Johan, Johan Johan Johan, Jo-han, Jooo-haaan...

Oh thank Christ.

It's not definite yet, and most Mets fans are desperately trying to restrain their jubilation until it is, but summer in Queens is looking a whole lot brighter. I was really starting to think we were going to be watching Livan Hernandez pitch every five days. This... this is better.



And in the National League! In a pitcher's park! When the season starts I'll buy some fine wine, crank up the music, and just watch that beautiful, beautiful, changeup. Then I'll rewind the Tivo and watch it again. (I mean, assuming he doesn't blow his elbow out in spring training... now please excuse me while I go knock on every piece of wood within a five block radius).

My best guess for happiest human on the planet tonight: Willie Randolph.


I do feel for Twins fans, though, who in my experience are a pretty excellent bunch, and deserve better. The best pitcher in baseball for four promising but wholly unproven prospects? All is forgiven, Omar. Guillermo who? Looks like that trip to the Holy Land paid off right quick.


UPDATE: Just heard on SNY's SportsNite that Santana refers to his change as "the butterfly." Hold me.

Baseball Player Name of the Week

We have a tie!: Ferd Eunick and William Adolph Wambsganss, both of the 1917 Cleveland Indians.

Not much information is available online about Fernandas Bowen Eunick, but I imagine his was not an easy life. According to Baseball Reference, he's "also known as Fred." Ferd was born in Baltimore in 1892, died there 67 years later, and on August 29, 1917, made his first and last appearance in the majors. He lasted all of two at-bats, getting a hit in neither of them.

Bill Wambsganss, by contrast, had a long and successful career, but he's remembered almost exclusively for making the only unassisted triple play in World Series history, in 1920, against the Brooklyn Robins. "You'd think I was born on the day before and died on the day after," he said decades later.


Gotta love the body language, in the photo above, of the runner getting tagged for the third out.

Of course, I'm just the latest in a long line of observers to fixate on Wambsganss' name. Soon after he arrived in Cleveland, Ring Lardner wrote a limerick:

The Naps bought a shortstop named Wambsganss,Who is slated to fill Ray Chapman's pants.
But when he saw Ray,
And the way he could play,
He muttered "I haven't a clam's chance!"

Anyway, they don't name 'em like they used to. Also on that 1917 Cleveland team: "Pop-Boy" Smith, Red Torkelson, and Braggo "The Globetrotter" Roth.

Get To Know Your New New York Players, Part 2: LaTroy Hawkins

Last time, in Part 1, we vainly looked for dirt on Brian Schneider, the Mets' apparently ludicrously wholesome replacement for Paul Lo Duca (dislikes: junk food and steroids; likes: puppies and signing autographs for kids). Now it's time to look at the Yankees' only major newbie of the offseason to date, 35-year-old reliever LaTroy "Well He Can Hardly Be Worse Than Farnsworth" Hawkins of Gary, Indiana. Personally I'd prefer Ronnie "The Hawk" Hawkins, but what are you going to do? This guy may be the only thing standing between Joba Chamberlain and the 8th-inning role, so read on for information regarding tarps, 'roids, media boycotts, and sign-stealing.

I confess I had completely forgotten this, but Hawkins was the losing pitcher when David Wells threw his perfect game in 1998. I'm predisposed to like him, because remember that crazy rainstorm last summer in Colorado, when the Phillies endearingly ran out to help the grounds crew with the tarp? Well, the Rockies didn't exactly distinguish themselves there, as just one single home team player offered assistance -- and that was, of course, LaTroy Hawkins.

More recently he went on the radio and, with sentiments I suspect an increasing number of fans can relate to these days, announced that he doesn't care about steroids:

LaTroy Hawkins: “It’s not any of my business. First of all the thing is I don’t care. Only person cared about that was [Commissioner Bud] Selig. I don’t care about it. That’s just my own personal opinion.”

Page: “You don’t care if hitters are juicing up?”

Hawkins: “No, I don’t. That’s just my personal opinion. Still got to hit the ball, brother.”

Indeed, though unfortunately, too many hitters have had an easy time doing that against Hawkins recently. He had a good 2007 (oddly pitching much better at home at Coors Field), but rough sailing for a few years before that; Cubs fans certainly weren't too fond of him, and the feeling may have been mutual. Also, it seems Hawkins has, or had, a bit of a running feud with umpire Tim Tschida. In 2004, he had to be restrained while arguing calls and was suspended three games...


...an animosity which apparently stems from an incident in 2002, when Hawkins was with the Twins, and Tschida asked him to move his bullpen chair -- because the Red Sox were accusing him of stealing signs. Excellent! Anyone prepared to steal signs from the Sox, or at least make the Sox think their signs are being stolen, can't be completely useless... although: I can't help but notice Hawkins' career ERA against Boston seems to be 5.79.

