Chien-Ming Wang teetered on the brink of disaster throughout his six innings against the White Sox last night, but somehow allowed only three runs, so in the end — after the Yankee offense poked its head out and didn’t see its shadow — New York won 9-5. The Yanks are now one game over .500, and at with his fourth W of the season, Wang is the fastest major league pitcher to 50 wins since Doc Gooden. (Obligatory disclaimer: wins are an extremely unreliable and inaccurate stat, etc. Still, that’s impressive).

Starting for the White Sox was old frenemy Jose Contreras, another in the long line of big-money free agent busts in New York who’ve gone on to success elsewhere. (He gets a pass, though, since his family was trapped in Cuba most of the time he was with the Yankees. You can see how that might be a tad bit distracting. What’s your excuse, Vazquez?). Contreras pitched a solid game, allowing just one first inning run, when Johnny Damon scored on a Matsui ground out, and one inning later a solo home run from the hollow husk of Jason Giambi. Then he settled in and, like many an April pitcher before him, stifled the Yankees’ offense.

Wang, meanwhile, struggled from the start, throwing almost 50 pitches in the first two innings alone as the White Sox put three quick runs up. (He wasn’t helped by an error on Morgan Ensberg, who was subbing in for Alex Rodriguez at third base. A-Rod, of course, was on paternity leave in Florida, with his wife and newborn daughter…. or, as the Daily News would have it, "welcoming a bouncing bambina into [his] pinstriped world"). After that Wang was somwhat more efficient, but also lucky: the White Sox had a plethora of very hard hit line drives and fly balls land just within reach of the Yankee outfielders. And by the end, Chicago had stranded 13 runners.

The Yankees finally got a little momentum going, and loaded the bases in the 7th – single, walk, infield single – which brought Derek Jeter to the plate with one out. He struck out, and perhaps as a result, looked like the happiest man in Chicago one batter later, when Bobby Abreu whacked Octavio Dotel’s 2-0 pitch just over the left field wall for a go-ahead grand slam.

In the bottom of the inning, perhaps concerned that things might get dull for the viewers at home, Billy Traber and Brian Bruney worked together to load the bases, which brought in Joba Chamberlain. Joba looked good under the circumstances — well, aside from walking in a run — and in the YES booth, David Cone kept gushing about his “moxie,” an excellent word that people just don’t use enough anymore. (Side note: I think Cone’s doing a good job on the whole… but you can just tell he’s dying to curse up a storm, and to tell several dozen potentially libelous stories. I’d love to hear him really cut loose, though I expect the FCC and certain former teammates would not.)

After a three-run homer from Johnny Damon in the eighth – cancel the obit, I think he’s fogging up the mirror! – and another solid inning from Chamberlain, Kyle Farnsworth brought his own special brand of excitement to the ninth inning. But one quick home run, walk, fielder’s choice and wild pitch later, the Yankees nailed down the win.

I’m not sure it’s even worth bringing up, but in the eighth inning, a black cat ran out of the stands, across the field, and straight into the Yankees dugout. I’ve decided to simply ignore this, not being the superstious type. (Though once, in college, I was walking across a courtyard at night, when not one but two black cats ran directly in front of me, one after the other… then proceeded to have loud sex in the bushes next to my dorm. I admit, that did give me pause.)

Finally, announcer Paul O’Neill finally asked the big burning question on all of our minds: “How can they wear black socks when they’re called the White Sox? That just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Next time on YES: Why do we drive on parkways but park on driveways?

Chicago White Sox

2007 Record: 72-90 (.444)
2007 Pythagorean Record: 66-96 (.406)

Manager: Ozzie Guillen
General Manager: Ken Williams

Home Ballpark (multi-year Park Factors): U.S. Cellular Field (104/105)

Who’s Replacing Whom:

Orlando Cabrera replaces Tadahito Iguchi and Danny Richar (DL)
Joe Crede returns from the DL to replace Josh Fields (minors)
Nick Swisher replaces Scott Podsednik and Darin Erstad
Carlos Quentin replaces Jerry Owens (minors) and Luis Terrero
Alexei Ramirez replaces Rob Mackowiak
Brian Anderson replaces Andy Gonzalez and Alex Cintron
Gavin Floyd inherits most of Jon Garland’s starts (John Danks inherits the rest)
Scott Linebrink replaces David Aardsma, Ehren Wassermann (minors) and others
Octavio Dotel replaces Ryan Bukvich, Andrew Sisco (minors), Mike Myers and others

25-man Roster:

