The Yanks have the pitching match-ups in their favor this weekend, so why do I keep thinking that thick-necked Brad Penny will throw a good game tomorrow night? Maybe I’ve just got sore feelings left over from the 2003 World Serious. Or maybe I just like to worry. Man, so long as the Yankees don’t get swept, I’ll be straight.
As Tyler Kepner notes, the Yankees still have something to prove in Boston.
Something Wild is not only one of my favorite ’80s movies but one of my favorites, period. It’s Jonathan Demme at his peak, and the stars–Melanie Griffith, Jeff Daniels and Ray Liotta–have rarely been better.
Here’s Pauline Kael’s blurb from The New Yorker:
Jonathan Demme’s romantic screwball comedy isn’t just about a carefree kook (Melanie Griffith) and a pompous man from Wall Street (Jeff Daniels). The script–a first by E. Max Frye–is like the working out of a young man’s fantasy of the pleasures and punishments of shucking off middle-class behavior patterns. The movie is about getting high on anarchic, larcenous behavior and then being confronted with ruthless, sadistic criminality. This rough-edged comedy turns into a scary slapstick thriller. Demme weaves the stylization of rock videos into the fabric of the movie.
Starting with David Byrne and Celia Cruz singing Byrne’s “Loco De Amor” during the opening credits, and ending with a reprise of Chip Taylor’s “Wild Thing” by the reggae singer Sister Carol East, who appears on half of the screen while the final credits roll on the other half, there are almost 50 songs (or parts of songs), several of them performed onscreen by The Feelies. The score–it was put together by John Cale and Laurie Anderson–has a life of its own that gives the movie a buzzing vitality. This is a party movie with both a dark and a light side. With Ray Liotta as the dangerous, menacing Ray; Dana Preu as the kook’s gloriously bland mother; and Margaret Colin as bitchy Irene. Also with Jack Gilpin, Su Tissue, and Demme’s co-producer Kenneth Utt, and, tucked among the many performers, John Waters and John Sayles. Cinematography by Tak Fujimoto.
I love watching Derek Jeter play baseball but reading about him has become a chore. It’s exhausting: He’s the best hitting shortstop ever, he’s the worst fielding shortstop ever. He’s overrated. Nah, nah, says Joe Pos, this season Jeter might be underrated (as Diane noted earlier).
Jeter is many things to many people. Remember that bumper crop of shortstops he came up with the mid-late ’90s? Jeter is still at it, still productive. One thing is for sure: he’s a first-ballot Hall of Famer. And he’s ours.
I’m just trying to find the bridge. Has anybody seen the bridge?*
by Hank Waddles
Chad Gaudin made his debut start for the Yanks on Wednesday night and held the Athletics to no runs and a hit over four and a third innings, which sounds a lot better than it was. The problem was that he also walked five batters and hit another, which led to a series of uncomfortable innings and eventually cost him a shot at his first Yankee win. Gaudin’s stuff was good enough, as evidenced by his five strikeouts, but his demise came in the fifth inning when he followed a dubious Robby Canó error with his fifth walk, loading the bases and bringing Girardi out to ask for the ball. Gaudin left with a three nothing lead but two outs shy of the necessary five innings. Alfredo Aceves came in and induced Kurt Suzuki to bounce back to the mound for a snappy 1-2-3 double play, and the threat was over.
All three Yankee runs came courtesy of Mark Teixeira. He brought Jeter in with a ground ball to third in the first and then hit a monstrous two-run blast to left off A’s rookie Brett Anderson in the fourth. But as Cliff has been telling us, the Yankees’ true MVP candidate is Jeter. He picked up two more singles on the night, and has been raking at an insane .550 clip (22 for 40) over the past ten games. An interesting thing to watch in the Boston series will be whether or not he’ll pick up any free passes. The Captain hasn’t seen ball four since July 28th, a span of close to a hundred at bats.
But back to Aceves. After putting out Gaudin’s fire in the fourth, Ace struggled for the second straight outing. He gave up one run in the sixth on a Jake Cust homerun that floated over the wall in left center, then gave up three straight singles in the seventh for another as the A’s narrowed the margin to 3-2. From there it was about finding the bridge to Mariano, as Bob Lorenz is so fond of telling us. Phil Coke got the last out in the seventh, Phil Hughes took care of the eighth, and Rivera locked down his career-best 32nd straight save with just seven pitches in the ninth. Ball game.
