It’s cool in New York this morning. I can only imagine it will be nippy in Twinkieland come tomorrow night. Playoffs in the air…never gets old.

[Drawing by Larry Roibal]

“The Silent Season of a Hero,” a collection of Gay Talese’s sportswriting, got a rave review in the Times over the weekend. Gordon Marino writes:

Early on, Talese studied fiction with the strange intention of writing nonfiction, of elevating real life to literary life. Taking note of his way of setting up scenes, his oddly angled story lines and realistic dialogue, Tom Wolfe credited Talese with stirring a revolution in reporting that Wolfe christened the “new journalism.” This pronouncement was neither fiction nor hyperbole. Gay Talese’s outré method of framing and developing his “factual short stories” (as Rosenwald describes them) was as groundbreaking as it is still arresting. As this marvel of an anthology makes manifest, Talese transformed sportswriting into literature that is both serious and delightful.

Talese wasn’t the first writer to apply novelist techniques to non-fiction–WC Heinz and John Lardner had been doing it for years. In a recent interview for the Paris Review, Talese explained:

My first job was on the sports desk, but I didn’t want to write about sporting events. I wanted to write about people. I wrote about a losing boxer, a horse trainer, and the guy in the boxing ring who rang the bell between rounds. I was interested in fiction. I wanted to write like Fitzgerald. I collected his work—his short stories and journals. “Winter Dreams” is my favorite story of all time. The good nonfiction writers were writing about famous people, or topical people, or public people. No one was writing about unknown people. I knew I did not want to be on the front page. On the front page you’re stuck with the news. The news dominates you. I wanted to dominate the story. I wanted to pick subjects that were not the ordinary assignment editor’s idea of a story. My idea was to use some of the techniques of a fiction writer: scene setting, dialogue, and even interior monologue, if you knew your people well enough. I was writing short stories, and there were not many people on the Times who were doing that. Once, at an NYU baseball game, I overheard a conversation between a young couple who were having a lovers’ quarrel. I wrote the dialogue and I told the story of the game through what they were watching and what they were saying. At the St. Patrick’s Day parade, I wrote about the last person in the procession, a little guy who was carrying a tuba, and behind him came the sanitation trucks. I followed the parade from the vantage point of this tuba player.

…I could not contain myself within the twelve-hundred-word limit of daily journalism. Wherever I was, I thought that there were stories that other people weren’t telling. When I was going into professional athletes’ locker rooms, for instance, I would just listen to the chatter and look at the bodies of these men who had been in locker rooms with other men since they were little boys. There’d be other sports writers there, and they’d be asking the athletes questions about their performance in that night’s game, but I thought, No, there’s a different story here. These men are fascinating not as performers but in the way in which they mingle together. They’re freer with each other than homosexual men in a bathhouse. These other reporters didn’t even see the story, they just saw their job. Yet because it was a daily newspaper I was always being pulled away from these stories. I couldn’t do them at any real depth. That was really why I couldn’t do the job anymore.

At the same time, in the mid-sixties, Tom Wolfe and Jimmy Breslin were having fun at the Herald Tribune. They were able to write what they wanted to write and I wished I had that kind of freedom. I was getting a lot of freedom by the standards of the Times, but not compared to them. I wanted more room and I wanted to go anywhere I wanted.

Talese wrote memorably about Floyd Patterson and his Esquire feature on Joe DiMaggio remains a classic.

There was a terrific article on Wayne Thiebaud in the Times yesterday:

Jock Reynolds, now the director of the Yale University Art Gallery, recalled his first day of class, when Professor Thiebaud asked his students to produce a pencil and paper. “What followed was a remarkably lucid lecture on where to buy the best and cheapest salami, cheese, coffee, fruit, bread, cakes, and wine, things he insisted would significantly enrich the quality of our lives,” Mr. Reynolds said.

Later Mr. Reynolds realized that his professor was sharing more than a shopping list. “He was giving his students direct insights into the very subject matter that was inspiring his own art; the frosted cakes, cream pies, lollipops and the trays of herring and sardines he was transforming, through the skilled application of paint onto canvas, into the most tactile and sensuous visual compositions imaginable.”

Mr. Thiebaud’s favorite class to teach was Beginning Drawing. “You really see people transformed,” he said. “Teaching it has a big fatigue factor. But once they get a sense of it, it’s like heroin.”

Grant Green gettin’ busy:

Right on, Mr. Jeter.