On top of that, I'd say there could be some potential media trouble on the horizon, based on this Hawkins interview on Sportznutz dating back to his unhappy time in Chicago:

TH: What was your rational or thinking at the time you were named the closer when you decided not to speak to the media?

LH: Because I didn’t want them to start a soap opera. It was plain and simple.

TH: Did you do it because you didn’t want the media to approach you perhaps if you had a bad game?

LH: No. That was my intention in the first place and all that other bullshit, that wasn’t my intention. You know how they are – the media here. Always looking for something. Write (about) what’s on the field.

TH: You previously played in Minnesota, a lot smaller market than Chicago. How would you compare the media in Minnesota to Chicago?

LH: It’s not even comparable. Minneapolis and Chicago – there’s a big difference.

TH: Did you have a better relationship with the media in Minneapolis than you do in Chicago?

LH: Nope. I had one guy in Minnesota, Souhan, with the Star Tribune. Only guy I talked to...

...TH: Do you plan on keeping up with the media boycott as long as you are here?

LH: It’s not actually a boycott. Actually, I speak when I feel like speaking. Plain and simple. When I feel like speaking, I’ll speak. And when I don’t feel like speaking, I’m not going to speak.

Right then. What could possibly go wrong in New York? Say, LaTroy, there's someone I'd like to introduce you to. Have you met Mike Lupica?

...LaTroy? Where are you going?

Get To Know Your New New York Players, Part 1: Brian Schneider

With spring training just around the corner, it's time to take a closer look at some of the new lambs to the slaughter players we'll be watching all season (or at least until they tear their hamstrings). Most New York fans probably know new Mets catcher Brian Schneider better by his nickname, "They Traded Lastings Milledge For WHO?" Schneider. But let's not rush to judgment until all the facts are in, particularly the silly and irrelevant ones.

Paul Lo Duca left big shoes to fill -- not so much because of his actual play, but what you might term the local color he provided.


He came to the plate to "Stayin' Alive" and "No Sleep Till Brooklyn." Will this Schneider fellow be photographed with nubile teens on his lap, get busted for sending friendly thank-you notes to steroid dealers, take part in a messy public divorce, love the horses, toss all his catching gear onto the field (YouTube!) after questionable calls, or make his eyeballs do this when angered?:


Early signs suggest... probably not:


We seem to be looking at a level of wholesomeness here that rivals David Wright's. (By contrast, and before I move on, let me just recommend a quick Google Image Search of "paul lo duca umpire." Whee!). An extensive search on Brian Schneider reveals very few juicy details. He's from Pennsylvania, he apparently attended Nationals fan events as fast as the team could dream them up, and - trivia alert! - he was behind the plate when Barry Bonds hit #756. Schneider also agreed to an interview with Nationals blog Nats320 after being traded, which is pretty cool of the guy.

He's boldly anti-junk food; his idea of a clubhouse prank involves baby powder. (I'm guessing Paul Lo Duca's clubhouse pranks involve Jager and razor blades). Finally, he has two dogs named Dinger and Ribbie. Cute, Schneider, cute. But let's see you rip an umpire's chest protector apart with your teeth.

Anyway, Schneider has spent his entire career with the Expos/Nationals, so it'll be interesting to see how he might react to, say, being on a team that's over .500. Or playing in front of crowds. Welcome, Brian, and remember: we only viciously insult your abilities and parentage because we care.


(As an aside: in the course of researching this post (and obviously I use the term "researching" loosely), I discovered that the Montreal Expos had a theme song, "Les Expos Sont Là," which basically translates as "The Expos Are There." Now, probably the actual lyrics are positive enough, but I've only got the title to go on, and I love that this is apparently the most enthusiastic sentiment the songwriter could muster. Not so much "Meet the Expos" or "Let's Go Expos," but more along the lines of, "Huh, There Seems To Be A Baseball Team Over Here.")

One more for the road -- though in Lo Duca's defense, Lima Time had this effect on many of us:

Baseball Player Name of the Week

Jack Warhop.


It works particularly well if you imagine Bob Sheppard saying Warhop.

Mr. Warhop pitched for the Yankees from 1908-1915 and holds their all-time record for most hit batsmen, with 114 -- though this is only 56th on the MLB all-time list. In fact, the top three batter-hitters all have pretty excellent names:

1. Gus Weyhing (277)

2. Chick Fraser (219)

3. Pink Hawley (210)

Gus Weyhing, in particular, has a nice ring to it. Is there a correlation between coolness of name and career number of batters hit? I may have to email the Baseball Prospectus crew for a definitive mathematical answer to this.

