Our pals over at Pitchers and Poets take a look at some of the worst caps in MLB history.

Here’s Kostya Kennedy talking Joe D:

;

Jimmy Breslin’s new book on Branch Rickey was reviewed in the Times a few days ago.

Meanwhile, our boy William asks: Was Rickey the father of sabermetrics?

Last week, the gifted Jeff MacGregor, who has unfortunately been buried somewhere in the ESPN wilderness, offered up this gem about the cage down on West 4th:

There is no inside game at all, except on the putback. Nobody drives, nobody works down low or inside. Sometimes the airball falls straight from the sky, is caught, is lifted back or is lofted downrange. But it is a shooter’s game without shooters.

This is strange, because the game at West 4th is historically tough, all elbows and grunt and hard feelings. The miniature court rewards ruthlessness and body mass, not speed. Games here in August, played by older, angrier men, unfold like long-form fistfights in the heat. Not today.

The Cage is filled instead with city peacocks. Black and white and brown. Dazzling and radiant and useless.

Perfect.

[Photo Credit: NYC Gov Parks]

Well, the Yankees pretty much have their team together now — yesterday they crossed most of their t’s and dotted the bulk of their i’s.

Eric Chavez? In.

Edward Nunez? More reluctantly in.

Austin Romine and The Jesus? Minors, AA and AAA respectively.

Gustavo Molina? In, and may god have mercy on your soul.

Mark Prior? To A-ball, for the weather.

Romulo Sanchez? Sold to a Japanese team.

Ronnie Belliard? Fed to the sarlacc.

Things will change, of course, especially this year. I don’t know which of Freddy Garcia, Bartolo Colon and Ivan Nova will spend all season with the Yankees, but I very much doubt it will be all three. And this Molina situation (that’s what I insist on calling it – “this Molina situation” or “this Molina issue”) is very much temporary. I really like the Eric Chavez signing, and I like that Edward Nunez will not, barring disaster, see much playing time. The core of the Yankees is another story althogher  – we’ll get a lot of C.C. Sabathia and Robbie Cano and so forth, with just a soupçon of Colon. If you will.

Still: the Yankees’ fringes are quite fringe-y this year, aren’t they? I suppose not much more than usual – but having the two rotation spots to plug up somehow rather than the standard one does give the roster a bit of a different feel.

I’m guessing this won’t be a popular choice in these here parts, but in my preseason picks for Baseball Prospectus and The Daily, I had the Red Sox winning the division and the Rays getting the Wild Card, with the Yankees coming in a respectable third. I could easily be wrong, of course – I very often am  – and I certainly wouldn’t be shocked if the Yanks finished better than that. I don’t think they’ll be a bad team, by any stretch – it’s just that the AL East is so tough, and looking at the Yanks’ pitching, I don’t see it being enough.

I’m sure looking forward to finding out, though.

I was poking through a book of interviews with Al Pacino and found this:

I don’t go to fights. I saw De La Hoya fight because he invited me. I was put in a seat pole; I kept looking to see it on the monitors. It was weird. It’s easier to see on television. Except when you’re there you really see the craft of a fight, which you don’t see on television. You see the dance. Everybody thinks they’re fighting, but they’re doing something else. They’re thinking, they’re measuring each other, countering. You can see it in the ring, it’s beautiful to see live. I know it’s brutal, and I don’t want to like it the way I do, but it’s a great sport.

I really love Al because as crazy as he is, the man is serious about his craft.

Here’s Peter Gammons writing about Game Six of the 1986 World Series in the ’87 SI Baseball Preview:

“Last year should be remembered not for one inning or one game,” said veteran relief pitcher Joe Sambito, “but what for most of us was the best of times.”

