Chuck Tanner never played for or managed the Yankees, but that really shouldn’t matter. He was one of those special people in baseball who just made you feel better about yourself, even if you were only around him for a few minutes. Tanner died last week at the age of 82, leaving behind a legacy of general cheerfulness and highly competent managing.

About a dozen years ago, I had a chance to meet Tanner and Oliver at a university symposium about integration in baseball. Both men played important roles for those culturally diverse Pirates teams, allowing them to share their experiences with the college students and academics in attendance. When it came to coaching and managing black athletes, Tanner offered plenty of credibility. More than any manager, he found a way to get through to Dick Allen where other skippers had failed. He also had good relationships with African-American and Latino players in Pittsburgh, from Oliver and Manny Sanguillen to Willie Stargell and Bill Madlock. His ability to deal well with athletes of all ethnicities was exemplified by a 1979 world championship team, a unified group tied together by the hit Sister Sledge song, “We are Family.”

After we participated in the panel, I had the distinct pleasure of dining with Tanner and Oliver. It didn’t take long to realize that Tanner’s persona of perpetual optimism was no deceptive façade. He took as much interest in me as I did in him, even though I had never managed a world champion or played in a major league game. As much as anyone I’ve ever met, Tanner genuinely exuded positive vibes–and seemingly did so every minute of the day. It was not difficult to see why so many of his players proclaimed him as the best and most enjoyable manager they had ever experienced.

Tanner knew the game, too. The job that he did leading the 1972 White Sox remains one of the great managerial accomplishments of the past 40 years. Other than Dick Allen, the knuckleballing Wilbur Wood, and a young Terry Forster, the White Sox had little frontline talent, but they somehow managed to keep pace with the vastly superior Oakland A’s for much of that summer. Tanner knew that he didn’t have much pitching depth that season, so he used a four-man rotation that sometimes morphed into a three-man affair. Wood, ex-Yankee Stan Bahnsen, and journeyman Tom Bradley each made over 40 starts, all of them pitching well enough to keep the Sox and their low-scoring offense in most games that season.

Tanner knew something about relief pitching, as well. He was the man who made the decision to convert Goose Gossage to the bullpen, a maneuver that resulted in a Hall of Fame career. Later on, when Tanner moved on to the Pirates, he masterfully mixed and matched his bullpen arms. He exhibited a great feel for when and where to use his relievers, whether it was Jim Bibby or Enrique Romo pitching in long relief, ex-Yankee Grant Jackson working as a situational left-hander, or Kent Tekulve filling the role as closer.

In between managing stints in Chicago and Pittsburgh, Tanner did intriguing work in Oakland. He managed the A’s for only season, but he left his mark in a distinctive way. An aggressive manager who loved the running game, Tanner realized he had speed to burn with the ‘76 A’s. Giving green lights to practically his entire roster, Tanner watched the A’s steal 341 bases, a major league record for the post-deadball era. Tanner skillfully used Matt “The Scat” Alexander and Larry Lintz as designated pinch runners, while coaxing career best base stealing seasons from Billy North (75 steals), Don Baylor (52) and even the -footed Sal Bando (20 steals). Having lost Reggie Jackson in a spring training deal and having to wade through Charlie Finley’s ill-fated player sales of Joe Rudi, Vida Blue, and Rollie Fingers, Tanner somehow kept the A’s in contention before they fell a few lengths short of Whitey Herzog’s Royals.

(more…)

Today I bring you one Gus Godbold (photo unavailable).

Sounds pretty badass, but not much is known about Godbold – he played from 1948 to 1950 for minor league Philadelphia As teams in Moultrie (?), Tarboro (?!) and Fayetteville, batting .270 for his career.

From an old Forbes magazine post by our man Michael Popek:

And if you’ve never popped by Forgotten Bookmarks, get-to-steppin’.

Say what you want about Joba Chamberlain’s weight, at least he seems (thus far) to have learned his lesson regarding driving under the influence. Slipping back into destructive behavior this spring, though, is Miguel Cabrera, who got arrested last night on DUI charges and then some. Per the TCPalm, when police arrived:

Cabrera, of Boca Raton, grabbed a bottle of James Buchanan’s Scotch Whiskey and started drinking.

…Cabrera, whose eyes were bloodshot and speech “heavily slurred,” was handcuffed and walked towards a patrol vehicle before being told to get in the vehicle.

