Earlier in the week, ESPN’s Rob Neyer caused a bit of a stir when he wrote this assessment of the Yankees’ possible switch of new acquisition Curtis Granderson from center field to left field.

My guess is that they’ll stick with Granderson in center field for practical reasons. The Yankees can always move him to left field. But once there, it might be problematic to return him to center if, say, they signed a new left fielder next winter. It’s pretty obvious that the organization doesn’t care about defense. That’s why they’ve got all those high-strikeout pitchers. They can carry Granderson’s decent glove in center for at least one season and probably more.

I’m a fan of Rob’s writing, particularly his books on baseball blunders and great dynasties, but he’s way, way off when he says the Yankee organization “doesn‘t care about defense.” There is little evidence of the Yankees’ being indifferent to fielding issues. One of Brian Cashman’s biggest concerns after the 2008 season–and he stated this publicly on at least one occasion–was the team’s declining defense. That sentiment was a huge factor in letting both Jason Giambi and Bobby Abreu, two of their weakest links in the field, depart as free agents without so much as qualifying offers. The Yankees replaced both players with superior defenders in Mark Teixeira at first and Nick Swisher and Xavier Nady in right field. Faced with similar concerns about their double play combination of Robinson Cano and Derek Jeter, the Yankees assigned both to work extensively with new coach Mick Kelleher last spring. Both players emerged as improved defenders in 2009. And then there is the more recent decision not to bring back Johnny Damon. Damon’s defensive foibles (along with his age) factored into Cashman’s decision not to budge from making a two-year offer worth $14 million. In replacing Damon, the Yankees are calling upon Brett “The Jet” Gardner, whose prime attribute is his speed and range in the outfield. Does this sound like the working plan of a general manager that doesn’t care about defense? I don’t think so.

Yes, the Yankees do care about their defense. It’s just that they don’t place as high a priority on defense as teams like the Mariners, A’s, and Red Sox do. (And one could argue that those teams are placing way too much emphasis on defense, at the expense of fielding subpar batting orders.) The Yankees won the World Series last year with a solid but unspectacular defense playing behind a high-strikeout pitching staff. On the whole, the Yankees didn’t display much range, and they didn’t make many highlight reel plays, but they turned in routine plays consistently, made few tangible errors, and executed the fundamentals of hitting the cutoff man and throwing to the right base. That’s what solid defense is about: making the routine plays time and time again. The Yankees care about defense enough to execute that part of the game very well…

***

If you’re a Yankee fan–and you likely are if you follow the Banter–Adeinis Hechavarria is a name you need to know. Some people believe he will be the player who succeeds Derek Jeter at shortstop, perhaps in the year 2012 or 2013, assuming that Jeter moves to another position, or flat-out retires. Hechavarria is a Cuban defector who fled the grip of Fidel Castro for the relative freedom of Mexico last summer. Although major league clubs are not yet permitted to sign Hechavarria, that permission will likely come in the next few months. Once that happens, the Yankees will officially become the favorites to sign the shortstop, who is either 19 or 21 years old, depending on the source.

So what kind of a player is Hechavarria? According to the scouting reports I’ve found, Hechavarria offers a combination of blazing speed and plus power, with the ability to take the ball to right field. In the field, he has good range, quick feet, and soft hands, but his throwing mechanics need work. Having already scouted Hechavarria on numerous occasions, the Yankees like what they see in the athletic shortstop, who stands six feet tall and weighs 170 pounds. Some talent evaluators foresee him being moved to center field in the future, ala the Rays’ B.J. Upton, but the Yankees seem to think he can handle shortstop for at least a few years. By then, we should all have a better idea of how to pronounce his name; I am from Latino ancestry and have little idea how to say it. For now, we can at least practice how to spell it…

***

Finally, a non-Yankee note. Former big league right-hander Jim Bibby passed away earlier this week at the age of 65, a victim of a long battle with cancer. I was saddened to hear the news, particularly because I remember Bibby very well, especially from his days with the Pirates. An enormous right-hander who stood six feet, five inches and weighed nearly 250 pounds, Bibby was an important part of the Bucs’ 1979 world championship team, a valuable pitcher who could star or relieve with equal effectiveness. Blessed with a power fastball, Bibby was also well known for pitching a 13-strikeout no-hitter for the Rangers in 1974 and for being the older brother of Henry Bibby, a very good shooting guard for the Philadelphia 76ers during the Julius Erving-Maurice Cheeks era.

