Over at Grantland, Peter Richmond asks: Why can’t Americans build arenas anymore?

Here’s his take on the new Yankee Stadium:

As a guy who spent considerable time in George Steinbrenner’s presence back when both he and I were cogent and unreasonable men (me the barbed newspaper scribe, he the pompous asshole who once called Hideki Irabu a “fat, pus-y toad”), I never expected the Yankees to look anywhere but backward with the new park. After all, this is a family that, in lockstep to George’s scarily tin-eared, tone-deaf take on himself, now runs its corporation by the family’s uncurious, unimaginative philosophy of “I haven’t a clue about vision … but can I buy the guy who everyone else thinks is good?”

So I wasn’t surprised that the new stadium, with its faux-gold façade lettering, emerged with a distinctly Gilded Age/decline-of-the-Roman Empire vibe. The first (and only) time I sat in those thousand-dollar seats behind home plate, and a comely woman who looked like a young Cameron Diaz kept sidling up to ask if I needed anything, I was wise enough to ask for nothing more exotic than shrimp cocktail.

I’ll grant you that the new one’s not a bad place to watch baseball (although annual attendance is a half-million lower than the last year in the old one). But the real problem with wrapping the new place in a retro-traditional-revivalist costume is that once you’re inside there’s not even the slightest pretense about trying to duplicate the original sensorial experience of watching a game in the old stadium, when the borough of the Bronx was part of the fabric of the team’s success. This was when you could reach out from the upper deck and touch the Buy DiNoto’s Bread sign, two stories high, painted in red, green, and white on the back of the six-story, yellow-brick apartment house on 845 Gerard Avenue; when the Ayn-Randian blue-steel screech of the no. 4 train coming to a halt at the 161st Street station wafted the sweet, industrial fragrance of railroad brake linings through the upper rows of the right-center-field bleachers.

But who can complain when the new place is packed with such sophisticated lures as a private dining room where toqued chefs serve crab roll sushi, strip loin, locavore haricots vert, and chocolate mousse?

Brian Kenny of ESPN Radio is one of the best sports talk show hosts when it comes to talking baseball. He knows the history of the game, but he also knows how to apply Sabermetric concepts in a meaningful and understandable way. So I was honored to have the opportunity to do a guest spot on the Wednesday night edition of his show. Right off the bat, Brian asked me about Jorge Posada and whether I felt he was worthy of election to the Hall of Fame. In trying to assess his case objectively, I looked at Posada’s career year by year and determined that he has put up about eight Hall of Fame seasons, based on OPS and fulltime playing status. That puts him roughly two to three seasons short of the call to Cooperstown. For those who prefer Wins Above Replacement (WAR), Posada has accumulated 44.7 of WAR for his career. That’s a respectable total, but well short of another contemporary catcher, Pudge Rodriguez, who stands at 67.2 for his career.

During the radio show, I compared Posada to Ted Simmons, another switch-hitting catcher, albeit from the decades of the 1970s and eighties. Simmons posted about ten Hall of Fame seasons, and did so in an era in which conditions were far less favorable for hitters. Simmons also had the advantage in WAR for his career, at 50.4. All things considered, Simmons’ ledger is probably sufficient to deserve entry to the Hall of Fame.

Right from the start, Simmons had a major advantage over Posada in that he arrived in the major leagues at a much earlier age. Simmons was 18 when he made his debut; Posada had to wait until he was 23. More importantly, Simmons established himself as a regular catcher by the age of 21, while Posada did not become the Yankees’ fulltime catcher until he was 27. That’s a six-year difference. So practically from Day One, Posada has had to play catch-up with his career. He did a terrific job right through last year, when he turned 39, before falling off a cliff in 2011. Barring some kind of late hitting surge this summer, Posada will likely be forced into retirement at season’s end, thereby preventing him from building up any further Hall of Fame value.

While I think that Posada is at least close to Cooperstown requirements (I mean, it wouldn’t be like putting Ron Hassey in the Hall of Fame), I suspect that the mainstream media will treat him less kindly in the Hall of Fame elections. Simmons received only three per cent of the vote in his first season on the ballot; in falling below the five per cent threshold, he fell off the ballot immediately, as the Hall of Fame rules dictate. And he hasn’t received much support from the new Veterans Committee either.

So if Simmons received such a small level of backing, Posada will likely struggle when his turn comes up for the first time in 2017. Yes, he’ll receive a boost from playing in New York and being such an important part of four world championship teams. But I don’t see him coming anywhere near the 75 per cent minimum needed for Hall of Fame selection. He’s more likely to fall somewhere in the 20 to 25 per cent range. That’s nothing to be ashamed about, but it won’t allow him to stand on the Hall of Fame stage next to Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera.

Of course, none of this is pertinent to the Yankees in 2011. Posada is having his worst season, and has been so thoroughly unproductive that he has been demoted from his job as the primary DH. I believe that Joe Girardi is completely justified in making the move; if anything, Girardi gave him more games and at-bats than he deserved because of his status as one of the Yankee icons.

