John and Suzyn Waldman will be back calling Yankee games on the radio next year.

[Photo Credit: N.Y. Daily News]

It’s been a quiet off-season so far for the Yankees, and for good reason. Teams are discouraged from making major announcements during the World Series. Free agents cannot declare until after the World Series. CC Sabathia has not yet exercised the opt-out clause in his contract, though he is expected to do so at some point.

It wasn’t until Thursday that I saw the first major rumor pop up, courtesy of ESPN’s Wally Matthews, who reports that the Yankees may replace Nick Swisher with free agent Carlos Beltran. If the Yankees sign Beltran, they’ll either decide not to pick up Swisher’s option (a bad idea) or they’ll pick up the option and then trade Swisher for some pitching help.

I’ve already made it clear that the Yankees should explore the possibility of trading Swisher, but I don’t agree with any plan to sign Beltran. That’s because Beltran is a Scot Boras client, and Boras is going to demand a three-year contract for his aging outfielder. Beltran is 34, running on surgically repaired legs, and will probably have to DH within the next season or two. The Yankees need to get younger, not older, and they need to commit as many DH at-bats as they can to Jesus Montero.

Beltran is a name brand player, possibly a Hall of Famer, but the Yankees should pursue someone who is younger and more versatile. Michael Cuddyer might be that player. He is three years younger than Beltran, can play the outfield and infield corners, and has a history of hitting in the postseason. He’s not as famous as Beltran, but he would be a much better fit for the 2012 Yankees.

If the Yankees don’t like Cuddyer, they will have other free agent options for right field. There’s Cuddyer’s Minnesota teammate, the lefty-swinging Jason Kubel, who is limited defensively but is only 29 and has more power than his 12 home runs indicate. (He’d also find Yankee Stadium to his liking.) Veterans David DeJesus, Cody Ross, and Josh Willingham will also be available, and at prices considerably cheaper than Beltran. I‘d explore all of them before committing three years and millions of dollars to a fragile Beltran…

***

The Yankees did make their first transaction of the off-season last week, though it was hardly of the blockbuster variety. As expected, the Yankees declined their $4 million option on lefty Damaso Marte, instead buying out his contract for $250,000. (It must be wonderful to be a major leaguer, receiving a quarter of a million dollars to do nothing.) Marte hardly pitched for the Yankees over the last two seasons–in fact, he didn’t pitch at all this season because of labrum surgery–so it’s hardly the same as losing Andy Pettitte to retirement.

Yet, I’ll always have good memories of Marte, if only because of what he did during the 2009 postseason. He faced 12 batters during that championship run, retiring all of them. Two of those batters came in the clinching Game Six of the World Series, when Marte struck out Chase Utley and Ryan Howard on six pitches. That set the stage for Mariano Rivera to pitch the final two innings and finish off the Yankees’ 27th world championship.

For the most part, Marte was a bust as a Yankee. He made $12 million over the last three years, despite injury and ineffectiveness. But what he contributed in October of 2009 made it all worthwhile…

***

Last night’s Game Six was so reminiscent of the sixth game of the 1975 Fall Classic that the similarities are eerie. The Cardinals successfully played the role of the Red Sox, facing elimination on their home field. Like the Red Sox, the Cardinals had to come back from a late three-run deficit to earn the right to play a Game Seven.

David Freese decided to combine the roles of both Bernie Carbo and Carlton Fisk, first tying the game with an unlikely triple against the blazing Neftali Feliz and then ending the 11-inning marathon affair with a monstrous home run to center field. That put Mark Lowe in the unenviable role of Pat Darcy, a somewhat unfair predicament given that Ron Washington should never have pinch-hit for Scott Feldman in the top half of the 11th.

On two different occasions, the Rangers came within a strike of winning the first world championship in the history of the franchise. On both occasions, the lead slipped out of their pitchers’ hands, thanks in part to ex-Yankee Lance Berkman, who stalled the celebration with a clutch two-strike single to center field.

Rangers fans have had to wait 39 years to win a World Series. Now they will have to wait at least one more day.

Bruce Markusen writes “Cooperstown Confidential” for The Hardball Times.

For the first time in almost 10 years, the World Series will come down to a game seven. It remains to be seen who will get the big hit or make the big pitch in this winner-take-all scenario, but by the end of the game, new heroes will have emerged, and one of them will be named the World Series MVP.

