Here’s a nice chat between Jeff Pearlman and Shawn Green:

JEFF PEARLMAN: So I’ve always wanted to ask a ballplayer this, especially one I covered. When I was on the beat, I loathed the ritualistic nonsense of the clubhouse. What I mean is—I enter the room, I need to talk to Shawn Green. I see you at your locker. I wait to come over, you’re talking to Carlos Delgado, I pause, then I approach, you pick up a magazine, I pause. You know I’m there, I presume, but keep reading. I finally come over, ask a banal ice-breaker. Are you, as a player, as aware of this as I am?

SHAWN GREEN: The truth is, in general athletes don’t like the media. There are always certain guys you like, and there are always certain guys you can’t stand. The other writers all sort of get lumped into the middle. And, obviously, as an athlete the bigger you are in the game, the more attention you get. For me … well, it depended. In Los Angeles a lot of the players didn’t like T.J. Simers, because he could be very critical. I actually liked him, because I felt like I understood what he was doing. He would poke you, hope you’d blow up, then he’d poke you the rest of your life. I just never blew up, and I spoke to him without any incident or problem. What I didn’t like were the reporters who would just show up every once in a while, act like they were your best friend, then crush you in print. I understand reporters have to do their jobs, but that’s what bothered me—when it was unfair.

As for the clubhouse, there are definitely times as a player, it’s an unwritten thing, but you mess with reporters and make them wait a little while. I was much more likely to lean that way if I had a great game than a bad game. When I had a bad game I just wanted to take my medicine and move on.

Dig this entertaining essay by Colson Whitehead in the latest issue of the New Yorker:

Growing up on the Upper East Side in the nineteen-seventies, I was a bit of a shut-in. I would prefer to have been a sickly child. I always love it when I read a biography of some key Modernist or neurasthenic Victorian and it says, “So-and-so was a sickly child, forced to retreat into a world of his imagination.” But the truth is that I just didn’t like leaving the house. Other kids played in Central Park, participated in athletics, basked and what have you in the great outdoors. I preferred to lie on the living-room carpet, watching horror movies. I dwelled in a backward age, full of darkness, before the VCR boom, before streaming and on-demand, before DVRs roamed the cable channels at night, scavenging content. Either a movie was on or it wasn’t. If I was lucky, I’d come home from elementary school to find WABC’s “The 4:30 Movie” in the middle of Monster Week, wherein vengeful amphibians chased Ray Milland like death-come-a-hopping (“Frogs”), or George Hamilton emoted fiercely in what one assumes was the world’s first telekinesis whodunnit (“The Power”). Weekends, “Chiller Theatre,” on WPIX, played horror classics that provided an education on the subjects of sapphic vampires and ill-considered head transplants. I snacked on Oscar Mayer baloney, which I rolled into cigarette-size payloads of processed meat, and although I didn’t know it at the time, started taking notes about artists and monsters. Fate was cruel and withholding, and then suddenly surprised me with a TV announcer’s tantalizing words: “Stay tuned for ‘The Flesh Eaters’ ”; or “Don’t go away! We’ll be right back with ‘Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things.’ ” I couldn’t look the title up on the Web, couldn’t know anything beyond what its luridness conjured, and there was the frightening possibility that I might never have the chance to see the movie again. Who knew when this low-budget comet would return to this corner of the galaxy? Its appearance was a cosmic accident, one that might never be repeated. Weeks before, some bored drone at the TV station had decided to dump it into this time slot, and today I happened to be home from school with bronchitis. Did I have time to grab some baloney or a bowl of Lucky Charms before the opening credits ended? Thanks to “Star Wars” ’s Pavlovian ministrations, I got excited whenever I heard the horns that accompanied the Twentieth Century Fox logo.

About the only part of the old “Star Wars” movies that continues to spark emotion for me is the music introducing a Twentieth Century Fox movie. Still gets me amped.

Laz Diaz offers up some cruel and unusual punishment. Craig Calcaterra gathers the story over at Hardball Talk.

[Image Via: Von Trapper Keeper]

Sometimes life can get in the way of baseball, and this was one of those nights. The good news, of course, is that I have a DVR, so I never really have to miss anything. I can coach volleyball practice, head directly to my daughter’s middle school band concert, then take the family out to a late dinner, confident that all the while my trusty DVR is dutifully recording the game.