The demotion leaves Posada as a glorified pinch-hitter and backup first baseman, a pair of roles that will translate into little playing time. Given such insignificance, some have argued that the Yankees should just release Posada and replace him with a more versatile and useful player. Ordinarily, I would agree with such sentiment, but releasing Posada is one of those rare cases where the affect of team morale is potentially more damaging than any gain that comes from replacing him with a better bench player. In spite of his paltry power and inability to hit for average, Posada remains one of the team’s respected veterans. He is regarded highly enough by the majority of his teammates that his mere presence in the dugout and clubhouse can be justified–at least for the remainder of the regular season. Simply put, the Yankees don’t need the disruption that would occur with the unconditional release of their catcher-turned-DH.

I’m not usually one for sentimentality when it comes to the cold, hard facts of constructing the 25-man roster, but for the moment, the Yankees are playing it right with Jorge Posada…

***

Am I concerned about the recent struggles of Mariano Rivera, another of the Yankee icons? Not in the least. Yes, he had a bad week, but it has only comprised three games. The start of the slump coincided with an appearance against the Red Sox, who have historically had their way with the great closer. Rivera’s velocity remains very good; it’s just the movement of the cutter that has been subpar.

It seems to me that Rivera ran into a similar slump last year, but it ended quickly and was not a factor in the postseason. So let’s give Rivera a few more days before we decide that time has finally caught up with the Baron of the Bullpen.

I still don’t understand why Girardi did not give Rivera an extra inning on Sunday night against the Red Sox. Though he had coughed up a one-run lead, he needed only nine pitches to get through the inning. He could have easily started the tenth. Even a subpar Rivera is a better bet than Phil Hughes making his first relief appearance of the season, pitching in the frying pan of Fenway Park, and having to do so with no margin for error.

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

Alex Belth’s post yesterday, which highlighted Jack Curry’s stance on A.J. Burnett, ended with the word, Amen. It was an emphatic agreement of a report detailing what many Yankees fans feel at the moment. In my own post about Jorge Posada’s demise, I wondered if Joe Girardi would have the guts to pull Burnett from the rotation and give him what we might as well start calling “The Posada Treatment.”

Girardi’s dilemma is not a matter of “will he or won’t he,” it’s more “should he or shouldn’t he.” Jon DeRosa, in his recap of Wednesday night’s loss, made an interesting and salient point:

… Nova was better tonight than Burnett was last night. Burnett ran into trouble in the sixth. Nova made it to the seventh and that’s an important distinction. But the difference was not nearly as great as will be felt tomorrow.

Ivan Nova has pitched seven innings or more and let up two or fewer runs five times this year. Same as Burnett. Nova’s been better and I’d rather see him on the hill than Burnett, but it’s not as simple as Jack Curry made out … A.J. Burnett is going to be on the team for another two years after this season. The Yankees are able to marginalize Posada because his career is over in a month and a half.

No doubt, Nova has pitched better than Burnett. He’s been more consistent, more aggressive, and gotten better results. Burnett’s outings have consistently looked like the last 99 holes of competitive golf Tiger Woods has played. Talk radio hosts and fans alike are calling for his head like he’s Piggy from “Lord of the Flies”.

My question is: Is this thought process too drastic?

Consider that in the last 10 years, the Yankees have employed luminaries like Jeff Weaver, Kevin Brown, Javier Vazquez, Esteban Loaiza, Randy Johnson, Carl Pavano, and Jaret Wright. Now put Burnett in that context. When Joe Torre summoned Weaver to pitch in the extra innings of Game 4 of the 2003 World Series, did you trust him? Esteban Loaiza in the extra innings of Game 5 of the 2004 ALCS? How about Brown and the mutant glove he wore to protect the broken knuckle on his left hand in Game 7 of that series and Jay-vee Vazquez afterward? Or Wright in what would be a decisive Game 4 in Detroit in ’06, looking like a shell of the phenom who nearly delivered a championship to Cleveland in 1997? Joe Torre didn’t have many more, or better, options. But Burnett, even in his current, scrambled state, would be an upgrade from those other misfits.

Through all his struggles, and 2 1/2 winless Augusts, Burnett has not shied away from reporters. His willingness to be held accountable breeds respect. You won’t hear Burnett sell out his teammates and say, “They play behind me like they hate me,” like Weaver infamously did. He did pull a Kevin Brown last year, cutting his hand while hitting the plastic casing on the lineup card on the clubhouse door; so we know he’s capable of fits of idiocy that don’t involve him throwing a 57-foot curveball.

The thing is, we know Burnett is capable of succeeding in big spots. The Yankees don’t win in 2009 without his October contributions. His performance in Game 2 against the Phillies may have been the most important game of that entire season. Two other games he pitched that postseason, against the Twins and Angels — both of which resulted in Yankees losses — were not his fault. (Coincidentally, Phil Hughes, the other side of this rotation / bullpen coin, was the losing pitcher of record in those games.) Part of why it’s so infuriating to watch Burnett is because as a fan, you want to root for him, but you have a hankering feeling he’s going to disappoint you at any moment.

Buried at the bottom of Curry’s column is the following nugget:

If the Yankees took Posada’s job away from him, they should be able to take Burnett’s job away from him, too. Even if it’s a temporary move, the Yankees could tell Burnett that he’s being bypassed in the rotation for one turn to work with pitching coach Larry Rothschild to improve. The Yankees can tell Burnett that he’s important to their success, so they want to get him better now, not later.

… how Burnett fits in to the rotation isn’t a question for the future. It’s a question for the present.”

So what’s the answer? Should the Yankees keep Burnett in the rotation because the glass slippers may fall off of Bartolo Colon and Freddy Garcia much like they did for Shawn Chacon and Aaron Small in 2005?

