Monthly Archives: January 2009

It snowed last night in New York and more is on the way today.  I’m headed off to the New York Public Library this morning to sniff around the archives and then I’m going to Todd’s memorial service this afternoon.  I have been asked to read Todd’s lasting Stadium memory which is some honor. I will make sure to say that I am representing all of Bronx Banter, from the contributors to the commentors to the regular readers, because I know many of you won’t be able to attend:

Memories Are Forever

By Todd Drew

The memories will not stop. Sometimes they come in the middle of the night and you have to walk. So you head down five flights to Walton Avenue. You pass the spot on East 157th Street where a bat boy once found Satchel Paige asleep in his car after driving all night from Pittsburgh.

Memories say it was 15 minutes before the first pitch when the boy shook him awake. It also says that Satchel asked for five more minutes and then threw a two-hit shutout.

Memories say things like that.

You cut over to Gerard Avenue where a Mickey Mantle home run would have landed if the Stadium’s roof hadn’t gotten in the way. That’s how the memories tell it anyway.

You walk up River Avenue behind the bleachers of the old Yankee Stadium. There will be no more games here, but you keep coming back because this is where your memories are.

You move past the millions that have huddled in the cold and the heat and the rain and sometimes the snow for tickets. The line wraps around the block and down East 161st Street near where a Josh Gibson home run once landed.

Your friend Earl from Harlem carries his father’s memory and says that blast may have hit the new Yankee Stadium if it had been across the street back then. Earl says that the new Stadium couldn’t have held Gibson any better than the old Stadium. That memory always brings a smile.

You wander down Ruppert Place and away from the new Stadium because it doesn’t hold your memories, yet.

The players’ gate draws you this way. Everyone has walked in and out of those doors and your friend Henry has seen them all. He is at the Stadium every day just like a lot of other people from the neighborhood.

There was a rainy afternoon last year when everyone else left and the cops even took down the barriers, but Henry wouldn’t leave because Hideki Matsui was still inside. You both got wet and shook Matsui’s hand.

You remember standing there all night when the Yankees won the pennant in 2003 and David Wells came out with a bottle of champagne. He offered up drinks and everyone cupped their hands. The sticky-sweet smell of victory still clings to the scorecard back in your apartment.

You look over at Gate 4A and remember how long this place has been your home. You think about all the wins and the losses, too. Every day at the ballpark is a good one, but the pennants and the World Series titles make them even better.

You dig around your memory and try to find the best. There are lots to choose from, but you settle on one from a few years ago.

A boy and his grandfather were waiting in line at Yankee Stadium. The boy was 18 and unable to buy beer so the grandfather had picked up three bottles at a bodega and slipped them under his coat.

“They won’t frisk an old man,” he said.

The boy rolled his eyes, but the grandfather got through with the beer.

“Two bottles for me and one for the boy,” the grandfather said. “He is young and shouldn’t drink too much.”

“What are we gonna eat?” the boy asked.

The grandfather pulled a big bag of peanuts from his pocket.

“An old man can get away with anything,” the grandfather said.

They found their seats and cheered for all the Yankees, but saved their loudest for Jorge Posada and Bernie Williams.

“We are all from the same island,” the grandfather explained. “The Puerto Ricans will always get my best.”

Posada and Williams both hit home runs in the game and the grandfather was feeling good.

He started eyeing a lady in low cut jeans and a skimpy top that was sitting in front of him and when the Yankees stretched their lead in the eighth inning the grandfather blurted out:

“Nice tattoo.”

The ladies’ boyfriend wheeled around and took a swing at the boy. There was a scuffle and the boy defended himself well. The boyfriend and lady were so offended that they left.

“An old man can get away with anything,” the grandfather said again.

“Yeah,” the boy said.

“It was a good fight,” the grandfather said. “And it’s been a damn good game.”

The boy stared straight ahead, but managed a smile.

The grandfather put an arm around him.

“You’re a good boy,” he said. “But you gotta protect against the right hook.”

They both laughed.

You still see the boy around. He’s a man now and can buy beer on his own. His grandfather is gone, but that memory will walk through this neighborhood forever.

I’m wearing my Reggie Jackson t-shirt.  Somehow, I think Todd would approve.

