Imagine you’re sitting at work tracking the game on your computer as you file this report or the other. You have high hopes because Phil Hughes looked so good during his last outing, and you know this is an important game — no one wants to be swept by the Oakland A’s. But things go bad quickly. You smirk at the screen as Hughes gives up a run in the first and another in the second, then implodes in the third. He only manages two outs in that frame before giving way to Cory Wade. When the inning finally ends the Yankees are down 7-1, and a sweep seems inevitable. You close your browser in disgust and snarl at your co-workers for the rest of the afternoon.

You’re still burning inside, choking on your own bile and grinding your teeth into dust as you leave work. You’re so distracted that you run smack into me as I’m tumbling out of a nearby sports bar, happy as a clam. You curse my ignorance under your breath, but then you stop dead in your tracks, doubting what you think you just heard me say: “I can’t believe they won that game!” You shout after me, begging for an explanation, and this is what I tell you…

Rich Harden was pretty much in control for the first few innings, but then things started to get away from him in the fourth. Russell Martin launched a home run to right, and even though the Yankees were still down by five runs, there was a sense that seven runs wouldn’t be enough for Oakland on this afternoon.

Derek Jeter (whose average would climb to .300 for a minute towards the end of the game) opened the fifth inning with a hard single to center, then Curtis Granderson followed with a walk. After Mark Teixeira struck out, Alex Rodríguez singled to load the bases for Robinson Canó. Was there any one of us who wasn’t thinking about a grand slam? When you’re wondering if your team can back into a game, there’s a tendency to slice large leads by imaginary grand slams, but it doesn’t usually happen that way. I don’t know whether or not that was in Canó’s mind, but he turned on an inside pitch from Harden and popped it into the right field stands. Suddenly it was 7-6 A’s, but it felt more like the Yankees were ahead than behind. A few minutes later Harden was lifted in favor of Craig Breslow, and the Yankees would load the bases again — this would be a recurring theme — but they wouldn’t score again that inning.

In the sixth inning, they left the A’s behind. Curtis Granderson was hit by a pitch, Alex Rodríguez drew a walk, and after those two advanced on a wild pitch, Nick Swisher was walked intentionally to load the bases for Martin — who hit a grand slam.

Things looked comfortable at 10-7, but it would get more comfortable in the seventh, which looked like this: walk, walk, walk, sac fly, walk (pitching change), single, ground out, walk, walk, single, walk, line out. It was just your standard six-run, two-hit inning, and the game was out of reach. Yankees 16, A’s 7.

But wait, there’s more. In the eighth the Yankees would bat around for the fourth inning in a row. By the time Granderson came up with two outs in the inning and the bases loaded — again — I started to feel sorry for the A’s, and certainly for pitcher Bruce Billings. I wasn’t wondering if Granderson would hit another grand slam, I was actually kind of expecting it. Afterall, how could the Grandy Man not hit a grand slam on Grand Slam Day?

So when he launched a fly ball high and deep to right center field, I wasn’t surprised. It was the team’s third grand slam of the day, something that had never been done before, and the Yankees were up 21-7. The A’s would actually bring in their closer, Brian Fuentes, to face Andruw Jones. Jones christened him by blasting his own homer to deep left.

And just in case things weren’t crazy enough, Jorge Posada was inserted to play second base in the top of the ninth. He even fielded a grounder, looked the runner back to third even though there were two outs, and took a professional crow hop before firing a throw to first baseman… Nick Swisher. Swisher somehow corralled the throw as he tumbled to the ground, and the game was over. Crazy enough for you?

So in case you missed it, in case you gave up early and your day was ruined, I’m here to tell you that everything is okay. Yankees 22, A’s 9.

A quick look at some of the damage:

• Jeter: 3 for 6, 3B, .299
• Granderson: 2 for 4, 4 runs, grand slam, 5 RBIs
• Canó: 2 for 4, grand slam, 5 RBIs
• Martin: 5 for 5, 2B, solo HR, grand slam, 6 RBIs
• Nuñez: 3 for 5
• Team: 21 hits, 13 walks, 2 doubles, 1 triple, 5 HRs

It’s dark and raining in New York. This might be a tough one to get in.

If they play, we’ll be rootin’:

Let’s Go Yank-ees.

Update: The start of the game is delayed. Check this out for fun while we wait.

[Photo Credit: Joel Zimmer]

Entering this week’s series against the Athletics, the Yankees had a dominating 26-5 record against Oakland since 2008. Perhaps that’s why it seemed inevitable that the Bronx Bombers would rally to win each of the first two games. At least that’s how it must have felt to the Athletics. However, in both games, the comeback fell short, which gave Oakland consecutive wins against the Yankees for the first time since July 1, 2007.

