I don't care as much about what happened this week as probably every person reading this site. After the game, Thursday afternoon, I was bombarded with im's and emails from some of my closest friends and family, all extremely pissed off after what can only be considered horrible loss.
The anger was directed towards Billy Wagner for blowing the game and Willie Randolph for leaving Billy in there to blow it, after Wagner had thrown 25 pitches in the 8th and was facing a ton of right handed bats to start the 9th. I think I heard on Sports Center that Wagner hasn't had a 6 out save since 1999. But it doesn't matter. Like many times before:
" I just went with my gut. Billy's my guy." - Willie Randolph (This quote is made up but you get the point)
My friends were all really pissed. For some reason I just wasn't. I tried to figure out what was causing my surprising easiness.
Was it that I was a little older?
Was it that I work in baseball and view the game as a little bit more of a job than a passion?
Or was it that I am 3000 miles away from the action?
I'm sure all these things are factors. But neither of them was the answer.
It was only during a conversation with the yin to my yang, my good buddy who happened to be born on the exact same day back in April, 1982- you all know him as Happy Will- that I realized what was driving Sip.
Before I get to me, let me tell you about Will. Will is a passionate fan and more importantly, just a really good guy. He may be the most innocent kid I know, and I mean that only in a good way. I wish I wasn't so damn cynical. So in the midst of Will's anger at me I realized exactly why it is that the Mets recent failures just haven't bothered me.
The reason: The Mets are supposed to win.
2007 is the first year in the last 20 where the Mets are no longer the chasers but the team being chased. Even last year, when the Mets first started dominating the NL East the thought was always there in the back of our minds that the Braves hadn't lost the division since my pre-teen days. Until the division was clinched, the NL East was still the Braves' to lose.
But this year, the playoffs were "a given." It was the Mets division to lose. Wins no longer were exciting, they were expected.
I guess for me, I lost my punch.
I feel no sense of urgency with this team. For so long I have been used to being the underdog, hoping to come from behind that I don't think I have adjusted to the role of the favorite.
So we lose 4 in a row to the Phillies. So what? It's August 31st and we have a 2 game lead in the division. We didn't need those wins. Those games didn't make or break our season. They were luxury games, games that if we won would make us already comfortable Mets fans, a little more comfortable.
Imagine if this were 1996 and you could be in the same place?
So there's my piece. I just dont feel the sense of urgency that I did when we were chasing the Braves. I don't feel like each individual game matters like it used to because as I have said many times in the past, I believe the best team always wins in the long run.
I'm going to have to adjust. I really do miss the sweat. For now though, I just might not be the right person to complain to.
As you read this you should be watching or gamecasting what many of you are considering a "must win."
For both the Mets and Red Sox.
I think that's bullshit. This is baseball where you are only as good as your next starter. The whole momentum thing in baseball, I don't really buy it. The Phils could do to the Mets what the Mrlins might do to the Phillies, tomorrow.
Baseball is a lot like the stock market. If you let every single day matter, you're just going to drive yourself nuts.
Yes, these games are important.
I was talking to my buddy from Philly last night and he agreed. The difference between a 2 game lead and a 4 game could be the difference between a race and a "not-race."
As for the Yankees and Red Sox. God, who knows. But with Seattle's most recent meltdown and my dependence on Detroit growing by the hour, every Yankee loss matters. If only Mike Mussina could pitch every day?
But calm your horses. Apparently all the Mets blogs are going crazy, like this is Doomsday. It's not. Baseball is a marathon not a sprint. Today is just another 1 of 30 some odd games to go.
I really do believe that.
Gotta make it brief today. Work beckons. Check back at abour 4:30 ET. It will either be thumbs pleasantly up or thumbs way down.
I sat on my couch and alternated the Met and Yankee games on MLB.tv; the game not on the low-quality internet feed would be seen in ESPN Gamecast. I ate about two pounds of miniature carrots and drank about 3 liters of water only to have both games end in miserable fashion. The bullpen blows it for Tommy on a 20-foot grounder and a Ryan Howard walkoff and a DJ dong sets up the Yankees new 8th/9th force, Jobiano.
I was pissed off. It's been a while since a baseball game bothered me. We are talking probably 7 years. So I decided I needed to let some energy go. I drove to the LA fitness to play some basketball. My team actually had a nice run and thanks to all those carrots I ate earlier; I made 'em jump like Rod Strickland. [Ed's note: Word to Raekwon the Chef]
I came home starving, but the only thing I had in my house was cold cuts. I think I have eaten sandwiches 80 times in my three months in Arizona. But this is not New York. This is Mesa. My options were Jack in the Box or the local supermarket.
I hit up the supermarket, which for some reason had at least seven full-blown Meth addicts inside. One asked me if I knew Jaime. I didn't think he was referring to my first girlfriend in middle school, so I told the friendly meth-addict that I did not. She then stared at me for a while and I was certain that I was going to get robbed.
I drove home, with a makeshift meal of chocolate milk, watermelon and some crappy supermarket sushi (really wanted something light) which has since driven me to the bathroom no less than three times. I think it would have been safer to hit up my toothless friend for some meth.
On my first trip to the bathroom, which along with the gym is the only place that I have clear thoughts, I realized something that was very true.
The Yankees do not deserve Joba Chamberlin.
I've watched the kid throw a couple of times now. For those who haven't, you should. It's like watching Jose Reyes take third for a triple, or Torii Hunter make an inhuman play in the outfield, or like Bonds or McGwire at their peaks hitting balls that seemed like they might never land. The best analogy is a young Armando Benitez, before he broke the hearts of fans in New York, Miami, Seattle and San Francisco, when he was a freak- a guy who threw 100mph, who when he entered the game, everyone was glued to their television set.
When a pitcher is truly dominant it is a sight to see. But when a pitcher throws 100 mph and is dominant, he becomes a sensation or a gimmick. Something that everyone wants to see.
Players like this come around very rarely. Whether or not Joba sticks around the bigs for 10 years or 10 weeks (god forbid he blew out his elbow), what he is doing now makes me want to watch Yankee games.
He is the gimmick that can make a casual fan take his respect of the game to the next level. One of many reasons why it is horrible that he is a Yankee.
See, the Yankees, by name alone, are the gimmick. They are the holier-than-thou Yankees. Fans come to see them play because of their pinstripes. That's right, like Leo said in "Catch Me if You Can," "they can't keep their eyes off of the pinstripes."
Fans also come to Yankee games because of their lineup full of All-Stars. The Yankees are the best, they spend the most money, they are the "classiest" and they do everything "The Yankee Way."
It is this aura (bullshit) or mystique (bullshit) that draws so many people to the Yankees. They have more fans than anyone else, the biggest crowds and are arguably the biggest sports team in the world.
So why, then, do they deserve to have a player like Joba? A player of such intrigue. A player that you are shocked to see is white and has a name so catchy because it reminds everyone of "Star Wars" (which I have never seen- only the 5th one because A.F.O.M.G. made me, and it sucked.) This guy could ignite another franchise. Imagine if he played in Kansas City or Baltimore? He would be the attraction that the otherwise thankless franchises do not have. Wouldn't it be nice if fans of the Devil Rays had a reason to pack their stadium, something that they were so proud to be theirs, even if the team stunk? [Ed's note: Must ... not .... mention ... Scott ... Kazmir ...]
Joba in the Yankees is a stud amongst stars. His talents are going to get lost behind the pinstripes and the aura and mystique of the Yankees.
I just think it is a total shame that this kid isn't playing for a team that needs a guy like him. A guy who throws 100 mph and is named Joba.
That's just me though.
The one good thing that has come out of "Joba Time" -- not sure if that's what they call it -- is that it has brought out the beauty that is Joe Torre. As many of you have read, the Yankees have a rule in place set by Nardi Contreras that Chamberlin can requires a day off for every inning that he pitches. So if he pitches an inning on Tuesday, he can't pitch on Wednesday. 2 innings on Tuesday and he can't pitch on Wednesday or Thursday.
The reasoning, simple enough, is that the Yankees are trying to protect their golden arm. But why such a "defined" rule with the Yankees in the heart of a pennant chase, fighting for their October lives? I think Buster Olney said it best. The Yankees are saving him from Joe Torre.
It finally became clear to me why Joe Torre is still around. It's not for his baseball acumen, something you don't really need when your roster is infinitely more talented than everyone else. The reason is that the guy massages egos and takes orders better than anyone else. Apparently he has people skills. He can make his players like him and he can make his bosses like him. I guess that is enough to be the manager of the biggest team in sports.
6:59 P.M. -- It's Citizen's Bank Park, it's Mets-Phillies, it's the series that could put the NL East out of reach. A potentially season-ending set of games for the hosts, and one that could put the whole shebang out of reach from the Mets' perspective. Serious stuff.
7:00 -- "If you're going to succeed here, you can't walk people," says Ron Darling. And, starting for New York tonight ... Brian Lawrence. Salt.
7:07 -- But the Phillies cleverly counter with their own schlub, J.D. Durbin! A stroke of genius from Charlie Manuel, going with the loser in this situation. What's that you say? Cole Hamels is hurt? Oh, I'm sorry. I hadn't heard. That's unfortunate.
7:10 -- David Wright steps to the plate, allowing Gary to bring up the growing "D-Wright for MVP" whispers one hears around the corners. Which allows me to point to Y2K fave Tim Marchman's excellent column on this very topic; read the whole thing.
7:11 -- David strikes out looking; 1-2-3 inning for Durbin. Pat Gillick looks shocked.
7:15 -- Luis Castillo makes a great diving stab and throw on a Jimmy Rollins grounder up the middle, almost getting the ... and Rollins is called out for some reason, leading to Manuel getting tossed by 1B ump Joe West on the first play of the night. That should endear the crew to the Phillies. Keith then makes the same point.
7:25 -- In the "Random Booth Talk Offering a Window onto the Soul" Department, Gary reads a promo for "Two and a Half Men;" coming to the CW11 this fall, crazy stuff goes on in Charlie Sheen's house, etc, etc. This riles up Keith for some reason. "Or they can go to your house, if they want crazy," he tosses out there. But Gary's buying. "That is crazy," he deadpans. "That's well beyond crazy." Ooooo-kay. Anyone around here laying odds on what kind of sick shit Gary and the missus get into? Nobody?
7:26 -- Hmm. Dinner parties with goyim? Having sex before putting the baseball cards away? The Long Island swinger scene? Now I'm curious.
7:36 -- Jayson Werth, apparently hitting .368 since coming off the DL a month ago, ropes a double down the 3B line that Moises putters after and can't fish out, allowing Greg Dobbs to score and giving the Phillies a 1-0 lead. Lawrence's fastball is ... not fast.
7:43 -- Hey, it's Kevin Burkhardt! That's nice. Unfortunately, somebody forgets to turn his mic on, and what eventually follows is a rambling and apparently pointless story about Paul LoDuca from when he was with the Cyclones. Okay. That could have gone better.
7:45 -- Shawn Green gets the start against the righty after sitting all weekend against the Dodgers; strikes out, natch. Blastings didn't help his (or my) cause with his fielding, of course. Gary then mentions he asked Willie if Endy would be given a chance to win the everyday job, and was told, flat-out, "No." Whew.
7:51 -- SNY cuts away to an interview with Willie; on the split-screen, which pops up every five seconds or so, Rollins is lacing foul balls off Lawrence; finally pings a sharp single to center. 7:52 -- "The Mets have a chance to step on the throat of the opposition," Gary says, sounding enthused. Aha! So that's what you're into, eh, Cohen? You sick fuck.
7:56 -- Burrell takes two called strikes, looks disgusted after the second, realizes he can swing faster than Lawrence can throw." The result? Two-run homer to left-field, a no-doubter, Phils up 3-0. Howard follows with a rifled single through the shift. This could get ugly fast.
7:57 -- On cue, the Mets catch a break as Castillo doubles Howard off first. Ryan Howard sliding = comedy.
8:06 -- Wright is punched out on a fastball up around the eyeballs and gets pissed about it, but Durbin is now perfect through the first four innings. Just great. A quick check reveals that he's still J.D., and not Chad (a.k.a., "The Good") Durbin.
