I’ve been laid-low with a head cold for the past few days, but I’m headed out to Jersey this afternoon to listen to records with my friend Stein anyway. Be back in time to watch the Oscars tonight. Funny, but I like watching them in the same way I like watching the Super Bowl (at least the Super Bowl offers the potential for surprise and excitement). But I don’t get upset about who “wins” and “loses” at the Oscars, mostly I like to talk a lot of trash, bust all the stars’ chops. It seems so ridiculous to give out awards for artistic merit anyhow. Aside from that, the whole thing is so corny and political, you’d have to be crazy to let it bother you. That said, why then do I let the baseball awards get me nuts each year? Go figure.

I figure they’ll give Scorsese a lifetime achievement nod tonight and give him Best Director for “The Departed,” a movie that I found highly entertaining but far from his best. For the record, my favorite Scorsese movies are: “ItalianAmerican,” “Mean Streets,” “Taxi Driver,” and his segment from “New York Stories.”

Here are a couple of few links for a cool Sunday in New York:

Pete Abraham has a nice piece on Mike Mussina, who has become something of an avuncular figure for some of the younger Yankee pitchers.

Tyler Kepner profiles Colter Bean in the Times, while Jack Curry examines the increasingly important role that intrepreters have in the game.

Joel Sherman is blogging about the Yankees over at the Post this spring.

Put Jimmy Wynn near the top of my list of players I wish I had seen play. I’ve read about him and talked to people about him, but the closest I know from Wynn as a thirty-five year old Yankee fan is the fact that he was in the dugout when Billy Martin yanked Reggie Jackson off the field at Fenway Park in 1977. I got to thinking about Wynn cause I found an article on him the other day at Think Factory. It’s one of those stories where the long-retired jock talks about how he’d be a Hall of Famer if he played today. Not much of an article. But it reminded me of something I once read about Wynn.

I read it in Joe Morgan’s autobiography (co-written by David Falkner), of all places. Morgan and Wynn were teammates in Houston for nine years. They both first appeared in 1963 when Morgan was 19 and Wynn was just 21. Wynn had more talent than Morgan. Wynn was a five-tool player. Stuck out a lot but walked a lot. Hit for power, steal bases, had a great arm.

They were the best of friends. Later, Morgan wrote about Wynn:

He was Willie Mays at the same age, but he just had a different agenda, and because of that he never progressed [into a truly great player].

It used to bother me a lot that Jimmy wouldn’t work to nuture his talent. I’d talk to him about it but it never mattered and I never pushed it because I liked him too much and who as I, anyway, to tell anyone what they should or shouldn’t be do with their careers. It may be that Jimmy had the right idea and I had the wrong one about what a life in baseball was all about.

Jimmy, in so many ways, epitomized the old ballplayer, the guy who came along before the portfolios, the agents, and the business managers. When he said he was going to put aside most other things and concentrate on home runs, he was really saying he didn’t want to work at those other things. The home run, he knew, would keep him in the majors…

I am sure Jimmy could have made it to the Hall of Fame if he had wanted to, just as I know there are other players who might have if they had cultivated the superior talent they had. But Jimmy’s choice was clear. Maybe there should be a Hall of Fame for all those guys, too, the ones who decided that life at the top was about enjoying yourself to the fullest while you had the chance. I went another way. And I can measure that way not only by the numbers I put up, by the awards I got, but also by all those hours sitting alone in hotel rooms, watching TV, not enjoying myself very much, but doing what I wanted to do nevertheless.

Wynn was a monster talent who had a very good career, but wasn’t willing to do what it took to have a Hall of Fame career. Interesting how Morgan wonders if Wynn had the right idea all along.