Here’s a quick smile for you on another cold day in New York (good lookin Matt B, Prince You Tube Selector):

Here’s the goods:

• What the Yankees want, the Yankees get.  The News reports that the IDA approved the issuance of $370 million in additional tax-exempt funding for the new Stadium.  (The Mets got the $ they wanted also.)
• The Times clarifies the new funding: $259M is tax-exempt bonds, $111M is taxable bonds.
• Richard Sandomir of the Times has the wrap-up on the day’s proceedings at the IDA.
• Tyler Kepner of the Times reports that the Yanks have been in talks with numerous teams regarding Xavier Nady and Nick Swisher:

Swisher, a 28-year-old switch-hitter, is two years younger than Nady and is signed for three more seasons at roughly $21 million. Nady, 30, is a right-handed hitter who is eligible for free agency after the season. He is represented by Scott Boras, who rarely agrees to a long-term deal before a player explores the open market.

Nady had a better season than Swisher last year, batting .305 with 25 home runs and 97 runs batted in — all career highs. Swisher had the worst of his five seasons, hitting just .219 with 24 homers and 69 R.B.I. But Swisher’s on-base percentage, .332, was actually better than Nady’s .320 figure over two months with the Yankees.

In that way, Swisher profiles better as the kind of player the Yankees seek for their lineup. He saw an average of 4.53 pitches per plate appearance last season, leading the major leagues in that category. Nady averaged 3.65 pitches per plate appearance. Among Yankees, only Robinson Canó (3.35 pitches) was worse.

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There will be a memorial service for Todd this Sunday, January 18th at the The Riverside Memorial Chapel, located at 76th street and Amsterdam Ave at 3:00 pm.

This one is for you Todd … thanks for the vivid pictures you painted with the keyboard, and thank you for the “real” work you did at the ACLU.  The blogosphere is mourning your passing …. from Curt Schilling to PeteAbe to Tyler Kepner.  Even the guys at Deadspin noted it.

Here’s the news:

• The Times has an editorial in their “Opinion” section on the Stadium funding issue:

Mayor Michael Bloomberg and the development agency should renegotiate this latest round of what has always been an incredibly generous deal for one of the richest teams in the country. At a very minimum, they should insist that the Yankees pick up more of the city’s share of the project, which now amounts to $362 million.

About $326 million of that money will pay for demolishing the old stadium, building new infrastructure and replacing 22 acres of city parkland that was lost to the new stadium.

Yankee officials like to say that they are the ones paying to build this stadium, not the city’s taxpayers. That is only partly true. The public has subsidized the project in many ways — providing generous tax-exempt financing and a variety of other assistance like rent abatements.

Meanwhile, the total $362 million price tag to the city has almost doubled since the project was announced in 2006.

• The wonderful Neil DeMause of Field of Schemes.com has been doing yeoman work on tracking the costs associated with the Yanks and Mets new stadia.  He also covered Day 2 of the Industrial Development Agency’s hearings, for the Village Voice.
• John Harper of the News writes that the end of the NY football season brings the baseball teams to the forefront sooner.  And here’s his thoughts on the Yanks:

In Cashman’s case you can debate the excessive spending but you can’t say he hasn’t signed the right guys, especially in the case of CC Sabathia and Mark Teixeira. He filled glaring needs with elite players in their prime, and in keeping with his goal of recent years, made the Yankees younger in the process.

It doesn’t mean he was right to pass on the trade for Johan Santana last winter, but if his long-term plan was indeed to get a pitcher such as Sabathia while holding onto all of his young pitching, you can understand his thinking. Of course, it would help if Phil Hughes or Ian Kennedy blossomed as Mike Pelfrey did for the Mets last season, and Sabathia needs to deliver the way Santana did.

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I still feel numb.  Even though I knew Todd was in bad shape–he was in intensive care for more than three weeks–I still can’t believe he’s dead.  At 41.  He was a kindred spirit, a part of the Banter family as a regular commentor (as he was over at Pete Abe’s as well) long before he joined us as a writer.  He was one of the fellas at the bar. Curious and passionate, genuinely interested in people, and someone who loved conversation. He was all about the banter.

Todd also loved sports writing and once sent me a list of his twenty-five favorite writers.  I have it tacked up in my cubicle at work, right behind my computer screen.  My friend John Schulian is on that list.  Todd loved John’s boxing and baseball writing.  He planned to interview John about a baseball story Schulian once wrote, which I will reprint in this space in the near future. 

I e-mailed the bad news to John today and he replied:

That’s just not right. You know what I mean? It’s cruel and unfair, and it makes me wonder why so many two-legged vermin are allowed to walk the earth while a good man is left to die way, way before his time. But from what I’ve gathered about Todd, he wouldn’t appreciate such a sentiment. He was too kind, too big-hearted, to let himself fall prey to pettiness and resentment. Last night was his time, and there was nothing he could do about it. The poetry of his life turned cruel, and then it was over. I’m glad his wife and his friend were with him. I’m glad they were listening to music. Now the three of them have a song for eternity, the song with which Todd said goodbye.

