[Photo Credit: littlemissslut]

Another morning, another increasingly desperate search for the metrocard. I just can’t seem to get it under control.

I feel like a little kid who can’t think ahead so he keeps running into the same problems. An adult should have created a system to keep this from happening long ago, yet here I am looking for the damn card again.

Yesterday’s pants? Nope. Yesterday’s jacket? The spot beside the stove where we put things? Nope squared. The spot on the shelf, that graveyard of insufficient fares? I hope not, that would have been an insane place to leave it. But better check. Nope. Not next to the computer. Not next to the bed. Not on the vanity in the hall. Holy crap, am I infantile, senile or just the laziest dumbass on the block?

Here’s my problem. My wallet is magnetic, so keeping the metrocard in my wallet murders it. I learned that the hard way with a plump card, maybe forty bucks down the drain. So I keep my metrocard as far away from my wallet as possible. In the summer, that means my metrocard is in my pants pocket and my wallet is zipped up inside my bag. In the winter, there’s the additional option of coat pockets.

When I get home I cannot train myself to think about the card. Either it stays in my pocket, which would make for a relatively easy search, or I absentmindedly place it on the first open surface I encounter. The latter tendency spices up the mornings.

And everytime I say to myself, this is the last time I’m doing this.

[Photo via mynewyorkworld.com]

In his third year of eligibility, Barry Larkin was elected to the Hall of Fame, an honor most baseball fans agree should have come sooner. However, even though the Hall of Fame bylaws make no such distinction, the voters from the BBWAA have taken it upon themselves to create a stratified election process that bestows special meaning to how quickly a player gains enshrinement (for a closer look at players forced to wait their turn, click here).

Since the first Hall of Fame class in 1936, 297 members have been inducted, including 207 former major leaguers, of which 112 were elected by the BBWAA. Of that latter total, only 44, or 39%, have been enshrined in their first year of eligibility, meaning Larkin’s delayed induction wasn’t abnormal.

Hall of Fame Inductions, by Years on the Ballot

Note: Excludes players elected via a runoff or special election.
Source: baseball-reference.com and baseballhall.org

The restriction on first ballot Hall of Famers has been eased somewhat of late (there have been 10 first-year elections over the past 10 years), but sentiment about denying an initial vote is still prevalent in Cooperstown discussions. Unfortunately, the shortsighted logic behind such an approach can sometimes be taken to an extreme, as was the case with Lou Whitaker and Ron Santo, two strong candidates that dropped off the ballot after failing to receive 5% of the vote in their first year of eligibility (Santo, who will join Larkin as a posthumous Veterans Committee induction, was later reinstated). Despite these examples of a philosophy gone awry, the practice continues to this day, and almost claimed Bernie Williams as another victim.

Although fans and baseball writers still get hung up about the importance of being a first ballot Hall of Famer, many might be surprised to learn some of the players who don’t qualify for the distinction. Tris Speaker, Ty Cobb and Whitey Ford all needed two ballots to gain enshrinement. For Mel Ott and Carl Hubbell, the third time was a charm. There haven’t been many players more elite than Joe DiMaggio, Eddie Collins, and Lefty Grove, but each of those men needed four ballots to enter the Hall. As you go down the list, the names continue to impress, which should be reason enough to scrap any notion about a first ballot commendation.

Vote and WAR leaders by Year of Hall of Fame Induction

Source: baseball-reference.com and baseballhall.org

In defensive of the BBWAA, there once were credible reasons for withholding votes from first timers. The most compelling was the glut of qualified candidates resulting from the decades of baseball history that pre-dated the Hall of Fame. As a result, the voters not only had to consider which players were the most deserving, but also which had already waited too long for their rightful honor. Several other eligibility rules from the past also supported the first ballot stinginess, including players becoming eligible after only one season of retirement and the lack of a minimum requirement to remain on the ballot. That’s why when DiMaggio kept failing to win induction, for example, there was surprise, but not outrage, even if not everyone agreed with the philosophy.

