Nice job by Barry Petchesky over at Deadspin on 10 Years of Newspapers Declaring that Mariano Rivera is Too Old.

Today is a good day.

Charles McGrath has a feature on the great Robert Caro for the New York Times Magazine:

Robert Caro probably knows more about power, political power especially, than anyone who has never had some. He has never run for any sort of office himself and would probably have lost if he had. He’s a shy, soft-spoken man with old–fashioned manners and an old-fashioned New York accent (he says “toime” instead of “time” and “foine” instead of fine), so self-conscious that talking about himself makes him squint a little. The idea of power, or of powerful people, seems to repel him as much as it fascinates. And yet Caro has spent virtually his whole adult life studying power and what can be done with it, first in the case of Robert Moses, the great developer and urban planner, and then in the case of Lyndon Johnson, whose biography he has been writing for close to 40 years. Caro can tell you exactly how Moses heedlessly rammed the Cross Bronx Expressway through a middle-class neighborhood, displacing thousands of families, and exactly how Johnson stole the Texas Senate election of 1948, winning by 87 spurious votes. These stories still fill him with outrage but also with something like wonder, the two emotions that sustain him in what amounts to a solitary, Dickensian occupation with long hours and few holidays.

…Caro is the last of the 19th-century biographers, the kind who believe that the life of a great or powerful man deserves not just a slim volume, or even a fat one, but a whole shelf full. He dresses every day in a jacket and tie and reports to a 22nd-floor office in a nondescript building near Columbus Circle, where his neighbors are lawyers or investment firms. His office looks as if it belongs to the kind of C.P.A. who still uses ledgers and a hand-cranked adding machine. There are an old wooden desk, wooden file cabinets and a maroon leather couch that never gets sat on. Here Caro writes the old-fashioned way: in longhand, on large legal pads.

While Chris Jones has a long profile on Caro in the latest issue of Esquire:

On the twenty-second floor of the Fisk Building in New York — an elegant brick giant built in 1921, stretching an entire block of West Fifty-seventh Street between Broadway and Eighth Avenue — the hallways are lined with doors bearing gold plaques. The plaques reveal the professions of the people at work behind them: lawyers, accountants, financial advisors. But one plaque displays only a name, with no mention of the man’s business: ROBERT A. CARO.

Behind that door on this February morning, as on most mornings for the twenty-two years he has occupied this office, Caro is hunched over his desk. His tie is still carefully knotted; his hair is slicked back. But his fingers are black with pencil. In front of him is a pile of white paper: the galleys for The Passage of Power, the fourth book in his enormous biography, The Years of Lyndon Johnson. The seventy-six-year-old Caro has worked on this project nearly every day since 1974; he has been working on this particular volume for ten years. In most cases, once a book reaches galleys — once it has been designed and typeset and a few preliminary copies printed, unbound — it is finished, or close to it. All that remains is one last pass. This is not true for Caro. For him, the galleys are simply another stage of construction. Less than three months before three hundred thousand copies of his book are due to be in stores on May 1, Caro has torn down and rebuilt the fifth paragraph on the 452nd page — and torn it down again. (It is, in fact, the fifth paragraph on the 2,672nd page of his work, factoring in the first three volumes of the series: The Path to Power, Means of Ascent, and Master of the Senate.) Now nearly every word of it sits dismantled in front of him like the pieces of a watch. He starts fresh. “The defeat had repercussions beyond the Court,” he writes.

This was meant to be the last of the Johnson books, but it is not. The Passage of Power spans barely four years in 605 pages. It picks up Johnson’s story with the 1960 Democratic nomination, won by a young senator from Massachusetts named John F. Kennedy, and it ends with President Lyndon Johnson passing the Civil Rights Act in 1964. There is an assassination in between. On two large rectangular bulletin boards, Caro has carefully pinned up his outline for his next volume, the fifth book, the rest of the story: Vietnam, resignation, defeat. The pages of that outline overlap the lighter rectangles where the outline for the fourth book had been pinned for so many years. “I don’t feel my age,” Caro says, “so it’s hard for me to believe so much time has passed.” He knows the last sentence of the fifth book, he says — the very last sentence. He knows what stands between him and those final few words, most immediately the fifth paragraph on page 2,672. He digs his pencil back into the paper.