“Do you know who I am, you don’t know anything about my problems,” Miguel Cabrera is quoted as saying.

A deputy reported Cabrera was put in handcuffs after not following orders. Cabrera also “kept running out in the road with his hands up.”

A deputy asked Cabrera to get his a patrol vehicle, and he said, “(Expletive) you.”…

Yikes. And this mug shot is not at all reassuring:

I’ve had a special fondness for Cabrera ever since 2006, when in the 10th inning of a game against Baltimore, he swung at an intentional walk pitch that wasn’t far enough outside and knocked a single into center field, leading to a Marlins win. It was just an awesome moment, and while I’m sure it’s happened at some point before in baseball’s long history, I’d never seen it before, and was delighted. I don’t know how long this video will be up (since MLB still doesn’t understand how to interact with fans online and insists on removing every 3-second clip of free advertising anyone puts up), but here it is for now:

Anyway, needless to say his epic screw-up in 2009 took some of the shine off, but it’s sad to see such a fun player careening off the rails. (Probably unnecessary disclaimer: of course, from a human standpoint, it’s sad no matter who it is.)

Meanwhile, over in Dodgers camp, a somewhat different kind of freakout: a day after his agent said that reliever Ronald Belisario might not be able to play in the US this year because of visa issues, Belisario says the delay is simply the result of a lost passport. From the LA Times Dodgers’ blog:

Ronald Belisario told a Venezuelan newspaper that he lost his passport and that he should be able to report to camp soon after obtaining a new one.

But that’s news to Belisario’s agent, Paul Kinzer, who said on Wednesday that his client will probably miss the entire season because of his inability to gain legal entry into the United States.

“That would be news to me,” Kinzer said. “I hope that’s true.”

Kinzer said he has lost touch with the hard-throwing reliever, who hasn’t reported to camp on time for the third consecutive spring.

“He’s gone kind of quiet,” Kinzer said. “I haven’t heard from him in a few weeks.”

That’s just… really weird. Missing passport or no – being late to camp (again, and just a year after treatment for substance abuse) and not even checking in with your agent is a sign that something is very off.

So, it’s been kind of a rough first week of spring training so far for a few teams. Maybe baseball needs to develop a more aggressive substance abuse program for its players, or tougher rules about getting help, counseling, or rehab after incidents like this. And maybe let’s ease off Joba’s extra 15 pounds, at least until we see how he pitches. There are problems and then there are problems.

C.C. Sabathia reported to camp lighter; Joba Chamberlain is heavier. My favorite headline today comes from the Times of all places: Heftier Chamberlain Arrives with Thud at Yankees Camp:

Asked Wednesday morning for his impression of Chamberlain, General Manager Brian Cashman said: “He’s heavier. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Told that Chamberlain has said he packed on muscle, Cashman said: “He’s obviously heavier. That’s as much as I’ll say.”

…“You think about it as a manager, you think about what it says,” Manager Joe Girardi said. “As I said, Joba is going to be pretty much evaluated on how he pitches. That’s the bottom line. We’ve been very pleased in what we’ve seen so far.”

The Wall Street Journal asks: Is This the Fattest Yankee Team Ever?

Albert Pujols said that he didn’t want to negotiate after spring training started because he didn’t want his expiring contract to be a distraction this season. Well, good luck with that.

The current frenzy will certainly die down, but I expect Pujols’ contract to come up early and often as the season goes on. And why wouldn’t it? It’s not every day that one of the best hitters in the history of baseball comes this close to free agency. I don’t know who Ken Rosenthal’s source on this is, but if he’s right, the Cards may have seriously lowballed Pujols:

As many people have pointed out, including Craig Calcaterra at Hardball Talk and Christina Kahrl at Baseball Prospectus, the lack of a deal at this artificially created “deadline” hardly means that there won’t be a deal at some point. Still, I was struck by the negativity of Bill DeWitt, the Cardinals Chairman, when asked if he thought there was still a chance Pujols signs with the Cards after this season:

“I think that’s hard to say at this point,” DeWitt said. “We tried last offseason, so maybe the third time will be the charm… We did make every effort. We started the process early and had good dialogue throughout. It wasn’t that we ran out of time, it’s just that we were unable to reach agreement.”

That may just be a negotiating ploy or a PR stance, but he didn’t sound hopeful.