Had the series ended in six games, the Rangers’ Mike Napoli, whom no one seemed to want this off season, was an almost surefire bet to win the MVP. In fact, even if he is unable to play in game seven, the Rangers’ catcher would still be a near lock to win the award if Texas can pull out a victory. Should the Cardinals win, however, the likely MVP is not as clear. With three hits and three RBIs in game six, including a game tying single with two outs in the 10th inning, Lance Berkman has thrown his hat into the ring. Similarly, David Freese, whose WPA of .953 easily became the highest total in a World Series game, has emerged as a strong MVP candidate. In addition, Allen Craig and Albert Pujols, who have each had memorable moments in the series, could earn the hardware with a big contribution in game seven. Even Chris Carpenter could sneak into the mix if he can match his performance in the final game of the NLDS. In other words, the outcome of the MVP race is in just as much doubt as the game itself.

World Series MVPs by Position (and last recipient)

Note: Players considered at the position where they played the most innings.
Source: Baseball-reference.com

Without a crystal ball, we can’t be sure who will be handed the World Series MVP during tomorrow’s postgame celebration, but at least we can take a look back at those who have won it in the past. In total, there have been 58 honorees since the award was first instituted in 1955. Not surprisingly, the Yankees, at 12, have had the most players named MVP in the Fall Classic, including the only player (Bobby Richardson in 1960) to win the award despite being on the losing team.

Starting pitchers have won 23 World Series MVPs, by far the most of any position. Cumulatively, however, more hitters have been honored. Of the 31 offensive players to be named MVP, third basemen have taken home the most hardware, followed by catchers and shortstops. On the other end of the spectrum, left field and second baseman have almost been shutout, as each position has only featured one honoree.

In terms of batting order, the third and fifth slots have each had six recipients, while, somewhat surprisingly, the seventh and eighth spots have garnered just as many awards as cleanup. Should Mike Napoli win it this year, he would become the fifth seventh place hitter to win the MVP, just one year after Edgar Renteria, who batted eighth, won the trophy for the Giants. At least one player from each slot in the batting order has been named MVP, so come October, just about anyone is capable of being a hero.

World Series MVPs by Batting Order (and last recipient)

Note: Players considered at the lineup slot where they had the most plate appearances. Ninth slot excludes pitchers.
Source: Stats LLC c/o Wall Street Journal

The MVP award isn’t really about positions on the field or slots in the batting order. It is about individuals who rise to the occasion when the games matter most. Normally, when we think about such players, the very best superstars in the game come to mind. And, sure enough, the list of World Series MVPs includes many of these immortal players. From Sandy Koufax, who recorded the highest regular season WAR among all MVPs (10.8 in 1963), to Frank Robinson (8.8 oWAR in 1966) and Mike Schmidt (7.6 oWAR IN 1980), some of the biggest stars in baseball history have shined just as brightly during the Fall Classic.

The World Series MVP has been an All Star 32 times, an MVP five times (Koufax, Robinson, Jackson, Stargell and Schmidt) and Cy Young on seven occasions (Turley, Ford, Koufax (2), Saberhagen, Hershiser and R. Johnson). However, there have been several World Series MVPs who had very little success during the regular season. The most improbable of these was the aforementioned Richardson, who, despite having a negative oWAR and OPS+ of 68, managed to knock in 12 runs, almost half his regular season total, in the 1960 World Series. Bucky Dent, another Yankees’ middle infielder, was also a surprise MVP when he carried the momentum of his three-run homer in the one-game playoff at Fenway Park into the 1978 World Series. In that series, Dent hit .417 with seven RBIs, earning the most valuable player award over Mr. October (2HR, 8RBI, 1.196 OPS).

World Series MVPs by Regular Season WAR*

*Offensive WAR used for batters.
Source: Baseball-reference.com

Among non-Yankees, Renteria (0.6 oWAR), Rick Dempsey (0.6 oWAR in 1983), and Steve Yeager (0.1 oWAR in 1981) rank among the least likely position players to win the MVP in the World Series. The unlikelihood of these players winning the award was summed up best by Dempsey, who while discussing his accomplishment famously joked about his regret over not negotiating a bonus clause into his contract. “Given the odds against that happening, they would’ve given it to me,” Dempsey told reported after the Orioles’ World Series victory.  “I’d have asked for $200,000, they would have said, ‘Here, take $400,000.’”