The worst of times, of course, came in the bottom of the 10th inning of Game 6 of the World Series, when the Boston Red Sox turned a 5-3, two-out, bases-empty lead into a 6-5 loss to the New York Mets. In order, Gary Carter singled, Kevin Mitchell singled, Ray Knight singled to score Carter and send Mitchell to third, Mitchell scored on a wild pitch as Knight went to second, and Knight scored the winning run when Mookie Wilson’s grounder went through Buckner’s legs. Though it has been used many times before, the first paragraph of Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities truly does describe Game 6: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way….”

Game 6 has now taken its place with the other great World Series contests: Game 8 in 1912, Game 4 in 1947, Game 7 in 1960 and Game 6 in 1975. But in a way it stands alone as the greatest “bad” game in Series history. The Mets, who in 1986 won more games (116) than all but two teams ever, were facing the Red Sox, who hadn’t won a World Series since Babe Ruth pitched for them. For much of the Series, the two teams bumbled around like a couple of September cellar dwellers. And managers McNamara and Davey Johnson, otherwise sound strategists, often seemed to be off in other worlds.

I was in 10th grade when the Mets beat the Red Sox and was pulling for Boston all the way (I knew more Mets fans at school and even though the Red Sox beat my second favorite team, Reggie’s Angels, in the playoffs, I was an American League man first and foremost). I wasn’t crushed, of course, when the ball went through Buckner’s legs but I was furious thinking of all the mess the Mets fans would be talking at school the next day.

Kansas v VCU and UNC v Kentucky. Let’s hope for some more hoops goodness this afternoon.

In compiling these articles, I often select three topics of conversation, which may or may not have anything to do with each other. This week, I’d like to try something different: a series of random observations of what I’ve seen and followed in spring training. For this Yankee writer, this menu of pinstriped items has caught my attention over the last month and a half.

Bartolo Colon has been the largest–and yes, the pun is intended–of all the surprises in camp. “Chubbsy Ubbsy” has pitched beautifully this spring, with his last start representing the peak of his performance. After that game, one anonymous scout raved about Colon, calling him the “best pitcher” he had seen all spring, on any team. Colon has been throwing fastballs in the 94 to 95 mile-per-hour range, with good life and movement. He’s pitched so well that the Yankees have to include him on the Opening Day roster, either at the back end of the five-man rotation (where he may have to fend off the just-signed Kevin Millwood) or in the bullpen, where he might replace the traded Sergio Mitre. With Colon comes greater risk than Freddy Garcia, because he hasn’t pitched well since 2005 with the Halos, but there’s a potentially greater reward because of Colon’s higher pedigree. Now it all could blow up come June; Colon is 37 and hardly a practitioner of the Jack LaLanne workout program. But all in all, I think he’s worth the risk…

Eric Chavez and Jorge Vazquez have been the two other unexpected developments. Chavez has basically won the job as the backup corner infielder, but Vazquez has made such a strong impression that he could be the first recall if Chavez has a recurrence of back or shoulder trouble. Similarly, injuries to Mark Teixeira or Alex Rodriguez could also lead to a Vazquez promotion, with Chavez stepping in to play everyday. Thankfully, the Yankees now have their first legitimate backup to A-Rod in years, this after dabbling too much in the likes of Ramiro Pena and Cody Ransom and watching Wilson Betemit belly-flop in the reserve role. Betemit, by the way, has rejuvenated his career in Kansas City, but we never saw any of that hitting ability during his time in New York…

Speaking of Pena, it’s time for him to abdicate the utility throne to Eduardo Nunez, who is a better athlete, the more proficient base stealer, and versatile enough to play the outfield corners. He has also shown strides with his hitting, winning the praises of Ken Singleton on the YES Network. Nunez may not be good enough to play shortstop everyday, but he has more than enough talent to play a role as a valuable and versatile backup…

Staying with the infield, I think Alex Rodriguez is on the verge of having a monster season. Having dropped weight, he’s leaner and more flexible, important attributes for a player who’s now 35. I could easily see A-Rod hitting 45 home runs and flirting with a .600 slugging percentage, which he hasn’t done since 2007, when he reached the .645 mark. Now, if he would just make a midnight escape from Cameron Diaz and return to good-luck charm Kate Hudson…