This room is almost a temple to timelessness. Caro has worked with the same set of tools since 1966, when he began his first book, The Power Broker, his definitive 1,162-page biography of Robert Moses, the controversial New York planner and builder. For so many writers, for most of them, The Power Broker, which won a Pulitzer Prize in 1975, would represent their crowning achievement; for Caro, it was just the beginning. Back then, he and his wife, Ina, lived in a pretty little house in Roslyn, Long Island — he was a reporter at Newsday — and one of the great crumbling neighboring estates had a fire sale. Caro went. He bought a chess set, and he bought a lamp. The lamp was bronze and heavy and sculpted, a chariot rider pulled along by two rearing horses. “It cost seventy-five dollars,” Caro remembers. The chess set is hidden away under a couch in their apartment on Central Park West. The lamp is here on his desk, spilling light onto his galleys. Except for a brief period when he couldn’t afford an office, when Caro worked instead in the Allen Room at the New York Public Library, he has written every word of every one of his books in the same warm lamplight, millions of words under the watch of that chariot rider and his two horses.

“Nobody believes this, but I write very fast,” he says.

Check out this wonderful photo gallery of Caro at work.

[Photo Credit: Ethan Hill for Esquire]

More goodness from Summer Anne.

Bronx Banter Book Excerpt

From Harvey Araton’s entertaining new book,”Driving Mr. Yogi” (which can be purchased at Amazon) here’s an excerpt to make you smile:

 By Harvey Araton

The first harbinger of spring — or spring training — at the home of Ron and Bonnie Guidry was a telephone call from Yogi Berra.

“You get the frog legs yet?” Berra would ask.

“Yog,” Ron Guidry would say, “it’s freaking January.”

Too late, Berra was already in serious countdown mode for the next Guidry frog fry extravaganza. It seemed like only yesterday that Berra had looked askance at Guidry’s beloved delicacy, like it was tofu wrapped in seaweed. It had actually been years since Mel Stottlemyre had bragged one spring training day about hunting frogs in the Northwest and cooking them himself. Guidry, with all due respect, was obliged to inform him that he hadn’t really experienced frog legs until he’d had them Cajun-style, or straight from the Guidry family cookbook.

Guidry returned to his apartment that evening, fried up a fresh batch, and the next day passed them around the coaches’ room. He offered one to Berra, who immediately made a face.

“Come on,” Guidry said. “You’ll like ’em.”

Stottlemyre, munching nearby, couldn’t disagree. But still Berra demurred.

“Yogi, I’ll tell you what, if you don’t try one, we’re not going to supper tonight,” Guidry said.

Was he serious? Probably not, but if Berra knew one thing about Guidry, it was that he was proud of his Cajun culture and cuisine.

Yogi wondered if he was in some way hurting his friend’s feelings. So he finally gave in, picked one off the plate, and gave it a nibble. Lo and behold, it was delicious. He wanted another, and as the years rolled by, he would continue to fi nd a place in his diet for something no conscientious doctor would have ordered for a man in his eighties.

Following treatment in the seventies for an arrhythmia, Berra assiduously watched what he ate. He avoided cholesterol-heavy breakfasts, pushed away most desserts with a dismissive “too fattening,” and made sure that the Progresso soup prepared for him at his museum almost daily and specifically at noon by the museum’s faithful business manager Bettylou O’Dell was low in sodium.

He had even long ago disassociated himself from the Yoo-hoo soft drink that he had made famous in the fifties and sixties (by chiming in a commercial, “Me-he for Yoo-hoo!”) because he objected to the preservatives that had changed the drink’s texture and flavor. If he relaxed his calorie counting, it was usually at dinner, especially at big family dinners, where everyone down to the youngest of the Berras was taught that the heels of the long Italian bread were reserved for Grandpa. Berra’s favorite dish was tripe — the stomach tissue of cows and a peasant staple in the old country — but he enjoyed a fairly wide range of gastronomic fare that occasionally didn’t agree with him.

For instance, he liked to munch on hot peppers right out of the jar. It was another habit that Carmen wanted him to break — except it turned out that Guidry, who used peppers to spice up his Cajun cooking, was Berra’s main supplier.

“I’d have them with me in spring training, and then when he’d go back to New Jersey, he’d tell me to send him a batch when I got back to Louisiana,” Guidry said. When Guidry would comply, he would get a call from Carmen asking that he stop sending the peppers. When he didn’t send them the next time Yogi asked, he’d get a call wanting to know where the peppers were. “Either way, I had one of them fussin’ about the damn peppers,” he said with mock resignation.

After so many years of sitting across the table from him at one Tampa establishment or another, Guidry could probably expound on Berra’s culinary preferences better than anyone but Carmen. At the very least, he could discuss them like a comedian working his monologue.