8:11 -- Werth takes an 81 (!) mph fastball the other way for his second double of the night. Keith calls it a slider out of pity. Ron then sounds positively venomous during a discussion of the Marcus Giles-Carlos Ruiz tiff over the weekend, all but suggesting that Ruiz can look forward to having his head taken off by the Padres at some point in the future. Greg Maddux is nothing if not a stone-cold killer.
8:15 -- Beltran breaks up the perfecto with a leadoff double, is moved over by Alou, but not before a discussion of whether Willie will send Carlos to steal third. The Mets, by the by, have tied the club record by stealing a base in 11 straight games; yet another reason I'm so bullish on their chances in '07. All this speed on the basepaths; legitimate stealing threats in the top four lineup spots, plus Endy off the bench. They've got too many ways to hurt you.
8:23 -- Remember when Delgado, during his introductory press conference two winters ago, made the point that no matter how well he played or wanted to play, he wasn't going to ever be perfect? That he was going to make mistakes, was going to strike out with a runner on third and less than two outs? Yeah? Well, he wasn't kidding. Fuck.
8:25 -- But THERE'S PAULIE BALLGAME picking up the team. That's right, baby! Welcome back. Durbin actually jammed him, but LoDuca fists a fastball just over the head of Chase Utley to bring the Mets to within 3-1. And the Great Neck Prom Committee goes wild.
8:28 -- Green singles, Paulie's tender hammie looks just fine during a loping sprint over to third base, and Lawrence comes up with two runners on and two outs. Gary the Sex Fiend yelps for a pinch-hitter, but Ron wisely counsels that in a four-game series, there's no sense in opting into your bullpen so soon. Thank you, Ron. Now throw some water on your co-worker.
8:30 -- And Lawrence bangs out an infield single! Amazing. Lined a shot down to third that Dobbs really should have had, but the ball ricochets off his glove and behind him, and Paulie huffs in to make the score 3-2. Durbin is reverting to form. Gets Reyes to tap out softly for the third time, though, to end the threat.
8:36 -- Utley, quite sensibly, gets the run back off Lawrence with a towering homer to deep center. 4-2 Philly. The guys coming off the DL look pretty sprightly, I'd say. In related news, Petey is pitching at the moment down in Port St. Lucie. Keep your fingers crossed. Especially you, Antonio Alfonseca.
8:49 -- Howard then powers, for lack of a stronger word, the ball 330 feet on the fly, actually denting the right-field fence with a double. The SNY cameras linger on the mangled chain links for a long moment, as if to say, "Friends don't let Brian Lawrence throw fastballs to Ryan Howard." Poignant stuff. Lawrence then walks Rowand and allows an RBI single to Dobbs to make the score 5-2 before Sosa can get ready. Yuck. He gets out of it.
9:00 -- Castillo singles past a lethargic Howard, who's clearly decided he hits the deck no more than once per evening, but the MVP shoots Durbin's first pitch into Rollins' glove for a double play, and Werth makes a nice stretching catch of a hard-hit Beltran fly. Quick inning for the Phils ...
9:03 -- ... who apparently like Durbin enough that they let him lead off the home sixth. Atlanta is murderlizing the Marlins, the Moose is getting bombed in Detroit. Good. Let's get some chemistry-destroying controversy fomenting.
9:04 -- The SNY cameras then catch Billy the Kid visiting with the Phillies bullpen in between innings. Fraternizing with the enemy with the game in progress is enough of a violation of old-school etiquette that Ron and Keith get a little bit huffy for a second, but only until -- and I shit you not -- the director cuts to the wide view of the bullpens, and the flowers facing the field on the bullpen railings come into view.
Gary: No stopping in? The staircase is on the left ... Keith: Say 'Hi,' wave and go up. Look at the beautiful flowers! Ron -- [laughing] Are those violets? Lilacs? Keith: They're beautiful!
Like children, I swear.
9:10 -- Utley cracks an RBI double, pushing the Phils' lead to 6-2. Dang.
9:17 -- Alou goes quietly, but Mo lines a single through the left side to end Durbin's night. Dangerous move by Not-Manuel, as Durbin's only at 92 pitches and has been pretty solid, and the Phils' bullpen is generally awful.
9:24 -- Alfonseca gives up a single to LoDuca, is promptly pulled. Where is this going?
9:29 -- Apparently, it's going where J.C. Romero is going to retire Conine and Blastings, two lefty-killers, in order to end the threat. Ah, that'll happen.
9:34 -- Gary won't shut up about the Endy-starting-in-right thing. Ron attempts to explain the situation to him very slowly, but it doesn't seem to be taking.
9:41 -- Well, that's going to clinch it. Nobody removes the suspense from a game quite like Scott Schoenweis. To the surprise of few, Chris Coste knocks home Werth, who's gone 3 for 3 and looked tremendous, and then Tad Iguchi comes off the bench to send a two-run shot over the wall in left. 9-2 to the bad guys.
9:55 -- Nothing doing for the top of the Mets order against Flash Gordon. Nada.
10:02 -- Willie throws on Sele to get the Phils in the bottom of the eighth, and he gets Nunez and Rowand before Werth makes it 4 for 4 with a single through the right side. "He's going to have everyone following him at lunch tomorrow," argues Keith. Probably not, actually. "Did you ever feel like they just couldn't get you out?" inquires Gary, sniffing some ass during a blowout. Nothing wrong with that. Keith's reply? "A lot, to be honest with you. It's a wonderful feeling. It's like sitting in a rocking chair." Well then. Who threw the hallucinogens in the press box this time?
10:04 -- During a discussion about "The Natural," the whole booth earns my undying enmity by agreeing that the movie was shot in Chicago. Wrong, assholes. VERY wrong.
10:14 -- Someone named Clay Condrey arrives for mop-up duty, and that'll do it. The Phils knock out 17 hits and get the win they needed to open the series. A thoroughly depressing experience; live-blogging was a horrible decision. At this moment, I dislike all of you.
10:19 -- But hey, the Yanks gave up 20 hits! And we're back!
This could be the best week of the baseball season.
Mets v. Phils. Yanks v. Sox. D-Backs v. Pads.
One of the beauties of working for a baseball team is that I am strongly encouraged to watch these games. And so I will.
As excited as the Mets series makes me, I am just a tad more excited for the Yankees/Sox series. The Yankees are 7.5 back of the Sox and 2.5 back of the Mariners (4 in the loss column) with 32 games to go. As the season gets shorter, the Yankees' chances of actually missing the playoffs grow larger. I don't even know what I would do with myself if that happened.
The atmosphere at Yankee Stadium should be both nuts and extremely tense. The Red Sox have a chance, barring a September miracle, to essentially clinch the American League East with a sweep. It'll be Dice-K, Beckett, Schilling vs. Pettitte, Clemens, Wang. Imagine if the Sox do it in the Bronx. I think I would fly back to New York just to see those sad little faces.
It really doesn't get better than that.
But as exciting as the series, beginning Tuesday, will be, Monday's game for the men in pinstripes is just as important. One more against the Tigers and their ace, Justin Verlander. This game would give the Tigers the series and take them to within a game of the Yanks for the #2 spot in the Wild Card race, also inching them closer to the 1st place Tribe.
More importantly, it would be a series win over the Yankees, everyone's nemesis, which would be a nice little confidence builder going into the stretch run.
But its also be a big game for the Yankees. They don't want to into the Red Sox series down 8 games. They can't keep losing these games to teams they are competing with. Simply put, they need to win now.
So will they be ready for Monday or looking ahead to Tuesday? That's the big question. But the prospect of the Yankees being down 11 games in the East with less than 30 to go is the only hope I need to get me to the long weekend, where I should chase more Demons than I ever had, in Rocky Point, Mexico.
Vaya, Sip
P.S. -- Didn't really know where to fit it in but I wanted to talk about it. Sunday's Little League World Series may have been the most enjoyable ending to any game I have seen since Game 5 of the 1999 NLCS, R.I.P. Rockin' Robin. A walkoff home run for a future good old boy from Georgia. The kid was euphoric; so were his teammates.
The Georgia boys then went and consoled the losing Japanese players with hugs. It was truly a touching moment.
In a time where quarterbacks are fighting dogs, refs are fixing games, and sluggers are rubbing cream on their skin to make them hit the ball farther, there is some truly nice about seeing kids play and love the game. It was just a great moment in sports.
Is there any chance that young hero Dalton Carriker isn't married by weeks end? Man do I wish I was from the South.
The first season in New York went okay for both. Big Mo, 34 years of age, fresh off a 36-HR season in the OC, arrived in 2002 and put up a halfway decent .259/.349/.456 line in 139 games for the Mets, well below what had been expected but not outside the realm of passability for a first baseman. Carlos, by contrast, struggled at times in 2006, but also enjoyed enough hot stretches that his final numbers -- .265/.361/.548 -- turned out to be quite solid for anyone, much less a 34-year-old vet.
And then, at Age 35, both blew up. Kapow. See you at Bikini Atoll.
Mo's story, of course, we all know. A whopping 79 at-bats in 2003, and then a confirmed aisle seat on the Retirement Express. And a standing reservation at the local pizza joint. And waffle joint. I got jokes, baby. But, at this point, despite the fact that there's a lot of season (and postseason, hopefully) left to be played, you'd have to say that Delgado is basically done. Or at least, that's the only thought I can hold in my head after watching him leave 16 runners on base during a three-game set against the Padres.
Should I even be worrying about Carlos after seeing the Mets' staff give up 40 -- count 'em, 40 -- hits to a shitty, shitty offense this week? Mightn't I be a little more concerned about Billy the Kid's sudden impotence, or Lastings' struggles, or Aaron Heilman's determination to suck the life out of the team one appearance at a time?
Well, all those things are on Cheddar's mind, as it happens. But Delgado's struggles are driving a huge, sharpened stick into my cerebellum in a way that none of the other woes are.
Wagner? I trust him. Call me crazy, but I do.
Heilman? Less so, obviously, but I have enough faith in the rest of the Mets' pen, plus the power of a healthy Joe Smith and the laws of variance (hello, Guillermo Mota) that I can push it aside.
But Delgado ... my god. It's to the point right now where you can assume the out in any reasonably big spot; you can assume the out when there's runners on base; you can assume the out whenever the pitcher looks particularly focused or annoyed; you can assume the out when you hear his stupid introduction music come on.
His padded and misleading season line, which includes no more than a half-dozen big hits, sits at a piddling .249/.326/.430, good for a .264 EQA (down from .301 last year, .332 in his big 2005 in Florida). That sucks. That's worse than struggling youngsters like Conor Jackson (.268), worse than the slop being tossed up by former Brave and Y2K off-season target of mockery Adam LaRoche (.273), a damn sight worse than Scott Hatteberg (.287) and Aaron Freaking Boone (.292 in 189 ABs, unbelievably), and down there with the real hackers like Toronto's Lyle Overbay (who's been hurt all year) and, ironically, the guy Delgado was traded for (the also-injured Mike Jacobs, chugging along at .261/.317/.430.
(A quick aside -- saw a great highlight on FSN's Final Score at the gym this morning of Jacobs getting nailed at second base by none other than Rick Ankiel, who barehanded a scorched line drive off the wall and let loose a throw I've never seen anyone else even attempt out of the rightfield corner. Just sickening. And then the FSN announcer teased the highlights of the Washington-Houston game coming up after the break by saying this shit -- "Coming up, the Nats' bats smoke Gats," which would be clever in a fake "Variety" sort of way if it were 1963 and the Astros were still called the Colt .45s ...)
In any case, it's tough to know whether to be shocked about Delgado's collapse. For one, this isn't some shlub off the fluke wire -- this is the latter-day Willie McCovey, a guy with 425 career homers. Even last year, you still didn't want to miss your spots against him -- he was punishing sliders that didn't get down and in, taking pitches away to left field with regularity, and hammering what was left out over the middle.
Now? For sure, he's still hammering the occasional mistake. The power isn't gone. But suddenly, his hot zone has shrunk to the size of Neifi Perez' balls. If the pitch isn't a meatball, Delgado isn't handling it.