Rather surprisingly, Austin Romine appears to have launched past Jesus Montero in the race to become the No. 2 catcher. Romine can flat-out catch in the major leagues–there has been no question about that for two years now–and as the son of former Red Sox outfielder Kevin Romine, he carries himself well in the clubhouse and on the field. But I have serious doubts about his ability to hit, especially when he’ll have to do so with irregular at-bats. So with Romine and Russell Martin, the Yankees would be carrying two questionable hitters behind the plate, rather than mixing in a good hitter as part of the equation. I know Montero has had a poor spring with the bat, but his minor league record indicates that he will hit with ferocity. There are times that Montero could pinch-hit for Martin or even Brett Gardner (against lefties), giving Girardi some more flexibility in the late innings. Without Montero, much of the pinch-hitting burden would fall on Andruw Jones, but what happens on days when Jones starts in the outfield? I’ll say it again: give me more backups who can swing the bat, especially in the era of the four-man bench…

(more…)

Interesting piece on stolen bases in the Wall Street Journal.

And, according to Jerry Crasnick, you won’t have ol’ Serge Mitre to kick around anymore.

 

[Painting by Roger Patrick]

I got a DM on Twitter today from a respectable print journalist who, in the course of researching Brett Gardner, came across one of his baseball-reference player comps named:

Johnny Dickshot.

Dickshot played mostly for Pittsburgh and the White Sox in the 30s and 40s. To make matters worse, Johnny’s nickname was “Ugly”. So, yes, Ugly Dickshot. I do like that apparently I am the person you get in touch with when you find a player with Dick in his name. It makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something.

… in all seriousness, while I doubt Millwood will help the Yankees or anyone else much this season, this is one of those can’t-hurt deals.

Over at Deadspin, here’s my guy Pat Jordan on Bo Belinsky:

No character in sports was more authentic than Robert “Bo” Belinsky, a left-handed pitcher in the ’60s. Bo personified “cool,” real cool that was intrinsic to his nature, not his public persona. As a rookie, Bo pitched the first no-hitter in California major league history for the Angels. It made him a star and an instant celebrity whose name became synonymous with a lifestyle that was cool and slick and dazzling. But that no-hitter was the high point of Bo’s career, which, after eight years, saw him leave baseball with a 28-51 record.

After his no-hitter in 1962, Bo said, “If music be the food of love, by all means let the band play on.” Bo instantly became the first original playboy-athlete. He f**ked Ann-Margret, Mamie Van Doren, Tina Louise, Connie Stevens, and he partied with Eddie Fisher, Dean Martin, and Henry Fonda. But in those days f**king Hollywood starlets and showing up at his team’s hotel at 5 a.m., “reeking of bitch and booze,” was not exactly what team owners, managers, sportswriters, and fans expected from their idols. Bo was suspended, arrested, banished to the minor leagues, traded, and traded again and again, which confused him. Bo never understood an essential fact of celebrity in those days. He never had that knack of later, more beloved playboy athletes like Joe Namath of cultivating his persona precisely up to, but not beyond, that point at which his public would become annoyed, bored, and eventually furious with him. By the time Bo left baseball his name had become synonymous with dissipated talent.

One week til opening day, kids.

First of all: My dream last night involved Luis Castillo as a malevolent Warwick-Davis style Leprechaun. Should I be concerned? I think probably so.

The big news today is actually not quite news yet, but it does seem likely: reading the tea leaves, it looks as though the Yankees are going to go with Ivan Nova and Freddy Garcia as their fourth and fifth starters, with Colon possibly in the bullpen as a long reliever. While I’m annoyed because all those Colon jokes I had ready are less relevant now, if this is the way the team goes, I think it makes sense. Colon had a much better spring, but we’ve all seen over the years that spring training stats mean very little – and if you look back over the much-larger sample size of a few years, Garcia is clearly the safer, more reliable bet. From Girardi’s comments in that NY Post article, it sounds like he was the strong favorite before spring training even started. Keep in mind that nothing is official yet. But it’s almost like Colon didn’t have a clear… oh, never mind.