The problem, of course, is that the game is also in my pocket the whole time. My phone buzzed at 7:05 to let me know that game had started, and I was tempted several times throughout the evening to check on the score. I resisted each time. During the lull between beginning band and beginning orchestra? Stand strong. After foolishly glancing at the restaurant television and seeing this on ESPN’s Bottom Line: Nova (NYY): 5 IP, 5 ER…? Stay calm and carry on. When my phone buzzed at 10:05, feeling suspiciously like an incoming text from a gloating Angel fan? Keep the faith.

And so I kept the faith, even as the Angels jumped on Ivan Nova for an early 1-0 lead in typically annoying Anaheim fashion. Mike Trout, heretofore referred to as the Most Exciting Player in Baseball, took a pitch to the shoulder to lead off the first, then galloped to third when a hit-and-run worked out and Alberto Callaspo singled where Derek Jeter had just been standing. Albert Pújols, suddenly fearsome again, walked to load the bases with none out, and disaster loomed. But Nova rebounded to strike out Kendrys Morales, yielded a sacrifice fly to Mark Trumbo, then got Howie Kendrick to fly out. Sure, it was 1-0, but it could’ve been much worse.

The Yankees answered back in the third when Russell Martin walked and later used the 3-2 head start to race to third on Derek Jeter’s single. Curtis Granderson followed that with home run to right, and the Yankees had their first lead since the first inning of the first game of the series. Ervin Santana was the victim of all that, and he responded by hitting Alex Rodríguez a few pitches later. If the Yankees were bothered by that — and I can’t imagine they were — Robinson Canó exacted revenge by powering a home run deep to right and they were up 5-1.

Nova, meanwhile, was looking good. I’m not sure how accurate it was, but according to the radar gun at Angels Stadium, Nova’s fastball was topping out at 97 MPH in the early going, and he cruised through the second and third innings on only eighteen pitches. But then came the fourth. I don’t have the energy to recap it completely, but believe me when I tell you it was just more Halo nonsense. Yet another home run from Mark Trumbo, a two-strike single, a bunt single, and a rocketed double off the bat of the Most Exciting Player in Baseball. In the blink of an eye, the game was tied at five. If you were watching live and felt confident at this point, you’re lying.

But Nova stuck around to cruise through the fifth and sixth and got back in position for a win when the Angels defense finally made a mistake. Raúl Ibáñez smoked a ball to the wall in right center, but Peter “Gorgeous” Bourjos foolishly chased it all the way to the warning track only to watch helplessly as the ball ricocheted over his head and bounded back towards center field, following the exact path Bourjos had just tread. Ibáñez actually looked like he had designs on an inside-the-parker before downshifting and coasting into third for his first triple in more than a year. Nick Swisher jumped on the first pitch he saw and produced a sacrifice fly to give the Yankees the 6-5 lead.

Nova was lifted after getting the first two outs of the seventh inning, then Boone Logan made things interesting by giving up consecutive singles to put runners on first and third with two out. With the game clearly in the balance, Cory Wade entered to face Kendrick and promptly fell behind 3-0. He was having trouble finding the feel of his curveball, but once he found it, the Angles hitters were at his mercy. He bounced back to strike out Kendrick, then K’d two of three in the eighth to hand the game to Rafael Soriano.

I won’t describe the ninth inning, except to mention that Pújols came to the plate as the winning run and I was dead certain that he was about to hit a walk-off. (Remember the suspiciously-timed text message from earlier?) He didn’t. Pretty or not, Soriano got the save. Yankees 6, Angels 5. And by the way, it isn’t just Mariano’s cold-hearted efficiency that I miss, it’s also his business-like reaction to the final out. Whenever Soriano gets a save, pulling his jersey out of his pants as he walks off the mound, I find myself completely distracted from the win and instead wishing he’d keep his clothes on. Classless. Someone should talk to him.

But things are looking up in Yankeeland. The teams heads off to Detroit, where two wins will make for a successful 6-3 road trip. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Oh, and that text message? Turns out it was just a push notification. It was my turn in Scrabble. If I had had the letters, I obviously would’ve played V-I-C-T-O-R-Y.