The Yankees’ lack of late game heroics against the Athletics echoes a season long trend. Despite having the American League’s second best record and compiling statistics that rank among franchise highs in several categories, one area in which the Yankees have come up short (in some cases, as on Tuesday night, literally by inches) is in games played close and late. Under those conditions, the team’s current OPS+ of 107 would rank near the bottom since 1996, and lag, in some cases significantly, every championship season during that time period.

Yankees’ OPS+ in Close & Late vs. Winning Percentage When Tied or Trailing in the 7th Inning or Later

Source: baseball-reference.com

Because of the small samples involved, it’s hard to draw a meaningful conclusion about the future from this one split. However, looking back, we can probably conclude that the Yankees failure to produce late in games has cost them a few comeback victories. In fact, the team’s current winning percentage of .204 when tied or trailing entering the seventh inning is one of the lowest since 1996. When you consider that the Yankees’ bullpen leads the league in ERA and WAR (and important factor because offense alone demonstrates only a slight correlation to winning percentage in this split), the onus seems to fall squarely on the relative lack of late-game offensive production.

Yankees’ Walk-off Victories, Since 1950

Source: baseball-reference.com

Regardless of the implications of the Yankees’ muted offensive levels in close and late situations, whether looking forward or back, the team’s inability to finish off comebacks has robbed the season of one important element: the fun and excitement of the walk-off victory. To this point, the Yankees have left the opposition on the field in only three games, which pales in comparison to the 15 walk-offs recorded just two years ago. Although dramatic victories are not a pre-requisite for winning championships, they do provide enjoyable highlights over a long 162-game schedule. After all, anything that has Yankees’ fans clamoring to see A.J. Burnett must be pretty special.

Since 1950, the Yankees have had 441 walk-off victories prompted by outcomes ranging from home runs to reaching base on an error (the following pie chart, and what better way to display walk-off data, provides a break down). Just over half have come in the bottom of the ninth, with the rest occurring in extra innings, including one walk-off as late as the 20th frame: Horace Clark’s game winning single against the Red Sox’ Jose Santiago on August 29, 1967. Speaking of the Red Sox, the Yankees have left their rival on the field 57 times, more than any other opponent.

Yankees’ Walk-offs Since 1950, by Event and Opponent (click to enlarge)

Source: baseball-reference.com

Although the terminology wasn’t around at the time, no Yankee has authored more walk-offs than Mickey Mantle, who had 16 game-ending events. Among the current crop of Bronx Bombers, Jorge Posada, Derek Jeter, and Alex Rodriguez also rank in the top-10.

Tippy Martinez remains the Yankees’ most frequent walk-off victim, having surrendered five game-ending hits to the Bronx Bombers, including, most notably, Bobby Murcer’s two run double that cinched victory in the Thurman Munson tribute game. Of particular interest to current Yankees’ fans, Red Sox closer Jonathan Papelbon ranks among the large group of pitchers who have surrendered three Yankees’ walk-offs. Provided he remains in the American League for most of his career, Papelbon could eventually claim the victim’s mantle from Martinez.

Yankees Most Common Walk-off Heroes and Victims, Since 1950

Source: baseball-reference.com

Complaining about the lack of walk-offs from a team with a .600 winning percentage probably won’t sit too well with other teams’ fans, but those who follow the Yankees have grown accustomed to having their pie and eating it too. Besides, even though winning is fun in its own right, doing so in dramatic fashion makes it that much more memorable.

I can still vividly recall Don Mattingly’s game winning home run against Ron Davis on May 13, 1985 as if it happened yesterday. And, I am sure fans of every team can do the same. How about you?

As Jayson Stark points out, the Braves have tapped into an extraordinary vein of bullpen dominance with Jonny Venters setting up Craig Kimbrel. They’ve held hitters to absurdly low averages and only allowed two home runs between them. Respectively, their ERAs are 1.10 and 1.70.

The Yankees have a pretty impressive duo themselves, in Mariano Rivera and David Robertson. But Girardi has only used those guys for 100.1 innings while the Braves have called on their tandem for 137.1 innings. That divide scuttles any comparison.

Jason Stark notes that Kimbrel and Venters are possibly the best we’ve ever seen since the advent of current bullpen dogma. But he doesn’t consider Mariano Rivera and John Wetteland in 1996. Admittedly, their rate stats don’t come close to Venters and Kimbrel, but the Yankees got 171.1 innings  from their tag-team (thanks to heavy lifting – 107.2 – from Mo).