“When we go to the Rusty Pelican, that’s a seafood place and they have swordfish, which he loves, so he gets that all the time there,” Guidry said. “When we go to the Bahama Breeze, he likes the black bean soup, and with that he’ll have the seafood paella or the barbecued ribs. Four times out of five, he’ll have the seafood, but let’s say we have been to the Pelican the night before, well, that means he’s already had seafood, so he’ll get the ribs.

“Now Fleming’s is the steakhouse, so that’s what he gets there, and then at the Bonefish he has to have the sea bass. Then after he moved into the Residence Inn, he went one night to eat with Carmen at Lee Roy Selmon’s, which is right next door. So he tells me the next day, ‘Hey, it’s not bad.’ The guy recognized him, sat him at a nice table, everything was fine. OK, so now we got to go to Selmon’s, and there he gets the meatloaf. But since he’s been at the Residence Inn, where they put out a spread in the evening, he also keeps a list on the door of his refrigerator that tells him what they’ll be serving. If he likes something he’s had before, he’ll say, ‘On Tuesday, I’m going to eat in the hotel.’ ‘OK, that’s good, Yog.’ ”

No Tampa meal, however, was as anticipated and as fussed over as Guidry and Berra’s “Frog Legs Night,” which by the end of Berra’s first decade back with the Yankees had taken on the ritualistic weight of Old-Timers’ Day.

Before leaving for Tampa every spring, and after being badgered by Berra, Guidry would pack about two hundred legs into the truck, having purchased them inexpensively (about $200 for a hundred pounds) in Lafayette, where they are plentiful and sold year-round.

From the same vendor, he would buy a mixture of fl our and cornmeal seasoning in a gallon jar.

“They’re so simple to fix,” Guidry said. “You got the egg batter, the fry mix, dip ’em in the batter, throw ’em in the frying pan.” From the frying pan, the frog legs would be transferred to paper towels, to soak up some of the grease. It took about ten minutes to cook up a batch of forty legs.

Guidry would ration his supply so that it would last throughout spring training. He would prepare some for the more adventurous players looking for a break from the standard clubhouse fare. Jorge Posada was a longtime fan. CC Sabathia joined the club when he came on board in 2009. Guidry would also invite two or three buddies over on one of his first nights in town and playfully have Goose Gossage dial New Jersey to let Berra know what was on the menu that night.

“Yogi, we’re over here at Gator’s, and we’re eating all the frog legs,” Gossage would say.

That was enough to set Berra off. “There’d better be some goddamn legs left when I get down there,” he’d growl.

Excerpted from DRIVING MR. YOGI: Yogi Berra, Ron Guidry, and Baseball’s Greatest Gift. Copyright © 2012 by Harvey Araton. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

[Photo Credit: Edward Linsmier for The New York Times, Saed Hindash/N.J.com]

Nothing like April baseball in the northeast. Cold. Stadium half-empty, and tonight Camden Yards was mostly quiet. Which was a change from the first two nights when the locals made considerable noise rooting for the home team. It was a welcome sound, actually, seeing as how Camden Yards is usually full of Yankee fans during the summer. The game was delayed for close to a half-an-hour so maybe the faithful decided it was best to stay home.

It feels as if the Yanks have been playing an extended version of the same game for six days now. Nothing has come easily, a string of hits or a bunch of runs. They did make some nice plays in the field tonight–Brett Gardner snagged a line drive, Curtis Granderson made a nice running catch, Robinson Cano robbed Matt Wieters of a base hit in eighth inning. And Boone Logan pitched 1.2 innings of scoreless relief.

Granderson hit a two-run home run in the first inning but C.C. Sabathia quickly gave up two and he struggled through six innings. He didn’t have much of a rhythm and while he wasn’t terrible he threw a lot of pitches (especially in the second and third) and gave up four runs. Meanwhile, Jake Arrieta was impressive for the Orioles–hard fastball, nice breaking ball, good control. He had Alex Rodriguez’s head spinning and feet shuffling back to the dugout just as soon as he dug in at the plate.

Granderson tied the game with a base hit in the seventh. The Yanks left runners at second and third in the eighth. Eduardo Nunez later got picked off first. Almost everyone not named Jeter has endured frustrating at-bats in Baltimore.

When the O’s put runners of first and second with two out on in the ninth against Rafael Soriano, the fans chanted “Let’s Go O’s, Let’s Go O’s, Let’s Go O’s.” They booed when Soriano intentionally walked Nick Markakis to face Adam Jones (hitless in six career at-bats against Sori). The first pitch was on the outside corner but was called a ball and Joe Girardi leaned back, closed his eyes. Didn’t look like he was breathing. Soriano poured three more fastballs, right down the pike, and Jones swung through each one of them.