With that the Yankees took the series, their ninth series win of ten since the all-star break, which isn’t bad. And if we go all the way back to that fateful night in Atlanta when Girardi got tossed and Cashman paid them a visit, the Bombers have won 38 of their last 51 games, good for a .745 winning percentage. Again, not bad.
Now all they need to do is keep the motor running as they head into Boston. Even though the objects in the mirror are larger than they appear, this is a team that’s picking up speed at just the right time.
* Eh, I’m not wild about that tuneski. How ’bout this instead?
Chad Gaudin goes for the Bombers as they try to win this series against the A’s before flying across the country to Boston for the big weekend serious against the Red Sox. A whole mess-o-runs would really hit the spot.
Especially with Roy Halladay having an off-night against the Sox.
My friend Pat Jordan has an essay on growing old in the latest issue of Men’s Journal:
You get old, you lose your anger. It takes too much energy to be angry when you’re old. You have more important things to do with your waning energy, so you hoard it like a dwindling resource.
You get old, it’s not always about you. You no longer wait for an opening in a conversation to talk about yourself, your dreams, your accomplishments. It becomes second nature to draw other people into talking about their lives. You’re no longer the life of the party, making people laugh. You no longer have that neurotic compulsion to be known. Why should you? You get old, you know yourself.
The photo above comes from John Loomis’ blog.
Four prominent members of the 1979 Yankees have passed away over the years. I’ve written extensively about three of them—Thurman Munson, Bobby Murcer, and Jim “Catfish” Hunter— in this space. All three were beloved players, though for very different reasons. I have hardly written anything about the fourth player. It’s about time to end that practice.
Jim Spencer has become a forgotten link to the late 1970s. When he died in 2002 from a heart attack, there was barely a mention in the New York newspapers, like the Daily News and the Post. There might even be a few longtime Yankee fans who are surprised to hear that Spencer is deceased. His passing created little fanfare, even for those who grew up with the Yankees during the Bronx Zoo years.
No one ever remembers Spencer fondly as part of the late seventies run of pennants and world championships, just like no one remembers Jay Johnstone or Gary Thomasson. I guess that’s the fate that befalls old platoon players or bench guys; the more time that goes by, the less and less they seem to become pertinent. That natural human tendency to forget overshadows the fact that Spencer could provide decent production in a part-time role. Did you know that he led the 1979 Yankees in OPS with a mark of .970? I certainly didn’t. In just 295 at-bats, Spencer clubbed a career-high 23 home runs. It’s too bad that Spencer couldn’t have timed that performance to occur in 1978, when it would have felt far more relevant as part of a world championship contribution. Limited by injuries in 1978, Spencer came to bat only 166 times, rendering him a footnote during that memorable summer and fall.
I was walking around the Bronx last Sunday afternoon when I stopped to catch some of the action at Kingsbridge Little League. I stood on the street, pressed against the fence, behind the bleachers. In front of me, a gaunt man in a bright orange and yellow shirt sat quietly watching the game.
The kids must have been about ten. It was brutally hot and I felt for the fielders especially after the pitcher walked the lead-off hitter. Then, he walked the next man and the one after that to load the bases. He was aiming the ball now. The pitcher heard a few scattered words of encouragement–I heard a woman say, “Settle down, Mikey, throw strikes.” But the worse he got, the more silent it became.
No place to hide. The boy hung his head. He kicked the dirt at his feet and held his palms out in exasperation after the umpire called a ball. His catcher had trouble getting the ball back to him–it either bounced in front of the mound or sailed over his head. Typical Little League comedy of errors.
A fat kid who looked like Lou Costello, two batting gloves carefully hanging out of the back pockets of his tight-fitting pants, came to the plate. He looked at two pitches in the dirt, took two strikes, and then looked at two more balls and earned himself an RBI. He trotted to first with his head in the air, pleased. He never intended to swing. I restrained myself from booing.