They didn’t stop there. Rivera and Wetteland spun another 26.2 innings in the postseason, allowed only four runs (1.35 ERA) and won the World Series. Wetteland was named World Series MVP. They toiled in a league which scored 5.36 runs per game. The 2011 Braves play in a league which socres 4.16 runs per game.

The Braves guys have a month and a half to go and could approach the innings total of Rivera and Wetteland. If they do that and maintain their statistical dominance, they’ve passed the Ol’ 96ers. But if Fredi González eases back on their usage or if they cough up some leads, I think you could at least make a good argument that the Yankees were as impressive covering more innings in a much harsher environment.

Looking at it another way, Rivera and Wetteland put up a combined 8.3 bWAR and 5.7 fWAR in the 1996 regular season. Kimbrel and Venters are at 6.7 and 5.0 and counting.  The Yankee hurlers combined for 9.658 WPA plus another 2.841 WPA during the title run. The Braves guys have only accumulated 7.6 WPA thus far. They have some work left to do.

I’m sure there were other duos that deserve inclusion. Wagner and Dotel combined for 172.3 stellar innings in 2002. Can you think of any others?

It also makes you wonder what Mo and Robertson could do if Girardi took off the leash? Mariano may be too old to give much more than he is giving now, but Robertson surely has gas in the tank. Would another ten innings for Rivera and another twenty from Robertson wreck their rates or put them in the conversation with Kimbrel and Venters?

For Yankee fans though, as long as Rivera and Roberston are strong in October, the title of best duo in the same bullpen can go to Atlanta.

Statistics from Baseball-Reference and FanGraphs

Check out this fine portrait of the 2011 Dodgers by Lee Jenkins in the current issue of Sports Illustrated.

Stow was in a coma. Half his skull had been removed to allow his brain to swell. He required seven forms of medication to limit his seizures. “He came as close to not making it as you can come,” says Dr. Gabriel Zada, Stow’s neurosurgeon at USC. His parents, Dave and Ann, and his sisters, Bonnie and Erin, spent seven hours a day at the hospital. At night they retreated to the downtown Marriott and toasted “the Great Hodge,” a nickname Stow gave himself as a boy. On April 6, a candlelight vigil was held outside the hospital. Hundreds attended, including Dodgers officials and a local talk-show host on KFI 640 AM named Bill Carroll. Ann invited Carroll to Stow’s room. Standing next to the bed, where Stow was covered in tubes and bandages, Carroll decided to make this story his own. He led his show with it most afternoons. He had Zada on as a regular guest. He sometimes took calls for three hours about the case, and when he went off the air, phone lines were still jammed. Everyone seemed to have survived a traumatic ordeal at Dodger Stadium, and they knew just who was responsible. “It was a convergence of two stories,” Carroll says. “People said, ‘I knew this would happen because McCourt let the team go downhill and security do the same.'”

Even after the Dodgers announced, on April 4, a $25,000 reward for information on Stow’s attackers, talk-radio host Tom Leykis pledged $50,000 of his own money in an attempt to embarrass McCourt. Leykis was also harassed at Dodger Stadium, by two fans during a game in 2009, and has not been back since. “I grew up in New York so I’m used to going to Yankee Stadium and seeing drunken louts threaten each other,” Leykis says. “Then I moved to L.A., and it was much different. Dodger Stadium was more like Disneyland. You have fun and feel safe and drift off into this dreamlike world. But now we’ve got this carpetbagger from Boston who never took the time to understand the deep connection of Dodger Stadium to Southern California. I’m not a dramatic person, but it hurts my heart. It kills me.”

Dodgers fans were not the only ones desperate to rid themselves of the carpetbagger. Commissioner Bud Selig told confidants that the Stow beating was “the final straw” for McCourt. By the time the Dodgers returned home from their first road trip, on April 14, Selig had dispatched a six-man task force to Los Angeles, led by MLB executive vice president John McHale Jr., to evaluate stadium security. McCourt’s hold on the franchise he had diminished was slipping.

Jenkins is an excellent reporter with a smooth prose style who has become one of SI’s top talents (he’s got two features this week). This is a long piece but worth reading.

Mike Flanagan, a former pitcher for the Baltimore Orioles–and a damned good one–is dead.

Mike Flanagan, left, with his manager, Earl Weaver

He was tough on the Yanks. I remember watching him pitch when I was a kid. Sad news, indeed.

[Photo Credit: Yahoo!]

Tip your hat to Coco Crisp. He beat CC Sabathia, David Robertson and Rafael Soriano on the same night. His first inning homer off CC started the scoring. His fister to center off Robertson in the eighth gave the A’s a short-lived 3-2 lead, and his three-run bomb to right in the tenth off a nothing-slider from Soriano won the game 6-4. A night after the Yankees failed to fully bake a comeback, the A’s showed them how to make it crispy.