Related: Randy Johnson (182) is #7, and Roger Clemens is #13 (159), just barely edging out Nolan Ryan (158). You probably have to be a bit of a dick to be that high on the list, since pitchers with mere lousy control probably won't end up with enough career innings to make a dent -- that is, if you're given the opportunity to pitch long enough to hit 150 batters, they probably aren't all accidents.

Unless of course you're Tim Wakefield (#18).

Somewhat to my surprise, Bob "Intimidating" Gibson is only 75th (102), tied with Chief Bender. Who probably would have won Name of the Week honors, if only "Chief" weren't a vaguely racist nickname given to seemingly every Native American player in baseball's early days. Ah well.

Political Grandstanding: Much Less Fun Than Actual Grandstanding

As you may have heard by now, the owners have extended Bud Seligs's contract through 2012. Of course. Now, some of my reasons for intensely disliking Selig are fair (collusion) and some are not (less charisma than a piece of sushi), but I think this is my problem in a nutshell: if the rich people who control everything love you this much, there's just no way you're actually doing a good job.

Speaking of Selig, I was going to blog about the congressional steroid hearings, but they proved too frustrating to watch intently for more than half an hour (not that I didn't love Rep. Shayes asking Mitchell about Rafael "Palmerry" and whether or not he'd tested positive before his "300th hit". I'm sure our health care system will be fixed any week now). So I'm all Mitchell Report-ed out, and then I realized: maybe that was MLB's plan all along -- to make their fans so incredibly sick of hearing about PEDs that they eventually just completely stop caring? I think it's working. Maybe I've underestimated Selig after all.

In other non-news, the Mets continue to get everyone's hopes up by hanging in the Johan Santana sweepstakes, and while Omar Minaya did not acquire any bullpen help, he did travel to Israel. Good call, and if he's really not going to acquire another solid starting pitcher, I'd also recommend stopping by Mecca and Rome.

If I had a nickel for every time I confused CPR with non-consensual sex!

I already suspected there was no God when I woke up a few days ago with a slight hangover and was greeted by news stories suggesting a bleeding abscess on Roger Clemens' ass. (Have you ever unexpectedly seen the results for a Google Image Search on "abscess"? No? NOT RECOMMENDED). And now there's this. Noooo!

A world with abscessed-Clemens-ass imagery and a hobbled Endy Chavez is not a world I want to live in.

Meanwhile, while I now have no idea what the truth is in this whole Clemens fiasco -- inclined to think he used steroids, but trying to keep an open mind -- and am increasingly unable to give a fuck, I lost any shred of respect or empathy I might have had for Brian McNamee when I read this AP article (via River Ave Blues last week). It seems that at the end of the 2001 season, in Florida, a bunch of Yankees had a party at their hotel, which McNamee attended, and:

"Detectives believed the former New York Yankees trainer who says he injected Roger Clemens with steroids lied to them during the 2001 investigation of a possible rape, according to documents released Tuesday by police."

I don't even remember hearing about this story at the time -- it was just a few weeks after 9/11, and I suppose that's at least partly why it didn't get more attention. But it isn't being discussed much now, either; even the Post, which you'd think would be all over it (the Post loves rape), didn't even run the entire AP article. And so I'm going to rant a little bit now, because dammit, somebody ought to.

The article goes on to describe the embodiment of all the nightmare-jock-party stories you heard in high school and college:

"The records released Tuesday by the St. Petersburg police show McNamee was suspected of raping a woman he had met at the Renaissance Vinoy Resort in October 2001. ...

McNamee was having sex with the woman in the resort's pool and didn't stop when confronted by security, the documents say. Police were notified. When they arrived, they found McNamee had helped the woman out of the pool and get dressed, according to the documents. Groggy and incoherent, she was taken to the hospital, where the documents said she was found to have GHB, the "date-rape drug," in her system.

The woman told detectives she could not remember details of the encounter in the pool. She said she did not give McNamee permission to have sex with her, and witnesses told detectives they had heard her saying "no" during the encounter, according to the documents. Detectives later recovered some of her jewelry, an empty beer can and a water bottle containing GHB at the side of the pool.

Police interviewed McNamee hours later, according to the documents, and he denied having sex with the woman or knowing Yankees batting practice pitcher, Charles Wonsowicz, who was also in the pool. McNamee refused to submit a saliva sample for DNA analysis, the documents said."

Now, McNamee was never charged, let alone convicted, so I get that these are just allegations, not proven facts. These records are only coming to light now because of Clemens' lawsuit, and of course making McNamee look bad is the whole point. Still -- the story is drawing from police files, not just innuendo, and it's more than enough to make me question McNamee's character and credibility. To put it mildly.

Of course, it raises another question, too, which Roger Clemens' lawyers seem to hope we'll gloss over: if you're Clemens, and you know about this incident, why do you then hire this slime, and stay friends with him for years afterwards? After all, it was apparently reason enough for the Yankees to fire him (which: I am pleasantly surprised they had the backbone). But:

"Clemens then hired McNamee as his personal trainer. According to the pitcher's lawsuit, McNamee told him that his actions were "actually a life-saving attempt.""