1B – Paul Konerko (R)
2B – Juan Uribe (R)
SS – Orlando Cabrera (R)
3B – Joe Crede (R)
C – A.J. Pierzynski (L)
RF – Jermaine Dye (R)
CF – Nick Swisher (S)
LF – Carlos Quentin (R)
DH – Jim Thome (L)

Bench:

R – Alexei Ramirez (UT)
R – Pablo Ozuna (UT)
R – Brian Anderson (OF)
R – Toby Hall (C)

Rotation:

R – Javier Vazquez
L – Mark Buehrle
L – John Danks
R – Jose Contreras
R – Gavin Floyd

Bullpen:

R – Bobby Jenks
R – Octavio Dotel
R – Scott Linebrink
L – Matt Thornton
R – Mike MacDougal
L – Boone Logan
R – Nick Masset

15-day DL: L – Danny Richar (IF)

Typical Lineup:

S – Nick Swisher (CF)
R – Orlando Cabrera (SS)
L – Jim Thome (DH)
R – Paul Konerko (1B)
R – Jermaine Dye (RF)
L – A.J. Pierzynski (C)
R – Carlos Quentin (LF)
R – Joe Crede (3B)
R – Juan Uribe (SS)

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Mother’s Day is coming up and most of you are probably like me in that you haven’t given it a moment’s thought.  Well, dig, this, I got something good for you.  My wife Emily always thinks ahead when it comes to holidays. She’s got Christmas and Chanuka all sewn-up by the Fourth of July. But not only is she well-prepared, she’s an artiste as well. Em takes beautiful pictures and then makes beautiful notecards.

She also sells the cards.  Talk about a great gift idea for Mom’s Day! And if you are already set for Mother’s Day, that’s cool, cause these cards are great for any occasion.

They are sure to give you a smile and they are a great way to spread a little Joy. And you can never have too much of that.

Check it out:

[Disclaimer: Actual prints are richer in color than they appear on screen.]

ORANGE TULIPS

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Yankee gm, Brian Cashman:

“He is not going (to the rotation),” Cashman said of Chamberlain, the premier set-up man in baseball. “We are all on the same page. We talked about this during the winter and spring training and we are working toward that because that is the (eventual plan). Right now the time and place is to help in the pen. We are all on the same page.

“It makes for a nice New York story, but there is not a disagreement with my boss and myself.”
(George King, N.Y.Post)

Anthony Mccarron reports in the News:

“It’s all of our intention to try to get (Chamberlain) back into the rotation by the end of the year,” Steinbrenner told The News. “I’ve addressed it many times, as did Joe (Girardi) and (GM Brian) Cashman. I’m just saying it would be nice to have him there right now. He’s going to be great anywhere we have him but, my preference is as a starter and that’s everybody else’s preference, too.

“You see what a premium starting pitching is. The bullpen is important, but starting pitching is 70% of it. Your bullpen can’t do you any good if you’re down by five runs quickly every night. It’s logical.”

But Chamberlain isn’t going anywhere right now, according to Cashman.

“Joba is a starter, but the time and place for him right now is to be in the bullpen,” Cashman said.

I’m no expert but it seems like it would be tough to switch Joba this season. I just don’t see the Yanks being able to afford losing Chamberlain for six-to-eight weeks as he builds himself back into a starter in the minors. I am eager to see him start too, but am also fine with him sticking out this year as Mariano’s set-up man.

What do you guys think?

Hank Dog is on the scene. He wants Joba Chamberlain to start.

From the New York Times:

“I want him as a starter and so does everyone else, including him, and that is what we are working toward and we need him there now,” Steinbrenner said Sunday by telephone. “There is no question about it, you don’t have a guy with a 100-mile-per-hour fastball and keep him as a setup guy. You just don’t do that. You have to be an idiot to do that.”

…”The mistake was already made last year switching him to the bullpen out of panic or whatever,” Steinbrenner said. “I had no say in it last year and I wouldn’t have allowed it. That was done last year, so now we have to catch up. It has to be done on a schedule so we don’t rush him.”

…”The starting rotation is not what I would have chosen at the beginning of the year, but that is not a big news flash to anyone,” Steinbrenner said.

Discuss.

A few weeks ago, Joe Posnanski ran a fun comparison at his site: Roberto Clemente vs. Al Kaline. I was talking to Jay Jaffe about it and Jay hit the nail on the head when he said, “Clemente the Icon dwarfs Clemente the player.” With that in mind, and since the Yanks have the night off, please consider checking out the Clemente American Experience on PBS this evening. I hope it’s a good one.