For the second night in a row, extra innings. Mark Teixeira hit a bloop double to left with two outs and then Nick Swisher worked the count full, got a meatball over the plate and deposited that weak sauce over the wall in right field.

Smiles.

Comfort.

Sweep.

Yanks 6, O’s 2.

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

And of course, Mr. C.C. on the hill.

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

[Photo Credit: Yanks O’s watchin’ via Vitamin Steve]

The Mets are playing this afternoon. So are the Sox.

Have at it if you’d like.

[Photos Via: Observando and One Fast Move or I’m Gone]

Today’s gem from Summer Anne.

A fundamental tenet of communication theory is that because the purpose of communication is to transmit information, it is irreversible. There are no “take-backs.” Apologies for verbal or written foul-ups are hollow. Once it’s out there, it’s out there. We live in an era right now where companies and universities are doing background checks on prospective employees and students by scouring Facebook profiles, Twitter feeds and other social media activity. A regular person has nowhere to hide. Public figures are under much greater scrutiny.

Miami Marlins manager Ozzie Guillen learned that the hard way.

Not that he has ever hidden. He is no stranger to opening his mouth, inserting his foot, and still managing to demonstrate the capability to land in trouble. His latest misstep earned him a team-levied five-game suspension. The blogosphere and conservative baseball media population exploded. The first four words of Sean Gregory’s profile in Time Magazine are Guillen’s damning quote: “I love Fidel Castro.” He would go on to say he respected Castro’s survival skills, and that‘s what he loved about Castro. Communication is irreversible. No way to talk around that.

Guillen manned up. He didn’t put out a statement. He was contrite, apologizing to the Marlins and to the Cuban-American community that has helped make Miami the multicultural center it has become.

The aftermath and the analysis has been a series of contradictions. A combination of liberal versus conservative and wanting to have it both ways. The same people that in the past who have called Guillen “refreshing” for speaking unfiltered and disregarding the art of saying nothing, are now condemning him. Steven Goldman expresses his libertarian view at Bleacher Report:

…Those who are standing on the sidelines sniping and calling for suspensions and termination need to consider their own motives. Moral outrage is cheap when the target has been so spectacularly, in Guillen’s words, “dumb.” This is shooting Marlins in a barrel. It’s much harder to stake a stand on an issue that is in the grey zone, when others might snipe back at you.

He continued…

Let us be clear: There is a difference between suggesting the Marlins needed to suspend Guillen to appease the Cuban-American community and another to argue that the quality of his remarks themselves deserved suspension. The former is what political bloggers call “concern trolling,” posing as a helpful pal of some third party that really doesn’t need your advice, thanks. The latter is, first, un-American, not in terms of the Bill of Rights—this is not a First Amendment matter given that your employer can censor you in the workplace all they want—but that any call that encourages punishment for speaking one’s mind, no matter how offensive, should be antithetical to our very being.

Ken Rosenthal may have been one of those Goldman observed “standing on the sidelines sniping.” Monday, in his FOX Sports column, Rosenthal called for the Marlins to suspend Guillen. He wrote:

Good people make mistakes, and Guillen just made the biggest of his career. Chances are the matter will blow over; everything seems to blow over in this society of limited attention spans. But the Marlins shouldn’t allow it to blow over. No, the Marlins should take a stand.

Suspend Guillen.

Not because a protest group wants him out.

Because it’s the right thing to do.

There is outrage in Miami. There is outrage among the Latino community, not just the Cuban-American population in Miami. The juxtaposition of Guillen’s comments with the opening of the Marlins’ new stadium in Little Havana has much to do with that. Dave Zirin notes this in his latest piece at Edge of Sports.

Loria desperately needed a hot start for his team and some sugary sweet media coverage for his new ballpark. Then his new manager Ozzie Guillen decided to share his views about Cuba and Fidel Castro. … This issue is…now about whether the ire produced by Guillen’s words will be directed against Loria, his grab of public funds, and the entire Miami baseball operation. If that happens, this issue won’t die, but the Marlins might.

Keith Olbermann, speaking as a guest on Dan Patrick’s radio show, said that sports provide a forum for us, the public, to address sensitive social issues. That “sports are well ahead of the rest of society on these issues.”

The blog Platoon Advantage would beg to differ.

…It’s certainly understandable why the Marlins felt like they needed to react.