Which brings us back to Mo. These things can happen to players of his and Delgado's ilk. We're talking about big, not-especially-athletic, not-especially-mobile sluggers of a certain age; when that certain something in the fast-twitch muscle group goes, it goes fast, and it don't come back. Sluggers, even those of MVP caliber, can drop off the grid like Staten Island, on some "Without a Trace" shit.
Be honest with yourself. Do you think Carlos is coming out of it?
And if not, what do you do about it, for this year and next? (Two years at $16 mil. a pop remaining, of course). Let's push the future aside for a moment and just think about the rest of the regular season and the playoffs -- do you keep running out this guy every day, and hoping he snaps into it?
No, you don't. Not when, presto chango, you've suddenly got a custom-made platoon partner in the form of lefty-mashing Jeff Conine, ready to step in. Omar Minaya has solved the problem for us, not that Willie's ever going to realize it.
Conine, even in a down year for him, has an .803 OPS against southpaws this year (.620 against righties, ugh); his career line against 'em is .300/.371/.486. That's really good. By contrast, Delgado has just been brutal against lefties in 2007, motoring at .253/.303/.367 and striking out 41 times in 150 ABs. That qualifies as useless.
If it's me, I ask Delgado -- who has something of a reputation as a leader, and good guy, and veteran-who-wants-to-win-a-title to live up to -- I ask him to take one for the team and take a seat against lefties. I ask for that sacrifice because he's proven he simply can't him them any more, and he's been murdering rallies in big spots, and you play the game to win.
Will it happen? I don't think so. But I'd like to be proven wrong. The Dodgers are going to throw two soft-tossing lefties at the Mets this weekend -- Eric Stults tomorrow, and the newly-acquired David Wells on Sunday.
If Willie's serious about winning a title this year, we'll see #28 in white take the field at first for at least one of those contests.
So Brian Lawrence didn't get his revenge. Talk about unfulfilled story lines.
How the Mariners keep winning with that pitching staff is beyond me.
That I follow every single one of their games is when you know its time for the pennant chase.
For the first time all season, the Mets are clicking. Sure they lost Wednesday night, but can you remember a 10-day span where the offense has been this productive? A lot of this has to do with the surge of Carlos Beltran, but I think a lot more can be chalked up to the return of Moises Alou. Finally, 1 through 6 the Mets are healthy, and when this lineup is healthy, watch out. We saw it the first 6 weeks of the season when Alou was around and we are seeing it now.
When the offense is there, the Mets are gonna have enough pitching. The Mets don't have a dominant starter. But they do have 4 starters that would crack the top 3 in any other National League rotation.
The Mets' middle relief is not what it was in 2006, but its still above-average, as is Billy Wagner.
For the first time all season, Sip is fully confident in the Mets. Which makes the other races so enjoyable. Every day I can root for the Mariners, Tigers, Indians, Red Sox and Angels. The thought of the Yankees actually not making the playoffs is as pleasurable to me as any that I can think of.
I still don't think its possible, but you never know. The remaining games against the Red Sox are going to be some of the best late-season series in years. For the first time in some time, the Yankees really have something to lose in September. That is crazy and awesome. Every loss will crush them. If only they played the Angels every day instead of the D-Rays. Life's not perfect.
But if the Rangers can score 30 runs in a game, then maybe, just maybe the Yankees can miss the playoffs. What I do know for a fact is that these next 6 weeks are some of the best sports has to offer.
Its crunch time in baseball and the start of football season. By the way, is there anything more annoying than fantasy football coverage/experts?
Enjoy the weekend and this upcoming series against the Dodgers. This series could play a huge part in who we see in the playoffs. Despite their recent slump, the Dodgers are the best all around team in the NL. But a sweep this weekend, and their door could close.
Realize what is going on and turn on baseball tonight.
It's a rare day when so many things seem to please Cheddar Ben at once. To the list!
1) The Mets smack around Herr Hoffman and Der Vaters
The win was big, obviously, with the Braves losing and the Phillies idle -- picking up games and half-games here and there is huge. But it was the way we came back in the ninth that really got me going. There was no bitching, there was no whining, there was no crying about what had happened the inning before (i.e., Home Plate umpire Angel Hernandez squeezing Billy Wagner like a kewpie doll).
We just didn't fool around. Blastings, who had already booted the ball once in right during an 0-fer night, turned on a fastball to lead off the inning, and DiFelice, for all the crap we usually give him, laid down a perfect shuffling bunt to move the runner over. And then Marlon Anderson, Jose Reyes and Luis Castillo all did exactly what you're supposed to do against Hoffman -- stay with the pitch, don't get out ahead, and count on the fact that your bat can beat his low '80s stuff to the contact point.
And they executed, three times in a row, with no blinking, as if the inning had been mapped out ahead of time. That takes a special type of confidence, and right now, the Mets are building up their store of that with every win. Beltran's collecting a cache of whatever quiet substance powers his mojo, Castillo now "feels like he's part of the team," which can't possibly hurt, and the young guys are contributing more and more.
Plus, we can see Endy and Pedro on the horizon. Good times.
2) The Moose gets his
I've never been a fan of Garret Anderson, the player or the person, so congrats to him on a big (10 RBI) night and let's be done with that. But man, is it sad to hear the Yankees broadcasters turn on one of their own. In this case, the victim was the Moose.
Now, Y2K has no love for this crossword-playing hack. He's a decent guy by all accounts, smarter than the average big leaguer and prone to saying the occasional sensible thing in an interview, but he's also a trend-setting free agent scumbag who left the team that developed him for the Evil Empire back when we took it nice and personal.
That said, the man's given a lot to the Yankees over the years; he has 247 career victories; he re-signed with the team over the winter on a below-market, loyalty contract. He deserves, in other words, a little credit from the team's in-house media arm. Or, conversely, he shouldn't have to deal with out and out hostility the moment he falters.
Well, he got exactly that from the comedy duo of Sterling and Waldman Tuesday night. They just LAID into Mike from the moment he took the hill, warning their listeners over and over again that the Moose hadn't looked good the last time out, that his ERA this year was up, ad nauseum. And when the struggles actually began? Forget about it.
"Self-important, self-congratulatory thinking ... you're listening to the Yankees radio network."
Sterling takes everything so personally, as if the Moose were trying to give up doubles into the gap to every batter. "It's easily got to be the worst outing of his career," he fumes, and then when Suzyn tells him about a worse start back in Baltimore, he doesn't believe her. Then this non-sequitur -- "Well, he couldn't have picked a worse time for it." You know what? Fuck you, buddy.
3) Radomski snitches
As juicy as this story already is, it ought to be be labeled with a massive DEVELOPING sign because:
-- We don't know how many, if any, Mets are involved
-- We don't know who else he named
-- We don't know what, if anything, Mitchell and Selig can do with that information.
All of these things are likely to come out sooner or later, most likely before the official Mitchell Report is delivered. What I'm hoping is that we start getting a couple of these ESPN pre-confessions, a la David Segui, from guys who know their goose is cooked and want to get ahead of the media cycle.
Benny Agbayani, I'm looking in your direction.
4) The latest "Sacrifice the Future" column arrives
Oh, happy day! Dan Graziano of the Star-Ledger took the prize this time, arguing -- in all seriousness -- that the careful plan the Yankees have for developing their flamethrowing young prospect (who's all of 21, mind you) -- ought to be immediately abandoned in favor of ... being irresponsible with him.
See, there's a chance that Chamberlain's future lies in the bullpen -- that instead of being the heir to Roger Clemens in the Yankees' starting rotation, he's the heir to Mariano Rivera in their bullpen. And if that's the case, they look back on 2007 and wish they'd treated him as a real relief pitcher, rather than some porcelain doll they had to handle just the right way.
There's no scenario in which they wish any such thing. If you want to argue that making the postseason is far and away the most important thing to the team, and they can't hold back under any circumstances, fine. Go ahead and say it. By any reasonable standard, the next five years of Joba Chamberlain's career are far more valuable to the Yankees than the rest of this season; and that's counting the monetary impact of making the playoffs, which is not insubstantial. Already pitching in a new role, already pitching in a higher-stress environment than any he's ever experienced, the priority has to be NOT RUINING HIS ARM.
But that's not even what Graziano's saying. His argument is that the only way the Yanks can trust Joba to be a setup man or closer next year is if they force him to audition for the role right now. Which is fucking nonsense.
He also drags Joel Zumaya into the argument, which is fine except for the fact that Chamberlain has four pitches to Zumaya's two, not to mention mechanics that look like they can actually stand up to being a starter. Graziano tries to finesse this by getting a quote from Tigers GM Dave Dombrowski, who's literally never seen Chamberlain pitch before, on the comparison:
I'd say there are some similarities, from what I've seen," he said. "He seems like a maximum-effort guy, a real hard thrower.
Yeah, sounds like you've put a lot of thought into it, Dave. Why don't you stick to having Sean Casey as a first baseman and get back to me when you know something?
5) Screamin' A, out in Philly
This won't affect most of us, as our exposure to ESPN's Stephen A. Smith comes primarily through his work on, well, ESPN. NBA Fastbreak, the weekend SportsCenters, the late and unlamented Quite Frankly, etc. But let's all put our hands together for Philly Inquirer sports editor Bill Marimow and his sensible, if utterly belated, realization that having a highly-paid columnist who doesn't give two shits about his job isn't worth the scratch.
Really enjoyable Yankee loss last night. Now to business.
It looks like the Michael Vick story is finally done. The People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals are happy that a celebrity is going to prison. Americans, disgusted by Vick's actions are happy that he is going down. But you want to know who the happiest person I know is with regards to the Vick trial?
My good buddy, a die hard Ravens fan who has found his replacement for Steve McNair for the 2009 season.
This is America and this is sports. Don Imus is back on the air 6 months after making very racist comments in a country where Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson have as much if not more societal influence than PETA
Ray Lewis killed someone.
Mike Tyson raped someone.
They all returned to what they were doing shortly after the times they committed their sins. The reason. It was spun well and Americans turned their shoulder.
Michael Vick brutally murdered dogs.
And guess what? When he is freed from jail in 18 months and he makes a statement about how sorry he is and he starts a series of anti-dog fighting groups to combat the people he once was, everyone will forgive and forget.
Americans feel great for condemming Vick today. When our celebrities make mistakes, we love to talk about them, because it makes us normal feel better about ourselves. But in 2 years, when this is old news, Americans will forgive and forget.
Because Americans want their teams to win championships and see the best players on the field. It might not be right, but it will happen.
There is nothing I hate more the coverage of celebrity trials. Especially when they are sports celebrities and the first 20 minutes of Sports Center features legal experts that look like every person that goes to my temple.
When I watch SportsCenter I want to see sports, not the court room. I didn't go to law school for a log of reasons, but the main one is that I like sports more.
So with the Vick saga finally behind us, Mets fans can FINALLY fully concentrate on baseball. And while we should still be skeptical, there is a lot of reason to at least feel a little excitement.
The reason: Pedro????
Is Pedro going to come back. He had an awesome start on Monday. He threw 5 innings of 2-hit, 0 ER baseball in a Single A rehab start, by far and away, his best start of his comeback.
When the Yankees signed Roger Clemens I talked about how the signing of Clemens would be huge for the team for two potential reasons. First, Clemens the pitcher. He could have been a #1 starter and any ballclub could use that infusion.
The second, the psychological aspect. When Roger Clemens pitches for you every fifth night instead of Jeff Karstens, you go from having a pitcher you think you will lose with to a pitcher you think you will win with. You go from a rookie to an ace.
As much as I love Brian Lawrence and feel that Lawrence's first start as a Met against his original team should garner backpage headlines like "REVENGE" or "PAYBACK," I would be much happier if Lawrence and his 82 mph fastball never started again in a Met uniform.
Having Pedro out there every fifth day would be huge emotional and psychological boost for this team, even if Pedro is no better than Brian Lawrence. More fans will be in the seats, players will spend a couple of extra minutes at the front of the dugout. Good things will come.
Will Pedro pitch for the Mets this season? I'll still doubt it till I see it.