The average regular season WAR of pitchers who have won the World Series MVP is one full win higher than their position player counterparts, but there have still been more than a few improbable honorees. Johnny Podres, the very first MVP in the Fall Classic, was just a 22-year old kid with little success in the majors when the Dodgers took on the rival Yankees in the 1955 World Series. So, needless to say, no one was expecting him to finally make the difference in Dem Bums’ quixotic attempt to beat the mighty Bronx Bombers. However, that’s exactly what the left hander did by winning two complete games. Thanks to Podres, the Dodgers were finally able to enjoy victory instead of being forced to “wait ‘til next year”.

For 30 years, Podres was the youngest player to win the World Series MVP, but in 1985, a 21-year old right hander claimed the mantle from him. That season, Brett Saberhagen took the American League by storm, winning 20 games and earning the Cy Young award in only his second season. The ALCS wasn’t as kind to the young pitcher, however, as the Blue Jays knocked him out before the fifth inning in both of his starts. Saberhagen rebounded from that disappointment in the World Series, surrendering only one run in two complete game victories to give the Royals their first and only championship to date.

World Series MVPs by Age

*Offensive WAR used for batters.
Source: Baseball-reference.com

So, as the Rangers and Cardinals head into game seven, round up all the usual suspects. One of them is bound to have a big game. At the same time, however, don’t take your eyes off the role players. As the Rangers, and the Brewers before them, have learned, guys like David Freese can be just as dangerous as Albert Pujols, especially when you are one strike away from winning the World Series.

Sasha Frere-Jones has a nice piece about the new Tom Waits record this week in The New Yorker:

“If you break open a song, you’ll find the eggs of other songs,” he told me. “Misunderstandings are really kind of an epidemic and acceptable. I think it’s about one thing, but someone else will say, ‘That song is kind of a rhino in hot pants on a burnt rocking horse with a lariat shouting, “Repent, repent!” ’ I think that’s great.”

…In the past thirty years, Waits, as a songwriter, has tried to retain a sense of craft while finding musical settings that take his compositions out of some nostalgic tar pit. On “Bad as Me,” he sounds like someone who knows the history of pop and uses only the bits he needs to make the hybrid creature that will carry him to safety. “I’m always looking for sounds that are pleasing at the time,” he told me. “The sound of a helicopter is really annoying until you’re drowning, and it’s there to rescue you. Then it sounds like music.”

I love the part about sounds changing their meaning. Wonderful.

Early in Game 6 Nelson Cruz caught a fly ball for an out. But he stabbed at it and he looked like a clumsy kid not a big leaguer. But nobody ever said that being good means looking good. Last night’s game was unsightly in many ways, fielding errors, poor relief pitching, but it was dramatic and entertaining when it wasn’t infuriating. The Rangers were one strike away from winning their first Whirled Serious, twice. The Cards finally won it on game-ending home run by the man who dropped an easy pop-up a few hours earlier. Pain and joy and Game 7.

Happy?

[Photo Credit:  Jamie Squire/Getty Images]

The Rangers are one win away from their first championship while the Cardinals need to win in order to force a seventh and deciding game.

Let’s Go Base-ball!

Check this out: The History of How We Follow Baseball (The Atlantic).

Dig this amazingness from Kottke, a most dope site.

History of the typewriter recited by Michael Winslow from SansGil—Gil Cocker on Vimeo.

And then, there’s this:

Class is in session.

The Yanks are working on a contract proposal for C.C. Sabathia: New York Times.

Robbie Cano’s agent wants contract redone: New York Post.

Brian Cashman is close to signing a new deal: New York Daily News.

Eric Chavez would consider returning to the Yanks in 2012: Jerry Crasnick via River Ave Blues.

Since Game 6 is cancelled tonight, you’ll have time to check out this long piece on Howie Spira by Luke O’Brien over at Deadspin:

Howie recognized opportunity when it arrived in 1981, from the San Diego Padres. Dave Winfield was a four-time All-Star, a two-time Gold Glove winner, and one of the best athletes on the planet—drafted out of college in 1973 by pro teams in three sports. Howie had introduced himself to Winfield a year earlier when the Padres were in town to play the Mets. A few months later, the Yankees inked the outfielder to the richest contract in baseball—$23 million over 10 years—and Howie started in with the blandishments.