[Photo Credit: Chris Carlson/AP Photo]

The Yanks look to escape Orange County with a win.

Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Mark Teixeira 1B
Raul Ibanez LF
Nick Swisher RF
Eric Chavez DH
Russell Martin C

Never mind those brooms, fellas: Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Via: Where is the Cool?]

Chad Jennings breaks down the Yanks’ recent struggles with the bases loaded.

Freaky. It won’t last.

[Painting by Craig Robinson]

The Yankees travelled to Boston for a Memorial Day doubleheader, one of six twinbills played during DiMaggio’s streak, another notable difference between baseball then and now. A sell-out crowd of 34,500 crammed into Fenway Park as the Yanks and Sox split the pair. In the opener, things looked bleak for the Yankees and DiMaggio as they came to bat in the top of the ninth trailing 3-1. Still without a hit, DiMaggio came up in the final inning with a runner on first. He singled to keep the rally (and the streak) alive, and New York eventually scored three times to take the one-run lead that would give them a 4-3 victory. In the nightcap, Boston hammered the Yankees, beating them 13-0, but DiMaggio was awarded a hit on a fly ball lofted high into the wind and sun that often plagued Fenway’s right field. Boston’s Pete Fox tried valiantly to make the catch, but the ball fell untouched at his feet, and DiMaggio scampered into second base with a double.

Aside from the two hits, DiMaggio’s day was utterly forgettable. Normally one of the best defensive outfielders in the game, DiMaggio earned his nickname, the Yankee Clipper, with the effortless way in which he sailed across the outfield grass in pursuit of flyballs. On this day, however, he was charged with an error in the opening game and three more in the second, making this perhaps his worst day in the field. None of this, however, affected the streak.

I was the assistant film editor on a forgettable gangster movie called “Belly.” It featured Nas and DMX and was directed by Hype (aka Harold) Williams. D’Angelo came in to watch a screening once at 1600 Broadway. He and a few pals excused themselves to smoke L’s in the stairway while the projectionist threaded the movie.

D’Angelo was a big deal at the time. Then he fell off. Check out this profile of the gifted singer by Amy Wallace over at GQ:

Shame, guilt, repentance—D’Angelo knows them well. To say that he was raised religious doesn’t begin to capture it. He’s the son and the grandson of Pentecostal preachers. To D’Angelo, good and evil are not abstract concepts but tangible forces he reckons with every day. In his life and in his music, he has always felt the tension between the sacred and the profane, the darkness and the light.

“You know what they say about Lucifer, right, before he was cast out?” D’Angelo asks me now. “Every angel has their specialty, and his was praise. They say that he could play every instrument with one finger and that the music was just awesome. And he was exceptionally beautiful, Lucifer—as an angel, he was.”

But after he descended into hell, Lucifer was fearsome, he tells me. “There’s forces that are going on that I don’t think a lot of motherfuckers that make music today are aware of,” he says. “It’s deep. I’ve felt it. I’ve felt other forces pulling at me.” He stubs out his cigarette and leans toward me, taking my hand. “This is a very powerful medium that we are involved in,” he says gravely. “I learned at an early age that what we were doing in the choir was just as important as the preacher. It was a ministry in itself. We could stir the pot, you know? The stage is our pulpit, and you can use all of that energy and that music and the lights and the colors and the sound. But you know, you’ve got to be careful.”

[Photo Credit: Gregory Harris/GQ]

I’ll tell you a secret. I hate the Angels. I hate them about a hundred times more than the Red Sox, a thousand more times than the Rays. I hate the way Mike Scioscia cocks his head and squints his eyes in confusion whenever a call goes against him. I hate the scrappiness, I hate the hustle, I hate the font of the numbers on the backs of their jerseys.

After a disappointing loss on Monday night, the Yankees returned to the scene of the crime on Tuesday and looked to bounce back into the win column. The problem, though, was that the Angels were sending Dan Haren to the mound. Haren has been unhittable recently, most notably in his last start against Seattle when he authored a 3-0 shutout that featured 14 strikeouts and zero walks, only the third time in the past dozen years that pitcher done that (a shutout with 14 Ks and zero walks). Opposing Haren would be the ageless wonder, Andy Pettitte.