After a few moments, my sadness gave way to a smile in recollecting Bibby. That’s because he was one of the most interesting subjects of the one of the funniest baseball books ever written, Seasons in Hell, by Mike Shrospshire. A lot of the Bibby material is X-rated and therefore not appropriate to my PG writing style, but some can be revealed here. First off, Bibby used to sweat like no other ballplayer I’ve seen. On hot, humid days, he would look like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News, the perspiration pouring down his face and arms like Yosemite Falls. Furthermore, Bibby used to go by the “stage name” of “Fontay O’Rooney” during Rangers road trips. Now I’m not sure why he needed a stage name–was he performing in Vaudeville or doing one-man shows on the road?–and I have no idea why he selected the odd moniker of Fontay O’Rooney as his alter ego. Is it an anagram for something else? No one really seems to know. Whatever the case, it was an indication of Bibby’s colorful, offbeat character.

By all accounts, Bibby was a good man, too. A veteran of two years in the Vietnam War, Bibby’s intimidating physical appearance belied his friendly nature. He was outgoing and funny, and so popular as a minor league pitching coach that the Lynchburg Hillcats held a bobblehead night in his honor.

Farewell, Fontay O’Rooney. You will be missed.

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

Ben Shpigel, who I assume is now covering the Yankees beat for the New York Times (he had been on the Mets beat previously), has a piece today on prospect Andrew Brackman. I met Shpigel at Citifield last year and mistook him for another Times reporter, Michael Schmidt, but didn’t realize my gaffe until later. Always felt like a putz about that. Regardless, Shpigel is following Tyler Kepner, who did a great job writing about the Yankees (Kepner is still with the paper as their national baseball writer). I’m looking forward to reading his coverage this season.

Will Lebron James land in New York this summer? It’s not likely but we can still dream. At the very least the Knicks are closer to starting from scratch for the first time in a long time cause this summer they’ll have some…

This is one of my favorite paintings in the world. And it’s at the MET.

Girl Asleep, 1656-7

Original:

Flipped:

The Best Pizza in New York?

According to the Times’ food critic, Sam Sifton, it can be found at Motorino in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

I’m not wild about Sifton as a food critic and I avoid Williamsburg like the plague. However, this could be well worth the trip.

Alex Belth said it perfectly. Spring seems eons away here in New York. Especially since we haven’t seen grass here in two weeks — longer if you live in Pennsylvania and further south in the mid-Atlantic region.

But pitchers and catchers reporting to Spring Training brings vitality to the discussions had in the local media marketplace and here in the blogosphere over the past three months. The Yankees have an unofficial count — if you pay attention to talk radio and are on top of the beat — of three questions:

1) Who will be the fifth starter?

2) Which young gun will be in the bullpen, Joba Chamberlain or Phil Hughes?

3) What will the batting order look like?

Taking these questions individually, the answer to the first questions will likely answer the second. Sunday afternoon, Sweeny Murti and Ed Coleman had Yankees pitching coach Dave Eiland on WFAN and asked him point blank about taking the reins off of Joba, and whether that would give him an edge heading into spring workouts. Eiland said Chamberlain and Hughes are on equal footing in terms of the competition for the fifth starter, along with Chad Gaudin, Sergio Meat-Tray, and Alfredo Aceves.