“I was focused on Dave like a horse with blinders,” he said. “He was going to be the wealthiest, most powerful ballplayer, and I made up my mind that that was the place for me.”

Howie sent a dozen long-stemmed roses to the secretary at Winfield’s charity. The flowers were Howie’s calling card. When he played at journalism, he sent roses to almost every girl who worked for the Mets. Hit on most of them, too. Winfield’s secretary agreed to go on a date. “We had dinner,” Howie said. “And she was the dinner.”

A Short Story

By Ben Belth

“Take him, Joey. Take him!” Glenn said. It was late in the day and late in the season. Import Corner wasn’t going to the championship game for the first time since he started coaching Little League five years earlier, and Glenn was frustrated.

It was the top of the final frame, the score was 0-0 and Joey, his star pitcher, was throwing a perfect game. It should have been exciting but like everything this season, it felt like a grind.

When Glenn started coaching, baseball was easy. He had an eye for talent and kept his team stocked with good players. Three years in a row, he won the championship on autopilot. During the tryouts for his fourth season, just when he started to get bored with the whole Little League thing, he spotted Joey, a pint-sized boy with big eyes and sure hands. Joey could handle the bat enough to bunt and would crouch down and you couldn’t pitch to him. When he got on, he could run the bases like crazy. He was the ideal leadoff man. Glenn took him with the first pick and aimed for the championship again.

They won it again that year, and Joey was the coup of the league, the only rookie that went to the traveling All-Star team. He walked a ton, stole bases, and was fine with sitting on the older kids’ laps for the crowded post-game car rides for ice cream. He was easy. Glenn would watch him play, holler “Take him, Joey,” and it was like activating their secret plan.

But this season was different. Glenn’s daughter Sara joined the team, one of only two girls in the whole league. That wasn’t easy. She made it even tougher by being the best player on the team. And Joey didn’t want to work walks or bunt any longer, he wanted to hit home runs. Never abandon a good thing, Glenn warned him but Joey didn’t listen and suffered. They all suffered. No matter how much encouragement Glenn heaped on him, Joey couldn’t hit. And without Joey on base, the team didn’t win. No matter how many doubles Sara hit that year, it wasn’t enough.

Their final game was against Fire Department, the first place team. Joey warmed up on the mound knowing there’d be no championship game for him, no All-Star team selection. He was in his final year of Little League and who knows what happened after that. He’d let everyone down by thinking he could be more of a player than he actually was.

Then he brought a perfect game through 5 and 2/3 innings.

It was the top of the sixth, two out. Fire Department was at bat. Will, a free-swinging lefty, came to bat. “Take him, Joey, Take him.” Glenn snapped, trying the old refrain again.

Will swung and missed at the first two pitches. He stepped out, took a sign from his coach and dug back in. He took the next three pitches, all balls, never lifting the bat from his shoulder.

“Take him, Joey.” Glenn tried again, but it came out sounding more like a scolding. Joey made the next one close but the ump called ball four and Will ran down to first. “Swing the bat, you putz.” Glenn said as he trotted out to the mound. He put a firm hand on Joey’s cap.

“Guess you can relieve me now,” Joey said.

Glenn shook his head. “The game is still yours. Just throw strikes.”

Dave was next, Fire Department’s best hitter. After he swung through the first pitch, the next was in the dirt and rolled away from the catcher. Will jogged down to second without a throw.

“Christ,” Glenn said, “Forget the runner, Joey, make the pitch. Take him.”

Dave hit the next one into center field and Will scored standing up. It didn’t seem to matter when Dave was thrown out at third. The perfect game, no hitter, and shut out were all gone.

Import Corner dragged themselves into the dugout and hung their heads. The 8th and 9th hitter went quickly and Joey came up with no one on. Sara was on deck so they still had a shot. Glenn gave Joey the bunt sign and Joey nodded. But the bunt attempts went foul, so with two strikes, Glenn let him swing-away. Joey crouched as low as he could and the next three pitches were high and the kids in the dugout started cheering.