But it looks more and more like Sip will yet again be wrong. And when Pedro comes back, even if he is nothing more than a fifth starter, it will be an awesome addition to our ballclub.
Oh, and Jeff Conine is a nice guy to have around, too. He'll be the best right-handed bat off our bench, an area of weakness all year. Seems like a nice move.
Hell of a weekend for the Glass Man. One of my best friends from college lives in DC and he'd been meaning to have a blowout weekend when all his boys came down. Better yet for me, one of his connections supplies him with tickets at RFK Stadium, and with the Mets down in DC for a set with the Nats, it just made too much sense to make this past weekend the time.
RFK Stadium is kind of a dump, that's just the way it is. It's what Shea would look like if they hadn't given the old girl a new paint job several years back and if it were closed in the outfield rather than open (one of Shea's real perks in my opinion is the open outfield, I've always liked that).
More important than the stadium though were the seats we had. The big fella hooked us up -- these were easily the best seats I've had to a game this year, the best since I watched Pedro's first start of 2006 from about 15 rows back of home plate in the field box at Shea.
There were two sets of seats, ones right behind home plate, maybe 10 rows back, and another set maybe 20 feet beyond first base in the second row of the stadium.
For the majority of the game I held down the latter. This allowed me to tell Rickey Henderson he was the greatest, which he acknowledged, and young Lastings that he was the truth, which he did not acknowledge. Asshole.
None of that compared to the moment when I saw a distinctly familiar figure making his way down to the press box immediately to my right. I knew that light blue polo shirt, I knew that cow lick. It was him.
"OK Kevin Burkhardt!" I shouted. Burkhardt turned and acknowledged my enthusiasm, before proceeding further down to the press box. It was then that I resolved to wait the situation out and plug Y2K with a regular SNY legend.
Regular readers know how I felt about Chris Cotter. With his blend of good-natured commentary and fresh-from-a-keg-stand looks, Cotter captured the hearts of SNY viewers from the first. When word came out that the Cott wouldn't be back doing the broadcasts in Year 2, we were devastated.
Not saying we don't miss Cotter around here, but Burkhardt has taken the job and made it his own.
And so I waited him out. There was no other exit, so Burkhardt would have to come up my aisle again (luckily I had an aisle seat). When he did so I called him over, told him I thought he was doing a good job, and that I wished him well. In one fluid motion out came his hand; I'll tell you what, the man gives a hell of a handshake.
It was then that I dropped Y2K on him.
I wish I could tell you he was a loyal reader. I wish I could tell you he'd been here from the first. I wish I could tell you he comments under the pen name "worndownboyboy". Alas, Burkhardt had never heard of Y2K. Salt.
But I sure as hell told him to check it out, and I mentioned he should feel welcome to drop a word or two about it on the air. We'll see if that happens, but either way the seed's been planted. Next step is getting Sip into the General Manger's seat.
After talking a little Y2K, discussion turned to his transition from radio to television; Burkhardt moonlights as a broadcaster for Cyclones games, so we talked a bit about that.
All in all, it was a good talk. Burkhardt seemed like a really good guy, albeit one who could be improved by reading Y2K regularly.
It was all gravy after our meeting. I never got a ball for these two little girls sitting in the seats next to me -- one of whom, no older than 8 years old, danced like a complete hoochie every time a rap song came on; think McAdams' sister in Mean Girls.
But the real key takeaway from the night was Denver D's' little trick for scoring free beer at ballgames. Buy your first round, drink it until there's a small pool remaining at the bottom, then douse yourself with the remaining beer.
I was skeptical; there was no way they'd fall for that, I said. Sure enough, D's got round after round of free beer by claiming some little punk had run in to him, causing him to spill his beer. "It was my fault, really", he'd say. It sure was.
Needless to say, at our second dinner, around 11:30, Denver D's fell out of his chair.
Last thing about the Nats: say what you will about the stadium and the team, but they've really cultivated a nice little fanbase down there in DC.
Anyway, hell of a weekend for our boys. This one was gratifying. I read on ESPN last week that the Nats had a better record than the Mets over the last 75 games. Not the kind of thing you want to read. Coming in to DC and sweeping the series was just what we needed.
And as Nails wrote me last night, how about a little perspective. With a 5-game cushion on the Phillies, no first-place team owns a larger lead over their closest competition than the Mets.
A former Mets massage therapist who was busted for allegedly sexually assaulting a customer also got some major-league thrills by holding swingers' parties and X-rated video shoots in his East Side spa, a sensational lawsuit claims.
The papers filed in Manhattan Supreme Court add a new woe for Carlos Araque and his Essential Therapy spa. Another physical therapist, Marty Jaramillo, said he subleased space from Araque because he "represented that he was a duly licensed massage therapist, that his reputation as that of Essential was stellar," and that being associated with him would be good for business. ... Araque, 44, who'd worked sporadically for the Mets for two years and treated the likes of Jose Reyes and Mike Piazza, was also charged with a felony - for giving massages without a license.
Scene: A dingy, anonymous East Side coffee shop. New York Police Detective LANCE RIGGS sits at a corner booth, swilling bad coffee and occasionally glancing at his folded copy of the Daily News. In the background, bacon sizzles. Paint peels off the baseboards. Enter MARTY, the informant, who gingerly walks past the booth once before quickly sidling into place across from Riggs. He wears a brown trench coat and weathered fedora, and breathes heavily.
Riggs: So, you're the guy who ...
Marty: Stop! [Leans forward violently] I don't have much time. You have no idea how bad it is there. I'm taking a huge risk just by coming.
Riggs: Well, why don't you tell me what's going on?
Marty: Oh, I'll tell you. It's ... sex.
Riggs: Did you say, "sex?"
Marty: That's right. Sex. [Pounds fist on table]. Tons of it. All over the club. It's a madhouse. A madhouse!
Riggs: [Shifts his weight, puts right hand on service revolver at hip]. Um, O.K. This is about the spa, right? I checked the files. We looked into that place last year, after the owner was accused of molesting that woman during a massage. But those charges were dropped, and they only got him on a violation for not having a license. What else is going on? Have you seen him do something illegal with a customer?
Marty: [Not listening] Dirty whores, grinding all over the Italian leather chairs. Filthy women, their filthy legs, spread out like the Lincoln Tunnel at all hours of the night. On the imported rugs. Do you know how much those cost? Disgusting! And the men they bring. Brutish, nasty things, all buffed up and smug with their mustaches, about 6-foot-3...
Riggs: Awfully big mustaches.
Marty: ... bouncing in front of the cameras with no shame for hours at a time. And then the makeup. And then more bouncing, and they add the dark-haired guy with the goatee who's been standing in the corner for a while, they shift the cameras around to get in from another angle, and the girls start moaning again, and then they yet, "Cut!" because someone's nipple fell out of frame, and they have to re-do the whole thing. It's shameful, I say. Where's the decency?
Riggs: Nipple, eh?
Marty: Now, I'm no prude. I like women as much as the next guy. But the things that they do there, detective. The things that they do! I had no idea what a fluffer was until last month. No idea. I was perfectly happy living my life not knowing that such a thing existed. Now? It's all I can think about.
Riggs: Er, yeah. Listen, if they're shooting x-rated films at this place without a permit, that's certainly something we can get into. I can have somebody from vice get into it later this month, after the Team Facelift investigation is complete. But it doesn't sound like there's a whole lot of criminal behavior here.
Marty: Detective, you've got children, as I understand it.
Riggs: I do. Two boys, as a matter of fact
Marty: Are they baseball fans?
Riggs: Of course. Big Mets fans. Been taking them to games since they could walk. Before, even! Oh, it's a bit of a family tradition, I'd say.
Marty: [Licks his lips] Do your boys have a favorite player, by any chance?
Riggs: You know, I can't imagine why, but they're just crazy for that Paul LoDuca! They love him! I had to buy them matching jerseys just to get them off my back, and now they wear them everywhere. [Laughs] Every time he comes to the plate, my son D'Brickashaw points at the television and says, "Daddy, look. It's Paul DoLuca!" Oh, it's the cutest thing you've ever seen! It's actually getting a little disturbing, because he's 10 years old now, and we're really hoping he's not retarded, but damned if he can pronounce the name right. And then my other boy, Jeremetrius, he's 14 and the starting catcher on his travel team. He'll be going out for varsity in a couple of weeks. Very excited.
Marty: That's what I'd heard. Well, it sounds like Paul LoDuca's very important to your family. Let me just say this, detective. It would be a ... shame if something bad were to happen to him.
Riggs: I'm not sure I follow.
Marty: Oh, you know. If some ... unfortunate details were to emerge about his ... private life. Unsavory details. Details that just might break your sons' delicate hearts.
Riggs: You mean some more.
Marty: Pardon?
Riggs: You mean, "More unfortunate details." Man, you're probably going to try to sit here and whisper in my ear that you've seen Paul LoDuca going into this club or whatever for orgies or sex movies and whatnot. That you've got the dirt on all the freaky shit he does in the spa. That you'll rat him out to the papers, or cause a big stink if I don't do something for you, or promise an investigation. That about right? I've got you pegged, asshole?
Marty: [Gurgles, freezes]
Riggs: First of all, fuck you. This meeting is over. Second, you don't know nothing about my boys. We already went through this last summer after Paul got caught fucking that high school girl out on Long Island. And you know what? They know that's just a pimp being a pimp. We gave him MAJOR props for taking that down. Look, my boys know the deal. They know a fine piece of young ass when they see one, just like Paul. And they know how a real mack handles his business. Why do you think he's their favorite Met, stupid?
Marty: I don't ...
Riggs: [Stands up] If Paul's been taking down housewives two at a time after they get massages, that's fine with me. In fact, it's better than fine. I hope he's recording it for posterity. Now get out of my sight, you blackmailing fuck. Go tell it to the judge. I've got criminals to chase.
Marty: [Jerks out of the booth, holding onto his hat, and runs out of coffee shop.]
Riggs: [Sits back down. Takes sip of coffee, picks up police radio.] Lester, this is Lance. I'm over on Lex right now. You can call this in as a 10-41 Mike.
Radio: Do you need backup? Should I send units to your position?
Riggs: Hold on, no. Use your head, Lester. You're thinking of a 10-51 Mike. That's a drunk and disorderly Lastings Milledge. It's 10 in the morning, for god's sake. This is a 10-41 Mike.
Radio: I don't think I've ever heard that one used before.
Riggs: [Sighs] Well, you're new. It's the code for a Paul LoDuca sex club sighting. [Takes a long pull of coffee, gathers coat, stands.] We get them all the time.
I don't hate that the Yankees win. I hate why they win.
I don't hate that the Yankees have so many fans. I hate why they have so many fans.
Hate is even too strong of a word. Better, I find it wrong that these two things take place.
1. I don't hate that the Yankees win. I hate why they win.
The Yankees win because they have more resources than anyone else. As I have discussed, the Yankees are not exceptional managers of their talent. They have wasted tens of millions of dollars on players who get hurt, suck, cheat, are not worth their investment (Giambi, Igawa, Kevin Brown, Randy Johnson, Carl Pavano etc.).
But these shortcomings don't faze the Yankees like they would 3/4 of major league baseball teams. This is because the Yankees play in a different financial galaxy. They outspend the other teams in baseball by so much that they naturally will put a team on the field with superior talent.
In the short term, in baseball more than all sports, a team with more talent can lose. You saw this when the Yankees slumped through the first two months of the seasons. And you have seen it in their many postseason failures over the course of the new millenium.
But in the long term, the Yankees will be the game's best. With no salary cap in place the Yankees can simply keep plugging holes with superior talent. They can invest more in free agency and of more recent importance, in the draft, where this year like many in the past, the Yankees selected a player, Andrew Brackmen, a top 5 talent at the 30th pick, because other teams did not want to pay him the hefty demand that his agent Scott Boras would demand.
I don't hate the Yankees for winning. I hate them for why they win.
I don't hate the Patriots or the Spurs. If I were a Jet fan, I might hate the Patriots as my rival. For these reasons I loathe the Phillies and the Braves. But these teams all play within a system that the rest of their sport plays in.
