hit and RBI (Eduardo Núñez scored easily from second). Mesa started clapping and smiling half way down the line, and the Yankee dugout exploded behind him as they officially welcomed him to the major leagues with their cheers and good natured ribbing (Eric Chávez jokingly yelled for him to be sure to touch first base). The smile never left his face during that eighth inning.

The 10-2 Yankee win combined with a Baltimore loss gives the Bombers a tie with Texas for the best record in the league and a luxurious one-game lead in the American League East. I expect that they’ll take care of business on Tuesday and Wednesday. You can count on it.

[Photo Credit: Kathy Willens/AP Photo]

Derek Jeter SS
Ichiro Suzuki LF
Alex Rodriguez DH
Robinson Cano 2B
Mark Teixeira 1B
Nick Swisher RF
Curtis Granderson CF
Russell Martin C
Eric Chavez 3B

It’s CC. Shit’s On.

Never mind the preamble: Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Credit: Josh Adamski; 4096 Colours]

Here’s our pal Mark Lamster’s Q&A with Christopher Bonanos, author of Instant: The Story of Polaroid:

ML: One aspect of public relations at which Land was especially adept was in building relationships with artists. Because a Polaroid camera is a bit clumsy in the hand and hard to focus, because the saturation of the film is so idiosyncratic and rich, and because the format is so unique, Polaroid encourages, as you note, a kind of self-conscious artiness. It’s amazing what a broad spectrum of artists ended up working with Polaroid. I know when I started taking Polaroids, I was influenced by Walker Evans, one of the “house” artists.

CB: That’s somewhat true — though I’d say that it even more encouraged a kind of casual artless shooting that equates with what we do on social networks. The other day, I met an artist named Tom Slaughter who was a huge Polaroid user back in the eighties. We were going through his photos — he has thousands — and it’s striking how much each box of them looks like an Instagram feed. They’re the same kinds of casual snapshots that somehow also feel documentary and a little profound: people eating and drinking, sitting on the porch, whatever. And it’s even the same square format, which is not an accident: the Instagram guys explicitly pay homage to Polaroid in their logo, and have a display of old Polaroid cameras in their offices. On the genuinely arty end of things, though, it’s true that Polaroid opened up its own big niche. The spontaneity was valuable to some people, like Andy Warhol; the color was especially useful to others, like Marie Cosindas; and the unique technology was valuable to Ansel Adams and a lot of other people.

I’ll never forget my father’s Polaroid camera, the sound of it being unfolded, the pleasure in pressing the red buttom to take a picture (always a treat), watching the image come out. And then fighting with my brother and sister to see which one of us could shake the photograph until an image appeared. It felt like magic.

Oh, and it ain’t over…

[Photo Credit: Sincerely Lola]

Something for you to have.

Sam Anderson interviewed Junot Diaz in yesterday’s Times Magazine about Diaz’s new collection of short stories, This is How You Lose Her:

How many stories did you generate in total?

I’ll tell you what, I can name the stories for “The Cheater’s Guide to Love” before “The Cheater’s Guide to Love” came. There’s a story called “Primo” that was supposed to be at the end of the book — that was a miserable botch. I spent six months on that, and it never came together. There was a story called “Santo Domingo Confidential” that was trying to be the final story, that I spent a year on. I must have written a hundred pages. It was another farrago of nonsense. I wrote a summer story where the kid gets sent to the Dominican Republic while his brother is dying of cancer; he gets sent because his mom can’t take care of him. It was a story I called “Confessions of a Teenage Sanky-Panky,” which was even worse than all the other ones put together. And that was another 50-page botch.

That must be tough.

That’s why I never want to do this again. It’s like you spend 16 years chefing in the kitchen, and all that’s left is an amuse-bouche.

There’s a classic bit of creative-writing-class advice that tells us we need to learn to turn off our internal editors. I’ve never understood how to unbraid the critical and the creative. How do you manage that?