The pitcher adjusted and threw one right down the plate. Joey closed his eyes, swung and hit the ball. He opened his eyes in time to see it heading towards the hole between third and short. He took-off for first but the ball arrived just before him. Joey heard the ump call him out, but didn’t stop running. He ran into foul territory, flung his helmet against the fence, and yelled as loud as he could. The parents in the bleachers quietly moved away and his teammates kept their distance.

“Hey take it easy. Jesus.” Glenn said, coming  over, “Settle down. You gave it your best. Right? No one tries harder, Joey.”

“I can’t freakin’ hit.” Joey said.

There wasn’t much Glenn could say. But after a long silence he tried anyway. “You played for me for two years,” he said. “We won a championship last year. You came one out from throwing a perfect game.”

He gave the boy a stiff hug. “A perfect game.”

They walked back to the rest of the team. That was when Glenn decided to send Joey to the All-Star team. He’d break the news to Sara over dinner. He knew she could handle the disappointment. Not everyone could.

[Photo Credit: Mike Reinhold.com]

There is a wonderful profile of our man Pete Dexter by Ellis E. Conklin in today’s Villiage Voice:

Of his writing regimen, Dexter says: “It’s work. You’re pulling stuff out, like I did with Spooner, that doesn’t want to come out. The only time I really enjoyed the process was writing Spooner. I didn’t want it to end.”

For Dexter, the most essential quality a novelist must possess is the ability to entertain his or her readers. “There’s nothing more important than that.”

It’s a good mystery that most entertains Dexter. In Philly, Dexter became a regular at the Whodunit bookstore, where he first met Tex Cobb. He likes Mike Connelly’s stuff (“He knows what’s he’s doing”), and Scott Turow (“He always aims high. You can see him really trying”), and just about anything by Elmore Leonard.

Among more traditional novelists, Dexter admires Padgett Powell, Thomas McGuane, Tom Wolfe, and Jim Harrison. But it is friend and author Richard Russo (Nobody’s Fool, Mohawk, The Risk Pool, Straight Man, Empire Falls) who is Dexter’s absolute favorite.

“I got a call from The New York Times some time back, asking me what the best novel of the last, I forget, 25 or 50 years was,” Dexter recalls. “And I told him it was Straight Man,” Russo’s poignant 1997 novel about a wisecracking professor trying to navigate his way through a highly dysfunctional English department at a central Pennsylvania university.

Dexter’s respect for Russo is mutual. In an e-mail, Russo writes: “Pete Dexter has always been a writer after my own heart: sly, yet deeply honest, full of twisted wit and spirit. He wears both his prodigious talent and knowledge of the human heart ever so lightly, as if they’re hardly worth mentioning, a mere parlor trick, and not the stuff of which great art is made.”

Dexter has this wonderful ability to get to the heart of something without hitting directly on the head. He creeps up on the outside, or up from beneath, in a way that is surprising. He’s a huge talent but he doesn’t let his talent that get the better of him. His prose is restrained without being forced. And he doesn’t coast. Writing is not easy for him, every sentence, every word, is worked over until it’s right. Steve Lopez, the accomplished columnist, said that Dexter is “the guy who makes you want to give it up, sell shoes, take up heavy drinking, or just shoot yourself.” And that’s true. But he also makes me want to try harder.

“He’s some kind of genius,” Richard Ben Cramer told me recently. “He’s just ferocious.”

In 2008 the Yankees missed the playoffs and had a hole at first base. They hoped to remedy both that winter by signing Mark Teixeira. Healthy as a horse, Teixeira has delivered homers, RBI and defense as expected and the Yankees have been in postseason all three years he’s been on the squad. They also won their first championship since 2000.

No buyer’s remorse there right? Who’s gonna argue with 111 home runs and 341 RBI in just three years? Two Gold Gloves to boot? A runner-up for MVP? Just keeps getting better and better with big Teix. Until it gets worse.

Yankee fans are shaking in their boots about the rest of Teixeira’s contract and here’s why: it looks like he can’t hit righties anymore, and out of six Postseason series with the team, he’s been dog poop in five of them.

These are not minor quibbles nor inventions of the back pages and call-in radio programs. These are the legit facts. Teixeira’s batting average against righties has fallen from .282 to .244 to .224 in the last three years. And his cumulative postseason triple slash with the Yankees over 123 plate appearances is .170/.276/.302. Eighteen hits in 106 at bats.