[Editor’s note: 2007 will bring several new contributors to Bronx Banter. I want to further complement what Cliff and I already provide for you. Bruce Markusen, author and historian, is not a new name to longtime readers and I’m pleased to report that each month, Bruce will run a “Pastime Passings” post that formerly appeared in his “Cooperstown Confidential” column. And that’s not all he’s gonna do…I’ll have more on the new contributors and what they’ll be up to shortly. Cliff and I are still going to be holding it down as usual, but my hope is to give you guys even more of a good thing. I love the idea of having additional voices. The spirit of this blog to generate conversation and community, you know, banter, baby. And that’s word to Big Bird.]

By Bruce Markusen (Guest Columnist)

For many years, The Sporting News filled a vital role by providing obituaries from the sports world. For fans in the pre-internet era, it was often our first notice that someone significant had passed away. Throughout the 2007 season, I’ll try to take on the task once done so ably by The Sporting News by providing regular updates on baseball figures who have departed us. Some of the obituaries will be straight-laced and fact based; others will include some of my own personal commentaries.

Through the first two months of 2007, the baseball world has already lost several significant and influential figures. The list includes former Yankee players Steve Barber, Hank Bauer, and Lew Burdette, and former pitching coach Art Fowler.

Steve Barber (Died on February 4 in Henderson, Nevada; age 67; pneumonia): A hard-throwing but erratically wild left-hander, Barber won 121 games over a 15-year career that began with the Baltimore Orioles in 1960. During his tenure in Baltimore, Barber went 95-75 and became the first 20-game winner in the history of the franchise. He was later inducted into the Orioles’ Hall of Fame.

Commentary: Steve Barber. I always thought that was a great baseball name for a pitcher, in a Sal Maglie kind of way. When I was growing up in the early 1970s, Barber was just finishing up a long career. I remember him mostly as a middle reliever—like a lot of veteran pitchers of that era, that’s where he ended up—but it was as a fireballing starter that Barber created some lasting imagery during much of the 1960s.

Barber was considered one of the hardest throwers of his era, though his radar gun readings look relatively unimpressive by today’s standards. In 1960, Barber was clocked at 95 and a half miles per hour, which was actually the third-fastest mark on record at the time, behind only Hall of Famers Walter Johnson and Bob Feller. Most hitters who faced Barber in his prime would tell you that he threw harder than the mid-nineties, just as old-timers would have said the same about Feller and “The Big Train.” I think it’s probably safe to say that the 1960s devices used to clock Barber were somewhat slow, in contrast to the ballpark readings of today, which are generally on the high side.

Not only did Barber throw hard, but he threw a sinking fastball that darted and dipped, and was very heavy on a batter’s hands. Ellie Hendricks, who caught him with the Orioles and later faced him as an opponent, said hitting Barber’s fastball was akin to swinging at a “ball of iron.” Barber could also be about as wild as Mitch Williams, at least on some days, making it very uncomfortable for opposing hitters to stand in against him.

It’s too bad that Barber came down with a bad bout of tendonitis in 1966. He was having a terrific season, appearing to have harnessed his talents after years of sporadic success, and then had to miss the second half of ’66, including the World Series. Barber did have his moments, including that famed no-hit loss in 1967 (when he walked ten batters and threw 144 pitches before giving way to Stu Miller), but any chance of greatness had gone.

In his later years, Barber bounced around as a reliever, pitching for the New York Yankees, Seattle Pilots, California Angels, and Milwaukee Brewers. As a member of the 1969 Pilots, Barber became one of the most notable figures of Jim Bouton’s Ball Four. Unfortunately, Bouton portrayed Barber in a villainous role, suggesting that he was hiding an injury in order to maintain his presence on the roster, thereby denying a younger pitcher of a chance at pitching. I’ve always thought Bouton’s portrayal of Barber was unfair. Like Barber, Bouton had hurt his arm, and like Barber, was doing all he could to preserve a career in the major leagues. Barber may have spent more than his fair share of time in the trainer’s room, but at least he was trying to pitch, rather than just putting in time on the disabled list.