Though they didn’t feel the need to respond when team president David Samson called the people of Miami stupid. …There are dozens and dozens of equally or more foolish and offensive things done by Major League players, managers, coaches, front office types, and officials every year. And these offenses don’t get investigated by the Commissioner. These offenses don’t earn team-levied suspensions. These offenses don’t get noticed at all, despite the real damage they do to the communities where they happen. If we’re going to have such a low standard so as to punish Guillen for making a bad joke (make no mistake, there’s no way to honestly construe what Guillen said as a statement of support for Castro, his tactics, or his regime), where are the suspensions for everyone else who makes baseball look bad?

What can we learn from all the coverage? We know Guillen’s comments were wrongheaded on many levels. We know those comments will be available forever. We know that there is heavy criticism, much of it founded, much of it personal. We know that all of it is irreversible. And yet again, we learn that no matter how hard the general sports fan wishes politics and sports to be separated, they are inextricably linked.

[Photo Credit: Al Diaz and C.M. Guerrero/ Miami Herald]

I watched the end of the game last night by myself. The wife had gone to bed long before Mariano Rivera appeared. I lay on the living room floor, stretching, and appreciated the moment–another chance to watch Rivera pitch. Endy Chavez, a slap-hitting left-hander, led off and Rivera pounded him with cutters inside. Chavez was tough, fouling off pitch-after-pitch, until he was caught looking by a pitch on the outside corner. A generous call by the umpire it seemed to me, a Rivera call.

J.J. Hardy, a righty, was next, and when Rivera got ahead of him he kept the ball outside and Hardy popped up to Robinson Cano for the second out. Which left it up to Nick Markakis, who was 6-17 in his career against Rivera. He looked at a fastball on the outside part of the plate for a strike and then broke his bat on a cutter inside–the ball went foul. Rivera threw another cutter, high and inside, that Markakis didn’t offer at and he also looked at the next pitch, the outside fastball. The pitch went straight to the catcher’s mitt but it was just outside for a ball.

I was lying on my back now. My cat had curled up next to my left shoulder and I wondered what Rivera’s next move would be–back inside with the cutter or double-up on the outside pitch? He went back outside, painted the corner beautifully. The pitch was better than the one before. Markakis didn’t swing and was called out on strikes and alone in my dark living room I laughed so hard that had to cover my mouth so I wouldn’t wake the wife.

[Photo Credit: Rob Carr/Getty Images; Drawing by Moebius]

Here’s a shocker. The Yankees and Orioles got together at Camden Yards on Tuesday night and took four hours and thirty-eight minutes to get to the point. I’d love tell you that the first four and a half hours were filled with scintillating baseball, but that’s not quite how it happened.

That is, however, how it started. Japanese import Wei-Yen Chen was making his major league debut for the Orioles, and young Derek Jeter welcomed him to America with a 421-foot home run to straight-away center field. Two pitches later Nick Swisher pounded a ball off the wall in right center, and it was looking like the title of this recap might end up being “Everybody Wei-Yen Chen Tonight!” (And wouldn’t that have been clever?) But Chen settled down and didn’t give up another hit until the fifth inning.

As the Orioles came to bat in the bottom of the first, Freddy García took the mound for the Yankees and that’s when things really got interesting, especially if you’re betting on Michael Pineda and Andy Pettitte to claim spots in the starting rotation later this season. García yielded a game-tying home run to J.J. Hardy with one out in the first, but unlike Chen, he was never able to regain control of the game. He walked Nick Markakis, then later walked Matt Wieters to put runners on first and second with two outs.

With former Yankee Nick Johnson at bat (and just a step away from the disabled list), García bounced a wild pitch to the backstop, allowing the runners to move up to second and third. Four pitches later García’s second wild pitch plated the Orioles’ second run. (Pay attention; this will become a running theme.)

García skipped his way through the second and third innings but found trouble in the fourth, much of it self-induced. Adam Jones pounded a double to left center to open the frame, and then — you guessed it — advanced to third on García’s third wild pitch of the game. Jones would eventually score two batters later on a Johnson groundout, and even though García would uncork his fourth wild pitch later in the inning, it wouldn’t bring any further damage. But stay tuned.

In Shakespearean tragedies the fifth act serves as resolution, but you know the ending before you get there. And so it was with García’s fifth inning. Robert Andino led off with a ground rule double over Curtis Granderson’s head in center field and was pushed to third on a sacrifice bunt from Endy Chavez. With the infield in, Derek Jeter was able to snatch a ground ball from Hardy to keep Andino at third and give García a chance to get out of the inning, but we all knew better.