Right. A life-saving attempt, who wouldn't buy that? You know what, I'm done here -- these two guys can sue each other into oblivion for all I care.

All in all, it's certainly been a glamorous few weeks for the national pastime. Rape and abscesses! HGH and GHB! Christ on a pogo stick, I just want to watch a damn game already.

For Auld Lang-Rod

11:57 PM, December 31st, 2007. I'm at my friends' party on Degraw St, in the apartment I lived in for several years when I first moved to New York. As everyone hurries to get a glass of champagne poured and ready before the ball drops, someone turns on the TV, flipping around til he finds a broadcast from Times Square. It was Carson Daly, and all of a sudden there, standing next to him, in a Yankees cap:


Me: Oh hey! Is that A-Rod? It's A-Rod! Turn up the volume!
Everyone else: (laughing, talking, pouring champagne)
Me: This must be part of his whole No-really-I-love-New-York image rehab thing! What's he saying?
Everyone else: Ten!... Nine!... Eight!...

So I have no idea what was said (shot in the dark: "it's great to be here in New York!"), because my friends are normal healthy people who do not care about baseball player soundbites when they're celebrating the New Year; but A-Rod's mug was just about the last thing I saw in 2007. Seems fitting somehow.

Anyway, here's to 2008 and just the littlest bit of a fresh start. If one 2007 moment really encapsulated my entire year, it would have to be the sudden swarm of gnats that descended on Joba Chamberlain during Game 2 of the Division Series, resulting in two wild pitches and a blown lead. (Only because the Mets' implosion wasn't really a "moment" so much as lifestyle). At the aforementioned party I tried to describe that eighth inning to a non-baseball-fan friend, but he refused to believe that I was talking about non-metaphoric gnats.

So Happy New Year, everybody. Thanks for reading, and I plan to be optimistic about this upcoming year for at least five or six days yet.

Take Mike Pelfrey -- Please!

So there's no real news on the Johan Santana front. But I just wanted to go on record as saying that if I were running either New York team, I'd give the Twins what they reportedly want these days. I would also give away front-row seats, send a little person up to bat, hire players based on their names, and be fired within days, but that's neither here nor there.

From the Yankees, that would mean Phil Hughes, Melky Cabrera, Jeff Marquez, and some other unnamed guy who isn't Ian Kennedy. I'm not down on Phil Hughes at all, I think he's eventually going to be excellent... but as good as Johan Santana? Almost no one is. Most of the sharper Yankee fans I know want the team to keep Hughes, and I can see the logic (it's certainly vastly more cost-effective), and I'll enjoy watching him pitch if they do. But it's Johan Sanata!

Of course, as you know if you've read this blog for even a few weeks, I have an only semi-rational fixation on the guy, so I may well be wrong here. I just thought I should get these thoughts in writing, so that years from now, either:

A) When Phil Hughes blows out his elbow while resisting arrest on charges of dogfighting and perjury, I can link back to this post and crow about how right I was; or

B) When Johan Santana blows out his elbow while resisting arrest on charges of dogfighting and perjury, you can link back to this post and crow about what a moron I am. Fair's fair.

The truth is, though, I would much rather see Santana land with the Mets. They need him more right now, and watching him in his prime against the bottom of the National League batting orders would be simultaneously beautiful and terrifying. Also, nothing would get the taste of the last few weeks of the Mets' season out of everyone's mouths faster. Yes, they may have to "rip up their farm system" to get the guy... but I mean, their farm system's not that great these days anyway.

I think one reason I'm fascinated by Santana is that I know so little about him, which is what happens when relatively quiet people play for teams in the middle of the country. I don't get to see a lot of interviews or quotes from the guy, which means it's easy to make him into something of an ideal figure. (Plus I used to read a lot of Bat Girl; she referred to him simply as El Presidente).

The only off-field Santana antic I can remember made me like him even more -- it happened this past summer, when the Twins came to Shea. Minnesota broadcaster Bert Blyleven bet Santana he couldn't throw a complete game shutout (note to Blyleven: this works much better with Sidney Ponson); it turned out Santana could, and indeed did, so Blyleven had to let him shave his head:



I think the best part of all this is that while pitching his complete game shutout, Johan Santana was apparently thinking about how he would get to shave Bert Blyleven's head.

I say trade every minor leaguer that isn't nailed down.

Eephus Pitch Would Like To Wish...

... a Merry Christmas to you and yours, from 1978 Mets manager Joe Torre!:


(Awesome/vaguely disturbing photo from the Daily News archives, by Anthony Casale).

