From our pal Diane Firstman:

Leave it to Dave Tompkins to give us something surprising…

…like this Grantland piece on Nat Moore, NFL wide receiver and Miami Bass pioneer:

Nat Moore would be best remembered for his heliocentricity rather than for receiving the NFL’s first Man of the Year Award for providing “outstanding service” to a North Miami community decimated by riots, racism, and a highway. Kids who wanted to torch the seat of justice could enroll in one of the Dolphin youth football programs — or they could just skate backward to “Ring My Bell” at one of Nat Moore’s teen clubs.

What the NFL failed to recognize were Moore’s outstanding contributions to the birth of Miami bass, a rap extremity that enhanced player quality of life: spandex, jock jams, the strip club, the Luke party, the maximization of trunk space.1 This was the first hip-hop genre that appeared to be solely dedicated to fusing a subwoofer waveform with the human rear end, as if trying to develop a new biotechnology called Bottom, making these exaggerations of low end indistinguishable from each other.

[Photo Credit: How to Wreck a Nice Beach; Lovely Derriere]

Serious Eats vs. Food52: Are you kidding me?

Over at Retronaut, dig NYC circa 1900: In Living Colorization.

Picture by Mariya Kozlova via Stars in My Dreams

Cold be walkin with a bop and my hat turned back.

The original mix from the slang-spitter.

[Photo Via: Gruesome Twosome]

My profile of the late George Kimball appeared on Deadspin last December. I worked long and hard on that piece and was proud of the effort. And now some nice personal news I’d like to share with you…

It’s been selected to The Best American Sports Writing 2012 (Edited by Mike Wilbon).

Derek Jeter fist pump.

And this:

[Photo Credit: Fiftyfootshadows]

Rest in Peace, Robert Hughes, a wonderful critic and author.

The Daily Beast has a nice collection of Hughes’ best quotes. Here’s an interview he once did with R. Crumb.

Go to You Tube and look up The Shock of the New or American Visions. You’ll be entertained and will learn a ton.

I met him once, briefly, in the New York Public Library. Mark Lamster introduced us. This morning, Mark posted a funny bit on his Facebook page:

My most memorable conversation with Robert Hughes, in the NYPL Allen room:

Me: “What are you working on now?”
Him, with gruff humor: “Another goddamn book.”

[Photo Credit: News Image Limited Library; featured painting by Richard Diebenkorn]

No shame in getting smoked by Justin Verlander, now is there?

Nova had nothing. Yanks lose, 7-2.

[Photo Credit: Opcion]

Yanks in the Motor City for four games against the Tigers.

Tonight gives Verlander.

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

Time for Nova to shine.

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

[Robert Motherwell via Just Another Masterpiece]

The Killer B’s, they ain’t doin’ nuthin’. Andrew Marchand has the story.

Ah Sloppy Sue and Big Bones Billie they’ll be comin’ up for air…

[Photo Credit: Girls LOVE Sex Too]

Here’s a good piece by our ol’ chum Pete Abe about why firing Bobby V won’t fix the Red Sox.

[Pictures Via: Boston SportsU18; Boston Public Library]

If you’ve got an I Pad or any other kind of nifty tablet, his looks more than worth your six bucks: Henry Chalfant’s Big Subway Archive.

Ichiro was hit just above the right knee yesterday with a pitch. Before the ball reached him he yelled out. It was funny especially if you’ve ever been hit by a pitch. I remember getting plunked once in a high school game. The home plate ump warned both teams before the game not to curse but when the ball hit me in the leg I said, “Fuck.” I looked back at the ump and apologized. He told me to go to first.

Here’s a piece by Tim Kurkjian over at ESPN on what it feels like to get hit by a pitch:

“There are two types of thoughts when the ball leaves the pitcher’s hand,” Indians outfielder Shelley Duncan said. “The first one, you see the ball, and about halfway to the plate, you have that ‘Oh s—‘ moment. If you don’t get ready for it, that’s when you get hurt. The other one is the pitch that you know right away, you are going to wear it. You can turn your body, you get ready to get hit, but it all happens so fast. You have to make the adjustment because one second you are calm, then a split second later, your heart is racing.”

Catchers have been known to yell, “Watch out!” when a pitch is headed for a hitter; the Yankees’ Russell Martin has done that more than a few times. Braves outfielder Matt Diaz said, “I’ve yelled, ‘Oh!’ when the pitch was headed at me because I was sure it was going to hit me, then it didn’t. I turned to the catcher, and he was laughing his a– off. The umpire was chuckling. I said, ‘I thought it was going to hit me.’ They said, ‘We did, too.'”

[Photo Credit: The Washington Post]

The wife and I had dinner at our friend’s place the other night. Watched the Olympics and ordered in from a terrific Indian restaurant. We were stuffed and forgot to eat dessert. Okay, I didn’t forget, I showed some discipline in not asking for an ice cream sandwich. Our friends are the only people we know who stock ice cream sandwiches in their freezer. On the regular as they say.

I think they buy White Rose or some other budget brand. Doesn’t matter to me cause an ice cream sandwich is an ice cream sandwich and I ain’t picky.

But over at Serious Eats, here’s a taste test of ice cream sandwiches for you to check out.

Charlotte Rampling via Sunset Gun.

Via Kottke here is Sight and Sound’s list of the Top 50 Greatest Films of All Time.

You may start arguing…now.

My twin sister loved Marilyn when we were growing up. As much as I loved David Bowie or the Stones or Woody or anyone else I ever loved.

Sam had Marilyn posters on her wall, had Marilyn books, and of course, saw all of her movies, or at least the ones we could find on videotape. I remember going with her to a double feature of Gentleman Prefer Blondes and How to Marry a Millionaire  at the old Regency Theater on 67th Street and Broadway. This must have been in the mid-80s sometime. I pretended not to care about Marilyn or worse, put her down because Sam dug her, but I remember that day, sitting in the balcony watching those two movies and enjoying Marilyn just fine.

Yesterday was the 50th anniversary of Monroe’s death.

Remember Steve Trachsel? He wasn’t just deliberate when he pitched, he was obstinant like a fuggin mule. Trachsel worked so slowly and on broiling hot summer days like today he managed to piss off just about everyone in the park: his teammates in the field, the opposition, the fans in the stands (and at home), the home announcers.

Throw the damn ball, you just wanted to yell, and often did.

I thought of ol’ Trachsel this afternoon as Freddy Garcia and Hisashi Iwakuma performed the great Snail-Off-Schivtz-a-thon at the Stadium. Okay, Garcia wasn’t quite as soporific but he wasn’t crisp either and didn’t last past five innings. The result was good for napping, perhaps the cure for ansomnia, and little else.

The relievers worked at a quicker pace for which we were all grateful. The good news in all of this was that nobody passed out from heat exhaustion. Better still, the Yanks came away with a 6-2 win.

Hey, they don’t all have to be pretty. The “W” is reward enough.

Ice Cream Sandwiches for everyone.

[Photo Credit: Dessertsforbreakfast]