Baltimore’s best hitter, Nick Markakis, came to the plate with a chance to give his team an important insurance run, and Yankee manager Joe Girardi had three options. He could’ve chosen the intentional walk, as he sometimes likes to do, or he could’ve brought in lefty Clay Rapada to face the left-handed Markakis, but instead he chose option number three and let García pitch to him. After putting Markakis into an 0-2 hole, García tried to put him away with a diving curve ball, but the ball dove too hard and landed in the batters box before spinning to the backstop for his fifth wild pitch of the night. Andino scored easily.

(In case you were wondering — and really, could there be any doubt? — the good folks from Elias have confirmed that García’s five wild pitches — in less than five innings, mind you — tied the American League record.)

David Phelps recorded the final out of the fifth inning, starting an impressive string of six Yankee relievers who were simply dominant. Phelps, David Robertson, Boone Logan*, Cory Wade, Clay Rapada, and The Great One combined for this line: 7.1 IP/2 H/0 R/2 BB/12 K. That’s serious. (* Logan gave up a single but didn’t record an out.)

As soon as García came out of the game, the Yankee hitters came in. Robinson Canó and Mark Teixeira singled and Curtis Granderson walked to the load the bases with one out. The Yankees hadn’t gotten a bases loaded hit during their first four games, and they still hadn’t after Andruw Jones lofted a sacrifice fly to short right, but at least they had another run. Third baseman Mark Reynolds booted what should’ve been the third out of the inning, allowing Teixeira to score, and Brett Gardner followed that with a line drive single to right to tie the game at 4-4. The Yankees looked alive for the first time since Swisher’s double in the first.

That momentum carried over into the seventh inning when Swisher found himself on first base after being hit with a pitch. Canó followed that by bouncing a double over third base and down the left field line, potentially giving the Yankees runners on second and third with no one out and Alex Rodríguez, Teixeira, and Granderson due up. Instead, third base coach Robby Thompson waved Swisher home where he was tagged out. It wouldn’t have mattered if either A-Rod or Tex had come through, but both struck out.

Five innings later, Canó again found himself on second base, again hoping that either A-Rod or Teixeira would plate him with the go-ahead run. Those two would disappoint once again (two ground outs to second; A-Rod’s pushing Canó to third, Teixeira’s doing nothing), but Raúl Ibáñez would not. The announcers made much of Buck Showalter’s decision to walk Granderson ahead of Ibáñez, characterizing it as a challenge being issued to the new Yankee, but what else could Buck have done? It was clearly the right move, and it wasn’t his fault that Ibáñez bounced a ground rule double over the wall to score Canó and finally give the Yankees their first lead of the game. Yankees 5, Orioles 4.

The Great One struck out Chavez looking, popped up Hardy, and froze Markakis for the final out. Have you seen this part before? As he unleashed his final pitch, a pinpoint fastball on the outside corner, Rivera’s follow through flowed smoothly into a quiet walk towards his catcher for a simple congratulatory handshake.

[Photo Credit: Rob Carr/Getty Images]

Derek Jeter SS
Nick Swisher RF
Robinson Cano 2B
Alex Rodriguez 3B
Mark Teixeira 1B
Curtis Granderson CF
Andruw Jones DH
Russell Martin C
Brett Gardner LF

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

Another Yankee favorite by Summer Anne Burton.

One of the least reported aspects of Derek Jeter’s game is his sense of playfulness on the field.

Last night, Eduardo Nunez almost dropped a pop up in the ninth inning. The wind took the ball and Nunez for a ride but he eventually snagged the ball and made the out. Sure enough, there was Jeter with a big smile on his face. If Nunez had dropped the ball he wouldn’t have laughed–at least not until they were out of camera range. He is always tactful.

Still, Jeter never gets cheated on having fun, does he?

This is supposed to be fun, dammit.

The Yankees notched their first victory of the 2012 season at the expense of the Baltimore Orioles by a score of 6-2. Perhaps the opening sweep made me uneasy in anticipation of the first win, because this game was not the walk in the park the final score indicates.

Ivan Nova mixed in lots of hits, whiffs and double plays in just the right order to hold the O’s to two runs over seven innings. David Robertson picked up where he left off and had a scoreless but shaky eighth. Mariano got the final three outs but allowed another booming extra-base hit and the final out was a low screamer that almost cut Gardner off at the knees in left. Mo’s pitches were in the 88-90 mph range and mostly not that impressive.

After the two teams exchanged runs in the first, the Yankees grabbed the lead for good in the fourth. The Yankee offense generated pressure all night long, but untimely inning-ending, bases-loaded double plays by Robinson Cano and Alex Rodriguez in the sixth and eighth kept the score close.