I’d like to see the Yankees take Curry’s suggestion and pull him for a few starts, see if he gets his head right, and then get him going for the stretch run and the playoffs. I say this because I’m still not sold on Hughes, either. A.J. Burnett has major league stuff, and it’s still in there somewhere. Burnett and Rothschild just need to work together to figure out where it is.

[Photo Credit: Fickle Feline]

When the Angels get to Toronto tonight, maybe they’ll spend some time game-planning how to pitch to the top hitter in baseball, Jose Bautista. And they’ll be smiling when they do it, because it means they no longer have to face Curtis Granderson and Robinson Cano. The pair wrecked the Angels staff to the tune of six home runs and 13 RBI over this three game stretch and ensured a series victory for the Yankees over their closest competition for the Wild Card.

After Cano’s grand slam tore open a tie game in the bottom of the seventh, victory seemed sealed. Mariano came into the game in the ninth with two on and one out and Russell Branyan sent his first pitch out of the park for a three run blast. Mo mopped up from there, but it was a sour note to end a sweet day. The Yankees won 6-5.

If Curtis Granderson came out of center field to pitch the end of this game, I would not have been surprised. He wrapped himself around this series like a desperate hug. Four home runs, seven RBI, five runs scored far outwieghed the three whiffs, two double plays, six left on base and a game ending caught stealing. But for the good or the bad, he was involved.

I didn’t see Branyan’s homer, so I don’t want to comment on the quality of Mo’s outing, but I am bummed to see Mariano struggle regardless. He’ll be right sometime soon, let’s hope it’s the next time we need him.

What does it take to make someone’s nickname “official”? In terms of the Banter, I think it’s clear that David Robertson is now “the Hammer” (or the Alabama Hammer, or the Bama  Hama) and Robinson Cano is “the Ripper.”

I’d also like to submit for consideration “Grumpy” for Curtis Granderson, in one of those ironic nicknames from the past when they’d call a fat guy “Slim” or something like that.

What say you?

Sorry for the late game-thread.

Rubber game on a sunny day. Let’s go Yanks.

When hearing tales of Bubba Smith
You wonder if he’s man or myth.
He’s like a hoodoo, like a hex,
He’s like Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Few manage to topple in a tussle
Three hundred pounds of hustle and muscle.
He won’t complain if double-teamed;
It isn’t Bubba who gets creamed.

What gained this pair of underminers?
Only four Forty-niner shiners.

Ogden Nash, 1969

If you missed Allen Barra’s tribute to Bubba Smith last week, do check it out.

Although it often seems otherwise, Mariano Rivera is not perfect. During his career, the future Hall of Famer has been tagged with 65 blown saves and 57 losses, so there are plenty of examples available to refute the notion of his infallibility. And yet, when he doesn’t come through, it still seems like a fluke. Such was the case on two occasions this past week.

Mariano Rivera’s Save Percentage, by Team

Note: NL entry includes three saves and one blown save against Brewers when they were part of the AL.
Source: Baseball-reference.com

On Sunday night, Rivera suffered his fifth blown save of the season against the Red Sox, the team against which he has by far the most. Considering Boston’s power-packed lineup, it’s easy to see how even the great Rivera might slip up, but what made Sunday’s blown save most frustrating was the chief antagonist: light-hitting Marco Scutaro.

Walk Off Home Runs Against Mariano Rivera

Source: baseball-reference.com

Then again, maybe Scutaro’s lead off double, which led to the blown save, shouldn’t have come as that much of a surprise? After all, the journeyman infielder owns one of only five walk off homeruns surrendered by Rivera. What’s more, Scutaro’s double on Sunday was his second against Rivera, giving him three extra base hits against the great closer in only 18 plate appearances.

Batters with at Least Three Extra Base Hits vs. Mariano Rivera

Source: baseball-reference.com

How significant is Scutaro’s relative success against Rivera? Over the course of his career, Rivera has faced 920 different batters, and of that total, only eight have recorded at least three extra base hits. For further perspective, 469 hitters, or 51%, failed to even record one hit, including teammate Dustin Pedroia, who has gone 0-10 in 13 plate appearances against Rivera. Finally, Scutaro’s .896 OPS against Rivera ranks 28th among the 156 hitters with at least 10 plate appearances versus the future Hall of Famer.

Most PAs Without a Hit vs. Mariano Rivera

Source: baseball-reference.com

After failing to close out a win in Fenway, Rivera’s next game ended in a loss to the Los Angeles Angels. This time, the culprit was Bobby Abreu and the damage was a rare home run, which broke a 4-4 tie. Since 1995, Rivera’s HR rate of 0.44 per nine innings is the lowest of any reliever with at least 275 innings, so when he falters because of the long ball, it’s even more startling. However, the gopher ball surrendered to Bobby Abreu was even more remarkable because the struggling DH entered the game with only four home runs. When you consider that Abreu had already hit his fifth earlier in the game, the chances of him going deep again, against Rivera no less, had to be slim, but when the Yankees’ closer gives it up, it often feels like a long shot coming through.