Salary caps balance sports. Teams that happen to excel at managing the salary cap, I can only applaud. The Knicks can not, and they are an embarassment. But to just have more money does not make you a better organization. It just makes you a more winning organization.
This is why I do not like the Yankees. I think it's the cheap way to win. (Ed's note: Not literally, of course).
I don't hate that the Yankees have so many fans. I hate why they have so many fans.
Growing up in the 80's the Yankees were a joke. Their teams failed and no one cared. In the mid-late 90's, the Yankees got good and the fans jumped.
I'm human. I know that fans love winners and more people will come to games when a team is winning.
But it is the MAJOR jump over the past 5 years, once the Yankees were already the best team in baseball, but after the Yanks started to really show flex their financial superiority that bothers me.
In 1992, when the Yankees were stumbling, the team averaged an abysmal 21,589 fans per game, 11th in the American League.
In 1996, the year the Yankees first became New York's sweethearts, the Yankees averaged 27,789 fans per game.
In 2000, the year of their fourth championship, the Yankees averaged 37,956 fans per game.
In 2004, when the Yankees had cemented themselves as a $200,000,000 payroll team, the Yankees averaged 46,609 fans per game.
In 2007, with an all-star team en toute, the Yankees average 52,330 fans per game. (Numbers courtesy of Baseball Prospectus)
These jumps are staggering. I don't even really know what to think of them. I guess it never really bothered me when the Yankees got popular in the late 90's. They were winning a lot after New York had not seen a winner in almost 15 years. "Non-fans" became "fans" and "casual fans" became "excited fans."
It happens.
But the jump over the last couple of years is what bothers me, and why I don't like Yankee fans.
Over the last 5 years, the Yankees have truly differentiated themselves from the game of baseball.
In 2002 the Yankees had a payroll of $138.5 Mil. But 5 other teams(Red Sox, Diamondbacks, Mets, Texas, Dodgers) were all above $100 mil.
The Yankees were outspending, but not to the point where it was nuts.
In 2007, the Yankees have a payroll of $196 mil. While the Sox have jumped to $140, the other five 9-figure payroll teams below them have not changed, all floating around $100 million.
Here in lies my problem.
I don't like the financial disparity. That is obvious.
But I really don't like how this financial disparity correlates with a major increase in attendance and popularity. The Yankees average almost 15,000 more fans per game than they did at their peak of success in 2000. That new fans support this egregrious error in baseball disgusts me.
People supporting a monopoly.
So yet again, the "Yankee basher" Sip has talked over the last couple of weeks of how the Yankees are again the best team in baseball, and his millions of fans have been irked by this "soft stance" from the "tough" Mets fan.
That the Yankees are winning now doesn't shock me or even bother me because it is so obvious and expected. In the long run, over a 162 game season, this team will be here everytime.
But, as the increments get smallers, 40 games to go in the season, 7 games in a playoff series, this is when the Yankees "edge" gets smaller and smaller.
And this is when it gets fun to really get involved.
It's always something when the Mets play in Pittsburgh, where we've lost three straight series. This is what happens when the team keeps sneaking out late to break into the Andy Warhol Museum. Anyway, last night I'm sitting at the new neighborhood Park Slope hangout, sipping on a club soda (weak) and eating my steak salad (rare, son) when Blastings pulls out one of his patented hustle specials in the top of the third inning and slides into second with a bloop double down the right field line. There's nobody out, and up steps Mike DiFelice.
El Duque looks like shit at this point and we're down 2-0, so I'm a little salty, and the sight of this guy coming to bat does me no good. I immediately start composing today's post in my head. The mind races, the internal pen starts scratching. "Catcher injuries plague Mets," I scowl to myself. "Willie shouldn't have been so quick to put Paulie on the DL." "DiFelice couldn't hit his way out of a wet paper bag with scissors in his hands." And so forth. I got myself going into a nice froth, violently jabbing at my sliced steak with my fork like I was trying to lance a boil. (Ask your parents).
Then, naturally, Ian Snell tosses up a hanging slider that DiFelice clobbers off the base of the wall in left, Blastings strolls home from second base, and I nearly cough a wad of arugula into the face of the bartendress, Liz, who's already giving me dirty looks for ordering soda with lime while all the other guys at the bar are buying multiple rounds of Amstel Lights and shots of Sauza. "That was a close one, honey," thinks Cheddar, who clears his throat and leans back in the stool, face quickly reddening. John, the thick-armed business type in a blue work shirt sitting next to me at the bar, prepares to deliver a Brooklyn-sized slap on the back. I hold onto the salad, though, and begin re-evaluating the post.
Not by much, though. I've already said my piece about DiFelice, and the guy's hitting .282 with 7 HR at New Orleans, so it's not like he's not going to be a drain on the lineup. But even with Castro getting cortisone shots in his back and Paulie stomping out of the clubhouse and whining like a high school girl about being benched, it looks like a short-term thing, so there's no use getting too worked up about it. And honestly, there's not a ton to do -- the Mets don't have any organizational depth at catcher to speak of, and it'll be a cold day in hell before you find me pining for Sandy Alomar, Jr. In this century, at least.
We can, however, okay a hit on this headline writer. A thousand pounds for the scalp, as well as a hundred for any bowman caught poaching one of the King's deer.
Couple of Thrilledge notes, including, first, a warning about small sample sizes. As much as I like how the kid's been playing, and as strongly as I like to advocate more playing time, the fact remains that hitting .307 with some pop in just over 100 at-bats doesn't prove anything one way or another about his future. Sure, he's been dynamite recently, and each new day brings additional evidence about his talent (in several directions, including that meandering catch last evening), but the whole point is he needs to receive even more looks so we know what we're dealing with: trade bait, marginal starter, solid regular, potential superstar. You know where I stand, but as with an evaluation of Jessica Alba's ass, more study is advised.
Which makes things like this, which popped up on Metsblog a couple days ago, that much more ridiculous. Reader "Derek" wrote to Cerrone to argue that the Jew shouldn't be benched in favor of Blastings because ...
In 19 at-bats against Tim Hudson, John Smoltz, Aaron Harang, Greg Maddux, David Wells, Jake Peavy and Brad Penny, i.e., playoff-caliber pitchers, Lastings Milledge is batting .157, with most of his plate appearances coming against the Brewers, Nationals, Pirates, Marlins, Reds and Cubs. ... Meanwhile, Shawn Green is batting .487 in 39 at-bats against the same six pitchers, as well as Carlos Zambrano, Roy Oswalt and Brandon Webb, which includes going 8–for-11 against Smoltz.
He then caps it off with this line -- "Come playoff time, against big pitchers, I’d rather have Green up at bat than Milledge if we’re talking about winning this year."
Well, if 19 at-bats is steering your thinking in one direction or another, you've got problems. The other issue here is this concept of a "playoff-quality pitcher," a term that apparently encompasses David "Out of Baseball" Wells. Here are, in order, the starting pitchers the Mets faced during the postseason last year:
Penny Hong-Chih Kuo Greg Maddux Jeff Weaver Chris Carpenter Jeff Suppan Al Reyes Carpenter Suppan
Clearly, you tend not to see No. 4 and 5 starters as much come playoff time, and the overall level of pitching tends to be better than what exists during a long, draining regular season. But every playoff starter isn't an ace, and plenty of potential playoff teams don't have more than one, if that. What Blastings did during his debut against the D-Backs would seem to have no connection to what he might do against, say, Doug Davis in a playoff series, right? I just don't follow the logic. Also, looking at a new player's numbers while going through the best hurlers in the league for, by definition, the first time, doesn't seem to be especially fair. Green's seen all of these clowns for years -- and as we know, familiarity breeds contempt.
Also, check out this report from UniWatch member and Mets batboy Matt Harris, who apparently was behind Blastings' glorious appearance in full stirrups on Saturday. Somebody promote this kid.
Finally, a quick note about Pedro, who's aching to get back into the big leagues. I say you've got to trust him on this sort of thing, and at least give him a run out at some point. He's a big boy, h knows his body as well as anyone, and given all the weird shit he works on down in the DR with his own trainers, it's not like the Mets' staff are even necessarily the experts here.
"I like this outing a lot more than the other one," Martinez said. "I am more in command, and I actually felt like I pitched a little bit, making pitches where I wanted to, and overall it was a jump ahead. It was a great improvement."
The results, of course, aren't at all the important thing. It's feel, it's command, it's confidence. So, if he still feels like he's good on normal recovery, you give him another start and then you bring him back into the MLB fold -- unless something changes. Let Petey be Petey, that's what I say.
My favorite rap group, Team Facelift, finally got their due (as noted by my main man A.F.O.M.G.).
My favorite baseball player, Eric Byrnes, got a pretty good contract. 3 and 30 is a lot of money. But contrary to what Cheddar Ben wrote, Byrnesy was worth a lot more. It's not just cause I like him, it's just baseball. I would argue more, but one article on Eric Byrnes is enough for this non-Diamondback rooting audience.
Two good friends of mine from days in S.F. got married. They are about the nicest people in the world and the perfect couple. It was my first "Friend" wedding and it was just a ton of fun. I had a heck of a crew back in S.F. and they were all there (sans a few) to celebrate the perfect occasion. It was just really nice.
Things seemed to be coming up Sip. They really did.
Except for the you-know-who's that play in our city that have over the last month, solidified themselves as the "Best Team in Baseball."
I don't need to rub it in. But for all of you guys that were hating on the Sip back in June when I told you this would happen, only to scorn me and call me a trader, well...fuck you.
With Phillip Hughes back on the hill, the Yankees march out a No. 2 starter or better every single night.
Their lineup, with A-Rod playing like the best player in baseball, Jeter being DJ, Abreu back, and Jorge Posada all of a sudden looking like Jack Parkman, is the game's best.
Yes, the middle of the pen is shaky. But recently it just hasn't mattered. It seems like this team is winning 11-4 every single night. But what happens when Phil Hughes is pitching the 6th and 7th inning come October? Oh, and don't forget "Joba Time." All of a sudden the one weakness may be a strength.
Put it all together and we as haters of those pesky Bombers are in a very scary place. When the Sox were up 14 games a few months back everyone wrote off the season. But even with 2004 behind them and the curse finally lifted, these are still the Yankees and these are still the Red Sox. It's the classic case of a favorite vs. an underdog and the favorite will always be the Yankees.
I told my buddy KFC about 2 weeks ago that the Yankees would win the division by at least 3 games. Today, I'm willing to take that number up to 4.
Should make for some awesome Sox-Yanks series come season's end, which to me is when baseball is most enjoyable from an objective stand point. So that is pretty cool.
As for those pesky Amazins...
They're still in 1st place. Not one real solid string of consecutive weeks all season and they remain at the top. You have to think this team is due. With Beltran and Alou both in the lineup, lets see what this team can do. The one thing I want to see happen that won't is getting Carlos Delgado back in the cleanup spot. I think that could really get him going. He certainly has shown flashes of late.
I wouldn't count on Pedro. But that doesn't matter. He'd be good for 6 starts at best in the regular season and I doubt he would crack the postseason rotation- let alone roster.
Baseball is exciting in New York again. Fact is, when the game's greatest villains are not in the mix, there is something missing. Now that they are back, there's a reason to check the AL scoreboard every night.
Wow. The official rap group of Y2K broke loose this week as they were featured on MTV as the station's Artist of the Week.
I got in to Team Facelift in the winter of my senior year of college (2005). These were the days when a young and fiery A.F.O.M.G. had a fire in his belly and an itch in his wallet, compelling him to play Texas Hold 'Em every chance he had.
This brought me down to the legendary apartment where Sip lived his first year out of college. The massive pad in the shadows of Madison Square Garden always had a game going, and in the background blaring over the speakers was an up and coming rap group called Team Facelift.
One of Sip's roommates was the manager of the group for a time. I understand that ended badly but never got the details. I did get a copy of Mix Tape Vol. 1, however, and in no time me and my friends were singing along to "World Tour", "New York is Dead" and "BFFAE".
Did I ever imagine someday this ridiculous rap group that rhymed about "wearing bulletproof vests and riding horses" would amount to anything more than that rap group my friend used to manage? Well, yes and no.