The temptation is strong to exclaim indignantly that all members of the Baseball Writers Association who failed to vote for the Jolter are rockheads. But that would be a grievous error. The reasoning is this: Joe DiMaggio in his first year of eligibility for the Hall of Fame. Admittedly, he rates it but can afford to wait a bit just as other great stars had to wait. Let’s get some of the older fellows into Cooperstown before time runs out on them.” – Arthur Daley, New York Times, January 23, 1953

Arthur Daley’s justification for withholding deserved votes expired along time ago. Making Barry Larkin wait three years for induction didn’t serve any purpose other than to create an artificial distinction between classes of Hall of Famer. Of course, because past procedures necessitated delays, Larkin can still boast that his election came well before the likes of DiMaggio, Jimmie Foxx and Rogers Hornsby. However, there is still one part of Daley’s comment that rings true, and it will be hauntingly evident when someone other than Ron Santo is forced to accept the Hall of Fame honor on his behalf. Compared to the former Cubs’ third baseman, Larkin’s wait was nothing.

The Great One: R. Crumb

Serious Eats shows us how to make something good and delicious.

Our man Cliff has a piece up at SI.com about Jorge Posada’s chances at making the Hall of Fame:

He was the funny-looking one. The last to join the quartet, he had a big nose, a weak chin, a penchant for rings and worked sitting down. His contributions to arguably the greatest ensemble in his field have always been overlooked. Yet, even moreso than his Beatles analog, Ringo Starr, Jorge Posada was an equal partner in baseball’s fab four, the quartet of Yankees teammates who debuted in 1995 and won seven pennants and five World Series together (though Posada, who played in just eight major league games in 1996, sat out the first of those).

That Posada is so comparable to Ringo, “the funny one,” who wrote just two Beatles songs and two of the worst at that, helps explain why he has had such a hard time being taken seriously as an all-time great at his position. However, news of his impending retirement, first reported by WFAN beat reporter Sweeny Murti last weekend, gives us a much-needed occasion to revisit Posada’s significance in baseball history. It’s fitting that the news about Posada arrived just days before the announcement of this year’s Hall of Fame class, as a case can be made that Posada is worthy of enshrinement, and it has nothing to do with his having kept time with sure-fire first-ballot inductees Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera or fellow borderline case Andy Pettitte, his Core Four brethren.

Smitten Kitchen does Matzoh Ball soup. And as we know, soup is good food. Especially on a cold rainy day like today.

“Yuki Onna” Digital Painting by Charlie Terrell

Over at the Pinstriped Bible, Steven Goldman compares Bernie Williams with Kirby Puckett:

Both were excellent hitters with very different skills who nonetheless arrived at similar results. Puckett was short and stout, Williams long and lithe. Puckett reaped a huge benefit from his Metrodome home park, hitting .344/.388/.521 at home, .291/.331/.430 on the road. Williams was about the same hitter everywhere. Both were Gold Glove center fielders who won several of the defensive awards with their bats. Both won a single batting title. Puckett led the AL in hits four times; Williams walked too much to compete in that department.

Career-wise, Williams looks a little worse overall, but that’s because his peak isn’t quite so high and his career is a little longer. Due to glaucoma, Puckett’s career came to an abrupt end, depriving him of a decline phase, whereas Williams got to play until he was no longer useful. If you consider both through their age-35 seasons, it’s a virtual tie: Williams had hit .301/.388/.488 in 1804 games, while Puckett hit .318/.360/.477 in 1783 games. When you adjust for time and place, there isn’t a lot of difference–at which point, I would argue, you have to look at Puckett’s home-road splits.

This will make your day. It sure made mine.

[Photo Credit: Susan NYC]

In celebration of my cousin’s birthday how about getting the Led out with Three for Thursday:

Oh, what the hell, here’s a bonus beat:

Two photographs by Man Ray.

Head on over to the always entertaining site, Scouting New York, and check out this fascinating post about an abandoned missile base in the Adirondacks.

David Lebovitz makes fresh pasta.

Townes.

I’ll fake it to ya.

Check this out:

Edible Art.

Rothko Cookies

Mondrian Cake

[Photo Credits: Mimi O Chun and Through My Blue Eyes]

Tom Verducci and Rob Neyer write about how underrated Jorge Posada was during his career.

You want great Sichuan in Manhattan? Peep Legend on 7th Ave between 15th and 16th Street.

I’ve been four times in the past two weeks and can recommend almost everything that I tried. I especially liked:

Sichuan Cucumber

The Green Beans with Ground Pork

Sichuan Spicy Ma Pa Tofu

Dry Spicy, Tasty Diced Chicken with Ginger and Peanut.

Photo Credit: Serious Eats, from their fine slideshow of the place.