Batting second, Crisp went 4-4 and the A’s were fortunate to have ninth hitter Scott Sizemore also go 4-4. That was eight of the eleven hits the A’s would get, but stacked the way they were in the order, they were timed just right to account for six runs. The Yanks spread their 11 hits around and only came up with four.

The Yankees broke a 1-1 tie in the sixth when Nick Swisher jacked a solo homer. Swish’s last four balls in play: homer, fly out to the top of the wall, homer, homer. He’s seeing beach balls right now. They had the chance to pad the lead in the seventh, but stranded Nuñez on third with no one out. For Girardi’s love of the bunt, he’s not one to squeeze. I’d support a squeeze with Gardner to push the lead to 3-1 with CC, Robertson and Mo available to get six outs.

Turns out the A’s didn’t need six outs to ruin the evening. Just one. A single, a sac and a double knotted the score and sent CC to the showers. David Robertson’s hammer failed to find the nails. He walked Jemile Weeks in front Crisp’s run-scoring single. He’s been so good that he can’t be faulted for this stumble. He escaped further damage with a fortunate double play as Derek Jeter sprawled to cover Hideki Matsui’s snaking liner.

With all that Robertson has done for the Yankees lately, 11 straight scoreless appearances, it was the least the offense could do to return the favor and pick-up him up off the mat. Maybe Mark Teixeira agreed as he wasted no time in tying the game with his 35th homer to start the eighth. The Yanks continued to apply pressure as Eric Chavez lashed toward left with two on and two out, but the ball made a bee-line for third baseman Scott Sizemore’s glove.

Mariano Rivera came in the face the heart of the order in the ninth and helped to make rookie Brandon Allen’s second visit to Yankee Stadium less pleasurable than his first. He was perfect for the fourth consecutive time since his rough week. Seven strikeouts in just four innings. I think those homers made him mad. Not mad enough to pitch two innings though, I guess. The Yanks sent Soriano out in the tenth after only 12 pitches from Mariano.

This is the first series the Yanks have dropped in the second half apart from the Red Sox series. The Red Sox crushed the Rangers again, so that puts the Yanks in second place. Every time the two teams pull even, the Red Sox reassert their claim on the division lead. The AL East will still probably be decided in the remaining games between the two leaders, but it would be nice to be the one on top when those games happen.

Last night was about as satisfying as a loss can get. Tonight was… not.

***

Three starts ago CC Sabathia was a front runner for the Cy Young Award. After getting bombed by Boston and losing to Tampa, he’s completely out of the race. Prior to August, CC let up six homers all season. This month alone he’s allowed eight long balls. Of course, Justin Verlander is just a s responsible as CC for the fall, dude’s been lights out. But shoot, that happened fast. The good news is that even during this funky month, CC has struck out 35 in 36.1 innings, and walked only three. The 11+ K/BB ratio means good things are just around the corner in September.

Speaking of August, Derek Jeter is about to log his second consecutive month with a slugging percentage over .400. This is notable because after April 2010, he slugged .338 for the next eight months. In not one of those months did he slug higher than .379, falling to the unthinkable nadir of .272 in April 2011. His ISO was .078. But over the course of his last 188 PAs, he’s slugged .470 and his ISO is closer to his career average: .119 vs .136. I have no idea if skipping the All Star Game helped him achieve this turn-around, but I won’t make a stink if he chooses not to go next time.

Derek Jeter singled in his first two at bats tonight. It brought his season average to .299. We all know that batting average does nothing more than measure the ratio of hits to official at bats, and OBP, wRC+ and wOBA (among many other stats) are far superior when measuring a player’s quality. But I’d be lying if I said I’m not pulling for Jeter to see the sunny side of .300. He ended up 2 for 5 and stands at .297.

Alex Rodriguez is still out, but C.C. is on the hill.

While we wait for the game to start, check out this interview with Marc Carig over at The Yankee Analysts. Nice job by Carig and Moshe Mandel.

Brett Gardner LF
Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Mark Teixiera 1B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher RF
Jorge Posada DH
Eduardo Nunez 3B
Francisco Cervelli C

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

[Drawing by Larry Roibal]

Yeah, I know it’s the off-season, but still, great is great:

Dig this: 10 commonly misused words. Helpful. I often confuse “bemused” with “nonplussed” and am never exactly sure when to use either, though I think they are great words. “Disinterested” is a precise and wonderful word too.