Meanwhile, via Hardball Talk, Buck Showalter got a bit catty towards the Yankees and Red Sox in an interview with Men’s Journal, which I presume is one of those “let’s fire up the team” efforts (although: Men’s Journal? Is that really the place?). I have to say, however, that his criticism of Derek Jeter, while uncalled for, was not inaccurate:

“The first time we went to Yankee Stadium, I screamed at Derek Jeter from the dugout. Our guys are thinking, ‘Wow, he’s screaming at Jeter.’ Well, he’s always jumping back from balls just off the plate. I know how many calls that team gets – and yes, he [ticks] me off.”

Well, yeah… Jeter TOTALLY does do that. It doesn’t bother me at all – he’s trying to get the call and get on base and more power to him. But, yes, I think we’ve all seen a ball cross over the inner corner of the plate as Jeter leaps back as though it were about to nail him in the hip. I can see where if you were an opposing pitcher or manager, this particular move from Captain Intangibles might drive you a little nuts. Personally I appreciate the effort.

Finally, Don Zimmer is extremely old. You knew that. I however did not know that now, in his 63rd consecutive year in professional baseball, Zim is likely just a year away from tying Connie Mack for what is – so far as anyone can figure –  the longer straight baseball career ever. Like so many other managers and coaches, Zimmer left the Yankees on bad terms thanks to clashes with George Steinbrenner, but I’ll always have fond memories of him perched next to Torre during all those World Series wins. What’s particularly nifty is that fans from seven different decades have their own fond memories of him.

Remember the helmet? That’s the first thing I always think of when I think of Don Zimmer.

Daphne Merkin had a long piece on Iron Mike Tyson in the Times Magazine over the weekend.

In preparation for my visit to Las Vegas at the beginning of March, I communicated through e-mail with Kiki, who manages Tyson’s affairs, and the plan was kept loose: we were to meet at his house for several days of conversation, with no definite times fixed. I called the film director James Toback, who made an acclaimed 2009 documentary about Tyson and has known him since they met on the set of Toback’s “Pick-Up Artist” in 1986, to find out what I could about a man who came across in the film as both very present and elusive, weepy one minute and matter-of-fact the next, capable of self-insight but also hidden to himself. Toback told me that Tyson was unpredictable, given to sudden psychological disconnections that Toback referred to as “click-outs.” It was entirely possible, Toback said, that Tyson would back out of the interviews altogether. “Everything is contingent on the state of mind he’s in at the moment,” the director observed. According to Toback, he and Tyson shared experiences of temporary insanity — of “losing the I” — and “people who don’t understand madness can’t understand him. He’s quicker, smarter, sharper than almost anyone he’s talking to.”

…As befits someone who has been alternately idolized and demonized by the press, Tyson is leery of the public’s continuing interest in his saga. He says he believes that celebrity made him “delusional” and that it has taken nothing less than a “paradigm shift” for him to come down to earth: “We have to stick to what we are. I always stay in my slot. I know my place.” He asked me outright, “Why do you want to know about me as a person?” and at one point, anxious that he might be boring me, he got up to show me photographs from the glory days in which he is posing with other boxers (Ali, Rocky Graziano, Jake LaMotta) and with big names like Frank Sinatra, Tom Cruise and Barbra Streisand. Underneath his deliberate calmness and considerable charm, there is something bewildered and lost-seeming about Tyson. Indeed, he refers to himself as a “little boy” who “never had a chance to develop,” and it is in part this conception of himself as missing out on a crucial period of maturation that fuels his present focus. “This is what the deal is,” he said. “People just wait for you to grow up and do the right thing. They’re just waiting for you to participate in the improvement of your life as a human being. When are you going to do it?”