The postseason futility is a bummer and not a small reason why the Yanks have been bounced in 2010 and 2011, but it’s not predictive. He might have a good series down the road and help them win another title. And all those games when he didn’t hit, he was out there making some good defensive plays. If he choked because he was scared of the big stage, wouldn’t he be bad in field as well? He sucked, but it’s over

The real concern when it comes to his performance is the decline against righties. Has he hit bottom? Will this trend continue? Will he rebound?

Let’s look at the damage. His overall average has declined from .308 the year before he joined the Yanks to .292 in his stellar 2009 campaign to .256 and skidding down to .244 for a pedestrian-yet-productive-2011. Obviously, the shrinking average indicates Teixeira is trading hits for outs. But let’s try to figure out what’s going on in that exchange.

First thing we have to do is to separate his left-handed stats from his right-handed stats. His right-handed season was excellent – in fact, he’s hit for big power and good averages all three years as a Yankee. That’s no surprise as he has always hit lefties well. He’s hitting more homers, maybe due to Yankee Stadium’s cozy corners, but overall, he’s a carbon copy of the guy the Yanks thought they were getting.

His left-handed stats paint a stark contrast. At first glance, everything looks down from his career norms, and it is, in absolute terms. But diving into the components, we find it’s not that simple. Even as the batting average plummets, Teix is walking and whiffing with the same frequency, and his ISO (SLG – AVG) is also at his career norm. So if he’s turning hits to outs, they are not turning into more strike outs (phew) and the hits themselves are just as powerful as ever.

So where are the hits going? When Mark Teixeira bats left-handed, he often faces a shift – an extreme defensive alignment where the opposing infielders give up ground on the left side of the diamond to overload the right. Teixeira, a pull-hitter from the left side, hits a lot of balls into the shift and very few the other way. He loses some hits to the shift and he’s not making them back by exploiting the vacancy on the right side of the infield.

Could the shift account for most of Teixeira’s troubles against righties? Looking beyond batting average to his average only on balls in play, this theory starts to make some sense. As a left-hander, Teix had a pitiful BABIP of .222 (and only .256 in 2010). For the meat of his career his BABIP has been reliably between .290 and .314. Eureka?

If Teix is the same player he always was, and opposing teams have figured out exactly where to stand to rob him of singles, then the case should be closed. Teix is losing singles from the left side of the plate because of the shift.

But Teix is not exactly the same hitter he always was. The shift is playing a part, and Tyler Kepner cited Yankee research this summer which indicates it’s stealing 20 points off his average from the left side, but it’s not the whole story.

In the last two years Teixeira has seen career highs (or close to them) in O Swing % (the amount of time he swings at pitches outside the strike zone), FB% (the percentage of contact that results in fly balls) and in IFFB% (the percentage of contact resulting in pop ups on the infield). Since we already know his walks and whiffs are not changing, we know that the result of these tendencies is a sacrifice of line drives and ground balls, both of which go for hits more often than fly balls and pop ups.

What kind of balls in play will the shift snare? Mostly ground balls and line drives. Teix is surely losing some hits there, we can see it happen. But since his whole batted ball profile is transitioning away from ground balls and line drives, the shift can’t be solely responsible.

I find it hard to believe teams weren’t shifting on Teix in 2009 or on previous teams. We know Giambi faced shifts before Teix even entered the league, why would the opposition wait until 2010 to try it against Teixeira?

While we can’t be certain, swinging at pitches outside the strike zone sure sounds like a confused hitter, mired in a slump, trying to hack his way out of it. When that hitter swings at pitches outside the strike zone, pitches that are harder to drive with authority, he gets jammed and pops out. He gets under high fast balls and hits towering fly outs. And he yanks outside pitches right into the teeth of a shift.

Frustration leads to desperation. Desperation leads to poor decision-making. And the batting average continues to fall, caught in a negative feedback-loop. It’s possible the pitchers are getting wise as well. In 2011, Teixeira saw a fewer percentage of pitches in the strike zone than ever before. (That must be why the walks stayed the same even though Teix was swinging at slop.)

Teixeira faces a combination of four factors eroding his average from the left side. The shift, hitting more fly balls and pop outs, swinging at bad pitches more often, and of course, some good old fashioned bad luck on balls in play. He can rebound from the bad luck and rededicate himself to not swing at bad pitches.