You’ve raised one of the thorniest dialectics of working, which is that you need your critical self: without it you can’t write, but in fact the critical self is what’s got both feet on the brakes of your process. My thing is, I’m just way too harsh. It’s an enormous impediment, and that’s just the truth of it. It doesn’t make me any better, make me any worse, it certainly isn’t more valorous. I have a character defect, man.

So turn on your harsh paternalistic, militaristic critic —

It’s my dad.

O.K., invite your dad in: I want to hear his review of Junot Díaz the bad writer. What is wrong with that stuff? What are the mistakes you make?

First of all, nonsense characterization. The dullest, wet-noodle characteristics and behaviors and thoughts and interests are ascribed to the characters. These 80-year-old, left-in-the-sun newspaper-brittle conflicts — where the conflicts are so ridiculously subatomic that you have to summon all the key members of CERN to detect where the conflict in this piece is. It just goes on, man. You know, I force it, and by forcing it, I lose everything that’s interesting about my work. What’s interesting about my work, for me — not for anyone else; God knows, I can’t speak for that — what’s interesting in my work is the way that when I am playing full out, when I am just feeling relaxed and I’m playing, and all my faculties are firing, but only just to play. Not to get a date, not because I want someone to hug me, not because I want anyone to read it. Just to play.

[Photo Credit: Fornication]

Stop by Sports on Earth and check out my Q&A with Mark Kriegel about his new book, The Good Son:

Q: Was Ray pleased with how it turned out?

A: He saw that I was true to my word. It wasn’t just a book about him and Kim, although it had a lot of Kim in it, of course. The Kim stuff ties together in a way that you couldn’t get if you were writing fiction. Real life is infinitely more perverse than fiction.

Q: Right. Kim was always the hook.

A: I did this reading recently. My parents were there, my brother, guys I grew up with. And Artie Lange, the comedian, was there, and asked the most perceptive question I’ve been asked about the book. He goes, “Could you have done this book if Duk Koo Kim hadn’t died?” And I hate to say it, but the answer is no. In terms of the architecture of the story — I know this is a cruel and callous way to talk about it — but it raises the roof on the construction of the story.

Q: If Kim didn’t die, Ray would have been in line to capitalize on being a media darling, he’d have gotten all the endorsements that were up for grabs because Sugar Ray Leonard had retired.

A: If he doesn’t die it’s like a perfect, happy story for Ray. Talk about an anomaly, a happy boxing story. But because it’s a boxing story, it can’t be that.

Q: Some of the most riveting material in the book is in the year or two after the Kim fight, listening to Ray struggle to sort out what happened.

A: I think he did sort it out for himself. There’s no way the outside world is going to let him forget, and that includes me, his friend, Mark Kriegel.

Q: His friend Mark Kriegel or his biographer Mark Kriegel?

A: I can’t make that distinction. If I couldn’t make that distinction as a biographer why would I make it as a friend? I didn’t stop being his friend because I’m his biographer, and I didn’t stop being his biographer because I’m his friend. However you want to characterize it — did I exploit it? Yes. Did I use it to tell a story about fathers and sons? Yes. Did I also use it to aggrandize Ray? Yes, I did that too. I say “exploit” almost facetiously, because I knew Ray didn’t want to go there, and I knew I was going to go there and I wanted to go there. I had to go to Korea and do everything I could to find Kim’s son.

It is chilly in New York this morning, the first day of October and this much we know: The Yankees are in the playoffs. Again. It’s gotten to the point where it is hard to separate the crisp fall air with the Yankees and the playoffs.

So, let’s appreciate this moment. There will be plenty of time to sweat and fret about the division title this evening. Sure, a playoff game–likely against the A’s–is not preferable. But the Yanks could win the division and lose to Verlander and the Tigers in the first round. They could win the wildcard game and advance to the Whirled Serious. Who knows? Plus, it feels as if every game for the past month as been a one-game playoff anyway.