[Photo Credit: Abelardo Morrell]

The Breaking Point

By John Schulian

As much as I detested how Murdoch had cheapened the Sun-Times, I kept pushing myself to write the best column I could. For a while, I might even have succeeded. But things were too different and too weird for someone as irascible as I am to keep his mouth shut for long. The paper’s new editor wanted to cut a wide swath in Chicago society, and his wife was just as pathetic and desperate for the spotlight as he was. The new sports editor was a young dolt who seemed to spend most of his time sniffing around a pretty copy clerk. I’d worked for a string of first-rate sports editors before he showed up, guys who wouldn’t have hired him to fetch coffee, and here he was acting like he knew something.

One day he made the mistake of asking what I thought of the changes Murdoch’s infidels had made to the paper. When I told him, he looked like I’d hit him between the eyes with a sack of wet brownies. I’m sure he scampered off to let his bosses know that I hadn’t drunk the Kool-Aid. That’s the way they operated. I’m surprised we weren’t required to take a loyalty oath.

It’s safe to say I wasn’t the only one at the Sun-Times who loathed Murdoch and his henchmen. But people needed a paycheck. They had families, mortgages, bills. They needed the work. And if the people they worked for were a bunch of bums, so be it. They would soldier on and hope for a better tomorrow.

I was one of them until I came home from covering the 1984 U.S. Olympic trials in Los Angeles. I’d been fighting a virus for weeks and I felt like dog meat. But I’d never called in sick in Chicago and I wasn’t about to start now. It was a Friday and I went to Wrigley Field and interviewed Ryne Sandberg, who was having his breakout season with the Cubs. Then I came back to the office to turn the interview into my Sunday column. It was noisy in sports, so I took refuge in the features department, which was empty except for two deskmen laying out the Sunday sports section. All was right with the world until this guy I’d never seen before walked up and started insulting me, saying my column wasn’t any good and I was overpaid. It turned out that he was a features editor who’d been imported from Murdoch’s paper in San Antonio. Maybe the editors there could get away with acting like drill instructors and prison guards, but this was a first for me.

I should have just hauled off and hit the son of a bitch. But I’d been ambushed. I was stunned. On top of that, I was so weary and sick that I just wanted to go home and crawl into bed. It was all I could do to call him a weasel and a motherfucker and invite him to go to the editor who had decided to pay me all that money and get me fired.

The deskmen, both gentle souls, were gob-smacked, which, in retrospect, was the only amusing thing about this episode. I don’t think they realized their jaws were on their chests until Murdoch’s provocateur left and I finished my column and drove home to Evanston, about a half hour from the office. The longer I drove, however, the angrier I got. This was before cell phones so I had to wait until I walked I the door to call the office and ask if that mouthy prick was still around. He was. “Don’t let him go anywhere,” I said.

There are people who will tell you I went back to the office that night and punched him out. I didn’t. I realize this will come as a disappointment to both those who regard me as some kind of a hero and some kind of a lunatic, but it’s true. I’ve often wished that I had beaten the son of a bitch so badly that his unborn children felt it, but I’m not nearly that tough. Almost everything I’ve punched in my life has been inanimate. I do, however, have a temper, and I refuse to be bullied, and that’s why I returned with malice aforethought. But when I saw the guy for the second time, a voice in my head started saying, “You don’t want to go to jail, you don’t want to get sued.” Hardly the thoughts you associate with someone on the verge of violence, but there you have them.

I settled for calling the guy every kind of a gutless motherfucker I could think of, hoping he’d throw the first punch. But his mouth had written a check his ass couldn’t cash. He kept backing up, and just as he was about to turn and run, I grabbed him – one hand on his collar, one on his belt — and threw him over the nearest desk. He bounced once, as I recall. Then I walked around the desk, picked up him, and threw him back where I had found him. The only real satisfaction I got was the expression on his face. He looked like the noose had just been put around his neck and I was the hangman.

The next day, the sports editor called to say I’d been suspended me without pay. In doing so, the paper violated its contract with the Newspaper Guild, which said I was entitled to a hearing before any action could be taken. The Sun-Times responded by firing me. But the Guild fought the good fight in arbitration and I won a healthy settlement. It came on top of a different kind of reward from the people in the features department who had been bullied by the son of a bitch I bounced around. He had been making their lives a misery from the day he showed up. To them, I’d struck a blow for justice.

My wife was less convinced of my virtues. I didn’t blame her. I still don’t. I wasn’t easy to live with in those days. I was either on the road for work or at home raging about a computer that had crashed or a column I’d written poorly or a typo the copy desk hadn’t caught or . . . Jesus, I was a runaway train. The blow-up at the Sun-Times only added to my anger and my wife’s confusion and frustration. The strange thing was, we never argued. Maybe we should have. But my being fired was where our paths diverged for keeps. We divorced quietly, amicably, painfully.

