Yanks go for the series win tonight in Cleveland.

Keep it rollin’, boys, cause the Rays are here to stay.

Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

Interior with a Violin, By Henri Matisse (1917-8)

This record always struck me as a kid. I don’t know, it had a pleasantly depressed vibe about it.

Next week’s theme is a good one: Guilty Pleasure Movies. We had some internal discussion about the definition of a guilty pleasure movie, and as usual in such cases, Emma hit the nail on the head:

“To me, they are movies that you enjoy but CAN’T really defend. A guilty pleasure is a movie that you would NOT have in your DVD collection. I don’t own Deep Blue Sea and wouldn’t buy it. But whenever it’s on TV, I watch-even though I must’ve seen it about four times by now, which is three and a half more viewings than it deserves.”

The general consensus was that the movie has to be bad in order to qualify, but that doesn’t really matter to me. A movie can be well-made and still be a guilty pleasure for me. Like Boogie Nights or Rushmore or True Romance, Sleepless in Seattle, even, those are guilty pleasures for me because overall I really don’t like the filmmakers and enjoy not liking them. So to admit that I can actually watch something by them and even enjoy it, that’s guilt, Dog.

Or self-loathing, or something warped like that. And has nothing to do with the artistic quality of the filmmaking, because like them or not, PT Anderson, Wes Anderson, Quentin Tarantino, are skilled and talented guys.

But if I had to pick a scrubby movie as a guilty pleasure–resisting like all hell not to choose something starring Chris Makepeace–I think this one will do just fine.

Should be a fun week. Let’s all have a laugh, shall we?

The New York Times presents a Peaches Navigator.

Thank you.

I’ve been playing golf for so long I couldn’t quit the game if I tried, I don’t remember not knowing how to swing a club. It’s something my father and I share to this day. Perhaps my daughter will see me hit golf balls or watch Paula Creamer on TV and get excited about the game like I did when I was her age. Golf is an escape, a source of sanity and competition all at the same time. It’s that way for the group of guys I play with every weekend; one guy in particular, Don. On Sunday evening, July 18th, we lost him.

I got the call the following morning. We all expected the news. When we played thee weeks ago at Lido, another member of our group saw Don’s cousin who told him the end was near. Don battled cancer for about a year-and-a-half.

He was 46. Made a mint trading oil stocks. Had a history of substance abuse in his younger days but while he still maintained some vices (smoking, the occasional drunken evening), he’d kicked the drugs. His only junkie-level activity for the length of time I knew him was golf.

And he was a junky golfer. Slow as shit, three practice swings prior to every shot, with a swing that looked like a cross between Kenny Perry and Al Czervik from “Caddyshack.” I don’t know how he hit the ball, but he was effective in his own way. He was an 18 handicap that could shoot 85, kick your ass and take your money.

He was one of the guys who welcomed me into that group that regularly shows up at Lido well before dawn to get into the first few groups, regardless of the time of year. Don was that way with everyone, though.

Three years ago, he went on a golfing trip to Scotland. Unsolicited, he brought back souvenir ball markers from Gleneagles for me and several other guys in the group. Earlier that year, again unsolicited, he did the same thing following a business trip to Chicago where he played at Butler National, which used to host the Western Open, except the gift was a sleeve of golf balls with the Butler National logo emblazoned on the side.

The best gift, though, sits near the putting/chipping green adjacent to the 18th green and 1st and 10th tees at Lido: a wooden bench. Engraved on the bench are the names of the guys in our early-morning outfit. It reads “The Posse” at the top center, and then our names in a cool cursive font underneath. We all wanted to chip in and help contribute to the bench, but Don wouldn’t allow it. The same way for the last two years, for our annual two-day tournament — which will be renamed in his honor — he wouldn’t accept any of our contributions for either the trophies handed out to the Low Net, 2nd Place Net and Low Gross winners, or the buffet lunch that accompanied the ceremony. He just wanted all of us to relax, have fun and enjoy ourselves. On him.