When Pat Jordan told me that he still uses a typewriter to write his stories instead of a computer I wasn’t surprised. He’s so old school, why would he change? His wife calls him a trogliodyte, kicking a screaming into the 19th century. A few years later, I visited Pat at his home in Florida and looked through hundreds of manuscripts and drafts. I saw his tools of ignorance: an old Hermes 10 typewriter (he buys old machines on ebay for the parts), yellow second sheets (discontinued), stubby corrective pencils, a glue-pot, a pair of sissors, and even a bottle of yellow white out (also discontinued). Having come from a fine arts background, I could immediately relate to the tactile nature of Pat’s writing process.

And in fact, if I’ve learned anything from Pat, it is how important thinking is to good writing. Jordan is a deliberate and meticulous writer. When he has a magazine assingment, he first researches the subject, reading as many articles as his researcher can find, then composes his own questions before he conducts interviews and takes notes. Then he transcribes those interviews, orgainzes them with his notes and then he begins to make outlines. If afforded the time, he’ll review the notes, the transcribed interviews and his outlines, and revised outlines, over and over before he starts writing. He might not stick to his outlines, might alter them as he goes, but he always has them as a safety net, a way to organize and structure his thinking. When he finally does begin to write, he goes sentence-by-sentence. If he writes two pages a day–a productive day for him–when he starts again in the morning, he’ll review what he wrote, revise anything that needs fixing, and then proceed.

The tools Pat uses to write are antiquated but they are an essential part of his thinking and his writing. When I worked in post-production, I was fortunate enough to be on jobs with Ken Burns, Woody Allen, and the Coen Brothers, who all still cut on film when I was with them (mid-90s). The physical nature of the medium forced the editor and director to make hard, clear descisions. For instance, if you made a cut on Tuesday, it would take a lot of time and man-power to fix it by Thursday. And even after Joel and Ethan had previewed a reel on their KEM flatbed, it would take five, six minutes to rewind the reel to the head, during which time they would sit and contemplate what they had just watched. I learned to value this down-time, how productive it was for them to be able to think things through.

All three filmmakers cut on computers now. Last winter I spoke with Paul Barnes, Burns’ longtime editor, and asked if he’d ever go back to cutting on film. “Not in a million years,” he said. But he doesn’t need to. He got his chops the old fashioned way, so the new technology is simply a dream. However, for a younger generation, who didn’t grown up cutting on film, there can, at times, be too many choices, so many options that the creative process is overwhelmed by possibilites.

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It was pouring rain late Sunday morning down in Baltimore. It was so bad, Michael Kay later said on the YES broadcast, the Yankee players were sure that the game would be called. But they played ball after all and while the rain delayed the game in the late innings, the Yankees came away with a sorely needed win, beating the O’s, 7-1. Our boys are now 10-10.

The Yanks do not have an ace. Earlier this week, Howard Megdal, writing in the New York Observer, said that Josh Beckett, who is a true ace, is the difference between the Yanks and Sox. The Yanks didn’t have anyone that could match Curt Schilling for more than a minute before that. But I was confident that Andy Pettitte would go out and throw a good game today because he’s got a history of being reliable when the team needs to stop a losing skid. And just like an ace, that is exactly what he did. The Orioles didn’t have their first base runner until Jay Payton’s two-out infield dribbler in the fifth. Pettitte pitched seven shut-out innings, allowing four hits, striking out five and walking none. It gave me a peaceful, easy feeling to watch (speaking of which, Adam Jones is a pleasure to watch man centerfield for the Orioles).

Chad Moeller and Johnny Damon had a couple of hits, and so did Derek Jeter, including a three run double in the ninth inning that put the game away. Robinson Cano picked up a single and hit the ball hard in two other times with nothing to show for it. Jason Giambi wasn’t as fortunate, as he hit into a inning-ending double play with the bases juiced and went hitless dropping his average to .109. Alex Rodriguez picked up an RBI double but left the game early with a sore quad.

It wasn’t a dramatic-looking injury and hopefully it is not severe. Just a pull as Rodriguez ran up the line to first base. But dag, it’s hard not to hold your breath with Rodriguez. The guy has enjoyed such good fortune as far as his health his concerned so far in his career. Who knows how long a guy’s body will hold out before it starts breaking down? Could happen at any time really. Look at Junior, of course, but also, look at Chipper Jones. Dick Allen had monster years at 30 and 31 and was done by the time he was 35.

He could miss a few games.

In the meantime, the Yanks have a much needed day off before the road trip continues.