Lowest HR/9 Rates, Relievers Since 1995 (min. 275 IP)

Source: fangraphs.com

Since he first emerged as a dominant force in the 1995 ALDS against the Mariners, Mariano Rivera’s successes have far surpassed his failures, which, ironically, is why the latter seem to better define his greatness. When Rivera blows a game, it inspires shock. When he blows two-in-a-row, it induces panic…in everyone but Rivera himself. Perhaps that’s why Mariano has had only one stretch of three straight games with either a blown save or loss (August 1997)? So, let the Chicken Littles have their say. You can’t blame them for thinking the sky is falling. In fact, it’s a testament to the greatest closer of all time.

Every year for the past decade there is a period, a game or two, a few weeks, when Mariano Rivera struggles. During those times, the newspapers have articles about the decline and his career. But now, that kind of article has more resonance. Like this one from Tyler Kepner in the Times:

Rivera, who turns 42 in November, has 29 saves. Only one pitcher has had 30 saves at that age: Dennis Eckersley, for St. Louis in 1997. Eckersley played one more season, as a middle reliever with Boston. In the last inning of his career, in a playoff game against Cleveland, he served up a homer to Manny Ramirez that might still be going.

Nobody wants to see Rivera end like that. Or like the great Goose Gossage, bouncing to seven teams in his final seven seasons, picking up a stray save here or there. There is nobility in pitching as long as you can, in making summer last as long as possible. But it would not suit Rivera, a career Yankee who defines athletic grace.

“I don’t think he will hang around,” the Angels’ Torii Hunter said. “He loves the game, but every player wants to be the best. You don’t want to be last known as the guy who’s giving up two home runs in the World Series. He’s not even close to where he’s going to be out of the game, but I’m pretty sure a guy like that would love to go out on top.”

The final mystery in Mo’s career is how it will end. We hope for it to be special, for him to “go out on top,” though we know the reality will be messier than that.

[Painting by Stephen Holland]

By no means was Curtis Granderson responsible for last night’s loss. If you want to pass blame around, you can start with A.J. and Mariano and eventually towards the middle you’d probably come to Granderson. But I bet he felt bad nonetheless. His base-running gaffe ended the game and robbed the Majors’ second leading home run hitter a chance to win the game. Anytime I made the last out of a close game, it tore me up for days. I’ll never get over making the last out of my Little League Championship game when I was ten.

Thankfully, Granderson doesn’t react like a ten-year old. Whether he shrugged last night off as a confident professional (ala what Mo will do for his recent funk) or if he came to the park a little more determined tonight to make amends, he was excellent. His three-run home run in the first inning assured that the Yankees wouldn’t be baffled by the Angels rookie pitcher making his Major League debut. And his solo homer in the fifth tacked on necessary insurance as Ivan Nova ran into trouble in the seventh.

(For the record, Granderson told Kim Jones that he forgot about last night when he left the park, and he’ll forget about tonight when he leaves the park. A little of Mo in the guy after all.)

The rookie making his Major League debut was Garrett Richards. He was making the leap from AA all the way to Yankee Stadium. And he didn’t land well. He walked Gardner and Jeter ahead of Granderson’s first blast. Until Teixeira grounded out, his Major League career ERA was infinite – that must have been the longest two pitches of his life.

The Yankees hit Richards hard up and down the lineup. They could still be hitting in the fourth if it wasn’t for a wonderfully athletic play in right-center by Peter Bourjos and an atrocious call at first base on Brett Gardner. The catch was especially fun to watch. It had all the synchronicity of a fake volleyball spike, where one player leaps at the ball and intentionally swings and misses while the next hitter lines it up for the kill. But dynamic instead of rehearsed. Torii Hunter was trying his best to make a sensational diving grab and when he whiffed, Bourjos had to keep sight of the ball, avoid Hunter’s body and still make the lunging, running snag.

Even though Yankees fans joke about expecting to be baffled by a newcomer like this, really, we expect them to drill the rookies. That’s why we get so worked up when they lose to them. Watching them clobber Richards reminded me that this was one of the biggest nights of his life and I felt bad that it was such a flogging. Not that I wanted him to win, but did every ball have to be hit on the nose?

Robinson Cano was one of chief culprits. In full ripper mode, he lashed balls in gaps and over fences for the three hard parts of the cycle. He just forgot to dink a single. When I realized he wasn’t going to get another at bat I was just slightly disappointed the Yanks were winning. But with the nature of the recent losses, there was no way I wanted to see a bottom of the ninth. We didn’t, as the Yanks won 9-3.

Ivan Nova continued to pitch well. He let up three runs in six innings. Five hits and three walks. Just really a special performance and a slap in the face to the godawful Burnett who was so vile last night that he let up four runs in six innings. Seven hits and three walks. Nova was bailed out by Soriano in the seventh and had seven runs of support. Girardi forced Burnett to walk Maicer Izturis and then left him to get out of his own jam. He didn’t and since he only had one run to work with, he left looking like a loser. When he failed, we crushed him for it.

I know Nova was better tonight than Burnett was last night. Burnett ran into trouble in the sixth. Nova made it to the seventh and that’s an important distinction. But the difference was not nearly as great as will be felt tomorrow.

Ivan Nova has pitched seven innings or more and let up two or fewer runs five times this year. Same as Burnett. Nova’s been better and I’d rather see him on the hill than Burnett, but it’s not as simple as Jack Curry made out earlier today. A.J. Burnett is going to be on the team for another two years after this season. The yankees are able to marginalize Posada because his career is over in a month and a half. If the same were true of Burnett, Girardi and Cashman could explore other options.