Hank Bauer (Died on February 9, 2007 in Kansas City, Missouri; age 84; cancer): The ultimate hard-nosed ballplayer, Bauer filled an important role as a secondary cog during the New York Yankees’ dynasty of the 1950s. During his 12-year tenure in New York, Bauer contributed to nine American League pennants and seven World Championships. Almost exclusively a pull hitter, Bauer saw significant time in both right and left field, earned All-Star berths in 1952, ’53 and ’54, and compiled a major league record 17-game hitting streak in World Series play. In 1961, Bauer turned to managing, hired by Charlie Finley as the skipper of the Kansas City A’s. In 1964, he became the manager of the Baltimore Orioles, leading them to a World Championship two seasons later.

Commentary: Bauer lived one of the most fascinating lives of any ballplayer, succeeding on three completely different levels: as a player, manager, and American soldier.

First and foremost, Bauer was an unquestionable war hero. As a member of the U.S. Marines during World War II, he overcame a severe bout of malaria to earn 11 campaign ribbons, two Bronze Stars, and two Purple Hearts. Bauer’s heroics reached their heights during the battle of Okinawa, when he served as the commander of a battalion of 64 men. Only six men survived the assault, with Bauer sustaining a shrapnel wound to his thigh. The injury sent him home, but not before Bauer had lost four of his prime seasons to wartime service.

Bauer’s military toughness extended to his physical appearance. He was once described as having a face that looked like a “clenched fist.” He accentuated that look by consistently wearing his hair in a Marine buzzcut, even years after his military tenure ended.

Though not blessed with an array of physical talents, Bauer made the most of what he possessed. He hustled at all times and prided himself on playing the game in a fundamentally sound way, especially in the field and on the basepaths. He also hated seeing younger teammates who didn’t hustle, coining the phrase that became popular with Yankee veterans in addressing a youthful lack of enthusiasm: “Don’t mess with my money.” Younger Yankees like Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford heard that refrain a few times and learned some lessons from Bauer.

A good player in regular season play, Bauer became a larger-than-life force in the World Series. After struggling badly in his first four Fall Classics, Bauer emerged as a terror in the 1955 and ’58 World Series. Bauer batted .429 in the ’55 Series against Brooklyn and then clubbed four home runs in ’58 against Milwaukee.

After winning seven World Championships as a player, Bauer added a world title as the manager of the Orioles in 1966. Bauer was an underrated manager, most likely because his managing days ended rather abruptly. Emphasizing discipline and accountability, he led the 1967 Orioles and 1969 A’s to second-place finishes. Bauer’s tough-guy approach might not have worked with players in the 1970s, but he obtained good results in the sixties.

Bauer also carried on a celebrated feud with Earl Weaver, who succeeded him as Orioles manager. Bauer had refused to hire Weaver as a coach, and Weaver returned the disfavor by not keeping Bauer on the Baltimore staff. Several years ago, one of my relatives approached Bauer and Weaver at a baseball function. Not knowing of the bitterness between the two, he asked the two rivals if they would pose for a photograph. After the photo was taken, Weaver remarked to Bauer: “That might be the only picture in existence that shows us together.” Even though he couldn’t stand Weaver, Bauer still managed to laugh.

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Phillip Hughes wowed-’em” in Tampa yesterday during a BP session. What can you say? We are all looking foward to watching the kid pitch (All together, everyone knock on wood and let’s hope he stays healthy). After all, look what happened to Mark Prior, who was billed as the second-coming of Tom Seaver.

I got together for drinks and burgers with Cliff, Jay Jaffe and Jake Luft last night in the distinctly gentrified neighborhood of Hell’s Kitchen. I love being able to soak-up baseball knowledge, and these three have it in spades. I mean, they really have a thorough working knowledge of players, even prospects, in both leagues–an ability that never fails to impress me. Yo, I have a hard enough time following just one team, let alone the AL East, or the entire American League, forget about both leagues. Anyhow, at one point I said the player I’d like to see have a breakout season this year, pushing him over-the-top as a legitimate star, is Carl Crawford. Jake thinks Crawford is already there (and a quick look at Crawford’s stats show that Jake is probably right). But imagine if he continues to build on last year’s success? The dude is only 25.