But if Teixeira wants to hit a respectable average again, he’s going to have to make some alterations. He’ll need to take the ball to all fields to punish the shift when the location of the pitch dictates. He’ll need to revisit film from earlier in his career and try to figure out why he is hitting so many harmless pop outs. He’ll need to exchange those easy outs for liners and hard grounders. Some of those will end up as outs because of the shift, but he needs Kevin Long’s support to ride those out and stick with his new (old) plan.

Jason Giambi had a fine Yankee career. But his .260 batting average was a far cry from the .308 average he brought with him. He had to deal with the shift and injuries and whatever it was that going on and off steroids was doing to him. He never found a way to reclaim those points of batting average after his first year, but he still mashed with homers and walks and was a part of many great offenses.

Teixeira can do all of that minus a few walks and play good defense as well. If the worst case is that Teix is now a .250 hitter, that’s a bummer and he won’t be worth his contract, but he’ll still be good. But from what we’ve seen and heard of the guy, I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be satisfied down there. He’ll work his butt off to improve, and luckily, the Yankees just have to go to fangraphs.com to pinpoint where he needs to direct his attention.

All statistics from fangraphs.com & baseball-reference.com

[Images via nj.com & southernbelle.mlblogs.com]

Hercules Unchained

By John Schulian

While “Xena” began to kick out residual checks, I plunged back into the hellhole that was “Hercules.” My foremost problem was finding road-tested veterans and bright young writers to take a shot at a freelance script. They wrinkled their noses at the thought. A syndicated show? A cartoon with human beings? Better they should starve and wait for “NYPD Blue” to call.

The glossiest freelancer we got in my tenure was Melissa Rosenberg, who now writes the “Twilight” movies and delivered a splendid script. Most of the time, however, I was dealing with freelancers who couldn’t write or were connected to someone whose ass Rob Tapert was kissing. I remember telling the worst of them that there were only two words in his script I ever wanted to see again, and then taking a call from his network executive wife, who told me she thought he’d really knocked the assignment out of the park.

Things started to turn when I brought in Bob Bielak, whose credits included “Tour of Duty” and “In the Heat of the Night,” to freelance three scripts at the end of the first season. He came through in a big way, which convinced Tapert to give the gate to our season one writing staff, the useless Brit and the petulant kids. So it was that Bielak and I marched into the second season as the smallest staff in television. Reinforcements never showed up.

I wish I’d had the brains and courage to give assignments to the lean and hungry newcomers Tapert and Sam Raimi had lured into non-writing jobs with their horror-movie cred. God knows the kids have gone on to do great things. David Eick was one of the masterminds on “Battlestar Galactica.” Liz Friedman, who worked herself into an ulcer on “Hercules” and “Xena,” survived to become a highly regarded writer-producer on “House.” And then there was Alex Kurtzman, who was a go-fer the last season I worked on “Hercules,” a great kid who, like Eick, was always asking questions about writing. He and his partner, Roberto Orci, now write zillion-dollar action movies like “Transformers” and they’ve got a hit TV series too, “Fringes.” Liz wound up writing for “Xena” and Alex and Bob were the last to run the “Hercules” writing staff, but I was gone by then, done in by the ceaseless in-house battles that left me increasingly surly.

The lone moment of grace I can recall from that period occurred as I was driving to work on Ventura Boulevard. I pulled up next to a city bus that was stopped for a light, and there on its side was a large print ad for “Hercules” and another for “Xena.” They were my babies, just like they were Rob Tapert’s and Lucy Lawless’s and Kevin Sorbo’s. I’m not sure I ever felt prouder of those shows than I did then.

Fifteen minutes later I was back in the soup, dealing with directors who promised to do one thing when I met them at Universal and went native once they got to New Zealand. Tapert was no use whatsoever in reining them in. The actors were running amok, too, especially Hercules himself. Sorbo was jealous of Lucy’s instant success as Xena, and he wanted us to change the tone of “Hercules,” make it darker, quirkier, more violent, the way “Xena” was. Apparently wiping out a horde of mercenaries in loincloths wasn’t enough for him.