Comfort Food (aka, fromage) from the Eighties:

Dig this New York Magazine profile on April Bloomfield, the chef behind The Spotted Pig and The Breslin:

Bloomfield had planned to be a policewoman in Birmingham, England, until she didn’t get her application in on time. Thanks to that bit of tardiness, she instead decided to follow her two sisters into cooking, working her way up the line in restaurants around London. She worked for Ruth Rogers and the late Rose Gray at London’s River Café and later spent a summer with Alice Waters at Berkeley’s Chez Panisse. But when fellow Brit and River Café alumnus Jamie Oliver recommended her to Friedman, she was still a relative unknown. Her debut at the Spotted Pig drew a lot of attention—not just because of the involvement of Batali and several high-profile investors (Bono and Jay-Z), but because Bloomfield was running a new kind of restaurant that brought together several foodie threads: serious snout-to-tail cooking with a religious adherence to fresh/local/seasonal ingredients, served in a casual atmosphere with a tone of clubby downtown cool. As Anthony Bourdain puts it: “She pretty much wrote the all-time book on how to come from someplace else and make New York love you.”

Bloomfield’s cookbook, A Girl and Her Pig, comes out in 2012, but beyond that and a few odd interviews and TV appearances, she keeps her head in her pots. She’s in the kitchen at the Pig on some nights, the Breslin on most others, and getting the new John Dory Oyster Bar (also in the Ace) ready for opening in early November. She also maintains a food-exchange program with father of head-to-tail eating Fergus Anderson of St. John—they switch spots on occasion to keep up with each other’s shore.

“She’s never worked the room, she’s never played the game,” says Bourdain, “and yet everybody knows who she is—she’s one of the only high-profile chefs who’s almost never on TV, she rarely gives interviews, and every time I walk into the Breslin or the Spotted Pig, I look back there and she’s standing behind the line, actually cooking.”

I haven’t been to The Breslin yet. Sounds like a treat, though.

Its time to hear from you regarding the AL awards for 2010.

[poll id=”63″]

[poll id=”64″]

Over at PB, Steven Goldman writes:

Phil Hughes has got to start on the road. Batters hit a home run once every 20 at-bats at home, but only once every 53 at-bats on the road. Target Field, with its hard-to-reach fences, seems to have been built for him. Andy Pettitte has the Yankees great gravitas that would normally make him an easy choice for the spot, but given how their rotation after the top three is… imaginary, the Yankees can’t overlook this chance to minimize Hughes’ weaknesses and put him in position to win.

One of the first grown-up books I ever read as a kid was “Mr. October,” by Maury Allen. I was ten-years-old when it was published in 1981. I already had “The Reggie Jackson Scrapbook” but this was a biography, all words and no pictures (although each chapter featured a picture of Reggie at the plate ). I wasn’t a big reader but I liked having my own books and often received baseball books for my birthday. I knew about the two Rogers–Angell and Kahn–from my dad’s book collection. But when I picked up “The Boys of Summer” and tried to read it I got bored quickly, same for “The Summer Game” and “Five Innings” which had impossibly long paragraphs that seemed to go on forever.

Maury Allen I could read. He told a story. The words didn’t scare me away. So I read “Mr. October” over and again. And I got more of Allen’s books, notably “Baseball’s 100,” and always made the distinction between Maury Allen and Murray Chass–who covered the Yankees for the New York Times. Maury Allen was my first favorite sports writer. And although I knew that he wasn’t in the best of health, I was deeply sadened to hear that he died yesterday morning.

Here is the obit from the New York Times.

Allen had been around New York covering sports since the Toots Shor days. He wrote for the Post from 1961-88. In the Sixties, Allen was at the Post with Leonard Shecter, Milton Gross, Leonard Koppett, Larry Merchant and Vic Ziegel, to name just a few. He covered the Yanks and looked as if he’d be right at home sitting at Oscar Madison’s poker table.

Allen moved to the Gannett chain after leaving the Post and most recently contributed to The Columnists (check out his archive). He also wrote close to 40 books. I was thrilled that he was a part of the Lasting Yankee Stadium Memories book.

Maury Allen will be missed but not forgotten.

The Yanks got pasted this afternoon in Boston, 8-4, as the Rays win the AL East. The Yanks are the wildcard and will play the Twins. New York has owned the Minnie in the playoffs, which is why I have a bad feeling about this. That said, it’s October, and the Yanks are the defending champs. We’ll have plenty to keep us busy as we wait for first pitch on Wednesday night.

95 wins for your 2010 Yanks and a return trip to the post-season.