I touched on this yesterday, but it cannot be understated. The Angels, as nauseating as they are, are an exciting team to watch, and it all starts with their youngest player, Mike Trout. On Monday night he flexed his muscles by bashing his fifth home run of the season, but on Tuesday he showed some of his other skills, namely speed and defense. With two outs and no one on in the bottom of the second inning, Nick Swisher launched a rocket to left center, but that’s Trout territory. He ran down the drive, leaping and snaring it just as it may or may not have left the park.

And how often does it happen? A guy makes a great player in the field, and two innings later he comes to the plate with a runner on second. Trout rifled a ball past third and down the line. The speedy Peter Bourjos coasted in easily on what seemed like a certain double from Trout. But Trout is probably in Brett Gardner’s class as a runner, and slid into third with a triple — on a ball hit into the left field corner. The whole world is crushing on Bryce Harper right now, and justifiably so, but check the numbers. Trout is outplaying the kid with the faux hawk.

The Angels push the envelope at all turns, so Trout went on contact and ran into an out at home on a grounder to Eric Chávez, but Albert Pújols erased that mistake seconds later when he smashed a no-doubter into the Yankee bullpen far beyond the left field fence for a 3-0 Angels lead. Pettitte would later call it “just a stupid pitch by me.” It seems the reports of Sir Albert’s demise were, indeed, highly exaggerated.

The Yankee hitters continued to struggle, and again they continued to fail with the bases loaded. In the half inning before the Angels scored those three runs, the Yanks had had a golden opportunity when they loaded the bases with two outs and Robinson Canó at the plate. A base hit there would’ve given Pettitte a cushion, pushed Haren a bit, and opened a lead, but instead Canó watched strike three dart across the outside corner. Fifteen minutes later it was the Angels who were giving the cushion, doing the pushing, and opening the lead.

Raúl Ibáñez doubled with one out in the fourth, and Nick Swisher quickly cashed him in with a hard single to right, bringing the Yankees to within two runs and breathing a little hope into the situation.

Following Swisher’s base hit, the next fifteen Yankees and Angels to come to the plate were all retired without the ball ever leaving the infield. Pettitte and Haren combined to gather nine groundouts, four strikeouts, a popup and a line out. The sixteenth hitter, however, was the Angels Mark Trumbo. Trumbo broke the string in the bottom of the sixth with a mammoth 433-foot blast into the rocks in center field, widening the Anaheim* lead to 4-1.

The Yankees put two runners on in the seventh, then two more in the eighth, but couldn’t make anything out of either opportunity. Then, more to taunt the Yankees than anything else, the Angels manufactured another run in the bottom of the eighth: single, ground out, single. It was all so easy, and in a game that had been close all night long, the Yankees were suddenly a grand slam behind.

The Yankees mounted a rally in the ninth as they often do, starting with a walks to Russell Martin and Derek Jeter. Granderson flicked a line drive to left, and it looked like a sure base hit, but again, left field is Trout territory, so it turned into an out. Angel reliever Ernesto Frieri plunked Alex Rodríguez, and suddenly the bases were loaded and Canó was walking to the plate as the potential tying run.

But if you’ve been paying attention lately, you know that the Yankees don’t get hits with the bases loaded. Canó struck out swinging. As the Angels announcer is fond of saying at the end of each victory, “Light that baby up.” Angels 5, Yankees 1. Lord help me.

*I know they’re not the Anaheim Angels, but they’re not the Los Angeles Angels, either. They don’t play in Los Angeles. They don’t play anywhere near Los Angeles.

[Photo Credit: Harry How/Getty Images]

C’mon Andy…

Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Alex Rodriguez DH
Robinson Cano 2B
Mark Teixeira 1B
Raul Ibanez LF
Nick Swisher RF
Eric Chavez 3B
Russell Martin C

Never mind the late night nightmares in Cali:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Via It’s a Long a Season]

A darkened sky threatening rain all afternoon and a stifling ninety-seven degree heat combined to keep attendance at a mere 1,500 in Washington as the Senators and Yankees tied 2-2 in a rain-shortened five-inning game. DiMaggio had been battling illness for a few days, but he was lucky enough to single and score in the fourth inning, extending his streak to fourteen games. Rookie Johnny Sturm, however, waited until the top of the sixth to record his basehit, only to see it washed away when the rains came before the Senators could hit in the home half of the inning. By rule, the score reverted to the last completed inning, and everything that happened in the Yankee half of the sixth was wiped out, including Sturm’s streak. Crosetti also singled in the fourth to keep his streak going at eleven. Though still unaware of DiMaggio’s streak, the New York Times reported one interesting note from the game. DiMaggio struck out for only the third time all season. He had struck out twice in the same game on April 25th, then waited 113 at bats before doing so again on this afternoon.