Tomorrow I look forward to Chinese food, not one but two movies, and absolutely no discussion whatsoever of the Mitchell Report.

Let's See Him Break The HR Record From INSIDE 2,000 GALLONS OF WATER!

Only A-Rod would hire, to "help him have more control of his image and brand”, the guy who represents Madonna and David Blaine.

Sigh.

Baseball Player Name of the Week

Slim Love, of Love, Mississippi, who played for the 1916-1918 Yankees. I'd hoped he was obese, but no, Slim was a Randy Johnsonish 6'7" beanpole of a pitcher:


Bonus points for having been traded for such well-named players as Chick Shorten and Ossie Vitt.

Love also played for the Senators and the Tigers, gave up Babe Ruth's 42nd career home run, and according to Wikipedia, embarked on a career as a Navy Yard steamfitter when his playing days were over. I have no idea what a steamfitter is, but it sounds badass.

As an aside, if you were wondering what a town called Love in Mississippi might be like, it's hard to say, because Love is listed as "extinct" (har!).

There's No Hope With Dope

As is the case with almost all tragedies, this entire steroids mess could have been avoided if more baseball players had only watched Saved By The Bell:



Amen, Brandon Tartikoff.

Meanwhile, this is off-topic, but I'd just like to point out that in the last few weeks, it seems three separate internet users have found this blog by Googling "fairy raped," for which Eephus Pitch is currently the seventh result listed. Needless to say, I have never been prouder.

A Nation Shrugs

Say it ain't so, Glenallen!

Mitchell Mania is upon us, and Roger Clemens is the big name, but I don't think many baseball fans were shocked by that one. This is what I wrote when he rejoined the Yankees back in May:

"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."

Oh well. Clemens is denying it -- vehemently! -- but I don't think there's much doubt at this point. And if you argued that Barry Bonds should get an asterisk and be barred from the Hall of Fame, you'd damn well better argue the same about Clemens, or else all Bonds' ranting about a racist double standard will look a lot less like ranting.

The rest of the report, though, is largely useless, just because it's so clearly (and admittedly) incomplete. This can only be a fraction of the players who used PEDs, since Mitchell leaned so incredibly heavily on one source, Radomski, for so much of his information. We still don't know the whole truth, and we never will; time to work on better drug tests and move the hell on.

But, before we do that: While there are, by my quick and probably incomplete count, 15 players in the report who were on the Yankees at one time or another (I've got 10 Mets, but I might be missing some -- I don't recognize a few of these names), there's not one single mention in here of Brian Cashman or Steinbrenner (or Minaya or Phillips or Wilpon).

How could the front office have been unaware of what was going on, when at LEAST five players** on the 2000 Yankees --the World Champion Yankees -- may well have been juicing? And if they were aware, what, if anything, did they do about it? McNamee, the trainer who says he injected Clemens, was hired by the Yankees at Roger’s request, but dismissed after 2001. Why? Because they realized he was distributing PEDs? That’s just speculation of course, but it’s a natural question, and Mitchell doesn’t seem to have asked it.

The one front office guy who comes out looking truly awful is Giants GM Brian Sabean, and if the Giants have a modicum of integrity left -- unlikely, at this point -- they'll fire him immediately. It's one thing to look the other way while Bonds took steroids. But Sabean apparently heard as far back as 2002 that Bonds' personal trainer, who was allowed in restricted clubhouse areas against the advice of the Giants' own training staff, was getting other players on the team interested in steroids and probably distributing them. And Sabean did absolutely nothing about it (pgs 121-125). Staggeringly spineless and uninspiring leadership there, from the man who once signed Armando Benitez to a three-year, $21 million contract.

Anyway, it will be sort of morbidly interesting to watch the fallout from this, but outside of the Clemens confirmation, I don't think it changes much in the long run.

The day's other interesting story was Alex Rodriguez's conference call officially announcing his new $275 million contract: he said Scott Boras convinced him to opt out by telling him that the Yankees had no interest in keeping him. Can that really be true? Is Boras even creepier and more manipulative than we all assumed? Or is Rodriguez just trying to look like the good guy in all this? Does anybody still care? Tune in next time...




**Note: I'm not counting Pettitte because there's no indication here that he took anything before or after 2002; and David Justice, Mike Stanton, and Chuck Knoblauch are all described in the report as starting their (Radomski-related) PED use after the 2000 World Series. But if you're not inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt -- and I would certainly understand if Mets fans felt that way -- you could make it nine. I've still got: Hill, Canseco, Neagle, Clemens, Grimsley.

How Long Have I Been Asleep?

Well, I'm back. And I've decided not to explain my absence at all, in a blatant and no doubt futile attempt to seem mysterious. Though I will just say that the persistent rumors of my role in the Johan Santana negotiations, while flattering, are completely unfounded... really, how on earth do these things get started?

Anyway, many things have happened in the last few weeks, and while all of this news is now not only old but in fact decrepit and being gnawed on by its own cats, I thought I'd do a very, very quick rundown of recent (ahem!) events, just to catch up.

Torre to the Dodgers: When the season ended, I felt a major pang over losing Joe Torre -- genuine pathos. I'd watched him grimace at middle relievers for 12 years, and I assumed that no matter how the Yankees fared without him, I'd miss him for seasons to come.

But you know what? I'm pretty much over it already. Go figure.

Slightly off-topic: I can't believe they voted Walter O'Malley into the Hall of Fame without a fight. That man is the embodiment of valuing greed and business and calculation over loyalty and individuality and emotion -- which I realize is a major part of any corporate entity, certainly including baseball, and I've generally made my peace with that, but do we really have to go and honor it?

Rivera, Posada, and Pettitte re-up: I like this now, but I know I won't like it in three years, and yet I am apparently unable to truly think that far ahead, so: yay!

A-Rod: Totally torn between feeling privileged that I'll get to watch Rodriguez make history firsthand, and being so fucking tired of talking about this guy already.

Johan Santana: Man, I was so psyched about the idea of Santana in New York -- I don't care which team, I've always said, as long as I can watch the man pitch every fifth day -- but then it was all talk, talk, talk, and no action, and unfulfilled excitement, like the Winter Meetings had been replaced by a 1960s Antonioni movie. I freely admit that I'm not really rational about Santana; if I were a man, you'd call it a man-crush, a blind, fierce, platonic devotion. I can see that trading Jose Reyes or Phil Hughes as part of a package for Santana is maybe not a rational move, and in fact I love both those players, but I just don't care -- my god, that changeup...

Snapping out of it and moving on, some highlights from the last few weeks:

Best Name Picked Up In The Rule V Draft: Callix S. Crabbe, 2B, and it wasn't close. Congratulations to the San Diego Padres.


Healthiest Way to Look at the Mets Offseason: While most of the Amazins fans I’ve talked to are disappointed with the Mets’ tepid moves so far, it’s become clear that it all feels much better if you just apply the Guillermo Mota Standard (GMS) to all incoming players. This began, of course, with Johnny Estrada, a mediocre catcher who nevertheless has the clear and much-lauded advantage of not being Guillermo Mota, for whom he was traded. But it works with other players, too. Lastings Milledge for Ryan Church and Brian Schneider!?!? Well, think of it this way: neither of those guys is Guillermo Mota, am I right? Doesn’t seem like such a bad trade now, does it?

Most Depressing Management Quote of the Fall: From the Orioles, of course. Just beating out Hammerin' Hank Steinbrenner's declaration that Jennifer Love Hewitt is his favorite actress, it's Baltimore President Andy MacPhail, as quoted in the Boston Globe (via Baseball Prospectus): "When the Egyptians were building the pyramids, they didn't think about what they had to build, they just carried the rocks up. I think that's what we have to do."

This explains so much. Never mind that I'm pretty sure the ancient Egyptians actually did put a fair amount of thought into creating structures that constitute, in context, some of the greatest engineering feats of all time; more to the point, I believe the Baltimore fans of my acquaintance -- those who are not yet institutionalized and heavily medicated -- would be very intrigued by Mr. MacPhail's view that the problem with Orioles management is that they've been thinking too much. Turns out we've been looking at this thing backwards all along!

Sorry, Balmer. At least The Wire will be back soon.

How Many Yankee Executives Does It Take To Screw In A Lightbulb?

So it's the end of the Joe Torre Era and, essentially, the end of the George Steinbrenner Era... and the new Yankee brain trust just took 10 days to massively botch their first major decision. Not a good sign, people.

I should've jumped into this fray earlier, because by now you're sick of reading about it, but in short: I can understand the desire to bring in a new manager; my only real issue with it, sentimentality aside, is that I'm not sure there's a better candidate than Joe Torre available right now. But like most Yankee fans, I think, I'll hear you out if you want to argue that it's time for a change. The way they went about it, however, could hardly have been more inept -- "they" here referring to a vague oligarchy that includes the two Steinbrenner sons, one son-in-law, Brian Cashman, COO Lonn Trost (great name), and last but not least Randy Levine, who managed the tricky feat of going from virtually unknown among average Yankee fans to universally despised in the span of just 48 hours.

The only bright thing to come out of this mess is that it led to a flock of reporters racing around Tampa in search of the Yankee meetings, and then settling in for a completely fruitless stakeout, which led to a number of amusing articles and an absolutely classic hour-by-hour live blog on NJ.com:

2 p.m.: Meetings and smoke breaks

The meetings continue. Every 40 to 60 minutes, Hank Steinbrenner (the older son and the one more involved in baseball decisions) takes a smoke break on the concrete open-air stairwell outside George Steinbrenner's office on the south end of the fourth floor of Legends Field.