But it’s not just their jobs to win the most games possible in 2011. They also have to consider how publicly castrating A.J. Burnett is bound to have ramifications in 2012 and 2013. I’m as prone to rip A.J. for his bad outings as anyone, and I never understood the contract in the first place, but given where the Yanks are in the standings and where they are with all of these pitchers, I think they’re doing a good job of keeping all the non-CC pitchers in the mix.

Afternoon game tomorrow, hope the Yanks can win the series against another rookie, Tyler Chatwood. But it’s not his debut, so I won’t feel bad if the Yanks tattoo him.

Ivan Nova goes against prospect.

1. Gardner LF
2. Jeter SS
3. Granderson CF
4. Teixeira 1B
5. Cano 2B
6. Swisher RF
7. Chavez DH
8. Martin C
9. Nunez 3B

Like Al Davis used to say: Just Win, Baby.

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

Over at the YES Network, Jack Curry thinks it’s time to kick A.J. Burnett out of the starting rotation:

When Girardi removed Jorge Posada as the regular designated hitter and turned him into a reserve on Sunday in Boston, he said he was doing what was best for the team. Posada had not hit a homer since June 29 and had driven in four runs in his last 78 at-bats. After Eric Chavez returned from the disabled list, the Yankees spoke internally about how he could eventually take Posada’s at bats at the DH slot. Now Chavez has done that. Posada is a glorified pinch-hitter, a player who seems unlikely to make the postseason roster.

So what about Burnett’s status? The Yankees recognized how Posada’s unproductive at-bats were hurting them and made a change. It was decisive. The Yankees see how Burnett’s disappointing starts are hurting them, too. They need to be just as decisive with Burnett as they were with Posada. Since Ivan Nova has pitched much better than Burnett, and since Phil Hughes looked superb in his last start, why should they lose potential starts to Burnett? The answer is simple. They shouldn’t.

Amen.

[Photo Credit: N.Y. Daily News]

Over at BP, the staff looks at the 12 of their favorite basebrawls. Here’s a Yankee classic from Jay Jaffe:

1) Armando Benitez vs. Tino Martinez and the Yankees
At 28-9, the 1998 Yankees had already shown that they were in the business of kicking ass and taking names when the Orioles came to town having lost five straight games to push them under .500. The O’s were on track to snap their streak with a 5-3 lead in the eighth inning when the Yankees drew two walks while making two outs against tiring O’s starter Sidney Ponson and reliever Alan Mills. A Paul O’Neill single off Norm Charlton cut the lead to 5-4 when Benitez, the Orioles’ imposing but immature closer, was summoned for a four-out save. Instead, he served up a three-run homer to Bernie Williams to give the Yankees a 7-5 lead, then blatantly plunked Tino Martinez between the shoulder blades with a 90-something MPH fastball on his next pitch. “That was a real cheap shot,” said Yankees broadcaster Jim Kaat.

Martinez jawed at Benitez on the way down to first base, and the 6-foot-4 reliever dropped his glove. Both benches and bullpens emptied, and things escalated when Yankees’ lefty reliever Graeme Lloyd—a 6-foot-8 Australian native my friends and I called “The Big Dingo”—came charging out of the bullpen and grabbed Benitez’s chin before throwing a few wild punches with fellow Yankee reliever Jeff Nelson joining the fray. Benitez connected on a blow to the back of Lloyd’s neck as he retreated from the mound into foul territory. As he neared the dugout, he squared off with Scott Brosius, who threw no punches but captured his attention while Darryl Strawberry rolled up behind and connected on a sucker punch to Benitez’s head before pushing him into the Oriole dugout. Strawberry was restrained by multiple Orioles at the edge of the dugout, but amazingly enough, the two would square off again minutes later after Mills punched Strawberry while an irate Martinez kept making his way towards Benitez. The second time, Stawberry’s blow was more glancing, and his momentum carried him into the dugout where Eddie Murray and Cal Ripken tried to calm him down. Ultimately, it took around 15 minutes before order was restored and play resumed.

“This is like one of those hockey brawls where the umpires have to figure out who stays and who goes,” said Yankees broadcaster (and former Oriole) Ken Singleton. “To a man, the Orioles refused to muster even feigned support for Benitez,” wrote Sports Illustrated’s Tom Verducci. “The action of ‘I’ll hurt you if I can’t beat you’ totally misrepresents the Baltimore Orioles’ tradition of good play and sportsmanship,” said manager Ray Miller in apologizing to the Yankees. Benitez drew an eight-game suspension while Strawberry and Lloyd (three games) and Mills and Nelson (two games) received suspensions as well. The Yankees went on to win 114 regular season games and the World Series while the Orioles were swept by the Yankees en route to a nine-game losing streak. They haven’t had a winning season since. —Jay Jaffe

[Photo Credit: N.Y. Daily News]

Mariano Rivera entered a tie game in the ninth and fell behind the first four batters he faced. Alberto Callaspo started 2-0 and ended up with jam-shot liner into shallow right. Erick Aybar bunted a 1-0 pitch and Rivera made a beautiful spin and throw to nail Callaspo at second. Howie Kendrick started 1-0, but then fell behind as Aybar swiped second. Kendrick grounded out. Rivera was almost out of trouble, but he fell behind 2-0 to Bobby Abreu and evenutally sat a 3-1 pitch towards the middle of the plate. Abreu smacked it over the right field fence for a two-run homer.