After all the playing time he got this spring, I figured Jesus Montero was likely to start the season with the Yankees while Francisco Cervelli (you remember him) was on the DL. But the Daily News talked to Brian Cashman and, well, it doesn’t sound like that’s the case:

“He hasn’t played well recently,” Cashman said after watching Montero catch in Tuesday’s 6-2 loss to the Orioles. “He’s better than what he’s shown recently, catching-wise.

“He’s been struggling with the bat, and I don’t know if it’s cause-and-effect. I just know that last year he didn’t start catching well (in Triple-A) until he started hitting. And from June on, both went through the roof.”

I’d say this continues Cashman’s offseason pattern of being just a liiiiiittle bit too honest with the media; but if the Yankees were planning on having Montero start with the major league team, this wouldn’t seem to be a particularly helpful thing to say. Austin Romine may be better defensively but he has even less experience than Montero, and Gustavo Molina was an afterthought to even Cervelli, so to me this says that Montero must REALLY not be able to catch, at least not yet. Which is what most non-Yankee scouts and prospect experts have been saying all along, after all.

The team now has a few more eggs in the Russell Martin basket than I would personally be comfortable with. And while I have to assume they have reasons for not having Posada catch even a single game this spring, I don’t feel like I really know what those reasons are. Not that Jorge is any defensive whiz himself, of course, but after all he was their catcher as recently as October. (Concussion concerns would be an absolutely valid justification, but the Yankees haven’t confirmed that as their reasoning).

No easy answers here, apparently. What would you do? What Would Jesus (Montero) Do?

A trip to the SI Vault brings us this gem on David Cone by my man John Ed Bradley. From the 1993 Baseball Preview issue:

In Kansas City they make a top-notch steak and some fine barbecue. And first-rate music if you go for jazz. And maybe a decent sportswriter or two—they make that. Or used to. Wasn’t it Hemingway who had a start there, long, long time ago? But hot young baseball talent…they just don’t make much. And, no sir, they never have.

When David Cone was a kid living in a blue-collar neighborhood on the northeast side of Kansas City, he never imagined he would grow up to be the best-paid pitcher the game has ever known. He told people he wanted to be a scribe, like Oscar Madison, the irascible slob in The Odd Couple. Have a beat and lots of dizzy dames. Have an apartment and keep it ear-deep in filth. Have a drink and a smoke before getting out of bed in the morning. Have whatever, since Oscar Madison didn’t seem to give a hoot.

Have a ball, in other words.

Love the nutzo picture of Coney on the cover. Man, it’ll be refreshing to have him back in the YES booth this season, huh?

Over at The American Scholar, Douglas Goetsch has a piece on Ring Lardner and the Black Sox Scandal:

At the height of his fame in the 1920s, humorist and short-story writer Ring Lardner was listed among the 10 best-known people in America. He wrote a nationally syndicated newspaper column, short stories for mass-circulation magazines, skits and songs for the Ziegfeld Follies, and the text of a daily comic strip. To the bulk of his readers, Lardner was the regular guy who had made it, the man who golfed with the president but was still friends with the train conductors. The only writer in the country who could get away with the salutation, “Well, friends,” he addressed the average American, the man he repeatedly called “Joe,” and he did this in a natural, unassuming style—a veritable idiom nicknamed “Lardner Ringlish”—removed from the formal conventions of correct prose.

…But earlier in his career, Lardner was best known as a baseball writer, and much of his enduring reputation is tied to the national pastime. He covered baseball in what’s been called the Silver Age of the game—from 1900 to 1919—an era that ended with the infamous Black Sox scandal, ushering in, as irony would have it, the Golden Age of baseball. Lardner’s infatuation and eventual disillusionment with baseball offer a number of lessons about how we should think about the scandals in today’s game, and his writing illuminates our own love-hate relationship with baseball.