One of our favorite blogs, Pitchers and Poets, is calling quits. We don’t expect that this’ll be the last we hear from Eric and Ted, though (and there’s always their bitchin’ tumblr site to follow).

Meanwhile, another old friend, Jay Jaffe, makes his debut at SI.com today. Head on over and bookmark his new address.

And in Yankeeland, Brett Gardner is inching toward a return. Won’t be this week though. Can’t be soon enough.

[Photo Credit: Justin Edmonds/Getty Images, via It’s a Long Season]

Here is a good piece on Chris Bosh by Chris Haberstroh over at ESPN.

[Photo via Fast Company–Chris Graythen/Getty Images]

Oliver Wang celebrates the 20th anniversary of a Hip Hop classic.

Phillip Kaufman has a new movie out–on HBO. Allen Barra profiled Kaufman, one of our finest directors, for the Wall Street Journal last week. And Barra reviewed the movie for the Daily Beast here.

There aren’t too many games you can point to as “must wins,” especially in the closing days of May, especially when the team is in the middle of a west coast road trip, especially when the team is also riding a five-game winning streak. I’m not ready to say this game on Memorial Day night in Anaheim was a must-win, but it was certainly a game that should’ve been a victory.

Even though Phil Hughes had looked much better recently, the match-up didn’t look good on paper, as the Angels were sending their ace Jered Weaver out to start the series. Aside from Justin Verlander, Weaver has probably been the best pitcher in the American League for the past few years, and except for a bad start in Texas, Weaver has been dominant again this year. This was a game that looked like a Yankee loss before the first pitch was even thrown.

When the second pitch was thrown, however, Derek Jeter smoked a line drive into left field; five pitches later Curtis Granderson waited on a breaking ball and grounded it through the hole between short and third, and the Yankees suddenly had runners on first and second with no one out. Alex Rodríguez came up next and hit a hard grounder just to the right of shortstop Erick Aybar. It looked like a certain double play, but the ball skipped off of Aybar’s glove and somehow bounded over his shoulder into short center field, allowing Jeter to score easily and put runners on first and third.

Working to Robinson Canó, Weaver got a called strike to even the count at 1-1, but immediately started limping on his follow through, triggering a wave of discomfort in the stands and bringing Mike Scioscia and his support staff to the mound. Pitchers scare their managers all the time by catching a spike during a windup and coming up temporarily lame. They look into the dugout and say they’re fine, but the trainer still comes out to watch them throw a test pitch or two, but everything’s fine. Almost immediately it was clear that that wasn’t going to happen this time. Weaver slowly walked to the back of the mound, and when the cameras caught a glimpse of his face, it wasn’t pain that registered, but the frustration of an athlete whose body had betrayed him. Weaver knew this was serious even before he took his practice pitch and wasn’t able to complete it.

He walked off the mound, clenched his fist, and screamed “Fuuuuck!” at the top of his lungs, loud enough to be picked up by the crowd mikes and every ten-year-old in the lower tier. In case any of those ten-year-olds had missed it, he repeated himself just as he stepped into foul territory. Later the Angels would report he was suffering from a lower back injury.

It’s probably not appropriate to take pleasure in an opponent’s injury, but it’s perfectly fine to joyfully accept the opportunity that injury presents. The Yankees already had a 1-0 lead, there were runners at the corners with no outs, and the Angels were going to have to get 27 outs with their bullpen. Things looked good, about as good as they can look.

Bobby Cassevah came in for the Angels and struck out Canó, but then walked Mark Teixeira to load the bases, bringing up Raúl Ibáñez, who lofted a sacrifice fly to left field, scoring Granderson. Nick Swisher came up next and squirted a dribbler to the third base side of the mound. Cassevah fielded it in plenty of time, but rushed his throw, bouncing it past Albert Pújols for an error that allowed A-Rod to score the third unearned run of the inning. Scioscia decided to walk Eric Chávez intentionally, probably because his scouts had told him that the Yankees refuse to hit with the bases loaded. Russell Martin validated that decision by flying out to center field.

Handed this 3-0 lead and free of the pressure of facing an ace, Phil Hughes promptly gave everything back. It was the same infuriating rally the Angels have been cobbling together for years: Mike Trout two-strike single; Macier Izturis fly out, Pújols single, Kendry Morales two-strike RBI single, Mark Trumbo two-strike RBI ground-rule double, Howie “Yankee Killer” Kendrick RBI single.

It was finally over two batters later, but the Angels had sent eight men to the plate, scored four runs, and gotten right back into a game that should’ve been over.

Granderson homered to right in the top of the second to tie the game at four, but the Angels struck again in the fourth. Trumbo launched a towering fly ball to the gap in right center, but both Granderson and Swisher looked as if they had a shot at it. Just as the ball settled into Swisher’s glove, however, Granderson settled into Swisher’s chest. Both men fell in a heap on the warning track, the ball bounced free, and Trumbo ran like the wind. Well, Trumbo ran like a gentle breeze. He ended up on third with a triple. Kendrick took the first pitch he saw and floated it deep enough to right for Trumbo to score on the sacrifice fly. Angels 5, Yankees 4.

Hughes was clearly struggling, but not because of his control. His pitches were finding the strike zone (66 of 87, and through the first three innings that ratio was even higher), but he had no command. Pitches meant for the corners floated out over the plate and were hit hard. Seven times he put hitters into an 0-2 hole, but only once was he able to finish off that crippled hitter with a strikeout.

Hughes was touched again in the fourth, this time when Angel rookie Mike Trout hit a rocket over the wall in left center. There’s been some lamenting lately about the lack of exciting players on the Yankee roster, and some have suggested that Jesus Montero, a home-grown talent with All-Star potential, would’ve provided that. Montero was a player fans had been waiting for patiently, reading reports of his progress through the minors before his successful arrival in the Bronx last September. Trout followed that same flight path and created that same excitement, but he wasn’t traded. Forgive me if I’m bitter.

The suddenly resurgent Teixeira, hitting right-handed now against the left-handed Hisanori Takahashi, homered in the top of the fifth to cut the lead to 6-5. Over the past four games, Tex is 10 for 16 with three doubles, four home runs, and nine RBIs. There is hope.

Hughes made it into the sixth, but he wouldn’t make it out. It was all fairly innocent, which is typical of the Angels. The speedy Peter Bourjos reached on a perfectly placed dribbler to Hughes and was then sacrificed to second. Cody Eppley replaced Hughes, and Izturis hit a grounder up the middle; Canó was able to field it, but he couldn’t get the out. After Pújols walked to load the bases, David Phelps came in to face Morales, and his first pitch was hammered to the wall in left center, scoring two and giving the Halos an 8-6 lead.

Just as Yankee fans were starting to think dark thoughts about their heroes, the Bombers put together a rally in the top of the seventh. Canó hit a laser over Bourjos’s head in center field for a double, and Teixeira followed that with a walk, prompting Scioscia to bring in his fifth pitcher of the night, Jason Isringhausen. (I know what you’re thinking — it must’ve been Jason Isringhausen, Jr. No, it was really that Jason Isringhausen.) Ibáñez greeted him with a rifle shot to right field that looked like a run-scoring double. But Trumbo got a good jump on the ball, good enough that the runners had to be cautious. The ball ended up tipping off his glove, but Canó was fooled. Thinking Trumbo had actually caught the ball, he raced back to second to tag up, so he was only able to get to third.

Still, the bases were loaded with no outs. Swisher came to the plate with an opportunity to do some serious damage, but all he could muster was a sacrifice fly. One out later, though, Russell Martin laced a line drive down the left field line to score two and even the game at eight.

The Yankees would threaten again in the ninth, but again they’d be thwarted by bad luck and bad hitting with the bases loaded. Teixeira opened the inning with a single, then moved to second when Chávez walked two outs later. Martin punched a ground ball up the middle, and again it looked like the Yankees would surely score as the ball seemed ticketed for center field. But Izturis was able to keep it in the infield. He wasn’t able to make an out, but he saved a run. Jeter came up with the bases loaded and bounced the first pitch he saw to Pújols, who flipped to second for the out.