We’ll take it.

Or anything more, for that matter?

The Yanks and Rays have battled for first place all season long so it is entirely fitting that the Division Crown comes down to the final day of the regular season. If both teams win (or lose), the Rays take it.

Time to put a halt to the forgettable baseball that has been played around these parts for the past month. Starting this week, either at home against the Rangers or on the road against the Twins, the Yanks will defend their title. Either way, we’ll be root-root-rooting our hearts out.

Starting…now:

Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

[Picture by Bags]

Have you had enough Yankees-Red Sox today? Don’t worry, the next game starts in 12 hours. The Yanks pulled out a win in ten innings in Part I of tonight’s baseball extravaganza, but couldn’t do it again, losing to Boston 7-6 in ten.

A.J. Burnett was not good, teetering on the edge of disaster all night, but hey, teetering on the edge is better than where Burnett has usually been of late, careening over the edge and into a ravine. He ended up getting through six innings and giving up four runs, leaving with the game tied. Of course, he also made a Chuck Knoblauch-style bonehead play in the fourth inning (I wanted to just call that “pulling a Knoblauch,” but that would probably imply a crazy Steve Blass-style errant throw, rather than the ol’ arguing-with-an-umpire-while-the-run-scores ploy. It’s never a good sign when “pulling a [Your Name Here]” could refer to any one of a number of fuck-ups): he argued a close call at first base in the fourth inning, while Daniel Nava scored from third. Sigh. I do not look forward to seeing Burnett try and tightrope-walk his way through a playoff start.

Anyway, a Francisco Cervelli single and a Hideki Okajima wild pitch gave the Yanks a 6-4 lead in the seventh, but Ivan Nova gave it right back in the eighth by, of all things, walking Kevin Cash with the bases loaded. That’s… not good. He did get out of it, and pitched a slightly too-eventful but scoreless ninth inning — before giving up the game-winning hit in the tenth, to somebody named “Eric Patterson”. Not a great night for Nova, but would you rather see Burnett or Vazquez in there in a playoff game? I’m not sure anymore.

Fun Fact: As of the end of their half of the ninth, the Yankees were FOUR FOR THIRTY-FOUR with runners in scoring position over the course of the double header. By the end of the 10th I believe it was four for thirty-six. Oy.

Discussion question: what percentage of double-headers are split, do you think? Taking a stab in the dark without doing any research, I’d guess something like 80%, does that sound about right? If so, I wonder how much higher that percentage is than for regular two-day, two-game series.

Additional discussion question: If the Wild Card did not exist, how many strokes would I have had tonight, and of what severity?

Structurally, this was one of those classic, endless Yanks-Red Sox seesaw games – except that since only Wild Card-vs.-AL East is at stake now, it was significantly less tense than those usually are; I can’t recall ever being quite so calm when the Sox were down by two and had the bases loaded against New York. It took 10 innings, and 14 pitchers altogether, but in the end the Yanks beat the Red Sox 6-5 in game one of tonight’s doubleheader.

Andy Pettitte was not great, but he was just about good enough to stave off panic about his fitness for postseason play. He only went four innings, giving up nine hits (!), walking two and striking out eight (! again), and allowing three runs. He did look healthy, though, and as witnessed by all those strikeouts there wasn’t much wrong with his stuff, so here’s hoping he was just shaking off some rust. Mike Lowell (on Thank You Mike Lowell Day, natch) drove in Boston’s first two runs with a double in the first inning; Daniel Nava added an RBI single later. It wasn’t a disaster, although allowing that many baserunners in general is not going to lead anyplace good.

The Yankee offense was perhaps more concerning, as the team engaged in one of those left-on-base smorgasbords they seem to have become so fond of recently. They had many, many, many opportunities, and capitalized on disconcertingly few of them. In the third inning, a Curtis Granderson triple, A-Rod ground out, and Robinson Cano homer gave them a 3-2 lead; an inning later it was a tie game. They took the lead again with doubes from Teixeria and Cano in the fifth, making it 5-3; Boston chipped away with a run in the seventh, off Boone Logan, and then tied it in the eighth, off the usually impeccable Kerry Wood. To be fair, the ump was calling a strange and small strike zone all night – and while that went for both teams equally, it seemed to hamper Wood more than most. Tonight also witnessed the temporary return of Phil Hughes to the bullpen; he came on in the bottom of the ninth and pitched beautifully, making me wish once again that we could clone him and use him in both the rotation and the pen. (You know Brian Cashman is already working on this).