If you look at Gameday, almost every one of Mariano’s pitches nipped the corner of the zone. But the ump wasn’t giving him the edges. Close calls, could be balls, but lately Mariano has been enjoying the “legend zone” and gets a lot of strikes even off the corners. It was the difference tonight as he finally threw a very hittable pitch and Abreu got all of it.

The Yanks went into the ninth against rookie Jordan Walden, a real flamethrower. I got a chance to see him live in Dodger Stadium where his stuff was overpowering even viewed from the upper deck. But he was all over the park. It was much the same story tonight. I don’t know if could have thrown enough strikes to get three outs on his own before walking in two runs. But Brett Gardner gave him an out swinging at ball four in the opposite batters’ box. At least he had two strikes when he swung. Curtis Granderson swung at two borderline balls while ahead in the count. Even if they were strikes, they were 98, low and away. What did expect to do with that pitch? His weak grounder was almost a double play.

Granderson wasn’t done giving outs away though. With Teixeira up representing the winning run, Granderson was caught stealing by the old fake-to-third move. He was trying to get into scoring position. But with Teixeira batting lefty, what are the chances of a single? It’s short-porch city or die trying. It was the third time Walden employed the fake-to-third move in the at-bat – I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before. Terrible end to a terrible night as the Angels won 6-4.

And look at that, Walden got just about every close call according to Gameday and a few that were really bad. With Teixeira sitting 1-1, Walden fired well outside and the ump saw it a strike. That put Teixeira down to his last strike and possibly triggered Granderson’s try for second. Mariano threw two clear balls in the inning and got the squeeze. Walden threw several pitches Nuke LaLoosh would be ashamed of and was given the black and beyond.

Before the flood in the ninth, A.J. Burnett had a start seemingly designed to enrage Yankee fans everywhere. I believe we can handle him getting ripped early. I believe we can handle him getting nicked here and there in what adds up to a bad start. But what we can’t handle is five innings of control, confidence and precision followed by a sixth of complete pus. Asking A.J. Burnett to intentionally walk someone in the midst of an inning like that is like asking a broken stock trader standing on the window ledge if he can repay the $10 you gave him for lunch yesterday.

A.J.’s collapse, Abreu’s homer and the silly ending buried the sweet Yankee rally in the seventh. Dan Haren had been cruising through the game and was two outs deep in the seventh when the Yankees put together three runs, the last two coming courtesy of a Derek Jeter single off reliever Fernando Rodney.

Haren’s line looks much the same as Burnett’s tonight, but that didn’t stop me from feeling my usual pang of regret every time I see him pitch. Of all the top pitchers the Yanks have been linked to lately, I thought his reported price tag was the most reasonable. I would have been thrilled to make that deal at the time, and knowing now that the Yankee organization had decided Joba was a middle-reliever by the end of 2009, it hurts even more.

The Yankees were in first place days ago, and I’m already back to checking the Wild Card standings. Thanks to tonight’s victory, the Angels are now only six games behind. If the Yanks can bounce back and take the series, or even just a game, it won’t be so bad. But if they get swept, I’m going to write some poorly reasoned shit on Thursday.

The Yanks return to New York from Boston licking their wounds. Still, they’ve been playing well and here’s hoping that continues against those lousy Angels.

Lots of rain here in New York so there’s no telling if they’ll get this one in. But if they do, we’ll do the rootin’:

Let’s Go Yank-ees.

There’s No Place Like Here: Brazenhead Books from Etsy on Vimeo.

A secret Treasure via the Etsy Blog.

Here’s another vintage bonus piece by our man Pete Dexter. This one appeared in the October 31, 1981 edition of Inside Sports.

If This is Wednesday, It Must Be Toozday

By Pete Dexter

At three in the morning, coming east across the Bay Bridge in a limousine the size of a cattle truck, a quiet falls over the back seat. It is the last day before John Matuszak goes to Santa Rosa for training camp. More to the point, it is Wednesday. There are three of us in the back—John and me and Donna, the girl he cares for above all others—and suddenly, as if by unspoken agreement, it is time for some quiet thinking and assessment.

We have run out of flaming arrows—matches, Southern Comfort, shot glasses. “Jeez, that’s too bad,” the driver says. He doesn’t sound like it’s too bad.

I’m not the first person to wonder what John Matuszak was thinking. Since he came into the National Football League as the first draft pick of 1973—ahead of people like Bert Jones and John Hannah—that question has been on a lot of minds at one time or another.

Matuszak went to Houston in that draft, then to the World Football League, where he played one series of downs before he was handed an injunction returning him to the NFL, then to Kansas City. He was traded from there to Washington where George Allen, whose idea of temptation is a quart of ice cream, cut him in two weeks. Matuszak was on the way to the Canadian Football League when Al Davis flew out from Oakland and offered him a chance to play for the Raiders in 1976.

He has been there since. “It’s the only place I could play,” he said once. “I know my reputation around the league.” The reputation, briefly, is that he still belongs in the straitjacket they used on him when he overdosed on depressants and alcohol in Kansas City. The truth, though, unless you happen to look at it from a very tight-ass point of view, say, that of most of the coaches in the National Football League, is that while Matuszak has had his share of scrapes, most of them can be put down to growing pains. That and things found hidden in his automobiles. A machete, a .44 magnum, a little dope.