What talented player do you think will make that jump this year? Or, which player would you like to see make it?

By Chris DeRosa (Guest Columnist)

Reading Sherman’s book, I got to wondering how many analysts would choose 1996 as Rivera’s best season. It’s chief rivals are 2005 and 1999. It would probably be easiest to sort through the cases of the closer seasons, and then compare to the set-up year in ’96.

We can easily rule out 2002, when injuries limited him to 46 innings; his debut season of 1995, when he was a starter with a 5.51 ERA; 2000, with his career-high relief ERA of 2.85; and both 1997 and 2006, which were fine seasons but boasting no advantages over his very best seasons.

2005 was the year Rivera had his best conventional rate stats: a career low 1.38 ERA (and a career high ERA+ of 323). He allowed his smallest percentage of baserunners (.235 on base percentage against), and was just as effective in denying power (hitters slugged .230 off him, missing his career best by only .002). He also had his best ever-rate of stranding inherited runners, allowing only 2 of 18 to score. He threw 78.3 innings, went 7-4, and saved 43 against 4 blown saves. In an unspectacular postseason, he allowed 1 run in 3 innings with two saves against the Angels.

In 1999, he was nearly as sharp in 69 innings, allowing a .239 on base percentage and a .237 slugging percentage. He went 4-3 with a 1.83 ERA with 45 saves against 4 blown saves. Of 27 runners inherited, he stranded 22 and permitted 5 to score. He also was the most efficient he had ever been, notching an out every 4.8 pitches, a career best. At this point, you would still have to put 2005 first. But then you get to the postseason. 1999 is in his top three: 12.3 scoreless innings, with 2 wins and 6 saves (and the World Series MVP Award). Counting their postseason and regular seasons stats together, 2005’s ERA advantage shrinks to 1.44 to 1.55. And there’s more: Rivera allowed only 1 unearned run in 1999, whereas he allowed 6 in 2005. If charged for all runs, inherited, earned, and unearned, in the regular and postseason, Mo was less scored upon in 1999 (2.21, 81.3 innings) than 2005 (2.32, 81.3 innings).

Rivera allowed an even smaller average of total runs the year before, in 1998. In 61.3 regular season innings, he allowed only 13 runs, all earned, and allowed only four of 24 inherited runners to score. In 13.3 postseason innings, he allowed only 6 hits, 2 walks, and no runs at all. In 74.6 combined innings, he allowed 2.05 runs per game, a career best. He also his highest percentage of good results: 3 wins, 36 saves, and 6 postseason saves, against no losses and only 5 regular season blown saves. Overall, though, it is hard to pick 1998 as his best year. The results may have been the cleanest, but he was hit harder (.270 on base percentage, .309 slugging percentage) than in 1999, and he didn’t pitch as much.

2001, when he saved 50 games and got more batters out (236) than in any other year besides 1996, was his career high in win shares. I’m a big win shares fan. Asking them to pick a closer’s best season, however, is among the last things win shares should be asked to do. It was a really good year, but he wasn’t as dominating as in other seasons, and given that, I wouldn’t pick the year he got beat by the Diamondbacks in the World Series as the best of his career.

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Book Review

By Chris DeRosa

Chris DeRosa has been posting book reviews here for three or four years now. Actually, that’s not entirely true. Chris puts out a Yankee Annual each year that he sends around to his friends. The Annaual always contains book reviews, and Chris is generous enough to allow me to co-opt them for Bronx Banter. Here is one that I thought you guys might like…and there is a follow-up essay from Chris that I’ll post a bit later on.

