Peace to Brad for hipping me to this on-line collection of William Gottlieb’s photography. It’s wonderful.

Man, imagine going back in time to witness 52nd street during its heyday?

Is Carl Crawford’s time in Tampa close to being over? Ben Shpigel reports in the Times:

…With every game this month and next, the clock also ticks louder toward Crawford’s free agency — and his likely departure from the only organization he has ever known. It is the perpetual challenge for small-market teams like the Rays: how to prevent a homegrown star from bolting for a big payday.

The Rays’ payroll has steadily increased over the last four years, to roughly $71 million from about $24 million in 2007, but their principal owner, Stuart Sternberg, said in spring training that it would plunge below $60 million for 2011. Even with the money they receive in revenue sharing, team revenue has not increased in lock step with the Rays’ success. Devoting what could be a quarter of their budget to one player would run counter to their operating philosophy.

“We could sign just about any player in baseball,” said Andrew Friedman, the Rays’ general manager. “The issue is whether we could field a competitive team around that player. Our job is to balance that. We certainly can’t win a bidding contest for any top player. It’s kind of Math 101 when you look at our resources relative to most every team in the game.”

I once saw the actor Kevin McCarthy, Mary’s brother, walk out of my grandparent’s apartment building. I felt happy to see him, a recognizable face from so many forgettable movies. He was tall and elegant and though I didn’t say anything to him, I felt better just being near him for a minute.

He died on Saturday, 96 years old. R.I.P.

Dude, I couldn’t stay awake last night, missed the end of the game. When I woke up and saw the box score, I was like this:

Now, since I didn’t actually stay up late for the second night in a row to see Mariano lose that Texas Horror Show, I’m trying to remain hopeful. Yeah, even though Cliff Lee pitches today for the Rangers. This is Lee’s first game back from the DL and he hasn’t been his usual dominant self since joining Texas. I could see him shutting the Yanks out for seven innings but I could also see the Yanks touching him up some too. Maybe Derek Jeter has a great game.

It’s all up to that Mystery Man Moseley:

C’mon, son, make like Aaron Small and shut-shut ’em down.

Never mind the hankies, Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

The Yanks have been branded so far this weekend in Texas, a weekend to forget:

Saturday Morning Melodies…

Bronco Buster, By Frederic Remington

Is Joaquin Phoniex a put-on artist? Manohla Dargis reviews “I’m Still Here”:

For a twitchy, perversely funny stretch, he mumbled and fidgeted, softly, often monosyllabically, responding as Mr. Letterman’s formulaic jive grew testy. “What can you tell us about your days with the Unabomber?” Mr. Letterman asked at one point. Mr. Phoenix looked down while the audience roared at a joke few seemed to grasp.

More than a year later the joke continues, sputters, occasionally hits its target and finally wears out its welcome in “I’m Still Here,” a deadpan satire or a deeply sincere folly (my money is on the first option) about Mr. Phoenix’s recent roles as an acting dropout and would-be hip-hop artist. Directed by Casey Affleck (who’s married to Mr. Phoenix’s sister Summer), the movie, which is being unpersuasively sold as a documentary, is a gloss on the mutually parasitic worlds of celebritydom and the entertainment media. Those are worlds Mr. Phoenix knows well, having fed the beast since his breakout role as Nicole Kidman’s poignantly thickheaded lover in “To Die For,” Gus Van Sant’s 1995 comedy about the tragedy of fame.

“I’m Still Here” isn’t as merciless as “To Die For,” which was etched in acid by the screenwriter Buck Henry. Mr. Affleck and Mr. Phoenix have been involved in the movie business long enough to be disgusted (or maybe just irked) by it, but they don’t appear to have surrendered to cynicism. Whatever else their movie is, and whatever their actual intentions, “I’m Still Here” does take on, at times forcefully and effectively, the pathological fallout of the Entertainment Industrial Complex. Much of the movie involves Mr. Phoenix’s having, or more likely pantomiming, a meltdown, for which he puts on a really good show. (He snorts white powder, hires a hooker, abuses his assistants.) But the programmatic nature of his antics strongly suggests that he is self-consciously playing a role in a narrative, one that isn’t simply about him.

Andy Pettitte pitched for the Trenton Thunder last night and the reports are good.

Here’s the TV theme song of the night. Remember this short-lived Dabney Coleman vehicle? Played a sports writer? Wish they had it on DVD, man.

Lady Agnew of Lochnaw (1892-3),  By John Singer Sargent

Detail:

Check out our old pal Joe Sheehan on the Triple Crown:

“Triple Crown” is one of those phrases that has an tinge of antiquity to it, like the word “mitt” or referring to “base ball” or the mythical creature called the “doubleheader”. Leading the league in the traditional “big three” categories of batting average, home runs and RBI just isn’t done any longer. No baseball fan under 50 has a memory of seeing a Triple Crown, the last being achieved by Carl Yastrzemski in 1967. For three players — Joey Votto, Albert Pujols and Carlos Gonzalez — to be making a run at the Crown is highly unusual.

To some, the lack of Triple Crown winners in modern baseball is, like the lack of complete games or the decline in contact hitting, a sign that today’s players lack skills that their forefathers did. As with those issues and a host of others, the reasons have more to do with evolution and math than they do any change in the character of baseball players. It’s harder to lead the league in three categories now because it’s harder to lead the league in any one category now. The baseball Triple Crown went from an achievement that happened now and again to a rarity the minute baseball expanded past eight teams per league. The table at right shows the relationship of league size to Triple Crown winners.

There’s a fun post up at Serious Eats on Desert-Island Pantry Staples. I’ll go with a good bottle of olive oil and a good bottle of wine vinegar, Maldon salt and Sriracha, Tazo Awake tea and a jar of red current jelly for starters. What you got?

No, it’s not the theme song to Not Necessarily the News, it’s EC y’all:

I covered the last game at the old Yankee Stadium for SI. Spent almost the entire time trailing Ray Negron, who at one point, gave a two-hour private tour of the place to a party of four headlined by Richard Gere. The filmmaker Barbara Kopple was part of the media swarm and she followed Ray and his group with her camera crew, hoping to get some footage of Gere. For his part, Gere was gracious and allowed her to film him some.

Well, Kopple’s ESPN documentary will air soon but it seems that Yankee president Randy Levine doesn’t much care for it. Which means, it might be pretty good, after all.

That cool, refreshing drink.

From the cool blog, Former Chef.

There’s a new book about ol’ Bob out.

From Mario Batali and his partner, Joe Bastianich, comes Eataly, a huge-new Italian Market down on 23rd street. It opened last week. My aunt and uncle went down on Friday. She sent me this e-mail after they arrived: “It looks good, maybe, but you’ve never seen so many people in your life; worse than Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Judgment reserved. Off to eat somewhere else.”

Teacher’s Pet.

Anyone who watches movies knows that high school can be hell, especially on the teachers. Ask Michelle Pfieffer or Jim Belushi. One high school melodrama that I remember from my childhood is a Nick Nolte-Ralph Macchio movie called Teachers. It wasn’t very good but it featured Laura Dern who I had a crush on for years—loved all that pent up neurosis. It also co-starred Joebeth Williams who I also had a more private crush on at the time. She was never at the top of my list, she wasn’t like Pfieffer, my major 80’s crush, but she always turned me on. In the Big Chill, in this one. Anything she did.

Loved it when she flared her nostrils and got all righteous.