Finally the Yankees took a 6-5 lead in the 10th inning, when Brett Gardner walked (bad idea, Papelbon), was bunted to second, and scored when Bill Hall couldn’t make a bare-hand play on Derek Jeter’s (super-clutch!) dribbling little infield hit. I’ll take it. Much to my relief, Rivera came in and took care of the bottom of the 10th inning without breaking a sweat: Mo’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world.

I guess I better keep this recap concise, because we’ve got another one of these babies starting right now. So: that was fun; let’s do it again!

The Yankees have had a bad stretch recently, yet after a rain out and learning of Tampa’s loss to Kansas City Friday night, they controlled their own destiny headed into Saturday’s double-header at Fenway. If the Yankees were to win their remaining three games, they would win the East and secure home-field advantage for the American League Playoffs. Though the Red Sox officially became the Dead Sox when CC Sabathia and David Price won on Wednesday night, sweeping them at Fenway Park will be a very difficult challenge and excellent preparation for the games that await.

In addition to a victory, the Yankees wanted to see Andy Pettitte assume the consistent quality of his pre-injury form. He got rapped for nine hits in four innings, but was deceptive enough to strike out eight. I’ll have to give some of the credit for those whiffs to the late afternoon shadows that turned Tim Wakefield’s knuckle ball to wadded up toilet paper for a few innings before the Yankees figured it out.

Andy has been knocked around twice in a row by these Red Sox, so that’s another reason to be happy their season ends after Sunday. On a confidence scale of AJ to CC, I’m somewhere around 2009 Andy rather then pre-injury Andy, but I am going to expect good things from him in the ALDS until he shows me otherwise.

The Yankees blew a 5-3 lead thanks to walks and wild pitches from Boone Logan, Joba Chamberlain and Kerry Wood. From there, the game hinged on two aggressive base-running plays. When Wood skipped his wild pitch past Posada, he charged to cover the plate. There may have been a play on the runner at third, but Posada could not manipulate his old bones into proper position to throw the ball when the play demanded. He double-pumped and was still unable to free his throwing arm, but he stubbornly flipped it towards…I don’t know. Maybe he consulted a compass and threw it at the N. It wasn’t toward home plate however. Luckily, Wood stayed at the plate as Ramiro Pena ranged into foul territory and cut off the second runner at home with a well-executed long-hop. Sometimes you see a third baseman fire one off the carpet in a dome this way, but I’ve rarely seen it done so well by an infielder throwing home.

With the score tied at five, Brett Gardner worked Jonathan Papelbon for a walk to lead off the tenth. This was Gardner at his best. He spoiled good pitches, took close ones and earned first base. I entered the season with the mission to give Gardner the benefit of the doubt, but not expecting anything. I’m ending the season hoping that there is a starting spot reserved for him for next year. After a sac bunt, Derek Jeter dribbled one to second so weakly (check-swing) that he was staring at an infield hit. Bill Hall muffed a bare-hand stab and as soon as the ball got behind him, I knew Gardner would be burning down the third base line with the go-ahead run. Joe Buck seemed surprised.

Mariano Rivera had a no-nonsense ninth inning for the 6-5 victory punctuated with a final strike to poor Eric Patterson so perfectly etched on the outside corner that he was forced to apologize to him after the game. Why bring a bazooka to a knife fight? Because they’re the Red Sox. Because they’re going to make this weekend living hell. If the Yankees want to win these next two games, they’re going to have to go full tilt. Because no matter who the Red Sox put in these uniforms tonight and tomorrow, they’ll happily use their season’s last breath to hock a loogie in the Yankee stew.

The Rays are up on Kansas City, so the Yankees must win tonight to stay in the driver’s seat for the AL East and home-field advantage. I know Burnett has used up all the credit he had with just about any Yankee fan and no matter what happens tonight, he’ll be unwelcome on the hill be it October or April. But with a non-sucktastic performance tonight, he can at least feel like he’s part of the team again and helping them towards an important goal. And maybe that could be step one (of one hundred) on the road to acceptance.

First of two is on Fox.

Go git ’em boys.

Let’s Go Yan-Kees.

Baseball later today. Meanwhile, the sky is clear and blue. Enjoy the day. Back later.

Meanwhile, music:

Game got rained out tonight and the Rays lost.

They’ll play two tomorrow. Second game could go deep into the night.

Yanks-Sox and the last weekend on the regular season. There is something at stake here, of course, the best record in the American League. Looks like the Sox have something to play for after all.

Mr. de Kooning