The way I feel about Team Facelift is this: their product is genuinely unique. I don't listen to a lot of rap music, but I have a general sense of what's out there and as far as I can tell Team Facelift is a completely different type of rap group. They're as boastful as other rappers, sure, but when you boast about being the Jewish Derek Harper, well, it strikes a different note.
The question then for the Facelift Gang was whether there was an audience out there for three white guys who rapped about being kiddie porn producers ("Ding dong/ I'm a kiddie porn producer/ White suit/ Black tie/ Unshaven loser/ With child abuser hair/ I'm looking for a kid for my next film/ It's entitled/ 'Slut in the Booster Chair'"), richer than God ("When sweat builds up on my balls and my palms/ I don't use Gold Bond/ I use old bonds") or David Dinkins.
If there was an audience for that kind of rap music these guys would fill the vacuum, if for no other reason than that absolutely nobody else could.
So here's hoping they really build some momentum off of this MTV appearance. A friend of mine compared Team Facelift getting featured on MTV to Y2K getting featured on ESPN; and besides, Fat Jew's a big Mets fan. Congratulations guys, best of luck.
Cam'ron
Caught this 60 Minutes segment earlier where Anderson Cooper, the Silver Fox to you and me, investigated the rap game's "No Snitching" policy.
Honestly, this shit is completely insane. I appreciate that African-Americans have been the victims of unfair police harrassment and that every community has its own values, but when Cam'ron says he would not report a serial killer living next door to the police, it's like, something is seriously, seriously fucked here.
New Shea!
Caught the Mets game from home on Friday, got depressed. Before that though I was really impressed with the music I could hear them playing over the loud speakers at Shea. Except on exceedingly rare occassions, I don't listen to any FM radio at all, so I really have very little concept of what music is actually popular right now.
That said, I never would have guessed that Peter Bjorn and John would be popular enough to get a spin at Shea, but sure enough, there they were between innings the other night. The Mets played their song "Young Folks" between innings at Shea the other night. The album that song is off, Writer's Block, is really solid. If it's good enough for the Mets what are you waiting for?
Old Mets!
Just more of the same ho-hum kinda ball being played by our boys right now. It's likely that they'll make the playoffs, but up 3 and 3.5 games on the Braves and Phillies, they're by no means a lock, and sometimes when you watch them play you wonder if they're aware of that.
All season long it's been a bit like watching regular season basketball where teams go through the motions before turning it on in the postseason. That's all well and good in basketball, but here, you know, you actually have to be good to make the playoffs, and the Mets haven't been good in quite some time. If I'm not mistaken, they're actually a sub-.500 team the past two months (or right around .500 anyway).
That doesn't cut it. Hopefully they find that higher gear again soon. They had it the first two months this season but it hasn't been seen in quite some time. Injuries and all, it's all very strange.
Q: Who would you say is the most underrated sports broadcast personality right now?
Al: In a slightly different vein here, an old partner of mine is a guy that I think is the best baseball analyst out there and that’s Tim McCarver. And Tim I wouldn’t say is underrated, but he has been around so long that there are varying opinions of him. I’ll read some negative stuff about Tim but having worked with him and listened to him and knowing how hard he works, he brings a very fresh perspective to the game and comes in different doors like few others. I don’t think there is the appreciation of Tim that there should be.
I've killed men for less. "Comes in different doors like few others?" You get paid to talk to a living, do you?
Also, Bruce Jenkins plays "One of these things is not like the other" in today's San Francisco Chronicle.
It was a rare night of laughter for La Russa, who has had to endure countless injuries, his own DUI arrest, the death of relief pitcher Josh Hancock and substance-abuse issues for Scott Spiezio (now in a rehabilitation program) during one of the most challenging seasons any manager has had to face. For all of their problems, the Cardinals still have Albert Pujols, Jim Edmonds, Scott Rolen and David Eckstein.
Jules: I wouldn't go so far as to call a dog filthy but they're definitely dirty. But, a dog's got personality. Personality goes a long way.
Vincent: Ah, so by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?
Jules: Well, we'd have to be talkin' about one charmin' motherfuckin' pig. I mean he'd have to be ten times more charmin' than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I'm sayin'?
-Pulp Fiction
I'll spare you the suspense -- D-Backs outfielder Eric Byrnes and his soft new $30 million contract extension are the pig in the metaphor, okay? Let's all start off on the same page.
Now, does Eric Byrnes have personality? You're damn right he does. There's a reason the main man Sip is such a big fan of this guy. He's been described by Sip, as recently as yesterday, as "the heart and soul of the team;" his influence was also compared to that exerted by Captain Courageous on the Yanks' fanbase. Those are strong words, made by a man known for having his finger on the pulse of a region.
There's no question -- Byrnes is a dude. He's a man's man. He's got flopsy blond hair like a surfer, the type you just want to run up to and muss around until the coyotes come home. He's a wit, a cutup, a card and a character. He's telegenic, as evidenced by his truly awful appearances on FOX's baseball coverage, the ones where he usually sits at the studio desk next to Kevin Kennedy looking awkward in a hideous suit with boxy shoulders. Maybe he can use some of the money to find a decent haberdasher out in the desert. Probably not.
He's also, by all accounts, a leader of men. This is no small point for Arizona, a team blessed with as much young talent as any team and the league and arguably the most, with only Tampa and the two L.A. franchises having possible beefs. You know the names, if not the games -- Drew, Upton, Young, Jackson, Quentin, Scherzer, Petit, Owings. The kids are going to be players.
But there's truly a strong case to be made for veteran presence in a situation like this. I'll save everyone the trouble and present it myself; the argument is that the young players need a strong model not only to emulate and pattern their style after, but also to serve as the face of the franchise, so as to prevent one of them from having to serve in that role and possibly distract or detract from their own development. The kiddos can focus on their swings.
In this scenario, the veteran (Byrnes) isn't only a sage presence within the clubhouse; he's the external lightning rod and magnet for trouble. He's the face of the team. He makes everyone else better by his very presence.
Okay. But the question must inevitably turn to just how motherfuckin' charming a pig Byrnes is, and how much value to extend to the positive surfer externalities associated with his dirty uniform and drawl. Because in baseball terms, the contract extension is a disaster.
(Just to get it out of the way, I'm totally unconvinced by any and all dispositive claims that a franchise's fans will rebel or quit supporting the team when a popular player leaves. I'm a Sabres fan, and I watched as our GM let Mike Peca -- a homegrown superstar, mind you, not a player who's been on the roster for approximately 18 months, and way more established as the face of the franchise than Byrnes -- was let go over money. We all screamed bloody murder for years. And guess what? The tickets still got sold, and the jerseys still got bought. The newspaper writers had space to fill, and guess what? They wrote articles about the new guys on the team, who then became popular. In retrospect, seeing what Peca did over the life of his contract, you could have gone either way on the signing; might have been worth it, maybe not. Given the non-economic benefits of Peca, it probably would have been better to sign him than not. But life, in other words, goes on. And any GM that doesn't have the sack to stand up there in front of the podium and say, "Look, we all love such and such, but this was the right move" doesn't deserve the title.)
At age 31, Byrnes is having the best year of his career by far. He's hitting .301/.365/.491 through yesterday's game, which is a real solid line; he's also added 29 steals in 35 attempts (very nice), batting almost entirely in the top or middle of the order. He's been a sparkplug for a team in first place, and there's no shorting that contribution. (Even so, he's still sitting outside the NL Top 20 in VORP, even with more plate appearances than any of the guys above him than Reyes; it's a good, not great, year).
But of course the question isn't what he's done; the question is what he will do, both for the rest of this year and for the next three years at $10 mil. a pop. And therein lies the problem -- Byrnes is an awful bet, just about as bad as Garry Matthews Jr., to replicate his production.
Why? For one, he's never done it before; his career on-base percentage is still below the ol' .330 mark. The guy's a free-swinger with a goodly amount of pop who strikes out too much; these are not rare commodities. Moreoever, given his balls-out style of play, he's about as likely a bet as there is to get seriously hurt at some point over the next three years. All that flying into outfield corners and diving into gaps turns into broken clavicles eventually, especially when you're suddenly 32. For this reason, among others, he's always been a big second-half swoon player, a la LoDuca -- I'd peg the odds of his batting average staying above .300 all the way through the season as something like 4-1 against.
The Byrnes deal, in that sense, embodies the worst aspects of the Matthews and Traitor Johnny signings, both examples of 30-something outfielders cashing in; in the former case paying a player as if he had established a new level of production rather than simply enjoyed a career year; in the latter ignoring the giant red "FRAGILE" sticker slapped on the back of the uniform. (It should be said that Byrnes is a better defensive fielder in the corners than Damon is in center; Byrnes is no more than passable in center, even with an actual throwing arm).
But to my mind, the real sin in this signing is that Arizona has not one, not two, not three, but FOUR stud outfielders under the age of 25 it could plug into its lineup for (essentially) free over the next few years, with built-in wiggle room for potential failure. FOUR.
You've got Chris B. Young, who's going to end up splitting the difference between Mike Cameron and Jim Edmonds at the plate, but with similar defense and more speed in center. You've got Justin Upton, the next Griffey, to play in one of the corners. And then you've got either Carlos Quentin, who admittedly had a really rocky, injury-plagued Age-24 season, or young Carlos Gonzalez to plug into the other corner. Quentin, mind you, was rated the top prospect in the system for three years running; he hit .208 this year, but is an excellent bet to rebound. And Gonzalez is slugging .500 in AA ball as a 21-year-old. These are talented guys.
And they cost nothing. NUFFING. Shit, in this situation, all you needed to do was wind them up and let them become the new DiMaggio/Keller/Henrich.
What else might a team do with $10 million per year over the next three years? It's a fair question. This year's crop of free agents is pretty brutal, especially on the pitching side. If you're Arizona, you've got no obvious position player needs; maybe a third baseman, perhaps a look at a veteran backup catcher, but nothing pressing.
But on the pitching side, you've got a huge question mark dangling around the neck of Randy Johnson, who may or may not just flat-out retire and create a huge hole in your rotation. Livan Hernandez is a free agent. Right now, your rotation looks like this for 2008:
So, there's a need for a starter there. You can re-sign Livan with your RJ insurance money. You can throw some cash at your old hoss, Curt Schilling, who might enjoy coming back to his old Arizona home. I'm not totally averse to spending $9 mil. for a year of Freddy Garcia. You can trade an excess infielder (or outfielder, were one so inclined) for someone else. Or you can hold onto the cash, which doesn't, in fact, spoil.
The point in all of this is that you can't let the market play you, and the D-Backs, at a slightly more reasonable length of three years, let themselves be played, probably more so in the Public Reaction market than the baseball realm. I'm more exercised about this than I probably should be, given that a $30 million gift couldn't happen to a nicer guy, and that a Byrnes-Young-Upton outfield is still as exciting as it gets.
But when Byrnes is hitting .240 at the All-Star Break next year, and Quentin has 20 homers for whatever team he gets dealt to for 45 cents on the dollar, remember you heard it here first. He'd better start watching "Green Acres" now.
Nice win for the Mets. But still, Sip is a little salted.
I had it all planned out.
I'm heading to San Francisco today, I have my first "Friend Wedding" this weekend in Tahoe. It should be interesting. And, yes, Sip is a bit of a crier. Got that from my dad, the toughest pussy in the world.
So on Monday, I put together a group of friends and got tickets in the standing area of McCovey Cove, hoping that I would a shot to see 756 and get my hands on the million dollar baby.
It would be beautiful.
I had 3 potential plans. 1. The Obvious
All my buddies in S.F. are Giants, four dudes 6-foot-5 and taller with a ton of reach. Whoever caught it would get the cash and then throw 10 G's at the other members of the group.
or
2. The Unthinkable
When I caught the ball, I do the UNTHINKABLE. I throw it back. I make the biggest statement in the history of sports. I would be passing up a sure million dollars to make the statement that I thought this piece of history was wrong.
This one I put a lot of thought into. What would happen to Sip?
The most polarizing blogger in America...Certainly?
A guaranteed interviewee on every major talk show in America...I think so.
A six-figure book deal?...Might be a reach.
How close would I be to recouping the million dollars? Would the fame be worth it all?
I think it would have been a heck of an idea.
3. My Favorite Plan
Assuming I didn't catch the ball, a likely assumption, I run like mary to get to an area close enough to where the ball is.
From there, I take a ball from my pocket and throw it back on the field.
What would happen? Would someone storm the field for the ball? Would I get beaten up? Would people believe me?
It certainly would scare up some commentators and thus, the entire country, at least for a few seconds.
This seems to be the funniest option, and Sip likes funny.
Unfortunately, none of this went down. Bonds went dong No. 756 on Tuesday and sure enough, a Mets fan caught the ball. I got at least three phone calls/emails asking if I caught the ball. People knew I would be in SF and of course I would wear my Mets gear. So why not?
But it wasn't Sip. Sad to say. Guess I gotta live off the thousands of cents this little website of ours is raking in on google ads. But that's O.K. Life is pretty good.
And now that it is all done, does anyone else think that Bonds might be innocent?
I don't know about this one, but he looked pretty genuine when he stated in his press conference that "this record is not tainted." Maybe he just hates the media and doesn't feel like he owes people an explanation.
What I will say is that the question of "Did Bonds take steroids" may go down with "Who Shot JFK" as one of the most fascinating unanswered questions in American History.
Bold Sip. Bold.
Vaya, Sip
[Ed's note: Matt Murphy, the Mets fan who caught the ball, just had the interview of his life with Matt Lauer on "The Today Show." Hell of a kid. Also goes to U.B., which is pretty sweet.]
Big news day. It's tough to know what to talk about.
For one thing, the Mets apparently decided to start their key series with Atlanta a day late. No worries, fellas, we'll wait for you to get ready. Take your time. Especially you, Ollie. The first three innings never matter anyway.
Oh, and then there's the Head Head himself, Barry Lamar Bonds, passing the big record last night out in San Francisco. Yippee. Clearly, the whole affair is crying out for more commentary. Wait, what's that you say? No? You don't care for vacuous preening and empty moral posturing from the nation's media?
If not, you might want to avoid Mike Harrington in the Buffalo News today (not that you wouldn't have). Being home overnight for a doctor's appointment, I had no such luck. Dude taps into all three of the hack erogenous zones for the piece:
1) The self-importance: "The game’s biggest boor is suspected of being its biggest cheat. Now he owns the most hallowed record in baseball, and perhaps in all of sports. I feel like I need a shower to wash off the stench."
Cheddar: Nobody gives a rat's ass how you feel personally about Barry breaking the record. Nobody. Not me. Not your editor. Not your paper's readers. Not yo momma. Maybe her. YOU ARE NOT THE STORY. And I mean, let's face it -- "Sportswriter Needs Shower" is a "Dog Bites Man" headline if there ever were one, right?
ZING. Down goes Harrington.
2) The incoherence: "Sure, Barry Bonds is innocent until proven guilty. But why don’t we ask what Greg Anderson thinks. Don’t remember him? He’s the convicted steroid dealer — and Bonds’ former personal trainer — who’s been locked up in a California prison for nearly 11 months because he won’t testify in front of a grand jury looking into perjury and tax-evasion charges against Bonds. He makes 12 cents an hour (yes, 12 cents) working in the prison kitchen."
Cheddar: First of all, Mike, you and your copy desk might want to buy a question mark at the end of that second sentence there. Secondly, the fact that you think a guy's testimony to a grand jury might help to result in charges being brought isn't the same as, how do you say, convicting the guy. AT ALL. This is a rather important aspect of the criminal justice system. Good lord, an 8-year-old who watches "Law and Order: Criminal Intent" knows this shit. Mike leans in all conspiratorially with a complete non sequitur, as if Barry's status as a douchebag had been in question since he was a Sun Devil, and anyone wasn't convinced of that one way or another.
But most importantly, what the fuck does any of this have to do with baseball?
3) Just making shit up: "All we can do is start the countdown until Alex Rodriguez — who certainly has personality problems of his own but at least is steroid-free — can claim this record for himself sometime around 2014" ... "Let’s make this point clear: Steroids don’t help you hit the ball. They only help you hit it farther..."
Cheddar: I've got an idea. It's a doozy. On the day Barry Bonds breaks the home-run record, let's go around blindly proclaiming players "steroid-free." That makes a whole lot of sense. Iz hour meedia lerning?
(Do I think A-Rod juiced? No, I don't. But what the hell do I know, or does Mike know? Absolultely NOTHING about anyone's use during the testing or non-testing era.)
And he knows even less about how the things work, falling back here onto the Popeye Principle of Steroid Use. This is a little pet nickname of mine for the sportswriter's habit of falling back onto the most cliched, obvious, juvenile analysis of performance-enhancing drugs. You see, most sportswriter's brains stopped growing at just about the time when the Saturday morning cartoons went off the air. Thus, their concept of how steroids operate never advanced much past "Spinach = Unfair Advantage" in the old medulla oblongata. Also, they tended to like Bluto.
But steroids are not, in fact, cans of spinach -- their role in the offensive explosion of the '90s was interrelated with any number of other factors, not least of which was widespread use by pitchers. Steroids help players recover faster from fatigue, but also cause and determine all manner of weird, shifty injuries. They have, as I can tell you, all kinds of unpredictable side effects on personality, weight, disposition.
What we know is that steroids help to increase muscle mass. Does that help you hit the ball farther? It could be, but we really have no idea. Do steroids help you hit the ball? Shit, they might. A fresher, livelier player is more likely to get a hit, I would think, and a guy coming off a hard workout on something nice and anabolic could be twice as ready to hit as his natural counterpart.
The point is that we don't really know what steroids do to baseball players. Or, rather, the point is that Mike Harrington has no fucking clue what steroids do to baseball players, but is perfectly willing to spout off his ignorance in print and charge the good people of Western New York a cool 50 cents to hear about it. And people wonder why newspapers are going to Hell in a messenger bag.
So, yeah, I've decided not to add anything else to the whole affair. It's great that it's over, though, so as to remove the whole issue from the media's quiver. Maybe now they'll be able to pull their heads away from their own navels and start writing about, you know, the games.
A-Rod, though, won't be so lucky. You've really got to check out this post over at FJM on a column by the criminal Ian O'Connor the chase for HR No. 500. It's unbelievable. Quoting the man himself:
I just want everyone to take a deep breath. Have a seat. Shake out the tension in your arms. And realize what is happening.Ian O'Connor is slamming Alex Rodriguez -- murdering him, calling him a 'fraidy cat, and a choke artist -- because he did not hit his 500th career home run within five or so games from when he hit his 499th career home run.
The man is 32. He has 499 career home runs. He hits one 0-21 patch and he's junk.
"An alarming stagger to who knows where." This seems a little dramatic, sir. Since he's the best fucking baseball player in the world. And since as I write this, he has just hit his 500th HR. So, armed with the glorious righteousness of dramatic irony, I now delve into the rest of this jaundiced journalistic hack piece.
I mean, we here at Y2K certainly love to take our cuts at A-Rod. Certainly, we take low blows and cheap shots and crack dirty jokes as often as possible. In fact, it's kind of our mandate. We take PRIDE in it.
But it just goes to show -- when it comes to being truly unreasonable, unfair and nasty, it's best to leave it to the professionals.
P.S. -- Coming soon -- Why Sip's BFF Eric Byrnes is no more worth a $30 million extension than I am.
Apparently the Yankees don't lose. Oh, and they play the D-Rays and Royals whenever they want to. The value of a buck, I guess.
And how 'bout the perverted camera man working Tommy's 300th game? I think I saw more Chris Glavine on the screen then I did baseball. But no, this blogger ain't complaining.
Tommy's former and 2008 "current team," our hated rivals, the Bravos come into town this week for a pretty sexy August series. With newly acquired Mark Teixiera going yard every day and Smoltz and Hudson throwing throwing on Wednesday and Thursday, respectively, there are obvious reasons to be nervous.
The Braves lineup is just scary, with Chipper having a career year and Andruw Jones realizing he is in a contract year and we are facing their two legitimate front line starters.
Good thing for Mets fans is this ...
The Mets are playing some really good baseball right now.
The Mets went into Chicago and took a series from the best team in the National League over the last two months. We won a game when Carlos Zambrano started, something that just hasn't happened too often this summer.
Carlos Delgado, the one true popper in our lineup, is finally hitting (This is no shot at D Wright or Beltran, they are more pure hitters than power hitters) and after a slow start, I don't think there is a Met fan in the world that doesn't love everything that Luis Castillo brings to the equation.
Need we all worry then?
I don't think so.
Just don't get swept.
I'd love to take Game 1. OP vs Buddy Carlyle. This is a game we should win and it would be a very nice one to have.
But I think I may have found a more intriguing story in the National League East then this series or the Phils' run. Not out of love but out of pure shock.
How in God's name are the Washington Nationals 51-60?
They put out one of the worst opening day rosters that I have ever seen. The one pitcher that anyone had heard of, John Patterson, got hurt. It's just unreal. A real kudos to Manny Acta, who I thought was a moron for taking the Nats job.
That's all.
Caught the Simpsons movie this weekend. I found it pleasantly enjoyable.
It started Saturday afternoon with A-Rod. It continued Saturday evening with Barry. Then it came to a close last night with Tommy Glavine.
OK, that's a little premature. As I write this the Mets are up 5-1 with 2 outs in the top of the 7th. Glavine has just sacrificed Thugage over to second, and Joe Buck tells us that Glavine has thrown 99 pitches in the game.
I am, at this moment, desperately hoping that Willie sends Glavine out there for the bottom of the seventh. I want Glavine to get to walk off the field and soak up the cheer of the crowd as he stands on history's doorstep.
(Remember Mike Piazza's last game as a Met? Remember how Willie pulled him before his final at-bat? That was some kind of bullshit. I defend Willie up and down and I think he takes a lot of shit unnecessarily, but for whatever reason he got a free pass on that one. Odd.)
We just came back from commercial, Glavine is still in the game. I wonder if they'll pull him with two outs even if he's still rolling.
But back to the rest of the weekend.
Wait a second here -- they just took him out. Nice ovation from the crowd. Nice moment. I wonder how badly Glavine is hoping Scott Schoweneweis doesn't enter this game.
But back to the rest of the weekend.
Like many others out there I'm sure, after Bonds tied Hank "Clean" Aaron's career mark of 755 home runs, coming as it did so quickly on the heels of A-Rod's 500th HR, conversation quickly turned to whether or not we wanted A-Rod to break Bonds' HR record.
Needless to say, for a Mets fan the question arouses competing impulses. On the one hand, I'm not sure anybody outside of San Francisco is entirely satisfied with Bonds owning the HR record, what with the cream, the clear, the flaxseed oil, and what have you.
On the other hand, A-Rod is almost as unlikeable as Bonds is, if for entirely different reasons. A-Rod's not the prick that Bonds is, he's just basically an unredeemable herb. Yankee fans are happy for him of course, but underneath it all they're as aware of that as we are.
It's a far cry from the immortal Babe Ruth or the universally admired Hank Aaron, but it's what we've got. In talking about it last night, I offered, rather assertively, that I preferred A-Rod own the record.
Now that I commit that thought to the page, however, I find I own none of the moral certainty I assumed last night. I guess, ultimately, I want the record to belong to someone free of steroid allegations, but still, why did it have to be A-Rod?
Oh well. He probably won't be a Yankee after this season so that will make it somewhat more palatable.
The bullpen allowed a couple runs in. The score is now 5-3 in the 8th. It is by no means certain that Glavine will earn No. 300 tonight; apologies to all for jinxing it in case it doesn't happen.
But if he does lock it up tonight, I've got nothing but positive thoughts. This past January I wrote the following:
"Glavine's career was clearly defined by his tenure with the Braves... Nevertheless, I find I feel a sense of ownership over Glavine's pursuit of 300. A not insignificant part of that ownership is likely thanks to the fact... that talk of 300 wins has surrounded Glavine since he signed with the Mets.
[I]n suffering along with us in 2003/2004 and being the ace of the staff during the best season we'd seen in 18 years, Glavine deserves his respect. And when the big moment arrives and Glavine puts win No. 300 in the record books, we as Mets fans deserve to feel like we've earned it, too."
It's 6-3 now and the bases are loaded for the Mets with Shawn Green up. It's looking good for Glavine. In the six months since I wrote the above, the feeling of ownership has, for me, only grown stronger. With every victory we kept track... 291... 296... 299. With every victory we saw interviews and read articles about the chase.
In a season where it feels like the team has gone through the motions a little bit, waiting for October to arrive to get a chance to right the wrong of 2006, the hunt for 300 has been something to latch on to and feel inspired by.
I'm not sure we'll never see another 300-game winner, but in an age of the cream, the clear, the flaxseed oil, and the what have you, well, 300 wins for a soft-tosser seems infinitely more impressive than 500 HRs for A-Rod or, almost implausibly, 755 for Bonds.
It's an accomplishment you can take at face value, and if nothing else, that's something to savor in this era.
So good for you, Tommy. 7-3 now heading in to the bottom of the 8th. It's looking good, pal. I can't tell you how much grief you caused me in my younger days, but it's all forgiven tonight. You've earned it. Way to go.
Here's Mr. Easley -- a shortstop, though playing in right field because Shawn Green is a joke against left-handed (and right-handed) pitching -- quoted by Shpigel in the Times this morning about his inside-the-parker yesterday.
"My legs were done after that for the rest of the game," Easley said. "I was pretty much done."
Easley was asked if his dash was not more fun than your run-of-the-mill home run trot?
"No," he said. "I like to jog."
Oh, for the love of Pete. You're a professional athlete, man. Is it too much to ask that you act like it?
Seriously, we're talking about a sprint around the basepaths. Roughly 360 feet from start to finish, and a slide onto your ass at the end. It's perfectly acceptable to be tired afterwards. Do your panting and heaving, have Jose wave a towel to cool you off afterwards. It's all fun and games up to a point.
But let's leave off with the victim routine. Boo-hoo, you had to haul ass for less than 30 seconds. A 37-year-old millionaire sportsman -- Terry Fox you ain't. Just do your job and pipe down about the horror of it all.
... as he rounded third base in the sixth inning Thursday less than 90 feet from legging out an inside-the-park home run, he had only one thought on his mind.
"I'm hoping for somebody to push me," Easley said.
This would all be a lot funnier if we didn't have the impression that baseball players really aren't in very good shape at all. The impression is ratherwell-justified as thesethings go, and as a result, comments like Easley's don't scan as self-deprecating -- they appear self-incriminating. I can only imagine Coach Rickey's thoughts, either on the general fitness level of his team or on Easley's apparent eagerness to brag about how winded he was.
Can you imagine Rickey ever saying anything of the type? Not on your life. Mostly because a sprint around the basepaths weren't no thing for him, but also because he liked to keep up appearances. Still does. All those comeback attempts derived at least as much from vanity as from an honest belief that he was still an MLB-level baller.
Where's Easley's mystique? He's a late-career free agent on a 1-year deal, needing to prove his worth for a bench position from here on out. And he's yukking it up about his dead legs. Whatever. Let a younger utility infielder laugh all the way to the bank next winter.
And I don't know, that tends to piss me off. We're in a pennant race here, and all of us (well, maybe not A.F.O.M.G.) are pulling wholeheartedly for the Mets to do their best every single night, with every single game yanking precariously on the NL East standings. There's a certain expectation that the team is doing, and has done, as much as possible to justify our faith and our time and our emotional energy.
So, yeah, I don't need Damion to go all Tyson Gay on me, or even Ruben Gotay. Just let's leave the right impression for the kids, that's all.
On a less grouchy note, how great was it to see the Mets get a good result out of the immortal Brian Lawrence? First win since Aug. 15, 2005 for the fireballing righty, as it happened, and got it while prompting Sip to send me a message during the game asking if he had cracked 84 on the radar gun at any point.
There's no evidence that he did, no.
Didn't walk anyone, which is positive, but the Brewers have OBP issues of their own, so it's not as impressive as you'd like. Still, all we want out of Brian is what we got out of Sosa earlier in the year -- a half-dozen decent starts before the scouting reports start catching up with him. Pedro appears, as per recent reports, to be about a month away, and we're certainly not looking to keep this clown involved a moment longer than is necessary.
Also, three more hits from Lastings yesterday afternoon, another positive step in Y2K's quest to see Green benched; I have no comment on the apparent brawl between Milwaukee manager Ned Yost and catcher Johnny Estrada in the dugout yesterday, other than to say that the Braves sure have enjoyed a run of outstanding catching talent over the past 10 years: the recently-traded Salty, McCann, Estrada, Javy Lopez ... the year Javy was hurt, they didn't get much out of Eddie Perez, but that guy still has a little pop in the bat, at least. He's no DeFelice.
Besides, the best thing for the Brewers will be for the Mets to roll into Wrigley this weekend and show the Cubs what's up. So let's do it.
Yesterday was interesting. Cheddar Ben had in his possession an 18-foot rental truck from the good people at Budget. That truck contained all his worldly possessions, not to mention those of Blond Matt, one of his two new roommates. Cheddar needed somewhere to put that truck so that he, or more accurately, his two roommates who aren't too weak in the stomach to lift heavy shit, could unload it. Ironically, though, Park Slope is an absolutely nightmarish place to park.
Is that ironic? I don't think so. Never mind.
In any case, Wednesday was one of those days that it's best to forget as quickly as possible. Schedules were shredded, deadlines were missed, lives were threatened. I carried more clothes and boxes than was advisable, and ended up with a thick layer of moving sweat covering my body for most of the evening. I smelled like Doc Gooden after a 13-hour bender at The Embassy Club.
We're into the new digs, though, and into the process of setting up and buying shower curtains and all the domestic crap you have to pull when you get a new place. Finding garbage cans for each room. Learning how the garbage and recycling (salt) works. Picking out doilies for the armoire. You know, the usual.
There also, even at this early stage (i.e., Day 2), looks like there could be an Official Hipster Conflict. This was last night, and we were sitting on the edge of the moving truck, taking a break from unloading, when a Chevy Astro van pulls up and discharges a motley crew of guys.
We take a closer look. Shit. The first guy is sporting a thick mustache and a faded Jordache t-shirt. The second guy to emerge comes out in an open suit vest and way-too-tight jeans. This is not good. Then, the real trouble starts -- they open up the back of the van and start yanking out musical instruments: a keyboard, a couple of amps, the pieces of a drum set. Then they haul them over to the door right next to ours, plop them down, and stand there looking too cool for life.
At this point, a third guy gets out of the van, and immediately sends me into a quiet homicidal froth. He's a skinny guy of medium height with relatively long once-athletic legs; a Steve Rahl-type frame. I know what his legs look like, of course, because he's wearing khaki short shorts that come maybe 35 percent of the way down his thighs. He's paired these marvels of modern technology with an off-olive shirt and the most annoying pair of laceless Chucks you've ever seen.
He's scowling. His hair is unkempt. He throws us sweaty dudes a disgusted looks as he prances by, lugging a pair of cymbals. He is a walking Hipster prototype, and as he passes, I think to myself, "That's a dead man."
Suffice to say that we try to strike up a conversation with these guys about where they think they're going with these tools of Satan. We frame it as more of a question, as in, "Are you guys in a band?" with the subtext being, "Are you going to be practicing your emo bullshit next to our apartment, and if so, are you prepared to fight us?" They avoid eye contact in a patronizing way, and shuffle in before we get a straight answer. We're a little too tired to protest.
Updates on this, surely as it develops.
I missed everything about last night's game. Missed Willie's interesting decision to play Marlon Anderson in center field with his flyball pitcher on the mound -- worked out great, as it happens. Missed a great rebound effort by Guillermo Mota, who I'm convinced can turn this thing around and become at least serviceable before too long. Two perfect innings in that situation was a great help, if not to Tommy the Spy, and my confidence in him is a big reason why I'm not at all upset the Mets didn't overspend on a bullpen righty.
Missed Prince Fielder's 447-foot bomb, which Anderson marveled about in today's Times, and missed Castro's 3-run response. All of it.
But hey, today's a new day, and I'm far more set up to pay attention to the team than I have been for the past week. We're on the uphill axis of attention, if that makes any sense (it don't), and there'll be more to say soon enough.
People kind of just brush aside bullpens. It's only natural. Bullpen arms don't play every day and they don't have the chance to go nine every 5th day.
Yet it seems that every trade deadline it's bullpen arms that are the big story.
Why?
Three reasons.
1. Bullpen arms come cheaper than any other position. You can get a good middle reliever for a lot less than you can get a good starter or position player.
2. Their are more bullpen arms available. Each team has 6-8 guys coming out of the pen. That's 200 relief pitchers. Team's assume they can restock the pen via their farm system so they are quicker to move some of their major league ready guys.
3. Bullpen matters a lot more than we think.
Say what you want about Beltran or Delgado or even Tom Glavine. The main difference between the '07 Mets and the '06 Mets is its middle relief.
Think back to '06. Heilman and Sanchez(replaced by Mota) were as lights out as it got in the 7th and 8th innings. If the Mets held the lead after 6 innings, the game was essentially over.
If we needed to go lefty/lefty or righty/right, we went to Feliciano and Bradford, respectively, who as the season went along, became more and more dominant.
If we needed 4 solid innings, we went to Darren Oliver (RIP), who was awesome.
This year we have no Sanchez, a bad Mota, an incosistent Heilman, A weaker version of Bradford (Joe Smith, RIP)and a weaker version of Oliver (Aaron Sele). If not for the emergence of Pedro Feliciano, we would be in serious trouble.
Last night pretty much sums up the difference between 2007 and 2006.
In '06, Tommy Glavine leaves a game up 2-1 and you're feeling good.
In '07, not so much. Our three big guns in the pen, Heilman, Feliciano and Mota couldn't get the job done. As a result, Tommy is still sitting at 299.
Think about this season. The Mets currently 59-47 sit three games ahead of the Phillies in the NL East. Now ask yourself:
Has the bullpen cost the Mets between 3-5 games more this season than it did in '06.
I would say without question.
It is for these reasons that the Red Sox got the steal of the deadline in Eric Gagne. Assuming he can acclomate to his 8th inning role, games at Fenway will be essentially over come the 7th inning when the Sox can turn the ball over to their three all-stars, Hideki Okajima, Eric Gagne and Jonathan Papelbon.
It is for these reasons that a lot of us are shaking your heads at the Yankees decision to trade Scott Proctor.
Not Sip.
You all know how much I question Joe Torre's in game decision making, especially the way he uses his bullpen. Proctor was Joe's whipping boy. Torre used Proctor in what seemed like every game for the last couple of seasons. I think Torre even tried to get him to throw batting practice.
Brian Cashman might make questionable decisions when it comes to the money he spends, but he is a smart guy when it comes to the decisions he makes regarding players already on the field.
The Yankees don't trade Proctor, when middle relief is a weakness, unless they know something more than we do. Maybe that Proctor's arm is dead. That Torre has actually ruined a relief pitcher in a little less than three seasons.
I don't buy the idea that the Yanks moved Proctor because they knew they would get Gagne. They just didn't have the parts.
I think the Yankees are more comfortable with Joba Chamberlin and Ross Ohlendorf pitching the 6th and 7th innings than they would be with Proctor.
Anyone want to bet that Proctor has a major surgery in the next 12 months?
So here we are, 3 up with about 55 games to go. At the same time, the Yankees are 3 down of the wild card. The question now, is which makes you more nervous.
If you were a Mets fan in the 80's and 90's, then this should be a no-brainer.
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Mets Extra is an independent sports website that is not affiliated with any other news outlet. Mets Extra (including its predecessor, Yankees 2000: Promote the Curse) is not affiliated in any way with the New York Mets, the New York Yankees, WFAN Sports Radio 66 ("The FAN"), Major League Baseball, the National League, the American League, or any other professional sports franchise or entity.