For the rest of the summer, I rode my bike up and down the North Shore, from Evanston to Highland Park and back, always by myself. I had a million thoughts running through my head and no concrete plans. About the only person I saw on a regular basis was a big-hearted used-book dealer named Roger Carlson. He had a little shop in an alley in Evanston. It didn’t have any windows, so Roger had one painted next to his front door. The window looked in on a bookstore, and there on the shelves, alongside Shakespeare and Dickens and Hemingway and Fitzgerald, was a book with a name on it that really didn’t belong there or, for the moment at least, anywhere else. My name.

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

Over at Pinstriped Bible, Steve Goldman asks: Why did Joe Girardi play for one run in a two-run game?

In the bottom of the ninth inning of Tuesday night’s game against the A’s at Yankee Stadium, the Yankees trailed 6-3 entering the frame. Jorge Posada led off with a solo home run off of A’s closer Andrew Bailey, closing the deficit to 6-4. Russell Martin followed with a double, and Brett Gardner reached on third baseman Scott Sizemore’s error, putting runners on first and second with no outs and bringing Derek Jeter to the plate.

Jeter is tremendously hot right now. He came into the game hitting .339 since returning from the disabled list and he went 3-for-3 with a walk prior to the ninth-inning plate appearance. Again, the Yankees needed not one run, but two. In baseball this year, teams that have put runners on first and second with no outs have scored an average of 1.4 runs, which is to say the Yankees stood a very good chance of scoring one run there and a solid chance at scoring another. Teams that have runners on second and third with one out see their expected runs go down to 1.3, a fractionally smaller number, but it’s still less of a chance to score. I leave it to you whether eliminating the double play was worth trading that fraction of a run as well as the possibility of having three chances to score those two runs instead of two. Again, we’re talking about old school Derek Jeter here, not April-June Jeter. The formerly ground-ball obsessed GDP expert has hit into just three twin killings in 40 games, the last one coming about two weeks ago. What do you do?

Girardi chose to take the bat out of Jeter’s hands.

I thought it was gone. I already knew they had lost the game, but when I watched the ninth inning on replay I still thought Nick Swisher’s deep drive to center was gone off the bat. But his bid for a second homer in the final two innings settled into Coco Crisp’s glove at the centerfield wall for the final out of the game.

The way the Yankees are playing right now, ignore the fall and enjoy the bounce. The A’s dragged the Yanks around the field for seven and a half innings last night like a corpse. Trailing 6-0 with two-out in the eighth, the Yankees pounded out five runs and came a few feet shy of four more. It was a loss in the end, 6-5, and with the Red Sox winning big in Texas, that matters. But as losses go, give me one that falls just short of an amazing victory.

If you care about justice, it was a fair result that Swisher’s blast ended up an out instead of a game-winning grand slam. The batter before Swisher was Robinson Cano, and with a full count, the umpire gave him first base on what was clearly strike three. But even if the call was bad, the pie would have still tasted as, er, mediciney.

The 2009 Yankees have really spoiled us. This year’s team probably has a few sweet comebacks but I barely remember them. Down 4-1 at Toronto in the eighth? One time they were trailing Baltimore by four runs early? This game would have blown those out of the water. But as it stands, there’s a lot of extra pie to go around this year as the Yankees win early and big, and lose close. Luckily, they do the former way more than the latter.

So your scorching hot shortstop has three hits on the night and represents the winning run at the plate with nobody out in the bottom of the ninth. Do you like that sac bunt there? You want to avoid the double play and Jeter is ground ball machine. But he has only nine GIDP this year, fewest of any of the regulars apart from Gardner, who has five. Before Jeter’s injury, the bunt is a no-brainer. But right now, I’d like to see him hit away. If you must put on a play, how about a hit and run? Even if Jeter grounds into a double play, Granderson still gets a chance to tie it with one swing.

Bartolo Colon did not spot the A’s all six by himself, though he was charged with five runs. He was not good against a terrible offense and Boone Logan couldn’t strand two of his runners in the seventh. Hector Noesi also got nicked for an insurance run which ended up being the difference, though at the time it just made the score 6-0.

Brandon Allen enjoyed his first trip to New York, hitting two home runs. If you’re reading this in the morning, heads up and cover your coffee mug as the one he hit in the second inning should be landing somewhere around breakfast tomorrow.

We celebrate comebacks because they remind us not to give up. Not be pessimists. Not be fatalists. This was a comeback that didn’t result in victory, but it should teach us those lessons just the same. Hopefully there a few more chances to wear pie this season.

Bartolo “Diego Rivera’ Colon is on the mound tonight as the Yanks start a three-game series against the A’s at the Stadium.