You can’t win if you don’t score. Last night the Yankees got ten men on base, but couldn’t push any of them across against the underwhelming duo of lefty Brian Burres and righty Jim Johnson. The Yanks have scored just two runs in two games in Baltimore, but the story last night was the failure of rookie starter Ian Kennedy to get out of the third inning.

Kennedy got into trouble right away, but was rescued from his first-inning jam when Melky Cabrera ranged deep into the left field gap to snag a deep drive for the third out with the bases loaded. (Likely encouraged by that catch Melky later misplayed two long drives which ricocheted off the wall and back over his head.) A nifty pickoff play at second base allowed Kennedy to escape a second inning jam with just one run allowed. In the third, he wasn’t so lucky.

After striking out Nick Markakis, Kennedy hung a slider to Kevin Millar, who deposited it in the left field seats to make the score 2-0. Kennedy then walked the next two men, his fourth and fifth walks of the game. That drew his manager out of the dugout, not for a pitching change, but for a stern lecture about the need to throw strikes. Kennedy’s first pitch to the next batter was a ball, but he proceeded to strike him out on three more pitches. He then fell behind the next hitter 3-0 before surrendering a two-run double. With that, Joe Girardi had seen enough.

Still fuming over Kennedy’s nibbling, Girardi gave a very aggressive post-game press conference. Some of the highlights:

“It’s hard to pitch the way he’s pitching. You have to attack the zone. Five walks in 17 hitters? You can’t pitch that way. You have to attack the zone and throw strikes. . . . You make all hitters better when you’re behind them. You just can’t pitch that way. To me, it looks like he’s not aggressive enough.”

“You have to find out what people are made of, and he has to make adjustments. He’s gotta fight his way out of it. I’m planning on him being out there his next start. He’s just missing. He understands. It’s a minor adjustment that he has to make for us, and he’ll do it.”

“I never lose patience. This game is hard. It was hard for me. It’s hard for all players. I’m never going to lose patience.”

Kim Jones: “Joe, you say you don’t lose patience, but it is obvious this is testing you.”
Girardi, angrily: “No. It isn’t testing me. I hate losing. That tests me. But I believe in my people, and you continue to encourage them, and you work with them, and they get better.

When asked about both Burres and the Orioles he mentioned specifically the things they did that his team isn’t right now, though he didn’t make the comparison explicit: “They’re playing good fundamental baseball. They’re throwing strikes. They’re getting hits with runners in scoring position. They’re not making errors [Robinson Cano made the game’s only error last night]. They’re not walking people.”

During the YES broadcast, Michael Kay, who has been covering the Yankees since 1987, spanning the terms of 8 Yankee managers, said the only Yankee manager he’s seen take losing as hard as Girardi was Billy Martin.

On the up side, Ross Ohlendorf saved the bullpen once again with three-plus innings of scoreless relief (though he was charged with two runs when Billy Traber plated both of his bequeathed baserunners in the seventh setting the final at 6-0 Orioles). Joba Chamberlain returned from Nebraska with good news about his father’s continuing recovery from what he described as “some respiratory stuff” and shook off the rust by striking out two in a scoreless inning. Jose Molina also returned to action. He went 0-for-3 and failed to catch the only man who attempted to steal against him, but if Molina can catch and Posada, who played first base, is almost ready, the Yanks should be able to farm out Chad Moeller and bring back Shelley Duncan, who has hit .342/.468/.816 with four homers in ten games since being optioned down to Scranton. Of course, the Yankee roster hijinx will continue with the Rodriguez family still expecting a new arrival and Kyle Farnsworth facing a suspension for throwing behind Manny Ramirez, but with an off day finally arriving on Monday and the weather heating up, things are starting to return to normal.

Exactly one year ago, Emily and I got married together in the Bahamas. After the ceremony, right when I had her on the five yard line, Alex Rodriguez hit a game-winning grand slam at Yankee Stadium. Today, another gorgeous spring affair in New York, we are headed off to a hotel in Manhattan to celebrate our first anniversary, so we’ll miss the game, though I’m certain there will be plenty of scoring. I know it’s too much to ask Rodriguez to perform those kind of heroics again, but a good, old-fashioned “W” would do just fine.

Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

Curses! Foiled again. Phil Hughes had it going on for a minute there and then by the middle of the game it all fell apart for him and the Yanks–hits, errors (I’m looking at you, Mr. Rodriguez), walks and more hits, and the O’s busted this one open like a split melon rotting in the sun. They scored seven runs in the seventh, and ruined a perfectly tolerable game. Still, I watched the entire thing. It was long, it was ugly, it was Baltimore, but fortunately, it was just one game. O’s 8, Yanks 2. Today is a new day.

Baltimore Orioles

2007 Record: 69-93 (.426)
2007 Pythagorean Record: 70-92 (.431)

Manager: Dave Trembley
General Manager: Andy MacPhail

Home Ballpark (multi-year Park Factors): Oriole Park at Camden Yards (101/102)

Who’s Replacing Whom:

Luis Hernandez inherits Miguel Tejada’s playing time
Adam Jones replaces Corey Patterson
Luke Scott replaces Jay Gibbons and some of Jay Payton’s playing time
Brandon Fahey inherits Chris Gomez’s playing time
Guillermo Quiroz replaces Paul Bako
Adam Loewen returns from the DL to replace Erik Bedard
Brian Burres takes over the starts of Garrett Olson, Jon Leicester, and Radhames Liz
George Sherrill replaces Chris Ray (DL)
Dennis Sarfate replaces Danys Baez (DL)
Greg Aquino replaces John Parrish
Matt Albers replaces Rob Bell
Randor Bierd replaces Kurt Burkins
Jim Jones replaces Paul Shuey

25-man Roster:

1B – Kevin Millar (R)
2B – Brian Roberts (S)
SS – Luis Hernandez (S)
3B – Melvin Mora (R)
C – Ramon Hernandez (R)
RF – Nick Markakis (L)
CF – Adam Jones (R)
LF – Luke Scott (L)
DH – Aubrey Huff (L)

Bench:

R – Jay Payton (OF)
L – Brandon Fahey (UT)
R – Guillermo Quiroz (C)

Rotation:

R – Jeremy Guthrie
R – Daniel Cabrera
L – Brian Burres
R – Steve Trachsel
L – Adam Loewen

Bullpen:

L – George Sherrill
L – Jamie Walker
R – Chad Bradford
R – Greg Aquino
R – Dennis Sarfate
R – Randor Bierd
R – Matt Albers
R – Jim Johnson

15-day DL: R – Chris Ray, R- Danys Baez, R – Fernando Cabrera, L – Troy Patton, R – Jim Hoey, R – Rocky Cherry, L – Freddie Bynum (UT)

Typical Lineup:

S – Brian Roberts (2B)
R – Melvin Mora (3B)
L – Nick Markakis (RF)
R – Kevin Millar (1B)
L – Aubrey Huff (DH)
L – Luke Scott (LF)
R – Ramon Hernandez (C)
R – Adam Jones (CF)
S – Luis Hernandez (SS)

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What do Don Baylor, Ron Blomberg, Jack Clark, Chili Davis, Jim Ray Hart, Glenallen Hill, Cliff Johnson, Kevin Maas, Ken Phelps, and Danny Tartabull have in common? Aside from being retired major league sluggers, they all spent significant parts of their tenures as Yankees playing the role of the DH. In many ways, it’s easy to forget about them, since some of them passed through the Bronx quickly and quietly, while others were well past their prime by the time they joined the Yankees. Besides, how many designated hitters become beloved figures? If you’re asked to name your favorite Yankee catcher of all time, Thurman Munson and Jorge Posada are names that might come immediately to mind. But who’s your favorite Yankee DH? That one is a little tougher to answer.

It seems that with each year we hear more and more disdain for the DH. Some fans don’t like it, because it destroys the symmetry of a game where every player is supposed to bat and play the field. Purists hate it, since it runs contrary to the idea of "nine men on a side." And plenty of owners and general managers don’t like it, because the DH invariably ends up making one of the largest salaries on the team.

It’s now been 30 years since the designated hitter rule first came into play in the American League, but the idea for a DH has origins that date back nearly 80 years. In 1929, a man named John Heydler proposed that pitchers, who carried reputations as weaker hitters, should not be allowed to bat. Although he actually never used the term "designated hitter," Heydler suggested that a "10^th man" be allowed to hit in place of the pitcher. Ironically, Heydler was the president of the National League, which historically has maintained staunch opposition to the DH, and remains the only professional league in North America not to employ the rule.

Heydler’s suggestion failed to gain acceptance during his lifetime, and the issue of the DH fell into the background. In the 1960s, at a time when pitchers were beginning to dominate the game, Kansas City A’s owner Charlie Finley pushed hard for the adoption of a designated hitter, a rule that he felt would increase the amount of "action" in the game by aiding each team’s offensive production.

At first, the other major league owners resisted Finley, whom they considered a brash and unsophisticated maverick. By January of 1973, a sufficient number of major league owners had come to see the potential benefits of the DH. The American League, which had seen its attendance decline in recent years, saw a particular need for the fan interest that the DH might spur. On January 11, the owners agreed to allow the American League to use the DH on an "experimental" three-year basis.

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Before yesterday’s game, Pete Abe posted the following tidbit:

Manny Being Manny is an insane 52 of 110 (.473) against the Yankees since the start of the 2006 season with 12 homers and 35 RBI in 32 games. He has 53 homers and 153 RBI against the Yankees in his career.

I asked Mike Mussina last week what the Yankees have done to try and stop this. “Everything,” he said. “Nothing works.”

You don’t say. Last night, Mussina didn’t feel “right” from the get go. According to the Daily News:

“I didn’t feel very good in the pen,” Mussina said of his pregame warmups. “I didn’t warm up very well. I got to the mound and the first guy (Jacoby Ellsbury) I got him 1-and-2, I think, and then I hit him. I squared him up and it’s 1-2. I mean, at that point I was still trying to figure out what was going to happen but as soon I did that I immediately knew it was going to be a real hard effort.”

Manny Ramirez popped two dingers off Mussina and Josh Beckett pitched eight innings as the Sox beat the Yanks, 7-5. New York scored two runs in the ninth against Jonathan Paplebon but still came up well short. The biggest excitement of the evening came when Kyle Farnsworth threw a pitch behind Manny’s back. Both teams were immediately warned and nothing more came of it, at least for the time being.

This, from Anthony McCarron:

“Well, you know, we hit one of their best players (Wednesday) night and I guess they wanted to send a message,” Ramirez said, referring to Alex Rodriguez getting one in the back. “They need to back up their players and they did.”

Asked if he was upset, Ramirez said, “Not really. I like to compete. I like that challenge. It’s part of the competition.”

Right now, between Manny and the Yanks, there is no competition.

Today was the first great warm spring day of the year. It was downright hot in the sun. Dude, there was a lot of giggling out there if you know what I saying. It was just great. Beautiful night for baseball. Best of the season so far. Let’s hope we get good Moose and not stewed Moose. And hope that Beckett isn’t killin’ it like he’s wont ta do. Irregardless, as they say in the Bronx, let’s hope they can get this in at a running time something this side of Shoah.

Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

From “The Crowd Sounds Happy” (due out May 6th)

By Nicholas Dawidoff

I acquired a clock radio of my own. It was a Realistic Chronomatic 9 model, low-built and squared-off at the corners like a shoe box, with a faux-oak plastic cabinet, chrome and clear-plastic control dials, and rounded hour and minute hands that in the dark were backlit a dim lunar orange. These features had aspirations toward sleekness, but only a few months of ownership made clear that my radio was drab in the way the design ideas dominating mainstream consumer electronics in the mid-1970s were all drab. It was a look that was somehow between looks, one in which everything resembled everything else and nothing so much as the dashboard on the clumsy, rowboat-like LTD station wagons Ford was then producing. But if I stared at my Chronomatic 9 long enough, in the right mood it could seem, if not beautiful, almost handsome. My attachment to what came out of the clock radio quickly grew so intense I wanted an appearance to match.

What I was listening to in my room were Boston Red Sox baseball games. I hadn’t been able to get the Boston games on my old transistor, and to discover now that reception was possible on the Chronomatic 9 was joy. By game time I would have spread my homework along my bed, distributing the books and papers lengthwise, so that when I positioned myself on the floor, knees to the rug, chest pressed against the edge of the mattress, head bent over my books, to Sally and my mother passing behind me, it must have looked as though I was supplicating myself to physics and Lord Jim. The radio was to my left, on the night table, and, as I worked, the team broadcaster, Ned Martin, said, “Welcome to Fenway Park in Boston,” and right then a part of me zoomed down the I-91 highway entrance ramp and lifted out of New Haven. Martin and his commentating partner would discuss the game to come, building the anticipation until Martin cried, “Here come the Red Sox!” As he introduced the players position by position—”Jim Rice left field, Fred Lynn center field”—it was like having the cast of characters read aloud to you from the beginning of a Russian novel. All quieted as the crowd rose to listen while an organist played the National Anthem, and I stood too, put my hand to my heart, and with no flag in the room to gaze upon, instead stared fixedly at a red, white, and blue book spine on my shelf for the duration of the song. My mother began to come in and watch me standing there in still, patriotic tribute. At first I wished she would just leave me alone, but over time I began to like her observance of my observance, and when the door didn’t open, I’d reach toward the radio and raise the volume to let her know she was missing the Anthem.

Early in the game, sometimes the reception would be erratic, clogged with static, and I’d have to jiggle the tuning knob, making such minute adjustments my hand trembled. It often helped if I stood near the radio in a certain position, invariably contorted, with one arm akimbo, another limb up in the air, a palm hovering inches over the speaker, trying to maintain position, barely breathing, as the sputtering details came out of the Chronomatic 9. Then the evening progressed, and the connection grew pure. Some nights when the Red Sox weren’t playing, around the fifth inning, I could even begin to pick up broadcasts from Philadelphia or Baltimore or Pittsburgh. That had the appeal of combining the pleasures of baseball with the exploring of distant, unknown places. Between the Red Sox and me it was about something more.

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Albert Chen visited Taiwan in the off-season and now presents this interesting profile of Chien-Ming Wang in the latest issue of Sports Illustrated:

Other than for the rare public appearance, trips to the gym are pretty much the only times that he leaves his apartment in Tainan, his off-season home. Some 7,800 miles from New York City, in his native country — where his famously stoic face gazes from billboards, ATMs, credit cards, cellphones, bags of potato chips, milk cartons; where the people call him, simply, Taiwan zhiguang (the pride and glory of Taiwan) — Chien-Ming Wang is everywhere and nowhere, a hero and a prisoner. For an intensely private, excruciatingly shy 28-year-old, being a national icon is a heavy burden. “It’s crazy,” he says in his slow and soft voice. “I think, This is strange. I’m just one man.”

Wang had little control last night in his worst outing of the young season. Still, don’t play yourself, Chen’s piece is worth checking out.

Chien-Ming Wang had his first bad start of the year last night, and Clay Buchholz had the first bad start of his major league career. Ross Ohlendorf and Julian Tavarez didn’t help out much in relief. LaTroy Hawkins (wearing number 22), Billy Traber (who got David Ortiz to pop up on one pitch), and Brian Bruney managed to lock things down for the home team starting in the sixth. As for the visitors, after a couple of decent innings from David Aardsma, Mike Timlin opened the spigot again in the eighth. The result was a nine-inning game that lasted four hours and eight minutes and saw 42 men reach base and 341 pitches thrown. After all of that, the Yankees emerged with a 15-9 win that put them two games over .500 for the first time on the season and evened their season series with the Sox.

As Kevin Youkilis popped out to shallow left to end the top of the eighth, I rolled over on my remote, accidentally hitting the pause button on my DVR and freezing a long shot of Hideki Matsui in the large, empty pasture staring up at the darkness, waiting for a ball that wouldn’t come down. That pretty much sums up my feelings on last night’s game. I’ll take the win. I just wish I didn’t have to watch it.

Unlike the Rays, the Red Sox haven’t changed a lick since the Yanks last saw them. Of course that was just two days ago in Boston. Both the Yanks and Sox swept two-game series on the road to start the week (the Sox doing so in Cleveland while the Yanks were in Tampa). The two rivals reconvene in the Bronx tonight with a rematch of the last series opener that saw Chien-Ming Wang outpitch and outlast Clay Buchholz as the Yanks won 4-1 behind Wang’s two-hitter.

The Yankee offense has averaged 5.17 runs over it’s last six games, but averaged just four per game in Boston. The last time through the rotation they allowed 4.6 runs per game. The Red Sox averaged 4.3 runs per game against the Yanks over the weekend and allowed 3.8 runs per game the last time through their rotation.

Joe Girardi posts his 16th unique lineup in 16 games tonight with Chad Moeller still catching and Jorge Posada back at DH at the expense of Johnny Damon, who yields left field to Hideki Matsui. Melky Cabrera leads off. Posada hits sixth between lefties Matsui and Jason Giambi.

(more…)

I am reading and thoroughly enjoying Nicholas Dawidoff’s new memoir “The Crowd Sounds Happy: A Story of Love, Madness and Baseball” (due out on May 6th). It is the first thing I’ve ever read by Dawidoff though I’m well familiar with his name. One of the first gifts my wife ever gave me was a book that Dawidoff edited–Baseball: A Literary Anthology, a fine collection. I’ve also long heard good things about his celebrated Moe Berg biography. Dawidoff, who began his career writing for Sports Illustrated (here is a brief sampler–pieces on Andy MacPhail, Sandy Amoros and Berg), has written several other books, including a memoir about his grandfather, a Harvard professor.

His new book is ostensibly about growing up as a Red Sox fan, but it’s not really a baseball book at all. It is about Dawidoff’s childhood, growing up in New Haven with his mother, a school teacher, and his sister. And it is about his father, who was mentally ill. There is so much in the book that resonates with me. Dawidoff, who is about eight years older than me, had a beloved aunt who lived in Croton, a New York suburb, the town my mother moved to when she and my father split up. I went to junior high and high school in Croton and my brother, sister and I would visit our father in Manhattan on the weekends. Pop lived on the Upper West Side. My grandparents’ apartment was on 81st street between Central Park West and Columbus Avenue, not far from where Dawidoff’s father lived (I actually took a handful of guitar lessons when I was in high school from Peter Tork who lived on the same block as Dawidoff’s pop). While my old man was not mentally ill, his alcoholism made him unpredictable, and at times, terrifying.

I can see myself in Dawidoff, a bright, careful, somewhat effete kid who constantly played sports, who was devoted to his team and who worked very hard at fitting in. His was a house without a TV, so Dawidoff was raised on Ned Martin and Red Sox radio. The descriptions of what the team and players meant to him, the order and companionship they gave him in a fatherless upbringing are wonderful. The book is permeated by sadness and yet it is hopeful too.

Dawidoff writes honestly and with empathy and is a true craftsman. For instance, check out this description of going to visit his father’s office in midtown:

If we were in New York on weekdays, my father might take us to the office. How transporting it was to be in the middle of everything in the center of Manhattan, moving alongside the early crowds going to work with my father. From the sidewalk outside my father’s building I saw the men in business suits surging uphill from Forty second Street, many of them carrying a folded-over newspaper and a briefcase as they went ducking into Chock full o’Nuts, emerging a minute or two later with a steaming paper cut in hand. They were all in a hurry. There was a delicatessen across the street, and at lunchtime through the window I could see them rushing in, yelling out their sandwich orders, and rushing out. It seemed to me that in these rhythms of the masculine professional day, I was watching how my father lived without me around.

My father worked on the eighth floor. Bolted to the wall in the corridor beside the entrance door to the suite were engraved and burnished nameplates for each of the lawyers in the firm. There was not a nameplate for my father. Inside were the firm’s lawyers with their suit jackets off and ties loosened, clients waiting to see the lawyers, a secretary, and the braying visitors paying calls to the other room that the firm rented out in the suite—a succession of enormously obese men rushing in and out from consultations with the tenant who turned out to be the parking garage tycoon Abe Hirshfield, a man so wealthy he could have bought an entire office building for himself.

My father was tucked in the back of the suite, near the emergency exit and across from a wall lined with shelves holding leather bound legal casebooks. He had a heavy desk, an extra chair, and one window with no screen that in summer was kept open a crack so that you could hear the M-1 Madison Avenue bus exhaling into second as it rumbled slowly uptown, could smell the city, which in those months had a pleasantly rank bouquet like the one that enveloped a kitchen when someone ran hot sink water into a pot after overcooking a meaty stew. Once the M-1 had crossed Forty-second Street, aside from the soft toots of horns and the anguish of a distant siren, it was quiet in my father’s office. The olive green rotary dial telephone seldom rang unless it was my grandmother checking in on us, and nobody came inside, though once in a while, if we’d closed the door, I’d open it to encounter a lawyer consulting a casebook. Those lawyers would seem startled to see me, and it would take a second before they said, “Well hi there, young feller.”

I love the clear and exacting image of the “rank bouquet” smell of New York in the summer, how he goes back-and-forth between long sentences and shorter ones. Dig this, from an on-line interview with Dawidoff:

I think the thing is, that part of the fun of writing books is experimenting with language. Although I don’t think anyone would call me a pyrotechnic writer. I try and put a lot in each sentence and spend a lot of time with each sentence. I want each sentence to sound like me. My grandfather’s hatred of cliches is definitely my hatred of cliches. I really like to play with language. I really like to see what language can do, and I like to be precise. I really want words to be active and be somehow the spirit of language to represent the spirit of the subject. That’s not in any way unique to me, but it’s something I think a lot about and I sweat a lot over. Each sentence I write, it seems to me I write more slowly. This is not because I am trying to be more complex. I see more and more potential for language. Maybe as you husband and compress all the potential into whatever you are going to make it just takes longer.

Any fan of good writing will appreciate this book. You don’t have to love baseball or even the Red Sox to admire it. But for Sox fans of a certain age it will be especially poignant.