Joel Sherman, Birth of a Dynasty: Behind the Pinstripes with the 1996 Yankees (2006)

There’s the requisite quote on the back, proclaiming that you don’t have to be a Yankee fan to enjoy this book. On the contrary, I’d say you might have to be a Yankee fan. The frequent invocations of the Yanks’ championship “destiny” would probably wear out the non-Yankee fan reader before long. But, you know, that’s fine. Remember when they used to make Star Trek movies? The studio would always say, “this time, it’s not just for the fans,” as if there weren’t enough friggin’ Star Trek fans to pay for their movie. Then more often than not, they’d make a lousy film trying to please a lot of people who were never going to be interested anyway, when they’d just have been better off aiming it right at the people who loved it. So there’s nothing wrong with Joel Sherman writing a book just for those of us who would like to wallow in the details of the Yankees’ 1996 title season. As such, it does not disappoint.

Sherman’s motif is “perfection.” Every chapter title is “The Perfect Manager,” “The Perfect Resolve,” The Perfect Whatever. Sherman knows that the Yankees’ flirtation with perfection was a couple of years down the road. What he actually means is that it took a perfect confluence of circumstances for this most imperfect 92-win team to pull it off. And indeed, the author chronicles both the little things that broke right—Jeffrey Maier made “The Perfect Catch (Almost)”—and the real strengths this team sported, including a quality in depth and a terrific cohort of young players: Andy Pettitte, Derek Jeter, Bernie Williams, and Mariano Rivera.

Some of the best parts of the book are about how those guys broke in and showed their stuff. In the chapter, “The Perfect Formula,” Sherman reminds us of the context of Mariano Rivera’s breakout season. It was the first full-length season under at the new mid-90s hitting levels, and American League pitchers were lit up for more runs per game than in any season since 1936, include a record barrage of 2,742 homers. Rivera, in 107 innings of stellar relief, surrendered just one of those. He was not only the most effective pitcher in the league; for a couple of months there, it seemed like he was the only effective pitcher in the league.

Sherman compares Torre’s quick recognition of Rivera’s value in 1996 favorably to Showalter’s waiting too long to get him into Game 5 of the ALDS in 1995 (when he had proved so devastating in Games 2 and 3). But here, Sherman’s own good reporting contradicts his instinct for the tidy storyline. In spring training, Torre saw “a straight fastball that made Rivera’s role murky.” Rivera himself is quoted as calling his fastball “straight as an arrow.” Sherman writes that that he was working on a change-up because he expected to be a starter. He might have added that it was Torre and Stottlemyre who were instructing him to do this. But as the season developed:

Torre kept defining a more and more vital function for Rivera, from mop-up man when the season began to a hybrid role that united middle and setup relief. Rivera was asked to get as many as nine outs to bail out a rotation that was proving far more unreliable than Torre had forecast.

Case in point, the Yankees led the Royals 5-2 in an April game when David Cone couldn’t make it past the 5th and Torre’s pen was already fried.

…Torre was staring at nine outs before he could summon closer John Wetteland. A concept was born—what Torre would come to refer to as the Formula. Rivera was asked to not only protect a lead but protect it for an extended period, to become a lone bridge between starter and closer.

In half of his 61 outings, Mo got six or more outs (22 two-inning stints, 8 three-inning stints, and 5 in between). But of course, Mariano Rivera in 1996 was not the first quality 100-inning middle reliever in baseball history. He was closer to being the last. The formula Sherman thinks Torre invented was pretty much the same one Cito Gaston used for Duane Ward in 1990, Sparky Anderson used for Mike Henneman in 1987, Jimy Williams used for Mark Eichhorn in 1986, and Dick Howser used for Ron Davis in 1980, and so forth.

It was the big hitting 90s that drove the division of setup chores, making the LaRussa bullpens more a necessity than a choice. That Rivera could still succeed in the older pattern was to his enormous credit, and was out-of-place enough that it fooled Sherman into thinking it was something new under the sun. And what is this nonsense about a straight fastball? Rivera may not have been throwing the cutter, but his fastball was explosive and jumpy, with irresistible illusory rise. If you want to see a straight fastball, try watching Kyle Farnsworth pitch.