Sorbo thought he was going to be the next Harrison Ford, when it was a far safer bet that in 10 years he’d be the answer to a trivia question. But that is not to say that I didn’t appreciate what he did for the show. He was the perfect Hercules, as far as I was concerned, and I told anyone who would listen that very thing. But insecurity runs through actors like a fever, and Sorbo had it bad. I left cooling him out to Tapert, who never seemed to want me to have any kind of relationship with our star. That was fine with me. I had words to put on paper. But then Sorbo tried to make more of himself by running down the quality of the scripts in an interview with Newsday. Believe me, I knew they weren’t going to make anyone forget Shakespeare or Sam Peckinpah, but they were as good as you were going to find on a syndicated action show. When I wrote a letter to tell Sorbo as much, I challenged him to be a pro and do his job. If he didn’t want to do that, he could go to Tapert and Raimi and get me fired. And if that still wasn’t good enough for him, we could go out in the parking lot the next time he was in the States and he could try to kick my ass.

Sorbo was on the phone minutes after my assistant faxed him the letter. He said he’d been misquoted. Bullshit. You don’t give an excuse like that to someone who was in newspapers for 16 years. Then he said he didn’t want to fight. And he certainly wasn’t going to get me fired. Oh, no, Kevin Sorbo swore, he wasn’t that kind of a guy. Of course, all I heard after that was how Sorbo’s agent was saying he wouldn’t sign a new contact unless I was gone.

It took him six months, maybe more, but he got me. After 48 episodes of “Hercules,” 15 of which I wrote and another 25 or so that I re-wrote, I packed my bags and headed for the door. Tapert, after all the betrayals and backstabbing, told me it was the worst day in the life of the series. But had he stood up to Sorbo and his agent? No. Had he gone to the Universal brass and said I deserved a deal that would give me an office and a steady paycheck while I spent a year or two writing pilots? No. Had my agent advanced that argument, when such a deal was standard for someone who had delivered the goods the way I had? No. I’d helped put Universal in a position to make millions upon millions of dollars, but there were none of the traditional parting gifts for me.

Years later, David Eick told me how he and Liz Friedman had looked at each other after I’d been gone long enough for them to get a handle on what had happened. “We said, ‘John really got screwed.’”

Amen.

Click here for the full “From Ali to Xena” archives.

Darryl Strawberry thinks the 1986 Mets would beat the 1998 Yankees.

This is one of those silly arguments for which there is no answer, of course. Just something fun to get heated about. For what it’s worth, we are talking about a great Mets team, but one who was a strike from blowing the whole season. It’s a good match-up but I can’t go against the greatest season in baseball history.

Theo Epstein is in Chicago, Ben Cherington replaces him in Boston, and John Lackey will miss the entire 2012 season on the count of he’s scheduled to have Tommy John surgery.

Over at Grantland, Jonah Keri recaps the 21 top moments of a crazy Game Five.

[Photo Credit: Ronald Martinez/Getty Images]

Over at Esquire, you’ll find an excerpt from Scott Raab’s new book about Lebron James:

It turns out the Heat have printed three covers of tonight’s program — one with Wade, one with Bosh, one with James. I take one of each.

On his cover, LeBron glares into the camera, head lowered, eyes hooded, tight-lipped, his thick white headband riding ever higher on his forehead as his hairline approaches oblivion. He stands with his hands on his hips, with his shoulders thrust forward, the visual embodiment of his summertime tweet:

“Don’t think for one min that I haven’t been taking mental notes of everyone taking shots at me this summer. And I mean everyone!”

He’s ready to wreak havoc upon the NBA. No prisoners. Blood on the hardwood. Mano a mano. If your name’s on Bron-Bron’s list, you’re going down hard as a motherfucker.

That’s the pose. I think back to a game his rookie season, against the Indiana Pacers, when NBA tough guy Ron Artest was mugging James as he fought for position to take an inbounds pass. Artest had an arm across LeBron’s upper chest and neck and a leg planted between James’s knees bowing him forward. Paul Silas was coaching the Cavs, and Silas came up off the bench screaming — first at the nearest referee for not calling a foul on Artest, and then at LeBron for letting Artest unman him.

James has grown stronger and smarter over his seven seasons in the league, but he still tries to finesse defenders like Artest. His game has never hungered for a battle, much less marked him as the cruel-eyed enforcer who glares out from the program’s cover.

You can pre-order “The Whore of Akron,” here.

Check out this good list of film criticism 101 from Matt Zoller Seitz.

Here’s one I’d include: