It Was Always Burning, Since The World's Been Turning

I'm not a scout or anything. I never played the game myself. But I'm pretty sure that when relief pitchers start burning their equipment in front of the Yankee Stadium dugout, it's a sign that the season might not be going as well as one would have hoped.

Bryan Hoch has the scoop at his mlb.com Yankee blog:

"After the clubhouse was closed to reporters, Proctor emerged from the Yankees dugout dressed in shorts and a gray t-shirt, lugging articles of his equipment down the tunnel and torching them in a smoky blaze. Proctor stood at the top step of the dugout watching the fire for about five minutes before dousing it with a large water jug, sending a plume of black smoke headed up to the press box."

And here Kyle Farnsworth thought he was a badass with his bat-smashing and glove-throwing... please. Of course, you have to wonder if maybe Scott Proctor wouldn't be pitching so poorly had Joe Torre not used him in literally 123 of the last 239 Yankee games.

Proctor may be emerging as the first Yankee since Paul O'Neill who forces you to simultaneously appreciate and be alarmed by just how much he cares: Don't root for him to get the next batter out because of the score; root for him to get the next batter out so he doesn't have a complete breakdown on national television.

I'd say the ante has been upped considerably for the rest of the team; smashing a water cooler is hardly going to make an impression anymore. "Tuesday night on the YES network: will the Yankee bats heat up against Minnesota? Or will Jorge Posada be forced to strangle an adorable puppy on the field with his bare hands? Don't forget to tune into Yankees Batting Practice Today an hour before the game for complete analysis and exclusive interviews!"

Mr. Met Needs to Start Talking, Too... That Guy Speaks English, Believe Me

The Yankees finally get a lead, and the game is suspended due to weather. At this point, shouldn't we expect storm clouds to just follow the Yankees around, pouring rain on them everywhere they go? Can we just suspend this entire season?

Meanwhile, the Mets seem to have gone a little nuts during yesterday's rainout. First Willie Randolph complains about the schedule and admits he got so mad during the Mets' recent slump that he threw a chair and broke a door in Los Angeles. Then he says he expected the Yankees' current awful road trip, and that he had a bad feeling about last fall's NLCS (even though "You think the Cardinals were really better than us last year?"): "I had a feeling Molina was going to have a good series because he had a horse[bleep] year. I just had a feeling that he was going to be one of those unsung hero guys. There’s always one of them. When he hit the home run [in the ninth inning of Game 7 for the winning runs in St. Louis’ 3-1 victory] I wasn’t even surprised." Well, that makes one of us.

Meanwhile, Paul Lo Duca seems to have ordered t-shirts comparing the team to a circus and, less amusingly, implied that his Latin teammates aren't talking to the media enough. From John Delcos' Journal News blog:

He wasn’t in a talking mood, but opened up.

“I’ll do this, but you need to start talking to other players,” Lo Duca told reporters in a loud enough voice for others to hear. “It’s the same three or four people every day. Nobody else wants to talk. … Some of these guys have got to start talking.
They speak English, believe me.”

Uh oh.
Lo Duca may not have meant anything much by this, but any statement that begins with "these guys" and refers to an ethnic group is almost always going to be trouble. From what I've seen, the Mets clubhouse gets along just fine -- better than most -- but this provides fuel to the segment of fans that's been complaining about what they see as a too-heavy Latin presence for the last few years now, a position that comes across, to me, as thinly veiled (and sometime totally unveiled) xenophobia.

Naturally, Lo Duca is not pleased with how that comment has been portrayed in the media. Never exactly crazy about reporters since the whole 18-year-old-mistress/divorce/gambling tabloid saga from last season, he's royally pissed now. Yeah, his quote is probably being blown out of proportion, but it was still a dumb thing to say; and from what I saw in my few weeks covering the team, plenty of Latin players were perfectly accessible to reporters -- they were to me, anyway. Lo Duca seems to be one of those players, not unlike Gary Sheffield actually, who always needs to feel aggrieved about something, and uses anger as a motivating force. For all that he whines about the media, he brings this stuff on himself... I mean, really, all you have to say is "Sorry, I don't feel like talking today."

(Updated to add: It's tough on players, though; reporters need interesting quotes, but whenever they get one, writers pounce on it, the news cycle goes into overdrive, and everybody overreacts. This is why Derek Jeter hasn't said anything interesting since 1998. It's smart, but it sucks: will nobody think of the bloggers?).

In actual baseball news, Delgado and Reyes have both hit home runs today in the first game of the Phillies doubleheader, and it's 4-1 in the fourth... if the Mets go on a real winning streak, all of this grumbling will vanish in a hurry.

Update: RBI single for El Duque! 5-1. Ramon Castro diving headfirst into home plate is truly something to behold.

Someday a Real Rain Will Come and Wash All This Scum Off The Streets

You'd think after all these years I would have learned not to trust weather.com. But no. It lies to me time after time, and yet I always forgive it and come back for more. This is not healthy. Last night they told me "isolated thunderstorms" and I believed them, and then Shea turned into Waterworld -- which, wouldn't that movie have been so much better if it featured Mr. Met? I think it would -- and I had to paddle to the 7 train on a raft of lashed-together Paul Lo Duca bobbleheads. (Update:I was not the only one, though at least I didn't wait out the full hour and half. Ouch.).

Yesterday was notable because, as others have... well, noted, seven pitchers over 40 were set to start, which would have been a record. As it happened, though, the Tigers game was rained out -- and so, as usual, Kenny Rogers ruins everything.

Jamie Moyer, Woody Williams, Greg Maddux, John Smoltz, and New York's own Tom Glavine and Roger Clemens still took the mound as planned. (Old Braves never die: Smoltz, Maddux, and Glavine all won). In Baltimore, the Rocket pitched successfully up 'til the sixth despite not striking even one batter out -- the first time he hasn't had a K since before the fall of the Berlin Wall -- then tired and allowed four runs, three on an Aubrey Huff homer. Not that it mattered, because the Yankees didn't score at all.

I can't wait to see how they lose tonight. They just keep finding a way to surprise me, which is how you keep the spark in a relationship.

Meanwhile, before the rains came, Tom Glavine looked as good as new; he only allowed one hit, and that on a grounder that David Wright might've had a shot at. Wright atoned with a two-run homer in the first, which reminded me of how much I hope the Mets move the Home Run Apple with them to CitiField. It looks like it was made out of papier-mache by a class of fourth graders in the '70s, but therein lies its charm. I've talked before about the difference between annoying-tacky (the fake-rock fountains in Angel Stadium) and has-character tacky (the Twins' garbage-bag outfield walls), and the Home Run Apple has character.

The Mets still aren't hitting consistently, but if El Duque pitches like he did last time out, they might get by for another night.

My Kingdom For Some F@#%ing Bullpen Help

I've got a recap of last night's Yankees game up on the Banter. Ugly day in Yankeeville; when the team gets back to the Bronx, I hope they add extra security to prepare for the angry pitchforks-and-torches-waving mob that will descend on the Stadium calling for Torre's head.

Rough night for the Mets as well, an 11-inning loss and a second straight day of poor offense. They still had a shot, but Scott Schoeneweis gave up the winning homer, doing little to endear himself to Mets fans. Seems like the Shea crowd is tough on relievers in particular, doesn't it? I guess that's what years of Armando Benitez will do to you. Good thing the Yankees have Mariano in their pen for tight situations like... oh. Right. Never mind.

Anyway, I'm going to the game at Shea tonight, and I scored pretty sweet seats (Thanks C!) -- so if you see a blonde girl in one of the right field loge boxes get knocked unconscious by a foul ball, give a wave, that's probably me.

Baseball Player Name of the Week

Virgil Trucks.

In addition to being one of the four Tigers pitchers before Justin Verlander to throw a no-hitter (he threw two, actually, in 1952), I thought "Virgil Trucks" sounded like someone you really wouldn't want to mess with... but as it turns out, he actually looks kind of sweet.


He's also the uncle of Butch Trucks, of the Allman Brothers. See, that right there is one of those factoids that you couldn't possibly care less about, and yet will never, ever forget.

.500 Baseball: Dream The Impossible Dream

Unofficial Jewish Baseball Week continues, as Shawn Green hit a game-winning home run last night to beat the St. Louis "These Guys Won the World Series? Of What, Poker?" Cardinals in the 11th inning. (You heard it here first: look for good things from Scott Schoeneweis tonight.) MetsBlog links to a nice ESPN photo of the ensuing scene at home plate: see, Paul Lo Duca has crazy eyes when he's happy, too, not just when he's filled with uncontrollable rage.