The Yankees had four at bats with the bases loaded and finished 0 for 2 with two sacrifice flies, but there wasn’t much time to dwell on that. Cory Wade came in to pitch the bottom of the ninth and Trumbo made his third pitch disappear into the night. Fuckin’ Angels.

Sons of Bitches 9, Yankees 8.

[Photo Credit: Jeff Gross/Getty Images]

The Yanks are on a little roll but face a team that is perhaps better than its record in the Angels. At least they’ll be up against some formidable starting pitching as well as the hot-hitting Mr. Pujols. Two-of-three would be terrific.

Tonight gives Phil Hughes, he of the straight fastball, against Jared Weaver, a bona fide Ace.

Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Mark Teixeira 1B
Raul Ibanez LF
Nick Swisher RF
Eric Chavez DH
Russell Martin C

Never mind the match-ups: Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Credit: Clarke Tolton]

On a night when the Yankees and Washington Senators played the first ever night game in Washington’s Griffith Stadium, DiMaggio led his team to a 6-5 victory. Three interesting notes about the lights that night: One, Griffith Stadium was now one of only four American League parks to boast electric lights. Two, the lights were turned on for the first time by a Walter Johnson fastball. The retired Senator threw the ceremonial first pitch through an electric beam projected across home plate; his third attempt lit up the night. Three, Washington officials needed special permission to fly the flag after sundown for the playing of the national anthem.

Once the game was underway, the Yankees found themselves trailing 3-1 in the eighth inning as a hitless DiMaggio came to the plate. He tripled deep to right to extend his streak and trigger a five-run Pinstripe rally. In addition to DiMaggio, Johnny Sturm and Frank Crosetti also kept their streaks alive, and DiMaggio’s string was mentioned in the press for the first time in the New York World-Telegram: “Last night’s battle saw all three hitting streaks on the Yankees continued. DiMaggio hit in his thirteenth consecutive contest. Sturm in his eleventh and Crosetti in his tenth.” The fact that a player of DiMaggio’s stature could get almost two weeks into a hitting streak without being noticed underscores a major reason why this record will never be threatened. In this era of media saturation and round-the-clock sports highlights, nothing escapes the public’s unquenchable thirst for information. It isn’t uncommon to hear a television or radio announcer make mention of a three-game hitting streak, and any time a player gets a run up to twenty games, not even half way to DiMaggio, he becomes the lead story on SportsCenter. Even in 1941 DiMaggio endured scrutiny as an entire nation followed his exploits during the latter stages of his streak, but the media crush surrounding a player approaching that record today would be stifling. The physical accomplishment of fifty-six is amazing; the mental strength required to get there would be even more impressive. It’ll never happen.

Yeah, it was made to order for Hiroki Kuroda on Sunday–pitcher’s park, lousy team–and he responded with a fine performance. Kuroda got into one fix–first and third with one out in the seventh–but snaked out of it (strike out, fly out) without giving up a run.

Tommy Milone was almost as good for the A’s. A junkballing left-hander with an easy delivery, Milone allowed two runs, a solo homer by Andruw Jones in the second and a two-out RBI double to Mark Teixeira in the seventh (they were two of the only hard-hit balls by either team all afternoon). The Yanks had runners on base in the first three innings but couldn’t get anything done.

Didn’t matter, though. The A’s weak offense was no match for Kuroda. Raphael Soriano worked around a two-out single in the ninth and earned the save.

Final Score: Yanks 2, A’s 0.

Yanks have won six in a row and trail the first place O’s and Rays by two-and-a-half games. Next up, some serious pitching and a hot Albert Pujols in the suburbs of L.A.

[Photo Credit: Chic Knots; Jed Jacobsohn/Getty Images]

Hiroki Kuroda is pitching in a big park today, against a not-so-great offense. Be nice to see him throw some zeros up on the board and have a strong outing. His family still lives in L.A. so I’m sure he’ll see them this week.

We’ll be rooting for him and the rest of the fellas:

Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Mark Teixeira 1B
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher RF
Andruw Jones DH
Jayson Nix LF
Chris Stewart C

Let’s Go Yank-ees!