I looked at the scoreboard for the first time and was surprised that the score was just 6-4. The pitcher slumped his shoulders. The coaches were mum, his cheering section in the stands, silent. Finally, the catcher stumbled out to the mound and said a few words. As he was leaving, the third baseman and the shortstop approached. The pitcher covered his mouth with his glove and the third baseman laughed and went back to his position.
The next batter popped out to third and the one after that lined into double play. The agony was over and the pitcher slowly walked off the field. The opposing team was in no hurry to replace them. Finally, they shuffled to their positions as the tough-luck pitcher sat next to the man in the orange shirt in front of me. The man spoke in a clipped, terse voice. I couldn’t make out what he was saying but heard his tone–critical, angry. “I told you a thousand times…”
I walked away. It’s never too early to have the fun get beaten out of the game.
Today’s news is powered by a tour of the current home of the Oakland A’s:
The Yankees have signed first-round pick Slade Heathcott for $2.2 million. He was drafted 27th overall, and the MLB recommendation for his slot was $1,107,000.
The Yankees have also agreed to terms with their second-round pick, catcher J.R. Murphy, and a fifth-round pick, right-hander Caleb Cotham.
A catcher with power and good arm strength from the Pendleton School in Bradenton, Fla., Murphy’s signing bonus was for $1.25 million, Baseball America reported. A Vanderbilt sophomore, Cotham signed for $675,000.
Despite the opposition of baseball romantics and some Bronx residents, the city plans to dismantle the classic Gate 2 from the old Yankee Stadium.
“I think saving it is a good idea,” Sandra Mullen, 33, of the Bronx, said of the majestic entrance opposite the new Yankee Stadium.
“I like the old stadium from when I was a child. The new one is beautiful, but the old one was a classic.”
Boosters of the effort to save Gate 2 want it incorporated as the front door to the new Heritage Park, a 10-acre park slated to fill the footprint of the House That Ruth Built.
I’ve always contended Jeter’ defense has not hurt the team as much as some people think. Now, has he been better in the field this season? Sure, but look at the reasons, none of which have anything to do with Jeter himself.
He has a new infield coach, Mick Kelleher, whom he trusts and has known for many years. He has a better first baseman in Teixeira. And he plays behind pitchers more capable of hitting their spots than their predecessors, meaning, in theory, that hitters more often hit the ball where the fielders expect it to go.
Jeter is also playing on a new home field and might have made a change in his workout habits, though he never talks about that. I don’t know how those factors might have impacted him.
Where’s a Four-Hour Slugfest When You Need One?
by Hank Waddles
To be honest, I felt like a kid in a candy store. Brett Tomko and I were called up to the big leagues to spot start on the same day, Tomko to pitch for the struggling A’s, and me to write the game recap, allowing the usual Bronx Banter scribes to get to bed at a decent time. When I saw that I’d be doing Tomko’s game, I was sure it would be cake. I’d run down the list of Yankee offensive heroes, make a clever comment about Tomko and a woodshed, and wrap it all up by mentioning Jorgé Posada’s birthday. Really, it was a column that would write itself. Not a bad way to get my feet wet.
And then the game started. Do you remember Brett Tomko? All he did last night was shut down the best team in baseball after struggling to put down Triple-A hitters for the past couple weeks. How stunning is this? I’ll let you be the judge. This was Tomko’s longest outing of the year, topping the three innings he threw against Texas on June 3rd. In his stint with the Yankees he retired the opposing team without allowing a run in only eleven separate innings; he strung together five zeroes against his former team on Monday night. Finally, he hadn’t pitched this deep and this successfully since throwing seven scoreless innings for the Royals against the Angels on May 5, 2008.
But as good as the box score might look, Tomko wasn’t exactly Bob Gibson. Yankee hitters, particularly Derek Jeter and Johnny Damon, seemed to be pounding the ball all night, and when Ramiro Peña and Jeter each singled to open the third, it seemed like Tomko would certainly melt. He survived a blast to right from Damon that might have scraped over the wall in the Bronx, but then walked Teixeira to load the bases for Alex Rodríguez.
If for some reason you only had time to watch one at bat of this game, I hope this was the one you chose. Before popping out in the first, A-Rod had faced Tomko nine times, and the results were impressive: two doubles, two homeruns, and a walk. As Tomko stared in to get the sign, the rest of the game played out in my mind’s eye: Alex would work the count before lacing a double to right center; Posada or Canó would take advantage of a rattled Tomko and drive in a couple more; Melky might even get a hit. Eventually A’s skipper Bob Geren would have to lift Tomko and cobble together five or six innings with his bullpen, leaving a weakened staff for the rest of the series.