Alex Rodriguez was a late scratch with a sore thumb. All the same, our purpose remains:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Note:  “The Watermelons” (1957) was Rivera’s final painting]

Joe Posnanski on the AL MVP race:

Right now, I firmly believe the best player in the American League is Jose Bautista. And, right now, he’s my MVP. There are plenty of good candidates who can catch him — and most of them are on teams in contention. The Red Sox have Dustin Pedroia and Jacoby Ellsbury, both are having great years. One of my favorite players in the game, Curtis Granderson, is having a marvelous season for the Yankees. Ben Zobrist, one more time, is having the best year nobody’s noticing. Miguel Cabrera continues to slug. It’s difficult to compare pitchers and hitters, but Justin Verlander has been almost unhittable — at time actually unhittable — and others like C.C. Sabathia and the Angels pair of Dan Haren and Jered Weaver are pitching extremely well.

But, for me, it’s Bautista by two or three lengths heading into the home stretch. Somebody has to catch him. And, no offense to the quality of leadership or hustle or RBIs or wins or any other sort of unnoticed value, but they’re going to have to catch him with production I can see.

Agreed. Be interesting if Verlander makes a push, though.

And over at Grantland, here’s Jonah Keri on Montero vs. Posada:

The Montero Legend took a huge leap forward Monday night. Playing the remainder of a suspended game plus a full game in what amounted to a virtual doubleheader, the 21-year-old slugger exploded, going 5-for-8, blasting two homers, and knocking in seven runs. After a slow start, Montero’s up to .290/.349/.456 for the year. Although skeptics wonder whether he can handle the defensive rigors of catching in the big leagues, most believe he’ll be a great hitter.

… Posada has actually put together a half-decent season as a platoon guy (.249/.354/.453), after a disastrous start to the year. Despite Montero’s recent surge, Posada’s line against righties compares favorably with the kid’s overall numbers. The old man may not be quite dead yet.

So what to do? Montero’s tantalizing talent still has Yankees fans drooling to get a look at him — a chance they might get in September. If Montero succeeds, Posada might get left off the postseason roster, his days as a Yankee over for good. Whatever decision gets made, Yankees fans should hope it’s based on performance, not politics. You can get away with a sub-optimal roster when the Baltimore Orioles, Kansas City Royals and Seattle Mariners are on the schedule. But in the postseason, you’d better bring your best 25 with you. Or else.

[Montero picture via Bronx Baseball Daily]

The Duke visits Laugh-In.

[Painting by Cassie Behle]

If you’ve never read “The Things They Carried,” by Tim O’Brien, I suggest picking up a copy. Here is the title essay:

First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha, a junior at Mount Sebastian College in New Jersey. They were not love letters, but Lieutenant Cross was hoping, so he kept them folded in plastic at the bottom of his rucksack. In the late afternoon, after a day’s march, he would dig his foxhole, wash his hands under a canteen, unwrap the letters, hold them with the tips of his fingers, and spend the last hour of fight pretending. He would imagine romantic camping trips into the White Mountains in New Hampshire. He would sometimes taste the envelope flaps, knowing her tongue had been there. More than anything, he wanted Martha to love him as he loved her, but the letters were mostly chatty, elusive on the matter of love. She was a virgin, he was almost sure. She was an English major at Mount Sebastian, and she wrote beautifully about her professors and roommates and midterm exams, about her respect for Chaucer and her great affection for Virginia Woolf. She often quoted lines .of poetry; she never mentioned the war, except to say, Jimmy, take care of yourself. The letters weighed ten ounces. They were signed “Love, Martha,” but Lieutenant Cross understood that Love was only a way of signing and did not mean what he sometimes pretended it meant. At dusk, he would carefully return the letters to his rucksack. Slowly, a bit distracted, he would get up and move among his men, checking the perimeter, then at full dark he would return to his hole and watch the night and wonder if Martha was a virgin.