Matt Weiters and Derek Jeter each had four hits. The only time either of them failed to reach base was when Derek Jeter got out on purpose in the sixth.

The unwashed masses might think the idea of getting out on purpose runs contrary to the goal of scoring as many runs as possible, but what they fail to realize is that the sacrifice is as much a gift to the gods as it is a gift to the other team. Pious managers and devoted players – nobody has to tell Derek Jeter to get out on purpose – offer up these gifts not so much to score runs or to win baseball games, but in deference to the mystic forces of playingtherightway. Amongst the observant, this is not a strategy but a mark by which they can declare themselves saved.

Back in the game where people were trying, each team was drilling the ball all over the park. The Orioles out hit the Yankees 13 to 11 but were terrible with runners on base. The difference was that Nova, Robertson and Rivera didn’t walk anybody and the O’s issued seven free passes. Two of them scored in the fourth inning rally and the Orioles never caught up.

Ivan Nova bagged the victory, and, though he wasn’t dominant or anything, he’s the latest example of why we shouldn’t give a flying fig about spring training stats. Are you healthy? Is your velocity at or near an expected level? Great, the rest is meaningless.

The middle of the order isn’t doing much thus far so hopefully they kick in gear and start up a winning streak. For now, here’s # 1, courtesy of a man called Nova.

New town, new team, new day.

Derek Jeter, SS
Nick Swisher, RF
Robinson Cano, 2B
Alex Rodriguez, DH
Mark Teixeira, 1B
Curtis Granderson, CF
Andruw Jones, LF
Rusell Martin, C
Eduardo Nunez, 3B
Ivan Nova, P

Get ’em, boys.

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

Meanwhile, over in Japan…our pal Mr. Ok Tokyo Jazz’s kids get ready to watch the Yankee game on-line.

“They are just starting to understand ‘home run’ means Daddy is happy and that ‘Joe Girardi’ is a curse word in our home,” says Jazz.

I’m proud to host a week of Yankee illustrations by talented Summer Anne Burton. If you are not following her work, be sure to bookmark her site: Every Hall of Famer.

If George Steinbrenner were still alive… I just couldn’t resist starting this week’s column with a reference to the late “Boss.” Surely, he would not have been pleased by the Yankees’ season-opening performance in Tampa Bay. Three straight losses to start the season, lowlighted by poor pitching in the first two games and a nonexistent offense in the finale, would have been enough to ignite a Steinbrenner tantrum or two, at least in his prime years.

I won’t offer up any tantrums here. After all, it is only three games, and three games against one of the better teams in the American League. But then again, this series did not exactly produce a highlight reel of great moments in Joe Girardi’s managerial career. We’ve already heard plenty about his panic-stricken decision to intentionally walk the immortal Sean Rodriguez in the very first inning of game one, setting up Carlos Pena’s backbreaking grand slam. So there is no need to add charcoal to that fire.

Just as egregious was Girardi’s decision to start Eduardo Nunez in the second game while giving Derek Jeter a half-day off as the DH. Here we go with the issue of rest, yet again! It is beyond ridiculous that Jeter needed any kind of rest in the second game of the season. The counterargument that Jeter’s legs needed a break from the artificial turf of Tropicana Field doesn’t hold much water either, since most of the Rays’ infield is actually covered with dirt, like a traditional grass infield, and not the harder artificial surface. Whatever the rationale for the Jeter/Nunez move, the Yankees paid the price on Nunez’ first inning error, which led to two unearned runs against a shaky Hiroki Kuroda.

Later in the game, Girardi inexplicably allowed lefty specialist Clay Rapada to face the Rays’ best hitter, Evan Longoria, who responded with a ringing double that was nearly a home run. How could Girardi have allowed this matchup to take place? This is the same Rapada who allowed right-handed batters to hit .692 against him in 16 plate appearances last season!

In the third game, Girardi made another bad lineup decision. For some reason, he decided to play the defensively challenged Raul Ibanez in right field, a position that he has not played since 2005. Ibanez is bad enough in left field, but putting him in the unfamiliar territory of right field, and in a domed ballpark where it is often difficult to pick up the flight of the ball against the roof, is just begging for misadventure. Sure enough, Ibanez delivered with his first error of the season. If Nick Swisher absolutely needed a day off from right field–and to me it’s questionable that he needed a day off so early in the season–then Girardi should have played Andruw Jones in right field and simply foregone the platoon advantage.