Our tournament was the last time I saw Don. He was 40 pounds thinner due to the chemo. He’d shaved his beard. He looked good and sounded even better. On the golf course, he was the same insufferable Don we loved to rib. Somehow, he got the staff at Lido to give him a handicapped flag that he attached to his cart. Like he was going to get sympathy from us?

At that point in time — it was Labor Day weekend — Don thought he was in remission. Turned out the cancer was only hibernating. By January he was back in Florida at the treatment center, playing golf whenever breaks in his chemo and radiation would allow. In mid-February, Don was amidst what would be the last round of gold he’d ever play, at TPC Sawgrass, home of The Players Championship. He got as far as the 4th hole when an attack debilitated him and an ambulance was rushed to the course to cart him off. Stupid sonofabitch asked for a rain check. That was Don.

For the next five months of his life was resigned to a bed, either at the treatment center in Florida, Sloan Kettering here in New York, or finally, at home with his wife and teenage daughter. He may have died Sunday, but as far as I’m concerned, he died that day in February on the 4th hole at Sawgrass. That’s when his vitality was erased. He’d tell you the same thing. At least at that moment, Don was happy in his escape, doing what he loved most.

Our group assembled at his wake last weekend to pay our respects. It was open casket. He had grown his beard again. We mourned and we celebrated his life, recounted stories; everybody had one — and chipped in for a life-size floral wreath that looked like a golf ball on a tee. The flowers bore a hexagonal shape that resembled the dimple pattern on Callaway golf balls, just like the ones Don played. It was the best way we knew how to return the favor for all he did for us.

Don’s death fell amid the recent trifecta of passings in the Yankees’ Universe — Bob Sheppard on July 11, George Steinbrenner on July 13, and Ralph Houk on the 21st. Trying to put it all in context, I thought about Don, and then Todd Drew, and then turned my thoughts to Sheppard, the Boss and Houk. I was angry that each of those men lived a long life and neither Todd nor Don got that opportunity. Then I felt guilty for thinking that.

At least Todd and Don got to enjoy their escapes, and made a point to enjoy them even more when sharing their experiences with friends. That’s a legacy.

If you have similar stories about escapes, whether they be golf, baseball, any experiences you share with “buddies,” please share them in Comments.

[Photo Credit: Inside Florida.com, twooverpar.com]

In the sixth inning last night, the game in hand already for the Yanks, Alex Rodriguez swung late at a high fastball and muscled a line drive just fair down the right field line. As he slid into second, the bag dislodged and Rodriguez came up with the base in his arms. Then he rolled up to one knee, stood the base up and leaned on it, striking a pose. He tilted his head, looked straight into the Yankee dugout and held back a smile.

A Rod, the goofball. Now, whether some of his teammates were laughing at him and not just along with him, I have no way of knowing, but even if that’s the case (especially if that’s the case), I enjoyed the moment. If Rodriguez has any charm–and their is ample evidence to the contrary–it is that he’s a goofball. Self-aware in a way that’s like a Hollywood Diva–Vogue–but nerdier, the hot chick who gets straight A’s in school. He knows it and when he plays off it with his teammates it makes you think that even if he acts schmucky, maybe he’s not all bad after all.

Rodriguez is pressing at the plate, missing several pitches each game–popping them up, fouling them off, swinging right through them–as he chases career homer #600. There have been articles about how nobody cares about the milestone because it is stained by PEDs, but in New York it makes the back page almost every day. And 600 dingers is an achievement, even if how we feel about achievements in the PED Era has changed, even if it is lessened, because people sit around talking about how 600 homers don’t mean anything anymore. It’s still a topic of conversation. Still the lead story on Sports Center every night.

There will be a sense of relief more than anything else when he finally hits it.

So I’m enjoying it. Makes me feel like a kid every time he’s up, because a home run is all that is asked or expected from him. The announcers rev their engines with every pitch waiting for the big call, dvrs on record at home, the fans snap their cameras–how many thousands of pictures have been erased of Rodriguez not hitting the homer?