Still, we couldn’t do anything but dream “what if” unless they made the playoffs. And they have, once again.

For that, we give thanks.

When Rafael Soriano got the final out of today’s ball game he untucked his jersey. This is his signature move but he didn’t do it with any vigor after his 3-1 pitch was grounded to Robinson Cano to end the game. He untucked it as if he’d just dragged his ass home at six in the morning–six in the morning–after a long night out.

It was a long, uneasy inning for him as the Jays loaded the bases and brought the tying run to the plate with nobody out. Two ground balls later, it was over and the Yanks completed a much-needed come-from-behind win to keep pace with the Orioles who beat the Red Sox again.

Things didn’t look good a few hours earlier. Phil Hughes and his peach-fuzz mustachio got chased from the game in the fifth, the score Jays 5, Yanks 1. The mood for Yankee fans was as glum as it’s been all year, fury giving way to resignation. Though since it’s football Sunday, prime time for the blood to be angried-up, I’m sure many fans were plenty pissed off too.

How were the run-challenged Yankees going to win this one? Well, they got a run in the sixth and then Eduardo Nunez hit a line drive single to start the seventh. He went to third when Derek Jeter dunked a ground rule double to right and scored on a sac fly by Ichiro. Alex Rodriguez had a good pass at a fastball and then waved at a slider and was in the hole. He worked the count full though and didn’t whiff. He walked.

A pitching change brought in a lefty and Robbie Cano also fell behind. But he wouldn’t go down and finally got a pitch to drive. He hit a liner to right and two runs scored. 5-4. Nick Swisher was next and a passed ball brought home Rodriguez to tie the game. Then Swisher hit one on the screws. Yunel Escobar, playing in, made a diving catch and Cano drifted too far off third and was doubled off to end the inning.

In the eighth, Curtis Granderson walked and Raul Ibanez singled. They were sacrificed over by Russell Martin and Granderson scored on a sac fly by Nunez. Then our man Jeter got busted inside with a fastball but muscled it passed the second baseman to an RBI hit. An inning later, Granderson doubled home a pair, and the four run lead was useful when Soriano looked far from stellar in the bottom of the ninth.

So, to recap. Most of the afternoon was spent being angry. Then hopeful, then happy, then tense again, and finally: relieved.

This was one enormous win. Yanks 9, Jays 6. Good for the boys.

“Good for the Wife!” says The Wife.

A split in Toronto was lousy but all considering it could have been worse. Three games left. It’s all tied up.

Yanks-Sox; O’s-Rays. Made to Order.

[Photo Credit: Libbre]

Derek Jeter SS
Ichiro Suzuki RF
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher 1B
Curtis Granderson CF
Raul Ibanez LF
Russell Martin C
Eric Chavez DH

Chad Jennings reports that Jayson Nix is out but Mark Teixeira is due back tomorrow. As for today, it’s Phil Hughes and his biggest start of the season.

Never mind yesterday, pay no attention to tomorrow: Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Via: Novemberwrists]

“Dear Doctor”–The Rolling Stones

[Photo Credit: youngandwhatever]

The Orioles beat the Red Sox tonight and Baltimore is now tied with the Yankees for first place with four games left in the regular season.

Maybe the Yankees won’t play like chokers tomorrow. Maybe they will still win the division, after all. It won’t be easy–they’ve been killing us softly for six weeks now–but they are our boys and we’ll be rooting for them, agita or not.

[Photo Credit: Pug King]

I had a root canal this afternoon and can safely say it was a more pleasant experience than today’s Yankee game. The Bombers scored twice in the first and then left 632 men on base, got guys picked off and thrown out trying to steal on the way to a 3-2 loss to the Blue Jays that is their worst defeat of the season. And there have been plenty of tough ones. But in a game they needed to have their season-long problem of hitting with runners in scoring position bit them the in the ass, knuts, and face. Did I mention it bit them in the balls? Right. How do you think it felt for us watching at home?