Anyway, all that was before he mellowed….

Milwaukee

Sometimes you go in and it’s like you’re Edward R. Murrow. You let go of the doorbell and hear the footsteps. You feel it coming and there’s no place to hide.

The kids are going to be lined up on the couch, youngest to oldest. The little girls will have ribbons in their hair, Skipper the mongrel will be there on the floor and mom will be sitting at the end with an arm around Dale Jr. Trophies over the fireplace and dad is out in the shop, finishing up some woodwork. Why don’t we go see how he’s doing?

You wait at the door, dead certain that unless a sociable way to pass a quart of 151 up and down that couch presents itself, you’re doomed.

But the door opens and it’s Audrey Matuszak, still in the skirt she’d worn to work, talking on the phone. Somebody she has never heard of in New York wants to know if she’s big.

She holds the door while I come in. “Big?” she says. “Why, I never thought of it. I’m 6-5 and 265…no, that’s about average in the family….” Some days you’re doomed, some days you’re not.

She says the sweetest goodbye you ever heard and cradles the phone against her ear a minute longer. “I shouldn’t have done that, I suppose,” she says, “but sometimes you wonder about New York, don’t you?”

“Yes ma’am, you do.” She smiles and gets me a beer out of the refrigerator. There is an autographed picture of her son on the door. BEST WISHES TO MOM AND DAD, YOU’RE THE GREATEST. JOHN. It is the only evidence on the main floor of the house that he is different from the other children. The trophies, the movie posters are upstairs in the bedrooms.

“I think you’re going to enjoy John,” she says. “He’s just so much fun to be with. He’s out in back if you want to see what’s he’s doing.”

Picture old Ed now, sitting back in a cloud of Lucky Strike smoke, watching the camera roll through the doorway to the backyard where John Matuszak, massive and naked except for bikini swimwear, is sitting on an old blanket, tearing the big toenail off his right foot.

He holds it up to the sun, checking both sides.

He looks at the nail, then at the toe. “Toes are tender,” he says.

I take a look at the toenail, then give it back. “That looks like it was a real nice one.”

He nods. “It’s been getting on my nerves, though.”

Matuszak puts the nail next to him on the blanket and leans back to find a new station on the portable radio. “I’ve been on a hot streak,” he says. “It’s hard to explain. I was driving into town Wednesday and suddenly I said ‘Blue Suede Shoes,’ and half a minute later that’s what they played. The same thing happened with ‘Déjà Vu.’ Yeah, that’s a song. You know what I mean, when you’re just tuned with things?”

I think that over. “I always know it just before a dog bites me.”

At the work “dog,” he looks around to make sure his mother is gone. He lowers his voice and points to a pile of freshly turned dirt over by the garden. “They just buried Skipper,” he says. “It really broke them up, they’d had him for years.”

I swear. Skipper. A hot streak of my own. The radio cracks and suddenly Brenda Lee is singing “All Alone Am I.” Matuszak closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “Look at me,” he says, pointing to his arm and shoulder. “Goose bumps. Brenda Lee, 1962. That’s what music does to me. I couldn’t live without music.”

He sings along with Brenda. He tests the toe. He reasons with it. “Well, there’s always a hump out there you’ve got to get over, right?”

The hump is an asphalt hill on the other side of the two-lane highway that runs in front of his parents’ house. The hill angles like a swan’s beak about a quarter of a mile down, then flattens into a dirt road and disappears into a railroad tunnel. The radio has just said it is three o’clock and 105° at Gen. Billy Mitchell airport. The heat off the asphalt makes the tunnel seem to float.

The Tooz is wearing sweat pants now, two plastic jackets, a towel around his neck and a wool stocking cap with the insignia of the Oakland Raiders pulled down over his ears.

“Just sit over there on the fence, stud, and I’ll be right back.” He jogs down the hill, getting smaller and smaller, his body waving in the heat until, at the bottom, he could almost be of this earth. He comes back up, spitting and pounding, growing like a bad dream.

At the top he walks it off, blowing his nose.

He will run the hill three more times before he quits, each time coming up harder than the time before. He is big, even for a pro football player—6-8, 300 pounds and none of it is fat—but you don’t really feel it until you see him tired, and he can feel it, too. Walking back to the house he says, “Well, I kicked the hill’s ass today.”

(more…)

Jorge Posada was benched in Boston Sunday night. The motion led to speculation about Posada’s future; Monday it was confirmed. The benching wasn’t a one-off. It’s indefinite.

Jorge Posada, NYY, 1995-2011?

The media are treating the news as if it’s Posada’s baseball obituary. It very well may be. Joel Sherman wrote that if he were not Jorge Posada “he would be treated like Jack Cust and Lyle Overbay.” Wally Matthews echoed that sentiment, writing that “the Yankees stuck with him far longer than they probably would have had his name been something other than Jorge Posada, simply out of respect for his legacy with the team.” In that same article, Matthews noted how the incident in May affected his relationship with his teammates. Girardi, if you remember, slotted the struggling Posada ninth in the order — also, coincidentally, in a series against the Red Sox — and Posada later pulled himself from the game with a bruised ego. At the Pinstriped Bible, friend to the Banter Steven Goldman writes that if the Yankees are strong in their conviction that he can’t help them win, then they should just let him move on.