For his last break, at about 1:40 p.m., Hank was accompanied by brother-in-law Felix Lopez.

3 p.m.: Grounds gets attention

As the meeting continue (as far as I can tell) in the Legends Field offices, a grounds crew attends to the half-field just outside the stadium.

The field is used for pickoff drills, pitchers' fielding practice and perhaps bunt work. So there seems no way it will be used until mid-February. But the workers are cutting the grass and watering the dirt as if a game will be played there tonight.

4 p.m.: Meetings may be over

There is some activity here that leads one to believe the meeting is breaking up soon...

Sports writing is a glamorous business, and never let anyone tell you different! Anyway, live updates aside, the situation was a total mess, leaving Torre and the fans ticked off and the Yankee ownership-by-committee looking self-serving, indecisive, two-faced, and scared.

As usual, it's not the underhanded shenanigans that bother me, but their clumsiness in executing same -- I enjoy a good Machiavellian power play as much as anyone, it just pisses me off when people don't take the time to disguise it intelligently. Randy Levine: "We were all stunned and remain stunned that he turned the deal down." Literally, and I am not making this up, my superintendent's 12-year-old grandson immediately knew that this was bullshit. Now granted he's a bright kid, but come on -- if you can't lie any better than that, how the hell did you ever manage to climb the corporate ladder in the first place?

I can already feel the nostalgia coming on, yet I've never been a George Steinbrenner fan -- the yelling and irrational firings, the compulsive trades, the illegal contributions to the Nixon campaign... he put money into the team and he wanted to win as badly as any fan, and I admire that, but didn't like a lot of what came with it. Still, he was his own guy: he did what he wanted, and he didn't give a rat's ass if anyone else liked it, which they usually didn't. I don't want to romanticize him too much, because he's hardly a hero, but at least his particular brand of sinister wasn't bland or sneaky or bureaucratic. These new guys will slowly bleed you dry with a thousand tiny paper cuts; Steinbrenner ripped out your spine with his bare hands and beat you to death with it. In retrospect, I have to respect that.


I'll have more soon on Sox/Rox. And by the way, has anyone heard from the Mets recently? It's awfully quiet over there.... think we should we send someone over to check on them?

You Heard It Here First...

...every member of the Colorado Rockies is on steroids. That's right, I'm calling it. Just brace yourself now, so you won't be disappointed when the Mitchell Report comes out.

Colorado semi-won me over in this series, if only because their fanbase seemed so much more committed than Arizona's (if you can't sell out a ballpark during the playoffs, you really don't deserve to win). They've been really fun to watch on the field, though personality-wise, I still don't have a very good grip on the team. Question: is it possible to still qualify as an underdog when you've won 21 of your last 22 games?

And: kudos to the Coors Field fan with the "SNAKES ON A PLANE" sign. Nicely done.

I'll give TBS credit, because their analysis really improved as the playoffs went on -- Ernie Johnson eventually got Cal Ripken and Tony Gwynn to loosen up a bit, and they added Ron Darling, who as you probably know if you've been reading this site for any length of time, I love. (SNY's broadcast trio is great in general, but Darling is the glue that holds Gary Cohen and Keith Hernandez together, and prevents either of them from getting too schticky).

That said, it's thanks to TBS that in the last month I've gained a roiling hatred for three people of whose existence, until a few weeks ago, I was only vaguely aware: Chip Caray, that guy Frank in the Frank TV ads, and Dane Cook. It's a blessing the Rockies swept (and you know they think so too!).

I'll leave you for the moment with a hilarious Dan Cook quote, apologizing in advance lest you laugh too hard and possibly injure yourself or disturb your coworkers:

I went over to the mall, I had to park nearby in a...in the parking structure. You know when you park you the parking structure you...you go on up and it's like 40 stories and you always to park up on the fuckin' roof. What do they pave that with, what is that, not concrete. Whatever that's paved with you could be driving five miles an hour it sounds like your in a chase scene from Chips like errrrrrrrrgggghhhhhhh! I'm backing up! Errrrrrrrrgggghhhhhhh! What the fuck is that!

Amen, brother.

By Golly!

Well, I'm back from my extremely brief Newsday hiatus -- thanks, Yankees! FIRE EVERYONE* -- and I need some help. Am I supposed to root for the Diamondbacks or the Rockies now?

I'm still holding a grudge against Arizona from '01, but there's not really anyone left now from that team, except the resentful ghost of The Big Unit. And I like Orlando Hudson, but he's injured. At the same time, the Rockies creep me out a bit with their super-Christianity (though I have to say, they've done a good job of keeping it publicly low-key this season). Todd Helton, after they won the Division Series, was interviewed on the field and actually said: "By golly, we did it." By golly!