The Yanks begin a series with the Orioles tonight, a team so depressing that watching even a few of their games may very well leave you contemplating the emptiness and vastness of space from the fetal position. Meanwhile, all I ask of the Yankees, at this point, is that they make fewer than three errors, allow fewer than four stolen bases, and don't get picked off. Baby steps.

I Joke, But the Yankees Would Be Lucky To Have A 1B Like Shuki

Remember those golden, lazy, carefree days of last week, when the Yankees were two or three entire games above .500? Sometimes late at night I think back to that time... God, we were all so young then.

Having watched Sunday's Yankees game, I now feel bad for having complained about Saturday's. Seems ungrateful, looking back. The Yankees' latest meltdown featured inefficient starting pitching from Mike Mussina, ineffective relief from the bullpen -- though I appreciate the effort from Roger Clemens, who is too old for this shit -- several futile pinch-hitting appearances, awful baserunning, and, to top it all off, a series of Keystone Kop defensive plays. The way the Yankees look right now, they're not winning the Wild Card unless the Indians and Tigers engage in a pitched, armed battle to the death sometime in August (which: not a bad marketing idea, actually. Ratings would be through the roof, and they'd be higher for the playoffs, too, without those pesky small-market midwest teams involved. Somebody get Selig on the phone!).

Don't worry though, Yankee fans, the team knows what it has to do:

“We’ve got to find a way to pitch better and score some more runs and look like a ball team again,” said starter Mike Mussina...

Allowing fewer runs while scoring more: that would probably help, yes.

Moving on and following up, the Israel Baseball League kicked off last night, with the Modi'in Miracle kicking some Petach Tikva Pioneer ass, 9-1. You may well be witnessing the origins of The Curse of Shuki Friedman.

I just now noticed that the Miracle are managed by Art Shamsky... you know, it's a strange world we live in.

Eephus of the Year

The Mets are back, baby. For those of you who wonder what an eephus pitch is, look no farther than the sixth inning of tonight's game, when Orlando "El Duque" Hernandez deployed a true classic to end a long, tough at-bat by the A's Eric Chavez. It floated in at 53 mph, giving Chavez time to stare, twitch, blink repeatedly, take a huge swing, and miss by a mile. That is an eephus. Some people will try to convince you that El Duque throws the eephus all the time, but not really; that's just his 67 mph-ish slow, slow curve, which complements his 87 mph fastball and the seven or eight other pitches he throws at odd arm angles in between, including the ones he appears to just make up on the spot. You really do have to love El Duque. Chavez smiled and shook his head as he walked away, which is always the mark of a true eephus -- well, either that or blind rage.

This actually wasn't the Mets' most crisply played game; last night's dominant 9-1 win behind Tom Glavine, his 296th, was really the "they're back" moment. And not so much because of the score, but the attitude: they were having fun again. Reyes was twitching around, dancing and shadowboxing in the dugout; everyone and the ball boy made fun of Tom Glavine, who was thrown out at the plate trying to score from first (he had two hits and two RBIs in the game and is now hitting .333; at this point, the Yankees could really use him at DH). Tonight's game also featured a Paul Lo Duca meltdown of truly epic proportions, which was both highly entertaining and slightly alarming -- it took the assembled talents of the entire Mets coaching staff to coax him back to the dugout. You know, anyone can think to toss their helmet, bat, and gloves onto the field, but adding the shin guards and chest protector was a nice touch. As with most creative endeavors, it's all in the details.

The Yankees are also back, but unfortunately, in their case, this is not a good thing. More on them tomorrow. Oy.

Speaking of which, apparently this is Jewish Baseball Week and no one remembered to tell me: the Times has an article about the new Israel Baseball League. This is a nice idea and I hope it works out -- hell, the more baseball the better as far as I'm concerned, wherever, whenever. The league will feature a 51-year-old pitcher from Nyack; expect to see Ricky Henderson playing there by next year. (The article doesn't say: do you have to be Jewish to play in the league? Both ethically and for the sake of quality play, I certainly hope the answer is no).

Unfortunately their director of player development over there is Dan "it's 1996, and this seems like a good time to publicly declare that Roger Clemens is in the twilight of his career" Duquette. And they're all excited, because the demand for tickets is so high, they had to double the available seating at one field to accommodate the fans... from, uh, 1,000 to 2,000. Yay?

Oh well, I shouldn't make fun, they're just getting started. Watch out, Devil Rays! The Modi'in Miracle are coming for your attendance records!

Three Thousand Years Of Beautiful Tradition, From Moses To Sandy Koufax...

I have a recap of last night's Yankee game up at the Banter. I watched today's too, but let's stick to the short version: bleargh. As for the Mets... oh, hell, you don't really want a recap of that game, either, do you? I miss the Cyclones already.

The Mets' slump is devouring everything in its path and expanding exponentially, like the Blob. Sure, the fact that the Braves and Phillies have been nearly as bad means the Mets are still in first place, against all the odds, having won just four games all month... but though I still think they'll eventually be fine, I'm now starting to wonder why I still think so.

The Yanks, after scoring just five runs in three games at Coors Field to get swept by the Rockies, are right back at .500. Just can't stay away, can they? They're playing the Giants next, and at this point I'm just hoping for the moral victory of not allowing a home run to Barry Bonds: he's gonna get there, but it would be nice if he did so without help from the Yankee pitching staff. Even this may be too much to ask from Kei Igawa, though, making his non-triumphant return to the rotation tomorrow.

In other news, Jason Giambi caved somewhat to Bud Selig's bullying, and agreed to meet with the Mitchell Committee -- though it sounds like all his answers will be carefully scripted by lawyers, and he's not talking about anyone else's drug use, only his own. Which... we all already knew about. Three years ago. My, isn't this a satisfying blow for truth and justice!

Selig again left open the possibility of punishment.

"I will take Mr. Giambi's level of cooperation into account in determining appropriate further action," he said.

Translation: "I reserve the right to try and suspend Giambi even though the chances of such disciplinary action standing up in court, after the inevitable challenge from the player's union, are roughly equivalent to the chances of my scoring a hat trick in a hockey game played at Hell Arena." Inspirational leadership, that, especially since Giambi's probably out for the year anyway with his foot injury. Ugh! This whole episode is like three separate empty gestures wrapped up in one.

Finally, I realize I'm a bit late on this one, but American Jewish Life Magazine makes the argument that all American Jews should root for the Boston Red Sox (via Deadspin).

I plan to refute this claim while eating a cheeseburger at work on Saturday.

The Subway Series Moves South

I want to live in Keyspan Park. I went out to Coney Island last night for the Mets-affiliated Brooklyn Cyclones home opener against the Staten Island Yankees, and that's one pretty place to watch baseball. You can't see it very well in this photo -- it was sort of hazy, and twilight -- but there's the ocean just past the field. And the Parachute Jump, of course. It's convenient walking distance from Nathan's and Ruby's and the Freak Show, so what more do you need?

I can't say I recognized many names on either roster, but a few were familiar: the Cyclones' starting right fielder is Ender Chavez, brother of Endy (and of Eneider -- I have a feeling I would really hit it off with Mr. and Mrs. Chavez). He's bigger than Endy, though who isn't, and at one point he slid for and missed a line drive that Endy totally would've had, but used a similar cannon to get the runner at second. Ender's manager is Edgar Alfonso, brother of ex-Met Edgardo. There was also an infielder named Micah Schilling, who wears #38, like Curt, but as far as I can tell is no relation... so I'm glad I didn't boo him, I guess.

The game itself wasn't always pretty -- the talent gulf between A-ball and the majors is enormous -- but it was a ton of fun, and this was their first-ever game together as a group, plus the first professional game of any kind for a lot of them. In other words, you cut them all the slack in the world. The SI Yanks out-hit the Cyclones, but couldn't get anybody home most of the night, and Brooklyn got the winning runs on a homer from J.R. Voyles.

Now, I'm no scout, but I can tell you that J.R. Voyles is a pretty solid baseball name. So is DJ Hollingsworth, which is what one Staten Island outfielder goes by, and I expect good things from them both. (Hollingsworth especially, because he looked about 5'4" and could totally become one of those "gritty" little hustling Eckstein-type players that sports writers love. One day you may well be reading column upon column about how DJ has a tiny body -- but an enormous heart.)

I also discovered that Cyclones games are broadcast on the radio, and while apparently that station only reaches about three square blocks, you can listen on the web. I haven't heard it yet, but I assume this can only be awesome.

A few more photos...

Here, observe the Cyclones' mascot, Sandy, moments before it devoured a small child:


Maybe they're not the future of the franchise, but the SI Yanks were all perched on the top step for the entire game, as were the Cyclones:


Ceci n'est pas Paul O'Neill:


C'est Braedyn Pruitt. (Sadly, not a very good baseball name. Sorry kid.)

What's A SeaWolf?

Slumping or not, no team was going to score a lot of runs off Chien-Ming Wang Sunday night. I thought it was one of the two or three strongest performances of his career -- he struck out 10, a personal high, and came one out away from a complete game. It felt like a statement, especially with ESPN broadcasting the whole performance nationwide. And apparently he couldn't quite shake a stiff neck that night, but tell that to the Mets.

Scary thought: what if Wang's actually getting better? Not only not regressing, but successfully mixing his new pitches in, a slider and a change, while still throwing hard... he's only 27. I'm going to stop myself here because I don't want to read too much into a few games, but damn.

The Mets, meanwhile, broke out against the Twins last night, with an 8-1 win. You knew they were due for one of those, but it's sure been a long time coming. John Maine was at his best, and the Mets would probably have done even more damage if it weren't for some jaw-dropping defensive plays. In the fifth inning, sandwiched between two terrific outfield plays, Luis Castillo ranged way to his left to snag a Carlos Beltran ground ball and then flipped it behind his back to Jason Bartlett for the force. It looked like a Jason Kidd pass. Jorge Sosa is facing demigod Johan Santana tonight, though, so an immediate winning streak is a lot to ask.

In other news, Jack Curry in the Times looked back on Jeter's first days in the minors, with a lot of quotes from Ricky Ledee -- former Yanks reserve outfielder, now a rarely-utilized journeyman on the Mets, who chipped in last night with a 2-RBI single and a home run. Ledee never lived up to his potential, but he was likeable, and I remember feeling absolutely horrible for him when he was traded in 2000 as part of a package for David Justice:

About a half-hour before tonight's game, Torre summoned Ledee into his office and told the outfielder -- who signed with the Yankees 10 years ago, when he was 16 -- that he was being traded.

Ledee said goodbye to Jeter, Posada and a few others, but could not face the rest of the team, fearing he would be unable to contain his emotions. His eyes were puffy and welled with tears when he spoke to reporters. ''It's sad,'' he said. ''It's very, very sad. I'm just sad I couldn't put it together with the Yankees, the team I wanted to be with.''

Ouch.

Reading that same New York Times article (by awesome then-beat writer Buster Olney), the Yanks were very close to trading for Sammy Sosa, a Steinbrenner favorite, instead of Justice, in a deal that could have involved sending Alfonso Soriano among others to the Cubs. Ugh -- disaster narrowly averted there.

Would the Yanks even have gotten to the World Series that year without David Justice? And could they still have pulled off a trade for A-Rod with Soriano already gone? Imagine the weird parallel universe possibilities... a Mets World Series victory in 2000, maybe? A Soriano-fueled Cubs World Series in 2003? A-Rod still rotting quietly in Texas -- or traded to, shudder, the Red Sox instead?

I imagine Brian Cashman's happy to forget all about this little episode. But do you think former Cubs president Andy MacPhail (who left to join the Orioles yesterday) ever lies awake nights muttering, "perhaps I should not have insisted so firmly on the inclusion of prospects Alex Graman* or Jackson Melian**"?


*Now pitching for the Seibu Lions.
**Now playing for the Erie SeaWolves!

Baseball Player Name of the Week

Recently signed Yankee catching prospect "Freuny Parra, of Queens."



Says Google, "Did you mean: 'frenzy Parra?'" No, Google, I did not.

Happy Father's Day...

...to my dad, who taught me everything I'll ever need for a lifetime of ranting about the Yankees. (Plus some other stuff, too).

As he always used to tell me, when times got tough: "Are you seeing this? When are they going to fire that dinosaur Torre?! The man's a fucking fossil!"

Love you too, pop.

Nobody Impugns My Dirt-Kicking Skills

Lou Piniella, in this week's NYTimes Magazine:

On the other hand, it might be nice if baseball moved into the future by including more women in its ranks. Do you think a woman could be a good manager? If she had a good bench coach, why not? I would think she would need a good hardened professional baseball guy that would help her with the x’s and o’s during the ballgame. Someone who knew the intricacies in and out of the game.

Plenty of women already know the intricacies of the game. I’m not sure of that. I think some of the sportswriter women probably think they do.

Yes... unlike Lou Piniellla, I can only dream of one day managing a $100 million team to a 31-36 record without help from a grizzled bench coach.

I generally get a kick out of Sweet Lou -- baseball tends to get too stuffy and self-serious without loons like him and Ozzie Guillen to break up the monotony, though I wouldn't want either of them managing my team. And he's not an idiot, so I can only assume he knows this will touch off a bit of a firestorm, and is looking for controversy. Okay then. I'm game.

See, here's the thing: it would be incredibly difficult for a woman to manage successfully in the major leagues right now. Just not at all for Piniella's reasons. The intricacies of baseball? If there are female neurosurgeons, I'm pretty sure a few chicks out there can figure out how to misuse a bullpen as ably as the average male skipper. The real problems are all on the social side: baseball's such a massive boys' club that getting the coaches and players to properly respect you, as Piniella just demonstrated, would be very much an uphill battle.

There's actually a semi-legitimate argument to be made that the best managers are likely to be the ones who've been there themselves, played the game, and know exactly what their players are going through; though I don't know that that's vital, you can certainly see how it would help. In any case, these days it's still nearly impossible for men who never played professional ball to get their foot in the managerial door. Bench coaches or no bench coaches, it'll be a long, long time before a woman gets the job.

But just out of curiosity, is repeatedly shifting blame to your players after one of your team's many losses an "x" or an "o"?

I'll have to ask a good hardened professional baseball guy about that one. Incidentally, I'm not suggesting here that I would make a good manager; I would make a terrible manager. I'd probably chose my relief pitchers based on how much I liked their entrance music. But that doesn't mean Lou Piniella's not an ass.

Brace Yourselves For KEI IGAWA: 2 FAST 2 FURIOUS

Okay, so briefly, before I go off on Lou Piniella, there was a long but entertaining game today.

The highlights: Tyler Clippard pitched his way right back to Scranton, and Tom Glavine was -- here's a phrase you won't see too often -- not as good as Luis Vizcaino. Here's a phrase you'll see even less often: Mariano Rivera was not as good as Luis Vizcaino. Those words look ugly on the screen, but the Yanks hung on for an 11-8 win.

In other news, Jose Reyes tricked Clippard into balking him home, because he is, as has been noted here before, awesome; Alex Rodriguez is on pace for 736 home runs (guesstimate); and Carlos Beltran, following long gritty at-bats from Carlos Gomez and Reyes, with the tying runs on base, popped out on the first pitch he saw, and is going to take a lot of flak if he doesn't un-slump himself pronto. I really do think the Mets will be fine... but that's predicated on the belief that at least one Carlos will get back on track relatively soon.

I feel for Clippard, who was by my count literally the Yankees' seventh choice for fifth starter this year (after Igawa, Karstens, Rasner, Hughes, Wright, DeSalvo - am I forgetting anyone?), and given that, did about as well as anyone could expect. Until today, when he walked Jose Reyes to lead off an inning, on five pitches, twice. Tyler! Do not poke the bear!

I also feel for Glavine, who's stuck on win 295. He's made five starts since then, but only the last two were actually bad; this will not stop people from speculating that he's "lost it."

You know who I don't feel for? Derek Jeter. Dude's doing fine.

If You Can't Even Bring Pepper Spray to a Ball Game Anymore, The Terrorrists Have Already Won

Big series this weekend, obviously. I was going to put up a post before heading up to the Stadium tonight, but ran out of time, so when I say I was predicting a strong effort from Oliver Perez you'll just have to take my word for it. I didn't know how strong, though: 2-0 Mets. The offense was mostly Reyes, really showing off for Yanks fans with three steals, two singles, and a homer. See? Not overhyped. Roger Clemens was solid, and it's too bad that was wasted, but I'm just relieved that he didn't get confused and throw a bat shard at Paul Lo Duca. That wouldn't have ended well.

I usually get a kick out of my neighbors at the Stadium, but tonight I was seated near some unbelievable douchebags. The kicker was the row of four drunk 20-something hedge fund guys directly behind me; they kept clumsily kicking me and the Jersey girls next to me (also sloppy drunk, but happy, friendly drunk, which is fine by me), every other word out of their mouths was "faggot," and they never stopped loudly complaining about their seats long enough to pay the slightest bit of attention to the game. (I should probably add here, before Mets fans let this confirm their worst stereotypes, that two of them were Mets supporters). The indisputable highlight came when one guy got into a long screaming match with the mother of a 10-year old boy sitting next to him, claiming that the kid had spilled mustard and ruined the hedge-funder's "$100 pants." Words can't express how deeply I regretted not having any pepper spray on me.

Fortunately, the ride back on the 4 train was a font of totally affable, often hilarious Mets-Yanks banter, which restored a bit of my faith in humanity.

Anyway. Tomorrow is Tyler Clippard vs. Tom Glavine, which would, to put it mildly, seem to favor the Mets. You know, just a tad... it's tough not to favor the guy with 100 times more career wins. Sunday is Chien-Ming Wang vs. El Duque, which is a tougher one to call, but certainly ought to be fun to watch. As always, I look forward to seeing the eephus.

Random notes:

-I've got a couple posts up on the Banter: Your Mostly Arbitrary Guide to the AL All-Star Ballot (fun for the whole family, if the whole family doesn't mind a little cursing) and a recap of yesterday's win over the Diamondbacks.

-David Wright is now 15 for 15 in stolen base attempts this year -- pretty impressive for a guy who's not remarkably fast.

-David Pinto at Baseball Musings discovers that in the course of his career, Derek Jeter has at least one hit in 77.9% of his games played, which is good for second-highest in the last 50 years (min. 1000 games played), behind only Ichiro. Interesting stat. Joe Morgan on ESPN has pretty much ruined this word for me, yet I have no choice but to call that "consistent". Michael Kay noted on YES a few weeks back that Jeter says he wants to play 10 more years; if he's actually serious about that, and if he stays healthy, he has a very legit chance at 4,000 hits. Big ifs, but still.

-Tyler Kepner points out that the Mets drafted Clemens, but chose to sign Steve Phillips instead. If you're the guy responsible for that decision, how do you ever get over it? That's a real sell-all-your-material-belongings-and-move-to-a-Thai-monastery kind of fuck-up.

-The Diamondbacks left their scouting report lying around the dugout after last night's game. Whoops! MSNBC has the AP story (via Deadspin). Interesting... but one question: what the hell is a "good cripple hitter"? Other than Jorge Posada, apparently? I really feel like I should be familiar with this term (which by the way could probably stand to be updated), but I've never heard it, and Google is for once not helping. Anybody?

UPDATE: Never mind! Per the Times, "A cripple hitter is one who jumps on a pitch when he is ahead in the count." Thank you.

But Hey, The Wild Card Was a Really Good Idea

Okay, it's probably time to start worrying about the Mets now. Panicking, no. But worrying? Get to it. They've had some lousy luck, and a ton of injuries, but if they don't come out of their mini-tailspin this week, things could start getting out of hand... or maybe I'm just responding to last night's Willie Randolph post-game press conference, which took place in a dark, claustrophobic tunnel bathed in deep red light. That was kind of disconcerting.

The Mets took a break Monday from losing to the Phillies and Tigers in order to lose to the Dodgers; even after all these years, I'm still a little bit surprised, every time Grady Little appears on my television screen, that someone has hired him again as a major league manager. I'm being a little harsh here, since he's actually got a very high winning percentage in his managerial career... but when you hear the words Grady Little, isn't some variation on "what the fuck was he thinking?!" the first phrase that comes to mind?

The Yankees are finally looking respectable-ish these days. Yesterday's New York Times' multimedia headline was, "For Yankees, There is an 'O' In June." At the risk of sounding juvenile, I'm thinking that could have been phrased better, but you get the idea. The Wild Card no longer looks like such a stretch. And after that miserable start, all I'm asking for from this team is a legitimate race... okay, and .500. It would be really nice if they got over .500.

Meanwhile Bud Selig continues to drive me steadily insane. He's now threatening Jason Giambi with more severe disciplinary action if he doesn't spill his guts to the Mitchell Commission, all because of comments Giambi made in USA Today suggesting that, shock!, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea for MLB to apologize for the unchecked steroid use that went on for over a decade directly under Selig's nose (I may be paraphrasing there just a tad).

Look, I don't want to defend steroid users. Jason Giambi isn't exactly the ideal guy to be calling for an apology from anyone, and he should absolutely have been suspended... in, say, 2001, when he was admittedly taking "that stuff"*. Unfortunately Selig hadn't bothered to fight the Player's Association very hard for testing at that point, at least not publicly, and he keeps insisting that he didn't know what a problem it was at the time. But come on. While the Guillermo Motas and Matt Lawtons of 'roiding are tough to spot, I have friends who don't even watch baseball and yet realized years ago that Giambi was juicing; all you had to do was look at photos of him as a young player to know that something was going on there. Ditto Barry Bonds. Hint: when the actual size and shape of an adult skull changes dramatically over a two-year period, that's not normal. If Selig really had no idea, which I doubt (just like I don't buy that the Yankees were clueless about Giambi's possible steroid use when they signed him), he certainly should have. And now, WAY too late to do any good, we get this bullying, legally shaky crusade. Gah.

Okay, rant over, sorry -- I'm sick of the topic too. In any case, I think we can all agree that if The Commish had any integrity, he would never have allowed this to happen. (Via Uni Watch).



*It's possible he still is, of course. Perhaps the money being poured into the Mitchell Commission would be better spent developing a reliable HGH test.

Baseball Player Name of the Week

As brought to my attention by astute blog reader Sam: White Sox 3B coach Razor Shines.

To be fair, the Salisbury Post already dubbed this The Best Name In Baseball, back when Shines was managing the Kannapolis Intimidators (another great name). He only played in 68 major league games over four years, during which time he got exactly one extra-base hit, a double, for a slugging percentage of .198. But he did once single to break up a Dennis Eckersley no-hitter. Sadly, Razor is technically his middle name.

Runner up: Sox bullpen coach Art Kusnyer. I don't know... Art is just a funny name. And according to his official White Sox page, his nickname is Cave.


By the way, listening to Mike and the Mad Dog try to parse the Sopranos finale is making my entire day.

They Call Me MISTER Splitty

Well, Roger Clemens isn't Roger Clemens anymore, but he's still Roger Clemens, if you know what I mean. And I won't blame you if you don't.

Never mind my ill-fated attempt to reach today's game at Yankee Stadium; it took me almost three and a half hours to reach the Bronx from Brooklyn, an epic and disastrous journey -- sort of like The Warriors in reverse, especially the subway scenes. So I arrived at River Avenue shortly after Roger Clemens left the mound. Thanks to a kind but incompetent Pakistani cab driver, though, I did catch some of it on the radio ("I don't know," the driver said doubtfully of Clemens. "He is an old man"), and the rest via the glittering wonder that is Tivo.

Roger wasn't great, but he was good enough. It's so helpful when your team scores more than two runs behind their starting pitcher, you know? And, also, when your opponent is the Pirates. Yikes -- can't we just stick them on a remote field somewhere and make them play the Royals every day? At the end of the season, the losing owner will be forced to sell his team to someone who gives a fuck.

Having said that, they'll probably shell Tyler Clippard tomorrow, just to spite me. Ah well.

However! The Yankees are, for perhaps the second week all year, not sucking. They're now just two games back from .500.... and, mmmmm! Mediocrity is so close within reach I can almost taste it!

Meanwhile, I'm beginning to think that what the Yankees had may be contagious, and the Mets could use some penicillin: cold bats, a rash of injuries, a suddenly unreliable bullpen. What the Mets still have going for them, though, is their starting pitching, which has been solid throughout (well, except for today, but never mind). The bullpen might turn out to be a serious problem, if Heilman and Schoenewies and Mota can't be reliable... but their offense at least will come around as people get healthy.

The truth is, though, I'm still mourning the loss of Endy Chavez to a serious hamstring strain. Nooooooo! I was at Shea for that game, a bleary, hopeless affair even before Endy had to be helped off the field. (Best fan quote of the night, from one of the severely drunk Long Island college kids to my right: "FUUUUUCK YOU! YOU SUUUUUCK! FUCK YOU, BUR-- hey, you're not Burrell. Who the hell's that guy?" The game in a nutshell).

Anyway, I was there for Endy's NLCS Catch, too, and his brilliant walk-off drag bunt in April. And if you think the mere fact that he'll be out for probably two months is going to keep me from writing him on my NL All-Star ballot, you are very much mistaken. Dammit! Why'd it have to be Endy?!? Please, lord, take Ben Johnson istead!

Was That Really Necessary?

Well, I just watched baseball's first-ever televised draft... and I regret it. Deeply. I read up on some of the likely top candidates beforehand, but the truth is I'm not qualified to have much of an opinion on draft selections, and any case, it's by all accounts an epic crapshoot. It's not like basketball or football where a lot of fans know who these people are and have seen them play on a regular basis; and while being a great college basketball player gives you pretty decent odds on being at least a solid NBA player, the same does not hold true with baseball.

Plus, and this is really my main bone of contention: Bud Selig, whatever you may think of his policies, has the charisma of a dead halibut. Just fifteen seconds of that nasal monotone and I feel my eyelids drooping uncontrollably; this man should not be on my television screen for more than two minutes at a time, let alone four hours, and if I sound harsh, it's only because I'm feeling somewhat traumatized. I will now stare at Jose Reyes on my TV screen for as long as it takes to get that taste out of my mouth and rediscover my joie de vivre.

Anyway, I'd certainly heard of Vanderbilt pitcher David Price, who was expected to go first and did. He had this great anxious smile on his face, which managed to combine "awesome, I'm the #1 draft pick in the country!" and "oh god, I have to go play for the Devil Rays now." This whole worst-teams-pick-first thing, I get the reason for it, but it really punishes the nation's best amateur athletes, doesn't it? You have earned the respect of the country's most knowledgeable scouts as a true competitor... congrats! Enjoy Kansas City!

With the 30th pick in the draft, the Yankees took a pitcher named Andrew Brackman, who I will now immediately begin confusing with Wally Backman. Apologies in advance. The consensus seems to be that he's massively talented (and tall! very tall!) but comes with some health concerns. People who know more about this than I do seem to think it's a good idea, and hopefully they're right; when I think about it, I suppose I like the idea of a riskier, higher-upside move. You can usually find a solidly mediocre pitcher on the free-agent market, after all -- no need to waste a draft pick on it.

The Mets, meanwhile, took a reliever named Eddie Kunz. Another year I might have mocked the notion of taking a reliever with your top pick. This season, though, I look at Luis Vizcaino, Ron Villone, and the grisly remains of Scott Proctor's right arm chilling in the Yankee bullpen and say, "good thinking."

That's What SHE Said

The Yanks went down to the Chicago White Sox today when poor Matt DeSalvo was yanked before he could finish the second inning. Naturally, the one guy who actually reads is kicked back to Scranton. Turns out Crash Davis was right: Don't think, it can only hurt the ball club.

At least he's got Last Exit To Brooklyn for the ride back. Yep... that's gonna be a cheerful trip.

This weekend, the Yankees sandwiched promising wins over the Red Sox against a nuclear meltdown of a game on Saturday. I honestly have no idea what to expect from the Yanks this year; they could win 15-3 tomorrow or lose 22-0 and neither would surprise me. As a result, it's important to enjoy things like Sunday night's win: Bobby Abreu with a disastrous misplay and subsequent game-saving catch; sweet D from Melky; Posada with a nifty block of the plate (okay, lousy slide by Lugo, but still); A-Rod with the ninth-inning homer off Papelbon; Mariano with the emphatic save... it was a long, messy game, but that just made the ending more satisfying. Even Joe Morgan made some intelligent points. These are the moments we have to savor.

By the way, when the Yanks claimed that Clemens had a "fatigued groin"? Clemens just made that phrase up. I mean, do a Google search on fatigued groin and... well actually, no, don't. But the point is, there's no such diagnosis (stop snickering!). This invention of new terms for injuries seems to happen all the time in baseball, and everyone just nods and say "ah yes, a fatigued groin!" like it's an accepted medical condition; I guess the Yankees and Celemens don't want to admit they didn't know what was wrong (disrupted scar tissue, it turns out), but why not just say he's got a "sore inner thigh"? This is right up there with Carl Pavano's "bruised buttocks" in the Yankee annals of embarrassing injury phrasing.

Meanwhile, speaking of embarrassing, here's Gary Sheffield on Latin players, and -- as quoted in the new GQ -- tactful as always:

"I called it years ago. What I called is that you're going to see more black faces, but there ain't no English going to be coming out. ... (It's about) being able to tell (Latin players) what to do -- being able to control them. Where I'm from, you can't control us. You might get a guy to do it that way for a while because he wants to benefit, but in the end, he is going to go back to being who he is. And that's a person that you're going to talk to with respect, you're going to talk to like a man. These are the things my race demands. So, if you're equally good as this Latin player, guess who's going to get sent home? I know a lot of players that are home now can outplay a lot of these guys."

Gary, I think Jorge Posada, Mariano Rivera, and the ghost of Roberto Clemente would like a word with you. Yeesh.

Of course, there are valid concerns about the way MLB teams now sign dirt-poor teenagers who speak no English, and whether they are always treated fairly (hint: no). But that's Sheff for you -- bring up a kernel of truth and obscure it with a pile of paranoia and ridiculous, offensive generalizations. I predict he will claim to have been misquoted by 6 pm. Also in that interview:

On carrying a gun (after taking one to school in eight and ninth grade): "It ain't changed because I got in the league. It just made me get more of them."

Oh, good!

Baseball Player Name of the Week

Normally I only consider active players for this honor... but Wayne Terwilliger, at age 81, is still the first-base coach for the Fort Worth Cats (also known as agent Scott Boras's favorite bargaining chip, per this interesting Times article). So I say that counts. As a bonus, his nickname is "Twig".


I knew I'd heard the name, but I couldn't remember where: it's in an awesome chapter from Annie Dillard's memoir, about her mother, who heard the phrase "Terwilliger bunts one" on the radio one day and became fascinated with it. Quite rightly too. Turns out he wasn't really much of a player, (career-high batting average: .257), but I think I love him anyway:

...“I learned one thing,” he says. “I’d get fried chicken, and eat it in my room. If I would go out some place for a few drinks, I would wrap the extra chicken in some moistened hotel towels, and then put it on top of the lamp. It would still be hot when I got back.”...

...“This trip we take to Pensacola [Fla.] now is just a shit-hole ride,” Twig says. “It’s 12 hours on the bus, and every time I have to take a piss, I have to climb over all these players to get to the bathroom in the back of the bus. They are all sleeping stretched across the aisles, so I have to climb back there on the armrests. I wish those guys could just sleep in their chairs without laying all over the place.”
So why keep doing this, especially at this lower level of baseball?
“Goddammit, it’s because I like it.”

Honorable mention: the resourceful Mr. Norris Hopper. Nice effort, but you have to get up pretty early in the morning to beat out Twig Terwilliger.

Emergency Moratorium On "-Rod" Puns, Effective Immediately

Ah, the New York Post! You almost have to grudgingly admire their total lack of scruples. Unless, I suppose, you're Alex Rodriguez. I really don't believe his private life is any of our business... but, that said, you're a world-famous multimillionaire and you decide it's a good idea to take your mistress out for a night at a strip club? I don't know where to start.

His shenanigans worked out well for the Yankees last night, though, as he shouted something -- "ha" or "mine," depending on who you believe -- that caused the Blue Jays to miss a routine pop up. I posted about it at Yanksfan vs Soxfan.

Here's a slightly more coldblooded instance of playing fast and loose with the rules, via the Cheater's Guide to Baseball blog: while his teammate Ryan Freel was unconscious in the outfield after their nasty collision, replays show Norris Hopper ran to his side and, while the ump and trainers were running out to check on this possible head injury, slipped the ball back into Freel's limp glove, so that the Pirates' runner would be called out. Wow. Now that's chutzpah... but also, kind of borderline depraved indifference. Quick thinking, though, you gotta give him that.

The video of all this, available here, is tough to watch because it's a legitimately scary collision... but, now that we know Freel is fine, I think it's okay to be amused by the Reds' announcers:

Announcer 1: "What an effort by the little guy."
Announcer 2: "Oh my."
Announcer 1: "They're bringing out the truck."
Announcer 2: "Oh my."
Announcer 1: "The last thing you want to lose is that little guy."

I kind of want to move to Cincinnati now.

Bob Shaw and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I went deep into the Yankees' latest... well let's see, I've already used "disaster," "debacle," "tragedy"... say, how about "cataclysm"? Let's go with that. I went deep into the Yankees' latest cataclysm over at the Banter.

As for Los Mets, that was their oddest walkoff yet. As if Endy's winning drag bunt wasn't enough, now they're tying a game on two balks in the twelfth inning? How is that even poss-- ohhhhhh. That's right, Armando Benitez is the Giants' closer this year! Suddenly it all makes sense. As Carlos Delgado, whose second homer of the night won the game, put it in the Times:

"I don’t know the history, but I could tell by the welcome he got... It’s not my problem, it is something he has to deal with, but he is not well liked here."

Indeed. You know, I feel for Giants fans. That team's got such a long, proud history, but they can't be much fun to watch at the moment. As if the Bonds mess wasn't enough, now they have to deal with the vicissitudes of Benitez, too. (The Vicissitudes of Benitez: possible band name?). At least they have Omar Vizquel's jaw-dropping defense to keep them warm at night, I suppose. And little Timmy Lincecum, who was in fact very impressive.

In the video highlights, check out how Reyes is flitting around third base, basically drawing the second balk. Granted, under the right circumstances, you could probably get Benitez to balk just by clearing your throat, but nevertheless -- reason #374 why Jose Reyes is awesome. I almost feel bad bringing it up, because at this point he's being so hyped all over the place, but what are you going to do?

Also, on some level we all know what a balk is -- you know it when you see it -- but it must be the hardest concept in all of baseball to explain. I was recently trying to get it across to a visiting Brit, and I don't think I did a very good job, but then the official rules aren't exactly a succinct beacon of clarity, either.

However, in case you were wondering, the record for balks in a game by one pitcher is five: Bob Shaw, for Milwaukee, in 1963. That same day, the team set an all-time record, with six. I wouldn't mind seeing that one on ESPN Classic.

One of These Things Is Not Like The Other

While the Yankees pick through the burned wreckage of their season, looking for anything that might have survived the cataclysm ("look guys, this Chien-Ming Wang is hardly even singed!"), the Mets are just plain rolling, recent losses to the Braves aside. Honestly, everyone could sense the reversals of fortune coming last year -- the Mets' season felt triumphant, despite the painful Game 7 loss, while the Yankees' ended on a dispiriting note that made their strong regular season feel like an afterthought. But I certainly didn't think the divergence would be this extreme.

A surprising number of things that have already gone wrong for the Mets: Delgado and Wright are both only now starting to come out of massive slumps; one of their hottest hitters, Moises Alou, hurt his quad and has missed two weeks; "Stache" Valentin went down early on with a bad knee; El Duque missed a month with yet another ailment you wouldn't expect to find in anyone under 60 (what's next, glaucoma?); promising and Flash-fast minor league call-up Carlos Gomez hurt his hamstring; Shawn Green, in the midst of his most productive season in years, broke a bone in his foot; Damian Easley started in left field yesterday for the first time in his major-league career... and the team is four games up on the Braves -- at 32-17, two games ahead of last year's pace. I mean, Mike Pelfrey was a bust in the big leagues, but the Mets absorbed all his losses with a lot more equanimity than my fantasy team did.

Imagine what they'll be like if they get even a decently healthy Pedro Martinez back? He's already predicting his velocity will be back in the mid-90s, and taking pot shots at Roger Clemens. Damn, I have to admit -- I've missed that crazy kid.

A somewhat less crazy kid will start for the Mets tomorrow in the form of Oliver Perez, who is shaping up to be, with John Maine, one of the biggest steals in baseball over the last two years; Omar Minaya is velvety smooth. Perez will face the Giants' wunderkind Tim Lincecum, and -- ha, look at Tim Lincecum!:



Awwww! Okay, okay, I know he's got a ton of talent, and he's been very impressive in the big leagues so far. He'll be a tough opponent for the Mets. I have no problem at all taking him seriously... and hey, after the game, do you think Bruce Bochy will take him out for ice cream?

Oh, and by the way, lest anyone think I was overly harsh on Yankee fans in my last post, please do join me in offering up a hearty "suck it, Orlando Cabrera". I'm sorry -- was that mean? Hey, it probably is true that Yankee fans are bad losers, but the day New York crowds are uniformly polite and respectful of opposing players is the day I might as well pack it in and move to Nebraska or someplace. Look, it's nothing personal, Orlando. We only insult your mother because we care.

The Pride, The Power, The Pinstripes: Still Better Than The Devil Rays! A Little Bit!

Well, I'm not surprised that the Yankees were swept by the Angels. Did I ever mention how I feel about that team? In another season I might have said the Halos are kryptonite to the Yankees' Superman, but at the moment, I'm afraid they're more like Hep C to the Yankees' crack addict.

It's still May, but by now it's pretty safe to say this is just not the Yanks' year. When Mussina pitches badly, the bullpen is lights-out; when he pitches well, they blow the lead. All but two players have endured significant slumps at the plate at some point, and when rookie pitchers exceed expectations, they are injured, in weird and random ways. (Who doesn't think that when Phil Hughes finally gets back -- having now hurt an ankle on top of the hamstring -- something terrible will happen to him? Like a pigeon will fly into his face and partially blind him, or Kyle Farnsworth will slap him encouragingly on the back and break three of his ribs?)

The Yankees are still much better than their current record, and I'll be shocked if they don't end up well over .500. That, however, seems unlikely to earn them a playoff spot this year: at the moment they're twelve and a half games back from the Red Sox (!), and eight behind for the Wild Card. A comeback is still possible, sure. It's also possible that Clive Owen will knock on my door tomorrow night carrying an Al Green CD, a kitten, and a bottle of Glenlivet, but frankly, I'm not loving the odds.

There are plenty of elements of this team that can and should be criticized, and neither Cashman nor Torre are precisely covering themselves in glory here. But every team has an off year eventually, and the Yankees are way past due. They've always made their share of mistakes, but this time they made a few too many; at the same time, their massive stockpile of luck finally ran out. A number of Yankee fans, I've got to say, do not seem to be taking this particularly well. I suppose it was bound to come as a nasty shock, given that the last time the team had a record this bad in late May, I was... good lord, eight years old. That was 1990, for those of you keeping score at home. But as my mother always used to say: butch up, little missy. If the Yanks miss the playoffs this fall, it will be the first time in twelve years. Complaining loudly about this in public is understandable, but a bit unseemly.

More tomorrow on the Mets, who just swept the Marlins and have considerably more to be optimistic about. Even though they're one about one injury away from starting Oliver Perez in the outfield.

Baseball Player Name of the Week

... with a bullet: A's outfielder Hiram Bocachica.

Let me just type that one more time: Hiram Bocachica.



One for the road: Hiram Bocachica!

Single-Digit Deficit: Time To Start Printing Those Playoff Tickets

Well, that Wednesday game was much more enjoyable than Tuesday's fiasco (as recapped for the Banter). Granted, nine and a half games back is not exactly cause to celebrate wildly in the streets, but it's... well, better than 10 and half games back. Anyway, I almost, but not quite, felt bad for Curt Schilling -- when Doug Mientkiewicz puts one of your fastballs off the upper-deck facing, it's just not your night. The Yankees cruised to a nice, one-sided, enjoyable-except-for-Kyle-Farnsworth 8-3 win. Next up, however, are the Angels... I have a bad feeling about this.

Others have pointed this out before, but it keeps surprising me -- if you look at Andy Pettitte's postseason numbers, they're okay, but not spectacular. In fact, they're worse than his regular season stats, and yet like a lot of fans, it seems, I always remember him as coming through in the big games. He did come through, of course, plenty of times; but we've conveniently forgotten all those other occasions, which include some real stinkers. Amazingly, though, Pettitte's pitched the equivalent of basically an entire season -- 212 innings -- in his postseason career. That's in thirty-four games, thirty for the Yankees. It's been quite a run.

The Mets, meanwhile, are still having trouble with the Braves, who've taken two of three in all three series this year; every Mets win has come behind Oliver Perez, and if you called that one before the season started... well, then you're insane. But correct. His balletic leap of triumph over the foul line is getting higher by the week, and I love it, except can't you imagine him landing on an ankle wrong one of these days and spraining it? I don't want to be within five miles of Willie Randolph when that happens.

Last night's loss was particularly frustrating, as one-run games usually are; it was also Smoltz's 200th career win. Insert grudging respect here. The good news is that El Duque, Mr. Eephus himself, is heading back to the Mets rotation.

Finally, can I just say, though I realize I'm late on this, that the Lastings "L Millz" (heh) Milledge rap controversy must be the dumbest non-scandal of the year? Has nobody heard any hip hop in the last 20 years? "Milledge can be heard using a racist term for blacks and language derogatory to women." Hello? That's right smack in the rap mainstream this decade -- which you can argue is unfortunate in and of itself, but it's hardly a reason for a promising player's stock to go down. The Mets, as his image-conscious employer, do have the right to tell him to knock it off; it just strikes me as a complete non-issue. With the recent spate of actual domestic violence charges in baseball, rhyming about hos is starting to seem kind of charming and quaint.

While none of L Millz's transgressions over the last two years have been particularly bad, taken together they do suggest that he is, perhaps, not the sharpest tool in the shed, and I guess that's troubling. But note that "intelligence" is never listed as one of baseball's coveted "five tools."

Good To Know He Likes Bull Durham, Though

You know it's been a bad week for the Yankees when the New York Times commends them for having "regained some self-respect" -- excellent! -- by avoiding a sweep. Still, things are looking up for the Yanks, kinda, a bit, after last night's win. Tyler Clippard, an awkward, thin, all-angles kind of pitcher, had an excellent major league debut, giving up one run on three hits in six innings. Whether he's really good, or whether the Mets were simply unfamiliar with him and his odd, distracting delivery, I don't know, nor do I care just now, because they actually won. Yes, a whole game! Much rejoicing. Clippard even had a double.

Also, via WasWatching, someone needs to explain to the guy how to make his MySpace page private. I started writing a paragraph about his profile, but felt too much like a mean little voyeur -- buy some curtains, kid!

Meanwhile, John Maine is coming back down to Earth a bit, which I guess was inevitable. I do genuinely believe he's a very legit starter, and will have a strong season overall, but 5-0 with a sub-2 ERA was a bit extreme. The Mets will now face the Braves, and they're in pretty good shape -- two and half games up in the standings -- but since they got a bit beaten up by Atlanta earlier in the season, I suppose still have a little something to prove.

As for the Yanks, they need a sweep against the Red Sox now. I'd be shocked if they got one, so I'm going to pretend that instead, they just need to take two of three. Even if they did sweep, they would still be 7 1/2 games out of first, and one win shy of .500. However. As Mike Francesa just put it on the fan, lecturing the Mad Dog and using my kind of metaphor: "How do you not learn through the years -- you have sat here for 18 going on 19 years... How do you not learn, that in the baseball season, you do not cash the chips in May? You do not cash the chips in July. You can't even take them to the window in August." He went on a while longer, but I got distracted by how much I miss Vegas. Mmmmm, blackjack...

Say, Omar, Wanna Trade Endy Chavez for Bobby Abreu? No, seriously. No -- SERIOUSLY.

Look, I know it's frowned on, but there's no point in lying about it: I really like the Mets. They were fun to cover last fall and this spring, they're fun to watch, and they're due. In general, I'm very much rooting for them. That said -- I grew up a Yankee fan, I'll die a Yankee fan (probably sometime next month at this rate), and the Yanks need wins a whole hell of a lot more than the Mets do right now, so my loyalties were not particularly divided tonight. Which is why it's good that I watched this game at a bar, with supportive friends and an easy supply of beer. Because... oy.

Once again, the Yankees just couldn't get anything going. And while Oliver Perez has been legitimately dominant in many of his starts this year and deserves full credit, nevertheless: Damon, Jeter, Rodriguez, Posada, Matsui... three runs should not be a fantastic candy-colored dream for that lineup. Yeah, I know, they'll snap out of it, but by then it may very well be too late. And poor Andy Pettitte, who could have stayed home in Texas if he wanted to lose a whole bunch of 3-2 games; he is where run support goes to die.

Then again, how do you give up the game-winning home run to Endy Chavez? And I say this as someone who, as is well-documented on this site and in the pages of the Village Voice, loves Endy Chavez, so I mean that in no way as an insult. I'm just saying, this is a guy who started that at-bat planning to bunt. Asked in spring training what he was hoping to work on this year, he said, smiling wryly, "Offense. Always, my offense." I can't believe the Mets have the audacity to list his height as six feet; if that guy is six feet tall, then I'm 5'9". (Hint: I am not 5'9"). And I'm not at all convinced he's 165 pounds, either. He's all muscle -- it's not like you could take him in an arm-wrestling match or anything -- but he's not exactly the first image that springs to mind when you think "power threat". I mean, that's part of his appeal. You'd need about three of him to make up the width of one of Carlos Delgado's thighs. Jason Giambi, back in the day, could have injected him for breakfast.

Ah well. The Yankees are now in a massive 10 game hole (yay, round numbers! So easy to remember!). If they had to lose, I suppose I'm glad it was Chavez who beat them. But now they're staring at a potential sweep, with Tom Glavine and John Maine facing rookies Darrell Rasner and Tyler Clippard over the next two days.

Hey, you never know -- even the Devil Rays win sometimes. And the Yankees are a whole half game ahead of them in the standings! So, see... that's... good... [sob]...

J.J. Putz Rides A Pale Horse

I looked, and behold, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth, the full moon became like blood, and the stars of the sky fell to the earth as the fig tree sheds its winter fruit when shaken by a gale; the sky vanished like a scroll that is rolled up, and every mountain and island was removed from its place. Then the kings of the earth and the great men and the generals and the rich and the strong, and every one, slave and free, hid in the caves and –-

--No, no, wait, sorry. That's about Armageddon. I was looking for information on the Yanks-Mariners series, but you can see how I might have gotten the two confused.

Okay, so it's not quite the end of days yet. The Yankees are better than this (surely out of A-Rod, Matsui, Giambi, Cano, and Abreu, at least one or two of them will start hitting well again, right?), and they have three-quarters of the season left to play, and a comeback is plenty possible. But their margin for error is getting slimmer every day.

Out in Queens today, the Mets trounced the Brewers, winning the series, and the most enjoyable part of it was their outfield: Carlos Beltran, Endy Chavez, and the newly-called up 21-year-old speedster Carlos Gomez. Defensively, this may actually be the best outfield I've ever seen: they caught everything. It was a thing of beauty. Oliver Perez pitched very well, but he would definitely have given up more than one hit in the first eight innings if Moises Alou and Shawn Green had been in left and right. Also, Jose Reyes finally caved to the peer pressure -- turns out he was just waiting to finish filming a Reggaeton video -- and shaved his head. He actually looks pretty good, and now Aaron Sele is the lone holdout (Poor Mike Pelfrey lost his hair just days before getting sent back to AAA). I can't believe they somehow got 24 of 25 adult men to do this, and am simultaneously very impressed and a little alarmed.

Meanwhile, the much-hyped Brewers looked legitimately very good this weekend -- though maybe not quite as amazing as their record would indicate -- and it's nice to see such a long-suffering franchise turning things around. See, get Bud Selig away from a team, and watch it thrive!

But man... if the Yanks don't snap out of their funk this week, the upcoming Subway Series is going to be pretty damn lopsided, to say nothing of the Red Sox games that immediately follow. No time for love, Doctor Jones.

Hey, the Yankees are at .500!

...Yay?

[UPDATE, 5/10: Never mind!]

Jose Reyes and the 24 Baldoons

You know, Mets fans and reporters, and even players, keep saying the team "isn't clicking." Listen, your team is 21-12, tied for first, with one of the lowest team ERAs in the National League. Having watched the Yankees closely throughout April, let me tell you: the team is clicking. Yeah, yeah, I know, Delgado's not hitting, Franco is injured, whatever. Until you've watched Chase Wright's consecutive home runs ,and Kei Igawa, and Phil Hughes' hamstring, and Jeff Karsten's freakishly broken leg, and Doug Mientkiewicz in the same lineup as Miguel Cairo and Wil Nieves... you don't know from "not clicking".

Anyway, the Mets all shaved their heads in solidarity before Tuesday's game, for no particular reason except, apparently, general unity and amusement. Awesome. David Wright started it Monday night, and everyone else followed the next day, with Carlos Beltran in charge of the clippers. Even some of the coaches and trainers joined in. The only holdouts were Tom Glavine and Aaron Heilman, who submitted after the game (a seven-inning, one run gem good for Glavine's 294th win); Aaron Sele, who has a family portrait scheduled today; and Jose Reyes, who is too fast to be caught and whose style probably took a long, long time to cultivate. I'm sort of torn here between berating Reyes for not just joining his teammates, and respecting his self-confidence and stubbornness in holding out, because you know that must've been a whole boatload of peer pressure to withstand. I think I'm going with respect.