Dave Rothenberg, filling in for Stephen A. Smith on 1050, said he still believes Posada has something left. Maybe he does, but the Yankees gave him four months to work it out, to adjust to being a designated hitter. They weren’t going to do what the Red Sox are doing with Jason Varitek — giving him one or two days behind the plate per week and figuring whatever offense he contributes is gravy. The Yankees knew they couldn’t sustain the defensive liability having him catch even one game would bring. The next best option: DH. In that, the Yankees sought the same — or at least similar — level of production he provided last year or in 2009. But it wasn’t there. I discussed the toll not being an everyday catcher has taken on Posada’s pride in May:

Posada has looked lost. A player suffering through an identity crisis. Having had to make an abrupt switch from catching 130 games a year to being the team’s full-time designated hitter, Posada has not adjusted well.

And he never did adjust. At least, not fully. Posada was able to get his average up to .230 before Girardi called him into his office to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he’s done. Give Girardi credit: he didn’t continue to dangle Posada out there out of loyalty in the way that Joe Torre used to with Bernie Williams when his defense was declining as early as 2002. And they’re not ignoring Posada the way they did Williams in the 2006-2007 offseason. Girardi was not afraid to have the tough conversation. That’s the sign of a good manager. His job is to win game; if he doesn’t believe Posada gives him a good enough chance to win, then he shouldn’t be in the lineup. (Random aside: let’s see if Girardi does this with AJ Burnett in six weeks. Just sayin’ …) With all the undertones of their relationship as teammates when Girardi was the aging veteran and Posada the up-and-comer, of course this situation was bound to be a soap opera at some point.

Posada was the last person to realize that his skills were diminished. He wasn’t lucky enough to enjoy a renaissance in the way that his best friend, Derek Jeter, has in the past month. The anger and — depending on your perception, petulance — of Posada’s tone in May has turned to resignation.

Posada was a good soldier for a long time. Now, being a good soldier means being a disgruntled cheerleader. That is, until, or unless, the Yankees let him work his way back into the lineup.

[Photo Credit: N.J.com]

Gone to Grandma’s. That’s what they used to hang on the logo of the legendary Blackie Sherrod’s column while he was on vacation. Our esteemed pal Mr. Schulian is on vacation this week. Have no fear, though, “From Ali to Xena” will be back next week. In the meantime, dig the archives.

Over at ESPN the Magazine, Jon Mooallem has a piece on the history and mystery of the high five:

When I first phoned Lamont Sleets this spring, I knew only the following: He is a middle-aged man living in the small town of Eminence, Ky.; he played college basketball for Murray State University between 1979 and 1984; and he reportedly created one of the most contagious, transcendently ecstatic gestures in sports — and maybe, for that matter, American life.

I was calling Sleets because I wanted to talk to the man who invented the high five. I’d first read about him in 2007 in a press release from National High Five Day, a group that was trying to establish a holiday for convivial palm-slapping on the third Thursday in April. Apparently, Sleets had been reluctantly put in touch with the holiday’s founders, and he explained that his father, Lamont Sleets Sr., served in Vietnam in the 1st Battalion, 5th Infantry — a unit nicknamed The Five. The men of The Five often gathered at the Sleets home when Lamont Jr. was a toddler. They’d blow through the front door doing their signature greeting: arm straight up, five fingers spread, grunting “Five.” Lamont Jr. loved to jump up and slap his tiny palms against their larger ones. “Hi, Five!” he’d yell, unable to keep all their names straight. Years later, Sleets started high-fiving his Murray State teammates, and when the Racers played away games, other teams followed. In short, Lamont Sleets was both the inventor of the high five and its Johnny Appleseed.

The low five had been a fixture of African-American culture since at least World War II. It might seem impossible to pinpoint when the low five ratcheted itself upright and evolved into the high five, but there are countless creation myths in circulation. Magic Johnson once suggested that he invented the high five at Michigan State. Others trace it to the women’s volleyball circuit in the 1960s. But the Sleets story quickly shot around the Internet and into local newspapers, displacing, or at least undermining, all other claims. Sleets was budging his way atop the high-five hierarchy.

I love the low five. Still slap people five all the time. It is so satisfying, especially when your palms cup just right and it makes that good popping sound. It’s like hitting a ball on the sweet spot.

The end, well, it usually ain’t pretty.

From Joel Sherman:

Girardi met with Posada to tell him he was “going with his best lineups,” which after all of these years meant ones without Posada.

…For now, the Yankees are holding off on summoning Jesus Montero. He is hot at Triple-A (.333 with seven extra-base hits in his past 13 games). However, there remains infighting among Yankees decision-makers if it is the wrong message to promote Montero when he has not dominated Triple-A and at times projects indifference about being there. Nevertheless, if the new DH structure does not work, Montero will be called up; yet another sign the Yankees are in a DH phase of anyone but Posada.

“I’m not happy about it,” Posada said. “But right now I can’t do anything about it.”

In reality, if he were not Jorge Posada he would be treated like Jack Cust and Lyle Overbay, two veterans with somewhat similar numbers to Posada who were released recently by the Mariners and Pirates, respectively. Instead, the Yankees will keep Posada on the 25-man roster in a nebulous role that could include pinch-hitting or an occasional DH start or maybe a game at first.

Bummer for Posada. Truth hurts.

[Photo Credit: Nisa Yeh]