Clearly, this was not a good weekend for Girardi, whose obsession with “rest” has become almost comical, and has overridden all other managerial tenets of common sense. I guess there’s little hope that Girardi will change this tendency; we can only hope that he starts to show a better feel for in-game managing, especially with regard to intentional walks and the decision to ever let Rapada face a right-handed batter the quality of Longoria.

Still, I’m not going to panic. Coming out of spring training, the Yankees were the consensus pick of the media to win the American League East. I believe they remain the favorites, even in a stacked division. CC Sabathia and Mariano Rivera will pitch better, Mark Teixeira will start to hit (though he still needs to stop the pull-the-ball tendencies), and the depth of the pitching staff will win out.

But check back with me again if the Yankees lose two out of three to the Orioles…

***

Prior to the tempest in Tampa Bay, the Yankees generated some controversy on the final day of spring training when they made room for newly acquired backup catcher Chris Stewart by demoting Francisco Cervelli to their Scranton/Wilkes Barre, affiliate, also known by its alternate nickname, the Empire State Yankees.

More than a few Yankee fans were outraged by the decision, but you can put me in the opposite camp on this issue. Despite his reputation as a superior defender, Cervelli has actually become a major liability behind the plate. He makes far too many errors, a total of 19 over the last two seasons combined. Even more alarmingly, he has thrown out a scant 14 per cent of opposing base stealers in each of the last two seasons. That’s such a paltry number that it’s reminiscent of the throwing troubles of Johnny Blanchard and Cliff Johnson, two former Yankee backup receivers of decades gone by.

At least Blanchard and “Heathcliff” could hit, and with enough power to make them game-changers in the late innings. Cervelli is a .260 hitter with no power; he has marginal offensive talents, and not nearly enough offensive potential to make up for his poor throwing and erratic decision-making.

In regards to Stewart, he’s reminiscent of Kevin Cash as a hitter, but at least he brings legitimate defensive chops to the position. He’s an excellent catcher with a strong arm, having thrown out nearly 40 per cent of basestealers in 2011. As long as the Yankees don’t ask him to play more than twice a week, he’ll be acceptable–at least until Austin Romine is able to return from his back problems. And perhaps in the interim, Cervelli can change his ways. At one time Cervelli was a good defensive catcher; it might not be too late for him to regain his fielding prowess playing every day at Triple-A…

***

Finally, I’m a little disappointed the Yankees received nothing for Justin Maxwell, other than the waiver price the Astros paid for in claiming him on Sunday. Maxwell’s value should have been at its apex after a great spring in which he impressed everyone with his game- breaking speed, versatile defensive ability, and live bat. I know that he’s 28 and not anyone’s idea of a top prospect, but he has the tools to be a very good fourth outfielder–and that should carry some value. It seems to me that the Yankees should have at least extracted a Grade-C prospect from the Astros or the Orioles, the two teams who expressed the most interest in Mad Max during the spring.

Maxwell couldn’t crack the Yankees’ bench, but he has enough talent to play regularly for the awful Astros. Houston is playing three unproven kids in its baby cradle outfield (J.D. Martinez, Jordan Schafer and Brian Bogusevic). Martinez is regarded as the Astros’ top prospect, but Schafer is a failed prospect out of the Braves’ system and Bogusevic is off to a slow start, so Maxwell figures to receive plenty of opportunity at Minute Maid Park.

Maxwell is a fun player to watch. I’ll be rooting for him to do well for the Astros, who could use all the help they can muster.

Bruce Markusen writes “Cooperstown Confidential” for The Hardball Times.

I liked this bit from Emilie Miller’s piece in the Times about growing up as the daughter of a famous baseball broadcaster:

To spend so much time in a space that fills night after night with tens of thousands of fans who love a team deeply, and to grow up surrounded by people who, at every pay level, love where they work, was beautiful. I still love sitting in the stands before the stadium opens; it feels like a cathedral, filled only with potential and the sound of flags whipping in the wind. Yet baseball is also the reason I will be forever fond of obnoxiously loud pop music and hot dogs.

When we did not go to the ballpark, Holly and I listened to games on the radio to help us sleep. During the off-season, my father would play cassettes of old games, which, he contends, acted like a sedative.

I never taped games but it sounds like a cherce idea. I used to listen to comedy albums as a sedative: Cosby, Carlin–especially “Occupation: Foole” and “Class Clown”–the 2000 Year Old Man albums, the Woody Allen double lp, “A Star is Bought” by Albert Brooks. They calmed me down and were good company.

[Photo Credit: Stable]