The things they carried were largely determined by necessity. Among the necessities or near-necessities were P-38 can openers, pocket knives, heat tabs, wrist watches, dog tags, mosquito repellent, chewing gum, candy, cigarettes, salt tablets, packets of Kool-Aid, lighters, matches, sewing kits, Military payment Certificates, C rations, and two or three canteens of water. Together, these items weighed between fifteen and twenty pounds, depending upon a man’s habits or rate of metabolism. Henry Dobbins, who was a big man, carried extra rations; he was especially fond of canned peaches in heavy syrup over pound cake. Dave Jensen, who practiced field hygiene, carried a toothbrush, dental floss, and several hotel-size bars of soap he’d stolen on R&R in Sydney, Australia. Ted Lavender, who was scared, carried tranquilizers until he was shot in the head outside the village of Than Khe in mid-April. By necessity, and because it was SOP, they all carried steel helmets that weighed five pounds including the liner aid camouflage cover. They carried the standard fatigue jackets and trousers. Very few carried underwear. On their feet they carried jungle boots-2.1 pounds – and Dave Jensen carried three pairs of socks and a can of Dr. Scholl’s foot powder as a precaution against trench foot. Until he was shot, Ted Lavender carried six or seven ounces of premium dope, which for him was 2 necessity. Mitchell Sanders, the RT0, carried condoms. Norman Bowker carried a diary. Rat Kiley carried comic books. Kiowa, a devout Baptist, Carried an illustrated New Testament that had been presented to him by his father, who taught Sunday school in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. As a hedge against bad times, however, Kiowa also carried his grandmother’s distrust of the white man, his grandfather’s old hunting hatchet. Necessity dictated. Because the land was mined and booby-trapped, it was SOP for each man to carry a steel-centered, nylon-covered flak jacket, which weighed 6.7 pounds, but which on hot days seemed much heavier. Because you could die so quickly, each man carried at least one large compress bandage, usually in the helmet band for easy access. Because the nights were cold, and because the monsoons were wet, each carried a green plastic poncho that could be used as a raincoat or groundsheet or makeshift tent. With its quilted liner, the poncho weighed almost two pounds, but it was worth every ounce. In April, for instance, when Ted Lavender was shot, they used his poncho to wrap him up, then to carry him across the paddy, then to lift him into the chopper that took him away.

[Photo Credit: Addiction Inbox]

Fab Five Freddy, right, with Grandmaster Flash

Over at The Yankee Analysts, Moshe Mandel makes the case for Freddy Garcia.

Here’s Tracy Daugherty, in an adaptation from his biography on Joseph Heller, on the War for Catch-22:

The novel, you know,” people whispered whenever Joseph Heller and his wife, Shirley, left a party early. From the first, Joe had made no secret of his ambitions beyond the world of advertising. In later years, he floated various stories about the origins of his first novel. “There was a terrible sameness about books being published and I almost stopped reading as well as writing,” he said on one occasion. But then something happened. He told one British journalist that “conversations with two friends … influenced me. Each of them had been wounded in the war, one of them very seriously The first one told some very funny stories about his war experiences, but the second one was unable to understand how any humour could be associated with the horror of war. They didn’t know each other and I tried to explain the first one’s point of view to the second. He recognized that traditionally there had been lots of graveyard humour, but he could not reconcile it with what he had seen of war. It was after that discussion that the opening of Catch-22 and many incidents in it came to me.”

The Czech writer Arnošt Lustig claimed that Heller had told him at a New York party for Milos Forman in the late 1960s that he couldn’t have written Catch-22 without first reading Jaroslav Hašek’s unfinished World War I satire, The Good Soldier Schweik. In Hašek’s novel, a mad state bureaucracy traps a hapless man. Among other things, he stays in a hospital for malingerers and serves as an orderly for an army chaplain.

But the most common account Heller gave of the hatching of Catch-22 varied little from what he said to The Paris Review in 1974: “I was lying in bed in my four-room apartment on the West Side when suddenly this line came to me: ‘It was love at first sight. The first time he saw the chaplain, Someone fell madly in love with him.’ I didn’t have the name Yossarian. The chaplain wasn’t necessarily an army chaplain—he could have been a prison chaplain. But as soon as the opening sentence was available, the book began to evolve clearly in my mind—even most of the particulars … the tone, the form, many of the characters, including some I eventually couldn’t use. All of this took place within an hour and a half. It got me so excited that I did what the cliché says you’re supposed to do: I jumped out of bed and paced the floor.”

In all likelihood, each of these scenarios is true; they don’t contradict one another, and they probably occurred at some stage in the process of imagining the novel. But we also know from a letter to Heller in California from the editor Whit Burnett that, as early as 1946, he’d been considering a novel about “a flier facing the end of his missions.”

[Photo Credit: Vanity Fair]

Tyler Kepner on Miguel Cabrera:

Only five players in major league history have had 1,500 hits and 250 homers, while hitting .310 or better, through their age-28 season. They are Jimmie Foxx, Mel Ott, Hank Aaron, Albert Pujols and Cabrera.

That is heady company, but Cabrera said he did not think much about his place in history.

“It’s too early,” he said Friday night after the first victory of a three-game sweep over the Cleveland Indians. “You never know what’s going to happen tomorrow or next month or next year.”

The man is a monster talent.

[Photo Credit: CBS News]