But it didn’t happen that way. A-Rod jumped on Tomko’s first pitch and tapped a roller back to the mound for an inning-ending 1-2-3 double play. Tomko hopped off the mound with a Joba-like fist pump, and the Yankee bats didn’t make much noise for the rest of the night.
On the other side of things, A.J. Burnett presented a microcosm of his career in 99 pitches. He was absolutely dominant for much of the night, shutting out the A’s over seven innings, allowing just two hits and a walk while striking out four. During those seven innings, he looked like the $82.5 million man, maybe the best #2 starter in the league. The problem, though, was the fourth inning. I’ve got no issue with the double by Rajai Davis, and I can even forgive his subsequent steal of third without a throw. But after that steal, A.J. the Headcase showed up. His next pitch was returned back through the middle to drive in Davis, and his next pitch after that resulted in another base hit.
Two batters later the A’s had runners on second and third and things got really crazy. Working from the stretch, Burnett rocked and prepared to fire… but then decided to hold on to the ball for a balk, allowing a run to score. Watching live, it seemed like he must’ve gotten a cleat caught in the dirt, but subsequent replays showed nothing. After the game Burnett admitted there had been confusion between him and Posada, but that doesn’t fly. Let’s say Burnett was thinking fastball, but then noticed in mid-windup that Posada had slid to the outside edge of the plate in anticipation of a breaking pitch. Burnett couldn’t have thrown the fastball anyway? If he were worried about hitting Posada in the face or having his pitch sail to the backstop, couldn’t he have lobbed a pitchout? Instead he risked injury and ushered in Oakland’s second run by aborting his delivery and holding the ball. Inexcusable.
Burnett recovered nicely, facing one batter over the minimum over the final four innings, but the damage was done. A’s 3, Yanks 0. No worries, though. CC goes tonight, and he should be pretty amped to pitch in front of friends and family. Plus, if I had told you two months ago that the Yanks would have the best record in baseball and a seven game lead on the Red Sox when you woke up on August 18th, wouldn’t you have taken it? Sure, you would’ve.
The biggest flaw I’ve got running this site is updating the links. There have been so many new Yankee blogs in the past few seasons and we are still woefully behind the times in terms of providing a full listing. I will make sure to change this and apologize to the quality blogs out there that aren’t listed on the blogroll. It’s me, not you.
Anyhow, I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, but River Avenue Blues, continues to do a great job. The first quality a good blog needs is reliability. Was Watching, YFSF, No Maas. They are all different but they keep showing up.
I dug this recent River Ave. piece on Johnny Damon:
Damon is currently enjoying the best season of his career at age 35. He’s two shy of tying his career high of 24 homers, which he set in his first year in pinstripes. His .532 SLG and .240 IsoP are far and away career highs, ditto his .894 OPS and 11.1% walk rate. Oh sure, Damon’s getting a ton of help from the New Yankee Stadium this year (.979 OPS at homer vs .803 on the road), but HitTracker says that every one of his homers would have been gone out in at least one other park, and 15 of his 22 homers would have left the yard in at least 20 big league ballparks. Even if you want to discount the 57 home games he’s played this year from his career production, it’s like taking a cup of water from the ocean.
When I first heard about Judd Apatow’s latest movie, Funny People, I cringed. The movie poster didn’t help any. This one is billed as his “serious” movie, the one with ambition, Annie Hall as told by James L. Brooks. But I figured that I enjoyed the 40 Year Old Virgin and Knocked Up–not to mention the terrific, short-lived TV show Freaks and Geeks–enough to give it a shot.
Apatow’s third movie has more in common with Brooks than Allen but in the best possible way because Apatow likes people and isn’t afraid to show it. He has great affection for his characters and his movies are unashamedly earnest. (He’s anti-snark.) This is Apatow’s defining quality as a filmmaker. His movies are filled with small surprises, the interplay between the actors (he loves his actors). Funny People is too long but I didn’t mind the meandering pace. It lags in spots. Some of the story is hard to believe. The women don’t have great parts. Apatow has the tendency to simplify complicated relationships and the characters often come across as thin. There is something facile about his world view at times–things work out in his movies in a way that feels too neat.