Right on cue…

It only makes sense for the Yankees to discuss Perez – they need pitching, and are probably discussing just about everyone who’s available – but I also sincerely doubt it’ll go any farther than casual discussion, given how miserable his last few years have been, and that his velocity is way down on top of everything else (and he never was a control guy). Of course even if they did it would be a relatively low-risk major-league minimum signing… but… [shudder]. Presumably Cashman’s lack of enthusiasm is on account of his functional human brain. But I’m confident this won’t come close to happening, so let’s all shake off that mental image and try to feel warm again.

I was at Shea for the Village Voice during the 2006 playoffs and I remember being so impressed by how well Perez and John Maine handled being abruptly thrust into the high pressure spotlight of the playoff rotation. Perez started two games in the NLCS, and ended up giving up 6 runs over 11 2-3 innings with seven Ks and one walk – not spectacular, but solid under the circumstances. For a little while there it really seemed like Omar Minaya had stolen him from Pittsburgh. Anyway, I have no strong sense of Perez’s personality; he’s been villified unfairly because of the contract and his poor performance,  but that’s baseball, and then maybe a bit fairly for his refusal to help the Mets by agreeing to a minor league assignment last season. But regardless it must be very hard for men like him and Maine to have so much potential fail to develop, whether because of health or simply the ever-shifting difficulty of the game. And yes, I bet $12 million a year takes the edge off, but there’s no way it’s not still painful.

Having now expressed the requisite empathy, I’ll just reiterate that this man should not be allowed within 200 feet of the Yankees.

Today the Mets finally released Oliver Perez, and there was much rejoicing.  Perez, who was heading into his third year of a horrid contract, and two and a half years as a punchline about the recent Mets administrations’ ineptitude, joins fellow scapegoat Luis Castillo, who was released Friday and promptly picked up by the Phillies (whose fantastic pitching staff will have to hope the grounders they induce avoid second base). Both Castillo and Perez were the targets of intense fan dislike, which was thoroughly earned from a baseball perspective though not from a personal one. Castillo was often accused of being sulky or half-assed when, in fact, he simply had no working knees. Neither he nor Perez can be blamed for taking the ludicrous contracts Omar Minaya offered them, but you also can’t blame Mets fans for their palpable relief at no longer having to watch those two.

Anyway, certain players on certain teams are destined to be the butt of jokes, the target of fans’ unhappiness. I bring this up because the Yankees are primed to have a few of those this year. Though there is obviously a major difference in that none of these new players have especially large or unreasonable contracts –and so shouldn’t garner the level of contempt that Perez of Castillo did — don’t wait too long to get your Colon jokes ready. When you have three real major league starters and are just hoping to get by in the last two rotations spots, you’re going to have some clunkers. Clunkers are an enjoyable part of the game too, though, if you can bring the right expectations and attitude to it. I know as someone writing about the games, I am grateful to Tony Womack and Sir Sidney Ponson for the material.

This has been coming since that fateful week Cliff Lee decided to head to Phillie and Andy Pettitte decided to saty in Texas. The Yankees haven’t named their 4 or 5 starters yet, less than two weeks before the season starts, but if I had to guess I’d say we’re looking at Ivan Nova and Bartolo Colon, who seem to have  the edge over Sergio Mitre and Freddy Garcia. And there’s no way those two will stay in those spots all season, so there’s more to come. Once in a while you get an Aaron Small or Gustavo Chacin – sometimes you even get both at once! – but mostly you don’t. And that’s okay. Even the Yankees have to make due with baseball’s scrap heap sometimes.

I’m reminded of a tale from some baseball book or other that I was reading, years ago, about minor league life. A coach was described who would always console struggling players with comforting words along the lines of, “Relax, kid, don’t blame yourself – blame the dopey scout who signed you”. Yes, it’s important not to make things unduly personal. The Yanks are going to deal with some clunkers this year, no way arund it. But if we approach this in the right spirit I think we can have some fun.

So, what do you think – who will we be making agonized jokes about come June?