The most sensible option outside of Chamberlain and Hughes, it seems, based on the numbers, is Gaudin. He didn’t post Aaron Small 2005 numbers by any means, but as Joba insurance, he was serviceable, allowing less than a hit per inning, 7.3 K/9, and a 125 ERA+. Not great, but not bad. Just what you expect from a fifth starter. But when you think of the dropoff from Javier Vazquez to Chad Gaudin, yikes.

Eiland said on Sunday in that WFAN interview that Hughes would be on an innings limit this year, but not with the same level of stringency as Joba Version 2K9. If that’s the case — just speculating here — the ideal situation is to have Joba in the fifth slot and Hughes in the bullpen. This wouldn’t be as difficult a decision if both twentysomethings hadn’t done so much to inspire confidence that either is better suited to be the last piece in the bridge to Mariano Rivera, or even Mo’s heir apparent.

Re: the batting order, there’s a consensus among the pundits on the following spots:

1. Jeter
3. Teixeira
4. A-Rod
5. Posada
6. Cano
8. Swisher
9. Gardner

The issue becomes who bats second: Curtis Granderson or Nick Johnson? And really, it’s a toss-up. Based on Johnson’s on-base percentage (.402 career OBP to Granderson’s .344 career OBP, Johnson has the edge. But despite Granderson’s propensity to strike out, his speed may allow him to see ample time in the two-hole. Granderson has grounded into just 18 double plays in his career, while Johnson grounded into 15 last season alone. Nick Swisher could even slide in, given the number of pitches he sees per at-bat. Robinson Cano and Jorge Posada could flip-flop at 5 and 6.

None of this is news. Given the way the Yankees entered camp last year, when we were discussing the merits of Selena Roberts’ book, Alex Rodriguez’s sincerity, whether CC Sabathia, Mark Teixeira and AJ Burnett had what it takes to thrive in New York, and overall, what it would take for the Yankees to make the playoffs, let alone win a World Series, maybe that’s a good thing. The only off-field issues left to talk about are the contracts of Girardi, Rivera, and Jeter, and those likely won’t be negotiated until after the season. Rivera may retire. But we have eight months to go before that speculation becomes more rampant.

For now, as Girardi said in his 30-minute powwow Wednesday, “It’s nice to be talking about baseball.”

And while we look out the window and see a wall of white with no threat of a thaw, it certainly is.

What is it about Doc Ellis that people find so inspiring? Man, pitch one no-hitter under the influence of L.S.D. and you’re a hero for life.

Dig this cool picture gallery from a blog called Generation Exploitation.

More Vermeer…

Woman Weighing Pearls (Woman Weighing Gold), 1662-64, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

Man, spring seems so far away from New York. But down south and out west, the players have begun to arrive at training camp.  Joe Girardi met with the press this afternoon.

Great Expectations. So, what’s new?

Triple Decker Fun:

Plus:

Plus:

Equals, Such:

I was a picky eater as a kid. As an adult, I’m far more curious and willing to try new things. I’m no food adventurer but I’m not so ascared either. I like most vegetables. I give myself little missions–learn to like brussels sprouts, learn to like fennel. I haven’t gotten to lima beans yet.

I’ve been trying to like radishes for a minute now and I’m just not there. I don’t hate them but I can’t get into them either.  I’ve sliced them paper thin, salted them and made quick pickles. I’ve tried them plain, tossed into salads, and…nothing. A bitter garnish. Not terrible but not inviting. The taste is too strong, too peppery for me. Still, I like the idea of radishes. The crispness, the snap. The color. They look great.  So I keep an eye out for something that’ll turn me around.

I found it in the latest issue of Saveur magazine. 

(more…)

Steve Goldman and the BP crew will be at the Yogi Berra Museum and Learning Center to talk about the upcoming season and the new BP annual on Sunday, February 28th from 3-5 in the afternoon. For more information, call:  (973) 655-6891.

If you are in the neighborhood, stop in and see what the smart guys have to say.