I don’t feel like I have a very good grip on Albert Pujols’ personality. I’ve seen a lot of reporters say recently that he’s a good guy, and they would know better than me, but in my own (admittedly quite brief) personal experience, covering the 2006 NLCS, he was an abrasive jerk with the media. There’s no reason why St. Louis fans would, or should, care about that – watching him play baseball is a beautiful thing, and that’s what’s important there. I only bring it up because I wonder what impact his personality might have on these negotiations. There’s no obligation for him to take less money than he could get elsewhere to play in St. Louis, and few athletes do. But I wonder if he will insist on being the highest-paid player ever, and whether there’s any room for compromise.

It’s always nice when a great player is able to stay with a team for his whole career – but if Pujols gets cut loose, that’ll be fascinating to watch in its own right, and it’s hard not to feed the hype on this.

Over at Esquire, Tom Chiarella profiles the hard luck and beautiful life of Liam Neeson.

[Photo Credit: WVS]

Constantine Manos

American Color

Bill Plaschke on the best spot to do lunch in Los Angeles: 

What I really wanted to hear, of course, was what the Dodgers thought about folks just walking into their house and hanging out in the middle of the day, so I phoned club spokesman Josh Rawitch with the news.

“I want to tell you about my favorite place to have lunch,” I said.

“Top of the park at Dodger Stadium, right?” he said.

“How did you know?” I said.

“You’re not the only one,” he said.

It turns out, other folks are aware of this place, and the Dodgers tolerate it for the good of the town.

“There are a lot of fans who refer to the top of the park as the best-kept secret lunch spot in Los Angeles, and it’s hard to argue with them,” Rawitch said. “While we don’t openly encourage it, the fact that it has become known this way is a reminder of just how special Dodger Stadium is to our fans, even when it’s empty.”

[Photo Credit: The Itinerant Fan]

You may recall that last month, I was thrilled when the Yankees claimed reliever Brian Schlitter from the Cubs. Alas, our favorite awesome headline generator was designated for assignment on Monday, to make room for Andruw Jones on the 40-man roster, and yesterday he was claimed off waivers by the Phillies. Those greedy bastards – they snap up all the great starting pitchers and then they have to go and take the great names, too?

One more for the road: Horseschlitt.

And I could look like Chevalier:

The overweight lover’s in the house…

George King on Jorge Posada, DH.

Ben Kabak on prospects.

William with a fun piece on managers and their baseball cards.

[Photo Credit: Anthony Causi]

Seriously, now…got to love spring training.

[Photo Credit: The Best Way to Spend Time On Line]

Bags vs. Kline

This painting always makes me think of “Flight of the Bumble Bee.”

The winter in New York City brings with it a collection of ridiculously poofy jackets. I’m not saying these coats aren’t effective. I own two. They just look a little silly.

But when we wear them underground, and cram ourselves together in a subway car at rush hour, they become a problem. Some of these jackets double a person’s width. And nobody can control the hems of the longer varieties. Flayed jacket tails obscure newspapers and brush cheeks with regularity.

One of the very welcome aspects of spring will be jumping into a waiting subway car without tucking in the edges of my marshmallow coat. It’ll feel like freedom.

For about two weeks, that is, until the heat becomes so oppressive down there that I’ll long for the onset of the next winter.

Valentine’s Day Edition: Meet Me in Montauk

It’s become something of a cliche to say that the romantic comedy is a dying genre, but I think it might at least be on a ventilator. What was the last really good one? The last romantic comedy as good as Broadcast News, let alone, say, His Girl Friday?

My favorite movie of the modern era that might be called a relationship movie is not really a romantic comedy – although it’s very funny in many places, in that kind of laugh-to-keep-from-crying way – and it is, indeed, set on Valentine’s Day. It’s mostly about a relationship, but it’s also about the human mind and storytelling. And depending on your mood and your general feelings about love at the moment, it can be read as either hopeful or depressing. I think it’s both – or anyway, it’s about as hopeful as a movie can be while still recognizing certain depressing realities. Yep, I’m talking about Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