But still, there is an emotional directness in Funny People, a movie that seems more autobiographical and personal than Apatow’s first two movies, that is winning. Leslie Mann, the director’s wife in real-life, has an under-written role, but does the most with it, with great comic timing.
I think Seth Rogan is miscast in the role of Adam Sandler’s protoge–he is limited as an actor–but far from terrible because he has such a warm presence. And I don’t think that Sandler has the depth to hit the emotional high-notes–he tightens-up, and is flat when he’s asked to bare his soul to Mann–but he too is far from terrible. Often, especially when he’s with Rogan, he nails the character, which is loosely based on his own life.
But this movie is about Apatow, not Sandler, and Sandler doesn’t have the winking self-satire chops of Jack Nicholson in his prime–it doesn’t feel as if he’s revealing anything of himself through this character. (His character is a stand-in for Apatow and in many ways, the movie feels like a loving apology to his wife and kids for being a filmmaker–aka a selfish bastard.)
But Sandler is watchable. The whole movie is. It is flawed and has its limitations but it is like good comfort food: designed to make you feel good (especially if you like dick jokes). It is the best-looking Apatow movie; the editing is crisp. There are a few too many self-aware music sequences but that’s easy to forgive. Oh, yeah, and it’s funny. The most effective stuff in the movie may be the side-plot with Rogan and his self-involved roommates, played by Jonah Hill and Jason Schwartzman. And Eric Bana is terrific in a small role.
Apatow’s movies are about how American men don’t want to grow up. He is not edgy; he believes in happy endings. He’s a sap really, but too knowing to be sappy. He is a moralist and his characters are trying to do the right thing. If they treat each other badly they usually feel cruddy about it and apologize. Are happy comedians fun to watch? Not for everyone and I can see why this movie has drawn such strong reactions, pro and con. But is it the worst thing in the world to watch to see people want to treat each other well and live happily ever after?
Not if they are still funny.
Well, the Yankees finally took one on the chin. Joba Chamberlain wasn’t great and the bullpen was worse as the Mariners rolled over the Yanks 10-3. See ya next week, Joba.
Derek Jeter had three hits. He passed Luis Aparicio for the most hits ever by a shortstop. That’s pretty cool, isn’t it?
Yanks don’t lose any ground as the Red Sox lost in Texas again. Hideki Matsui is listed as day-to-day. He might have to have his knee drained of fluid.
That’s what it is in New York City today.
It’s the kind of day where going across the street to get the papers (get the papers) is enough to make you want to take a nap.
But we’ll keep cool as the Yanks go for the sweep this afternoon. Joba’s on the hill.
Bring it, boyo.
I didn’t realize the Mariners were this bad. Careless fielding the past two nights have cost them dearly and the Yankees aren’t currently in the mood to let mistakes pass unnoticed. So when Franklyn Gutierrez and Ichiro Suzuki let a fly ball drop in the second inning, the Yanks pounced. The play led to Nick Swisher’s three run jack to left field which put the Yanks up 4-1. From there, they cruised. Derek Jeter added a solo homer in the ninth and the Bombers got a decent start from Serge Mitre who allowed one earned run in 5.1 innings. David Robertson, Phil Coke and Mariano Rivera did not allow a run (though Rivera walked another batter–what is this world coming to?).
Final Score: Yanks 5, Mariners 2.
The win puts the Yankees 7.5 games ahead of the Red Sox who lost in Texas last night. New York has won 12 of its last 13. Mmmm, mmmm, good.
My wife says I am absolutely not allowed to shout and moan about the game today. And I’m not allowed to write that she doesn’t get it. I nodded my head as she spoke and she said, “You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?” I did and won’t bitch today but why let her know that?
Selective hearing, you know. Another key to a beautiful marriage.
The Yanks are rolling like De La Soul roller skatin’ Saturdays.
They’ll keep us up late again tonight, another 10 pm start. Serge Mitre looks to make good and tame the weak Seattle line-up. Here’s hoping he does just that.
Let’s Go Yan-Kees.