He’s in the spotlight and I’ll give him that. He might not know how to manage his star the way Reggie Jackson did, but when he’s on the field, Rodriguez’s talent does have a way of drawing attention.

Probably be the same thing when he’s sitting on 699 if he gets that far. I don’t think he’ll catch Aaron and Bonds but if he stays healthy he’ll beat Aaron for the all-time RBI mark. He’s going to be the most ridiculously overpaid veteran in any sport at any time from here on out. The spotlight will never go away. I’m curious to see how much he’s got left and looking forward to watching how it all plays out.

[Photo Credit: AP Photo/Tony Dejak]

The Yankees had amassed nine hits in the first two games of the current series with the Indians.  They had gone 0-10 with runners in scoring position.  Tuesday night, they were silenced by yet another rookie making his major league debut.  Now they had to face the Indians lone All-Star representative in Fausto Carmona.

Carmona had won his last three starts, two of those against the Rays, and had ten wins for a 42-58 team.  He had had only one start shorter than five full innings the entire season.  So, of course they pummeled Carmona into submission by the end of the third inning Wednesday.

The Yanks took a 1-0 lead in the first on a Mark Teixeira double and an Alex Rodriguez single up the middle. The Bombers kept Indians right fielder Shin Soo-Choo very busy in the second, as they laced three consecutive one-out singles (Curtis Granderson, Francisco Cervelli and Brett Gardner) and then a two-out two-RBI single by Teixeira, all to right.

The third inning featured a Cano double high off the wall in left, a Granderson RBI triple (making him 16-36 lifetime against Carmona), a Cervelli HBP and a Gardner RBI double to right.  An RBI single by Nick Swisher finally knocked Carmona out after 2.2 IP, having surrendered ten hits and seven runs while throwing 73 pitches.

(more…)

Alex Rodriguez and the Yanks are back at it in Cleveland tonight.

Go git ’em, fellers.

[Picture by Stephen Holland]

What’s up with the Yanks losing to rookie pitchers? Rob Neyer takes a look:

The Moroccans, By Henri Matisse (1915-16)

David Lebovitz, currently living the sweet life in Paris, gives us Candied Bacon Ice Cream.

No use steering now.

Man, Cyd Charisse should have been illegal. Legs for days…

From Mr. Minnelli, a classic number.

From the most cool Anthology Film Archives site, dig this piece of New York home movie history:

Bleecker Street, mid-Sixties (16mm)

[W 8th Street Heading West] from afarchives on Vimeo.

Most cool. The Internet wins again.

You don’t want to read a recap of this game.

I don’t want to write a recap of this game.

Indians started a 25-year-old command and control righty Tuesday night. A total non prospect with a recent violence-related arrest making his major league debut. So the S.O.B. goes out and faces the minimum the first two times through the Yankee order. The only Yankee baserunner in the first six innings against Josh Tomlin last night was Derek Jeter, who singled to start the fourth, then got caught stealing with two outs and Alex Rodriguez at the plate.

Rodriguez didn’t hit hit 600th home run. We can get that one out of the way. There was no big birthday milestone for the now-35-year-old third baseman. He did come to the plate representing the tying run in the ninth, but he tapped out to short on an 0-1 pitch. In his first three at-bats, he grounded out twice, then flew out to strand Nick Swisher at third in the seventh.

The fourth inning was the nadir. After Jeter got thrown out to end the top of the inning, CC Sabathia started the bottom of the frame by yielding a single to Asdrubal Cabrera and a double to Shin-Soo Choo to put runners on the corners. Austin Kearns followed with a hard grounder to third and Alex Rodriguez fired home to get Cabrera. The bottom of the first had ended when Brett Gardner threw out Choo at home on a single through the shortstop hole with Francisco Cervelli making a nice block of the plate. This time Cervelli had to reach into fair territory to get Rodriguez’s throw then reach to make the tag on Cabrera in foul territory. He did both successfully, but when his left arm hit the ground, the ball bounced out of his glove and Cabrera was ruled safe on Cervelli’s error.