When I first saw it, at Brooklyn Heights Cinemas, I was not in a good place, romantically speaking, and while I loved it immensely I also thought it was incredibly sad. Now, while I certainly won’t claim it’s an inspiring cupful of cheer, I take a less bleak view. Not so much that love will triumph (the odds are against it, in this film) but that love is worth it. Or, okay, at the very least inevitable. It’s one of those movies that’s a bit of a Rorschach blot. And beyond the central story of Joel (Jim Carry the last time he was good) and Clementine (a fantastic Kate Winslet), there’s a fairly spectacular subplot featuring mind-twisting sci-fi, Mark Ruffalo, Kirstin Dunst, the great Tom Wilkinson, and Elijah Woods in the role he was born to play, a whiny creep. The structure is complex and twisty but always somehow comprehensible in a way that’s pretty much brilliant and explains why I will always have nothing but love for screenwriter Charlie Kaufman, and his darker and more intellectual style bounces perfectly off Michel Gondry’s whimsical and less tightly-wound direction. And did I mention the soundtrack is fantastic too? The trailer really doesn’t do this movie credit:

I’ve never gone out to Montauk on Valentine’s Day. But I bet if you did, you’d find some very cold, lovelorn people with good taste in movies.

Grey skies, snow flurries in New York.

Stay warm, eat well, be happy.

[Picture by Bags]

Today we’ve got a tie between a couple of Vons:

First, VonRay Opolous, for whom there is sadly no photo available. Opolous played in 1969 for the Mets minor-league affiliate in Marion, VA — alongside the equally-excellently named Victor Worry. (Worry managed a 2-0 record that year despite an 11.77 ERA, but his career lasted just 13 innings.)

and:

Fritz Von Kolnitz. His full name was Alfred Holmes Von Kolnitz, so no wonder someone came up with “Fritz.” He played for the Reds and White Sox from 1914 to 1916, and ended up with a career line of .212/.264/.261. He… must’ve been an excellent fielder. My favorite part, though, is that he played on that 1914 team with Fritz Mollwitz.

I don’t live in luxury.  I don’t reside in one of those pre-war Park Avenue buildings with those heavy glass and wrought-iron doors and the subdued dark wood paneling on the walls. Nor do I live in one of those gleaming apartment “towers” that dot the skyline.

I live in a simple, non-descript seven-story brick building erected in 1965 in Queens. But, our building (a co-op in which I am renting) does have one of those items seen in the “classier” buildings . . . a doorman.

Having lived in walk-up brownstones, residing in a doorman building is a treat. You have an added sense of safety when you arrive home. They hold packages for you, rather than you having to trudge to the post office or asking a neighbor to take in an expected parcel for you. They usually know what’s going on in the building before any of your neighbors.

Our building provides doorman coverage from 10AM-11:30PM weekdays, and 2-10PM on the weekends. Our doormen aren’t dressed in matching grey suits and hats like the ones you find “on the avenue”, but they’re always wearing nice shirts, ties and jackets.

I’ve only been in the building for a little over three years, but I understand that our weekday doorman has been in that position for many years. We haven’t been quite as fortunate in terms of night doormen.

The first one I met was a then-recent immigrant in his late 30s/early 40s, who was in the midst of studying for Medical School. He’d have one eye on the front door, and one on his books. It isn’t a bad gig for someone looking to have some quiet time while making a little dough. Sure enough, when he got his notice of acceptance into Med School, he gave up the doorman job.

His replacement was a nice-enough fellow, probably late-40s, wife, two small children. I came home one night to find him polishing the brass handrails. He held the bottle of polish up and asked me somewhat hesitantly “do you think this is safe to use on these rails?” I took a look at the bottle, and assured him it was OK. Another time, I came home at 11:30PM, to find his family waiting in the lobby for him to pack up and go home. Whatever his story was, it was short . . . he was gone within one month.

Next came Silvio, a Hispanic fellow in his early-to-mid 20s with a quiet demeanor and a well-kept ponytail and goatee. Silvio didn’t have any textbooks with him at the desk. Sometimes there would be a laptop, sometimes he’d be chatting on a celphone headset. I often wondered why someone his age would be subjecting himself to sitting behind a desk and collecting the recycling in an apartment building every weeknight. Was he saving his dollars for something? Was he between “real jobs”?

One night a few weeks ago, I came home to find that Silvio had ditched the ponytail. I thought, “hmmm . . . job interview coming up?”  Maybe I was right, as Silvio was gone a week later. His replacement hasn’t been hired yet, but I’m sure he’ll have his own story.