Some sad news to report as former pitcher Jim Bibby passed away last night. I’ll never forget the images of Bibby, an enormous man, pitching in the 1979 Whirled Serious, the first Serious I vividly remember. He just seemed so much bigger than everyone else, including the Cobra and Pops Stargell.

Condolences go out to his family.

[Photo Credit: Sports Illustrated]

Back in December of 2008, I linked to a terrific article that Roger Ebert wrote about his college classmate, William Nack. Ebert lost his lower jaw and the ability to speak four years ago, but he has never stopped writing or watching movies. In the latest issue of Esquire, Ebert is profiled by the talented Chris Jones:

Roger Ebert can’t remember the last thing he ate. He can’t remember the last thing he drank, either, or the last thing he said. Of course, those things existed; those lasts happened. They just didn’t happen with enough warning for him to have bothered committing them to memory — it wasn’t as though he sat down, knowingly, to his last supper or last cup of coffee or to whisper a last word into Chaz’s ear. The doctors told him they were going to give him back his ability to eat, drink, and talk. But the doctors were wrong, weren’t they? On some morning or afternoon or evening, sometime in 2006, Ebert took his last bite and sip, and he spoke his last word.

Ebert’s lasts almost certainly took place in a hospital. That much he can guess. His last food was probably nothing special, except that it was: hot soup in a brown plastic bowl; maybe some oatmeal; perhaps a saltine or some canned peaches. His last drink? Water, most likely, but maybe juice, again slurped out of plastic with the tinfoil lid peeled back. The last thing he said? Ebert thinks about it for a few moments, and then his eyes go wide behind his glasses, and he looks out into space in case the answer is floating in the air somewhere. It isn’t. He looks surprised that he can’t remember. He knows the last words Studs Terkel’s wife, Ida, muttered when she was wheeled into the operating room (“Louis, what have you gotten me into now?”), but Ebert doesn’t know what his own last words were. He thinks he probably said goodbye to Chaz before one of his own trips into the operating room, perhaps when he had parts of his salivary glands taken out — but that can’t be right. He was back on TV after that operation. Whenever it was, the moment wasn’t cinematic. His last words weren’t recorded. There was just his voice, and then there wasn’t.

Now his hands do the talking. They are delicate, long-fingered, wrapped in skin as thin and translucent as silk. He wears his wedding ring on the middle finger of his left hand; he’s lost so much weight since he and Chaz were married in 1992 that it won’t stay where it belongs, especially now that his hands are so busy. There is almost always a pen in one and a spiral notebook or a pad of Post-it notes in the other — unless he’s at home, in which case his fingers are feverishly banging the keys of his MacBook Pro.

He’s also developed a kind of rudimentary sign language. If he passes a written note to someone and then opens and closes his fingers like a bird’s beak, that means he would like them to read the note aloud for the other people in the room. If he touches his hand to his blue cardigan over his heart, that means he’s either talking about something of great importance to him or he wants to make it clear that he’s telling the truth. If he needs to get someone’s attention and they’re looking away from him or sitting with him in the dark, he’ll clack on a hard surface with his nails, like he’s tapping out Morse code. Sometimes — when he’s outside wearing gloves, for instance — he’ll be forced to draw letters with his finger on his palm. That’s his last resort.

While you are at it, dig this piece by Ebert on food–Nil by mouth:

I mentioned that I can no longer eat or drink. A reader wrote: “That sounds so sad. Do you miss it?” Not so much really. Not anymore. Understand that I was never told that after surgery I might lose the ability to eat, drink and speak. Eating and drinking were not mentioned, and it was said that after surgery I might actually be able to go back to work on television.

Success in such surgery is not unheard of. It didn’t happen that way. The second surgery was also intended to restore my speaking ability. It seemed to hold together for awhile, but then, in surgeon-speak, also “fell apart.”