Meanwhile, Arizona fans may not have actually sold out their playoff game, but they have mastered the art of throwing so much dangerous trash onto the field to protest an interference call that play has to be delayed. I'm not going to get on my high horse here, because New York fans have certainly been known to toss the odd object onto the diamond... I was at Game 6 of the 2004 ALCS at Yankee Stadium, and they ended up calling out the riot police for that one; Shea fans famously came close to taking out Pete Rose with a hurled whiskey bottle in '73. And it's a minor miracle that John Rocker ever made it out of that bullpen alive.

Anyway, there are dozens of choices for the Mets and Yanks to make over the next few weeks, so there'll be a lot to talk about. I once again feel compelled to say that while I realize Bobby Valentine as the next Yankees manager would be a disaster... god, what a gift it would be for bloggers. On a personal level I'd like to see Joe Torre back; intellectually I think it may be time for a change for the sake of change; professionally, I've got my fingers crossed for the current manager of the Chiba Lotte Marines. I've become fairly obsessed with his blog and more determined than ever to procure a Bobby V brand Worldwide Ballers jersey.

Coming up tomorrow (or maybe Saturday): my incomplete list of the Best Joe Torre-isms.


*Kidding. Mostly.

When October Goes

Hey everybody -- just want to let you know that I've got a blog up at Newsday.com today, Spanning the Playoffs (I know, I know). I'll be writing there about the Yankees, for however long they're in this thing; so please stop by, laugh at my hair in that photo, and comment if you feel moved to do so.

In the meantime, I'll try to keep writing here about the Mets and other baseball news once in a while. (And I've got an article in this week's New York Press about their last stand).

Everything but Yankees-Indians gets underway tonight. On... TBS. This should be interesting.

Things Fall Apart

Sorry for the delay in getting around to Sunday's cataclysm at Shea. I was writing about it for tomorrow's New York Press, and I needed to sort out my thoughts for that first. When the game ended I was actually at a loss for words -- longtime readers will know this is not common -- and while that didn't last long, it's still hard to make sense of the whole mess: there were 20 different quite practical reasons for it, and yet on some level it really defied logical explanation. Yes, it was the pitching, first and foremost, and there was a lack of hustle at times, and a number of key hitters underperformed... all of that is true. But, man: the baseball gods were angry.

I also think this bumps the Mets fanbase up from sort of middle-of-the-road suffering to seriously put-upon. Seeing all those heartbroken kids at Shea was just wrenching... I mean, the Yankees sucked when I was growing up, but they never did anything like that to me.

It's amazing (har!) that one terrible game could totally wipe out all the good things Tom Glavine did for the Mets in his time in New York, but that's what just happened. I have to assume he'll be back pitching next year -- because how do you leave a 20-year Hall of Fame career like that? But not with the Mets, he won't be. I hate to say it, but he really hurt himself with his calm, composed postgame comments; what he said was fair, but if the fans were ever going to even think about forgiving him they needed to see some real emotion there. Meanwhile, ESPN has a rumor (Insider only) suggesting Glavine might sign with the Nationals next season, which, god, would just be depressing on every conceivable level.

I have to say, while Mets fans have the right to be just as freaked out, crazed and irrational as they need to be right now, the maelstrom of blame is getting out of hand. There are many very legitimate complaints to be made about Minaya, Randolph, Reyes, Glavine, El Duque's bunion et al, but does anyone really believe that the Mets collapsed because Reyes was out on the town too late with Luis Castillo? Come on now.

Meanwhile Scott Schoeneweis of all people has been accused of ordering steroids three years ago -- altogether now Mets fans: "why did he stop?!" -- though he denies it; and Billy Wagner complained to New York Magazine about Willie Randolph and Rick Peterson's bullpen management, though he has since apologized and claims that his remarks out of context. Good times. (By the way, that NY Mag article is generally well-written and I don't mean to nit-pick -- okay, fine, yes I do -- but how do you refer to Ian Kennedy as "fireballing"?).

Omar Minaya was on Mike and the Mad Dog this afternoon-- they were pretty hard on him, but fair for the most part. Minaya didn't say anything especially shocking (except that, it sounds like, he really was considering firing Randolph for a little while there); he was careful to be politic, but he also owned up to some of the team's problems. MetsBlog has a good recap of what was said. Anyway, it was an extremely interesting and emotional interview; then Bud Selig came on the show and I... he talked a lot about... it was... zzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzzz...

Yes, leave it to the Commish to valiantly step in and soothe the pain of agonized Mets fans by lulling them into a gentle, healing sleep. Anyway, two words for the Mets front office this winter: Johan Santana. Give the Twins whatever the hell they want, and do it with a smile.