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Spring training has just begun and yet many of us are already saying, “Wake me up on Opening Day.” Fair enough. In the meantime, dig these pearls of Grapefruit League wisdom from the one-and-only Earl Weaver (from his wonderful book–co-written by Terry Pluto—Weaver on Strategy, essential reading for any serious baseball fan):

The Cliches of Spring

Another problem in spring camps is all those sportswriters with nothing much to write about. Every year it seemed I got asked the same questions, so I started giving my answers by the numbers. Here are my nine favorite answers.

1. The hitters are ahead of the pitchers. You use this one after your staff gets pounded for fourteen runs early in the spring. After all, maybe the hitters ARE ahead of the pitchers at this point. Who’s to say which group develops faster?

2. The pitchers are ahead of the hitters. The opposite of number 1, so it should be used when you get shut out by three rookie pitchers nobody’s ever heard of.

3. The Second-Time-Out theory. I’m not sure why it happens, but veteran pitchers often get hit in their second outing of the spring. When reporters asked me why, I had few answers. Instead, I’d just tell them it was just another case for the second-time-out theory.

4. The Loss In Daytona Beach theory. You can substitute any city, but this excuse is to be used when you get bombed on the road in the spring. So you lose to Montreal, 20-3, on March 22 in Daytona Beach. Who cares?

5. That’s why they call ’em exhibition games. The Orioles often had records like 12-15 in the spring because I spent my time looking at players rather than worrying about winning. Most managers do the same. They call them “exhibition games” because they don’t count.

6. The Lee May syndrome. This can be used for any veteran hitter who’s having a lousy spring. Lee May couldn’t hit his weight for me in the spring, but the man did the job once the season began. The writers would get nervous about Lee’s springs, but I didn’t worry. Guys who hit in the past and haven’t gotten injured or too old are a great bet to hit again, regardless of their batting averages in Florida.

7. Yes, Palmer will pitch the opener. Every spring it seemed that Jim Palmer had some sort of injury–elbow, back, ulna nerve, etc.–and people would wonder if Jim would be able to pitch the opener. There were millions of stories speculating about Palmer’s condition. Usually Jim was ready when the bell ran. I never worried about it unless Jim came up to me right before the opener and said there wa a problem.

8. Can’t you see what we’re doing out there? A lot of young writers had a million questions about what was happening in the spring. They didn’t seem to understand that you had to do certain drills to get ready for the season. Rather than explain it all every day, it often was easier to pose this question. After all, they should have been smart enough to see what we were doing.

9. Phenom? What phenom? Every spring, the writers are looking for a phenom, a young player they can build up and go crazy about in their stories. I understand that they have to write something, but they’ve gotten carried away sometimes. I remember one rookie baseball writer who had Mark Corey ready for the Hall of Fame just because he hit the ball hard a couple of times in an intersquad game. Patience! It’s a long way from the Grapefruit League.

Remember, Weaver’s First Law:

No one’s going to give a dam in July if you lost a game in March.

I don’t think the Boss ever got that memo.

I ran into a Yankee fan yesterday at work and the first thing he says to me is that Alex Rodriguez is a bum. This reminded me of something I read recently in Robert Lipsyte’s book, SportsWorld: An American Dreamland (Lipsyte was a reporter then a columnist for the Times during the sixties–and later, in nineties–and is particularly famous for his coverage of Ali. This book is out-of-print, but worth checking out if you run across it in a used bookstore):

“A sportswriter learns early that his readers are primarily interested in the affirmation of their faiths and their prejudices, which are invariably based on previous erroneous reports. They do not want fact that conflict with preconceptions.”

Which also brings to mind, what the newspaper man tells Jimmy Stewart at the end of The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance:

“This is the west, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

Having said all that, of course, Derek Jeter is getting ripped in the local papers today.