You got any silver linings, feel free to chime in.

They’ll be tied for first after the Orioles spank the Red Sox tonight. And you can take that to the bank.

It’s Andy and another haveta, gotta win.

Derek Jeter DH
Ichiro Suzuki LF
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher 1B
Curtis Granderson CF
Andruw Jones RF
Eduardo Nunez SS
Chris Stewart C

Never mind nuthin’: Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[The Real Me-A Mod]

“I Forgot To Be Your Lover” William Bell

[Photo Credit: Garden of Weeds]

The Yanks scored a couple of two out runs in the first inning on a double by Nick Swisher. Might have been more but Curtis Granderson’s line drive was snagged by the pitcher Chad Jenkins. Actually, the ball hit his mitt and the glove popped straight up in the air. He caught the mitt with the ball stuck in the webbing, good for one of those I’ve-never-seen-that-before moments.

Down in Baltimore the Red Sox scored a run in the first inning, too. In the second, the Yankees loaded the bases and managed just a single run. Meanwhile, the Orioles scored six in the bottom of the first.

The Blue Jays were sloppy, got a runner nailed off second base in the first inning, another picked off third an inning later. They hung around and closed the score to 3-1. In the sixth, the Yanks put the first two men on base then Curtis Granderson and Raul Ibanez whiffed. Looked like another wasted opportunity. But Russell Martin worked the count full and then yanked a 3-2 slider over the wall in left for a homer.

Bombers didn’t look back. Martin, Cano, Swisher, and Ichiro each had a couple of hits. Eric Chavez hit a homer. Rafael Soriano came in to get the final out on the count of he hadn’t pitched in a week. Brett Gardner played left field in the ninth inning. Hiroki gets his 15th win of the season.

Final Score: Yanks 11, Jays 4.

O’s cruised too so nothing’s changed. Yanks still ahead by one.

[Photo Credit: food addict]

The Yankees have a one-game lead over the Orioles with six games left. Tonight gives Hiroki.

Derek Jeter SS
Ichiro Suzuki RF
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher 1B
Curtis Granderson CF
Raul Ibanez LF
Russell Martin C
Eric Chavez DH

Never mind the closed-door meetings: Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Via: Zeroing]

David Kamp on The Birth of Bond.

Head on over to Garden and Gun for Pat Jordan’s latest–this one is on Mike Veeck:

“I know a little bit about anger,” Mike Veeck tells me. “I have a passing acquaintance with anger, too,” I reply. We discuss how anger can be an energy source. Some use it in destructive ways. Beat the wife, the kids, the dog; blow planes out of the sky. Some put it to better use. Throw the money changers out of the temple, demand justice for the weak, write a book, pitch a no-hitter, make people laugh. That last one is Mike Veeck’s cause. He’s demented about making people laugh.

Veeck (as in wreck, as the title of his father’s autobiography puts it) is sixty-one, getting round, with eyes like a ferret, a goatee, and dark hair I know he dyes. He has a limp. Once on the fourteenth fairway, a guy in a golf cart reached for a lighter for his cigar and ran over him. Veeck wrote a column about it for the Lowcountry Sun, a monthly paper distributed around Charleston, South Carolina. He published the guy’s name and phone number so people could berate him for breaking Veeck’s leg. Funny, angry, or both?

We’re sitting under a hot noonday sun in the exposed left-field bleachers of Joseph P. Riley, Jr. Park, home of the minor-league Charleston RiverDogs, the single-A affiliate of the New York Yankees of which Veeck is part-owner and president. A groundskeeper manicures the field below. A few kids are tidying up the stadium for a 5:05 p.m. game against the Delmarva Shorebirds. Veeck and I are catching up. We’ve known each other fifteen years but don’t see each other much. He travels a lot, to conventions and conferences, where he makes people laugh.

[Photo Credit: Sully Sullivan]