Incidentally, this look turns out to really suit Moises Alou. Not everyone was so lucky.

Did You Know...

...that Doug Mientkiewicz is an anagram of CEDE GIZMO KIWI NUT?




Also, COED GNU ME KIWI ZIT and MEDICO TIE GUNK WIZ.

(Hat tip to Batgirl for the link to Wordsmith, which will suck hours of your life away.)

Is That A Rocket In Your Pocket, Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

We're just happy to see you, Roger.

One of the things I had sort of forgotten over the last few years is that Roger Clemens, bless his heart, when he talks at length about anything other than the mechanics of pitching, makes no fucking sense whatsoever. I present this verbatim quote from his eighth inning interview with Al Leiter and Michael Kay in the YES booth today:

“I was very upset in 2003, not upset that, that – you know, I had so many flashbacks when that first happened, and then I took a deep breath and knew that I had a chance to be in the bullpen throughout the remainder of that, that series. And then yeah, when it ended I thought that was it, I thought I had thrown my last pitch and I felt good about it, you know that was my mother’s wishes, and so we’ve come to grips with a lot of that. I’ve been playing at home, I didn’t know the circumstances that would happen with Andy going back to Houston, and uh, I just feel very blessed, my body’s been holding up, what can I say? I’m taking care of myself, and I’ve done the work, I’ve always enjoyed working, and again, working with young guys, so hopefully that’ll be the case here. I’m gonna get my body ready for a situation like this on this field, here, and uh, that’s just going to take a little more time."

In case you're wondering, the question was: “What keeps you coming back?”

It's okay, Andy Pettitte speaks fluent Roger and can translate in the clubhouse. And Clemens is smarter than he sounds: not only did he sign for a prorated $28 mil (making him, I believe, the highest payed player in the game), and swing an unprecedented-for-the-Yankees deal in which he will not always travel with the team -- he also managed to drop the name of his sponsor, Continental Airlines, at least three times during various interviews.

That may sound cynical, but make no mistake, I was thrilled to see Clemens' surprise announcement during the seventh-inning stretch today. When you're one of the three or four best pitchers in history, you can play by your own rules. Of course Clemens isn't going to pitch at that level, at age 45, in the AL East, but I don't doubt he's still a damn sight better than Kei Igawa, Darryl Rasner, and Jeff Karstens combined, and the Yanks need him. Major props to Cashman and the Yankee brass for keeping this so quiet, surprising almost everyone, and creating a truly memorable moment at the Stadium. Buster Olney explains how it all fell into place.

The crowd went nuts, and it was a nice change, after the last few weeks, to see the Yankees grinning and laughing in the dugout. Jorge Posada, next to Pettitte on the bench, practically melted with relief... not that getting acquainted with Kei Igawa's pitching style hasn't been a real thrill for him, I'm sure.

This move could backfire, I suppose. One of these years, he isn't going to be able to do this anymore; 45 is up there for pro athletes, no matter what kind of shape you're in. Or maybe, though I hate to bring it up today, it'll come out that he took steroids. There's no hard evidence, but the rumors have swirled for a while, and anyone with that kind of late-career surge has to make you wonder. Clemens also has that "my actual skull has expanded over the years" sort of look to him, plus roid rage (and little else) could explain the Mike Piazza-thrown bat debacle. But you know what? I'm going to ignore that for the moment, and hope there's no fire underneath all the smoke. Or that he never gets caught. Whichever.

-You know how much they need Roger Clemens right now? The win today (oh yeah, there was a game!) was the Yankees' first shutout of the season. Good grief.

-My question is, what did Steinbrenner say to Clemens that made him come back? Best guess: that he's in failing health and this might be his last shot at a Championship? Okay, maybe it was just "I will fill your Olympic-sized swimming pool with cash." But I prefer the more dramatic scenario.

-Neither Cashman not Clemens’ agent wanted to discuss the money at the press conference today, I suppose to keep that from becoming the focus -- and Clemens claimed he didn’t even know the details of the deal. Uh huh.

-Random factoid: according to Jose Conseco's book -- in which he suggests the pitcher showed signs of steroid use, but admits he has no firsthand knowledge of it -- Roger Clemens is "one of the very few baseball players I know who never cheated on his wife. I was amazed by him, to be honest... He was one of the rarities, the anomalies, in baseball. I can hardly think of anyone else who never cheated on his wife."

-Clemens said over and over today that he's looking forward to working with the team's young pitchers. In other words, Phil Hughes just lucked the fuck out and found his Yoda.

Old Frenemies

Things were looking up for the Yanks after a three-game sweep in Texas... but a funny thing happened on the way to the winning streak. I still don't really know what to make of Kei Igawa, but I do not eagerly await his starts -- speaking not only as a fan, but aesthetically. Watching him pitch, half the time, is like watching someone tear the wings off a butterfly. That's aces compared to briefly freed relief pitcher Colter Bean, who is, I imagine, not long for the majors after a performance that can charitably be called gruesome. Nothing like walking two batters on 8 straight balls, the second with the bases full, on a day when the bullpen desperately needs a rest (or, as the Yankees call it, "Friday"), to endear yourself to the Yankee Stadium crowd. Bryan Hoch at mlb.com:

"You can't expect to survive when you can't get people out," said Torre, who described his feelings on the bench as "helpless."

Good times all around, then. Eleven runs just don't go as far as they used to. Fortunately, Jeff Weaver starts tomorrow for the Mariners, which means scoring 15 or 16 is a distinct possibility. I was totally right, by the way; that was not Jeff Weaver we saw pitching in the NLCS for the Cardinals. It looked like him, it talked like him, I know, but it wasn't. I'm just glad that whatever being or force it was that controlled him last October, when it was done, returned him unharmed.

I did, however, take considerable solace in the Mets' win tonight over another familiar ulcer-inducer from the recent past, Randy "the mullet is coming back in nicely, thanks" Johnson. The only negative was that Endy Chavez (who I am totally writing in on the All-Star ballot, by the way) sprained his ankle trying to make another crazy catch, and stayed in the game, limping and wincing, which can't have made it any better and was no fun to watch.

Randy Johnson gave up five runs and nine hits in seven innings, a stat line that should be familiar to anyone who watched him pitch for the Yankees over the last two years: not awful, but not getting it done against a good pitcher either -- and John Maine continues to pitch vastly better than a throw-in from the Kris Benson trade has any right to. He gave up two home runs, to Paul Lo Duca and (this is still making me smile) Julio Franco, who sets a new record for oldest player ever to hit a major league home run every time he knocks one out. He and Randy Johnson have a combined age of 92; when Julio Franco started his pro ball career I hadn't even been born. And I'm not that young.

Christ on a Pogo Stick

Well, the Baseball Gods decided to stop fucking around with ominous threats and skirmishes last night, and declared open war on the New York Yankees. Some hapless clubhouse attendant must have messed up the requisite burnt sacrifice of a white ox back in early March. Their revenge is swift and terrible.

In perhaps the most depressing 10-1 win in living memory, the Yankees' offense woke up against several hapless Texas Rangers while Phil Hughes, rookie sensation, had his gorgeous, dominating, self-assured, no-hit performance ended abruptly in the seventh inning by an major hamstring pull. He'll be out six weeks, and that's if you're optimistic -- which at this point would probably require heavy-duty pharmaceuticals.

Did this happen because Hughes was rushed to the majors? I don't know, honestly. It seems possible, but I know too little about anatomy and the medical effects of pitching mechanics to judge. Meanwhile, given the bonanza of pulls and strains and tears (Damon, Matsui, Mussina, Wang, and counting), there's a lot of scrutiny on the Yankees' new strength and conditioning coach, the alliterative Marty Miller. But I say they just need to appease the deities before Don Zimmer, with the help of a vengeful Poseidon, sends the team plane on a perilous, cursed, decades-long journey through strange and dangerous lands.

Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story
of Brian Cashman, skilled in all ways of contending,
the wanderer, harried for years on end
after he plundered the stronghold
on the proud height of Shea...



[UPDATE: Willi Carroll of Baseball Prospectus doesn't think rushing Hughes had anything to do with the injury. That's good enough for me.]