A third surgery was attempted, using a different approach. It seemed to work, and in a mirror I saw myself looking familiar again. But after a little more than a week, that surgery failed, too. Blood vessels intended to attach the transplanted tissue lost function, probably because they had been weakened by radiation. A fourth surgery has been proposed, but I flatly reject the idea. To paraphrase a line from “Adaptation’s” orchid collector: “Done with surgery.”

During that whole period I was Nil by Mouth. Nobody said as much in so many words, but it gradually became clear that it wouldn’t ever be right again. There wasn’t some soul-dropping moment for that realization. It just…developed. I never felt hungry, I never felt thirsty, I wasn’t angry because the doctors had done their best. But I went through a period of obsession about food and drink. I came up with the crazy idea of getting some Coke through my g-tube. My doctors said, sure, a little, why not? For once the sugar and a little sodium wouldn’t hurt.

[Photo Credit: Ethan Hill]

Brian Cashman is intereviewed over at No Maas today. Some good stuff in there, including this:

No Maas: During the offseason you stated that you wanted a right-handed OF on the bench to hit LHP, which is understandable considering Granderson’s track record versus lefties and that Brett Gardner is not yet proven. We advocated for Reed Johnson who is better against left-handed pitching than both Randy Winn and Marcus Thames. Why did you move in another direction?

CASH: We looked at Reed Johnson quite a bit. He’s a tremendous player. He smashes left-handed pitching. But he has had health issues.

This is how I looked at it. I just traded Melky Cabrera, I just traded Austin Jackson, I don’t have much outfield depth in the farm system…so my 4th outfielder has to have a history of playing full seasons. I need an everyday guy. My outfield depth is an area of weakness. I need someone my manager can turn to.

Randy Winn didn’t hit left-handed pitching this past season, but he has in previous seasons. He can play all the all the outfield positions, he can pinch hit, pinch run, steal a base for you….he gives you better coverage for our lack of outfield depth.

Reed Johnson plays like Brett Gardner. He plays hard. He plays really hard. He has make up. He has tenacity. Everything I want. He gets after it extremely hard, but I can’t afford any health issues with our lack of depth.

I really wrestled with some of these decisions, more so on the smaller ones than the bigger ones. But I have to give my manager more coverage. If someone gets hurt, I’ll be happy we have Randy Winn there.

Nice job by John Kreese. Kudos to No Maas for a good get.

“Can you feel it? I’m feelin’ it.”–Steve Martin

Hot Dog. Pitchers and catchers report tomorrow.

Like the way that sounds…love those natural baseball sounds. Look alive, here we go.

Okay, why not make it a week of Vermeers? You can’t go wrong with Vermeer, man.

Officer and Laughing Girl (1655-60), The Frick Collection

Mr. Wang Goes to Washington.

It was the middle of the afternoon when my mom called and said that she had scored two tickets for the game that night. It was Game One of the 1995 ALDS. Did I want them?

“Ma, what do you think?”

She offered to drive into the City to deliver them so I could take a friend. I said, “Why don’t we just meet at the bat and go together?”

Mom had taken me to games as a kid–for birthday parties and special occasions–so while she wasn’t the biggest fan in the world, I didn’t see any reason for her to drive all the way to New York and not see the game herself. It was the first time the Yanks had been in the playoffs since 1981, after all.

We sat way up in the left field bleachers, miles in the sky. The climb to those seats was scary, especially if you have a fear of heights. And it didn’t get any safer once the place started shaking with cheering and clapping. The Yankees won that night, Don Mattingly’s first playoff game. They won the following night too and we all know what happened in Seattle.

I was living in Brooklyn at the time and didn’t have a TV. So I listened to the rest of the Series on the radio. The last game was so tense, I turned out all the lights in my room and kept the volume low and crawled under the covers. The pain didn’t last too long as the Yanks won the Whirled Serious the following year, but a terrific, if short-lived, rivalry with the Mariners was born.

The ’95 Series is the subject of a new book by Chris Donnelly. For those of you brave enough to revisit that bittersweet moment in Yankee history, check, check it out.