Did I mention Cervelli was starting because Jorge Posada’s left knee is acting up on him? It’s an old injury; he has a cyst back there that causes him occasional pain, but, yeah.

After Shelley Duncan popped up, Jhonny Peralta hit into a would-be double play, but Kearns was called safe at second after Robinson Cano came off the bag too early on the pivot, and his relay throw was just a hair too late to get Peralta, so instead of ending the inning, the play loaded the bases with just one out. Matt LaPorta followed with a sac fly, and though Sabathia held the line there and both runs were earned, it mattered little with the Yankee bats unable to touch Tomlin.

The Indians scored two more runs in the sixth, which were Sabathia’s fault. The highlight there came when Joe Girardi ordered CC to intentionally walk the number-eight hitter, righty Jason Donald, to load the bases with two outs, and Sabathia responded by walking the number-nine hitter, right-handed swinging back-up catcher Chris Gimenez, to force in a fourth Cleveland run.

Even when the Yankees finally scored it was embarrassing. After Swisher was stranded in the seventh, Robinson Cano led off the eighth with a double. Indians manager Manny Acta the lifted the rookie Tomlin and brought in lefty Rafael Perez to face Curtis Granderson. Perez sent Cano to third via a wild pitch, but got Granderson to ground out to first. The play on Granderson’s grounder wasn’t easy for LaPorta, but Cano failed to come home on it. Girardi then sent up Marcus Thames to pinch-hit for Juan Miranda only to have Acta counter with righty Joe Smith, at which point Girardi counter-countered with . . . Colin Curtis? Yeah, I know he had that improbable pinch-hit homer the other day, but I’m reasonably confident that any strategy that ends in Colin Curtis has failed, even if Curtis succeeds. Indeed, Curtis got the run in with an even better-placed groundout to the right side, but that was all the Yankees got out of the inning.

In the ninth, Brett Gardner and Derek Jeter led off with singles against closer Chris Perez, but Nick Swisher struck out and Mark Teixeira popped out to Cabrera in shallow center on the first pitch he saw. That set up Rodriguez to get number 600 on a game-tying three-run shot, but, as I mentioned above, he meekly tapped out on two pitches.

Indians win 4-1.

You want bright side? here’s the extent of it: Jeter went 2-for-4 and the Yankees only needed seven pitches from their bullpen, all from Chan Ho Park. That’s it. Heck, we didn’t even get to see Carlos Santana play.

Boo.

Josh Tomlin will make his major league debut tonight by starting for the Indians. Talk about being thrown into the fire. He starts his big league career by facing the defending champs and his new team’s former Cy Young award winning ace, and could end the evening as the answer to a trivia question about a milestone home run.

Tomlin is a 25-year-old righty who was drafted out of Texas Tech in the 19th round of the 2006 draft and has bounced between starting and relieving in his five minor league seasons. He’s a strike-thrower (career 1.9 BB/9 in the minors), but despite good results for Triple-A Columbus this year (8-4, 2.68 ERA), his walks have been up (2.8 BB/9) and his strikeouts have been down (6.7 K/9, which likely translates to a below average strikeout rate in the majors).

I don’t know much more about him other than he and two members of the Double-A Akron Aeros were charged with felonious assault (later reduced to disorderly conduct) for allegedly beating up a bouncer at an Akron bar on June 3.

Outfielder Michael Brantley has been optioned to Columbus to make room for Tomlin on the roster. Juan Miranda will play first base and bat eighth against the righty Tomlin. Mark Teixeira gets a half-day off at DH. Everyone else is in their usual place.

The Piano Lesson, By Henri Matisse (1916)

Nice  job by Mike Lupica remembering Vic Ziegel.

Thanks to my man Greg Prince for the link.

I mean you’re not going to put Charlie Parker in with the Rock n Roll, are you?

Rump-shakin’, mind-bending, smile why don’t ya?