I have highlighted many of the names on Todd’s list, guys I may of heard of but hadn’t read much of before.  After I got to them, I’d e-mail Todd and we’d go back-and-forth sharing our enthusiasm for the craft. There were so many articles that we talked about him writing–from his love for Alex Rodriuez to his interest in the concession workers at the Stadium. I am angry that we’re being cheated out of so much good work. At the same time I’m grateful for the work he gave us and for the example he provided.

Todd took blogging seriously.  Which isn’t to say that he didn’t have a sense of humor.  But he thought about his posts, those finely observed New York City vingettes written in the classic tradition of Jimmy Cannon and Jimmy Breslin, and he took his time crafting them.  He didn’t just toss off a rant.  He was a writer and a storyteller. He knew he couldn’t be inspired every day, but he showed up every day and gave it his best.

This is the final piece that he wrote for us, perhaps the last thing that he wrote at all. From December 22, 2008.:

Baseball and Me

By Todd Drew

I went to a baseball game after my father’s funeral. I also went to one after finding out about my mother’s brain cancer.

It was selfish and heartless. I felt guilty before and embarrassed after, but for nine innings I felt only the game. That’s the way it’s always been between baseball and me.

It was my friend when I didn’t have any others. And it has always been there to talk or listen or simply to watch.

Baseball helps me forget and it makes me remember. That’s why it was exactly what I needed on the worst days of my life.

But there were no games when a doctor told me that I had cancer. The neighborhood was out of baseball on that cold November day. No one was playing at Franz Sigel Park or John Mullaly Park. And there wasn’t even a game of catch in Joyce Kilmer Park. The last game at the old Yankee Stadium was long gone and Opening Day at the new Yankee Stadium was long off.

So I went home and wished for one of those summer days when I was a kid and my mother would send me to the ballpark with a paper sack stuffed with her famous tuna-fish sandwiches. That was back when you could slip through a delivery gate with the beer kegs and watch batting practice. And it was always okay to come home late with a beat-up scorecard and popcorn stuck between your teeth.

The doctor told me that tomorrow’s surgery and chemotherapy treatment might keep me in the hospital for 10 days.

“At least it’s December,” I said. “There aren’t any ballgames to miss.”

And I will be ready to slip through a delivery gate with the beer kegs when the new Yankee Stadium opens. I’ll watch batting practice with one of my mother’s famous tuna-fish sandwiches and come home late with a beat-up scorecard and popcorn stuck between my teeth.

Cancer can’t change the way it will always be between baseball and me.

Todd was one of us and a true original. He will be missed but he’ll also never leave. He’s ours for good.

Perhaps no other sport can elicit the level of debate among fans and pundits alike as baseball can. I believe this has everything to do with the numbers that drive the sport. Like golf, in the end, the numbers are your most tangible results. And few players in the history of the game posted numbers as gaudy as Rickey Henderson.

Henderson, the second straight ex-Yankee to be inducted, may arguably be the most obvious first-ballot choice of this era. (Congratulations also to Joe Gordon, the Yankees¢ second baseman on the 1930s dynasty and one of the best offensive players at that position of all-time. His induction, even by the Veterans Committee, was long overdue.)  The mainstream local media have treated him well, particularly with the retrospectives from former teammates Willie Randolph and Don Mattingly. And they will laud him again — maybe with similar profiles and features — at the end of July. His speech may be the most fun and accidentally eloquent we’ve ever seen. I put the over/under on 50 third-person references.

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It is with a heavy heart that I pass along the news that our colleague and friend Todd Drew passed away last night. According to his wife, “Todd lost the last game of the season in the bottom of the 9th inning just after midnight. His dear friend Michael and I were with him and he went very peacefully. While we were sharing the ipod listening to Regina Carter (jazz violinist), he opened his eyes for just a moment.”

I didn’t know Todd well. We spoke over the phone about a dozen times and exchanged many e-mails over the past few years. I have an e-mail he sent me last February of his favorite sports writers tacked up in front of my computer.

I met him just once, a few months ago, at a dinner with the rest of the Bronx Banter crew, minus Bruce, who lives upstate.

Todd was a gentle, compassionate man, but no pushover. He loved sports writing, loved baseball, and was an unyielding optimist.

This is a great loss for our community and he will be missed dearly.

Todd Drew: May 13, 1967 – Jan. 15, 2009

There will be a clear-cut Yankee-Red Sox flair to the Hall of Fame induction ceremonies taking place on July 26 here in Cooperstown. Veterans Committee selection Joe Gordon played a large chunk of his career with the Yankees, Jim Rice spent all of his major league days with the Red Sox, and Rickey Henderson played for both the Sox and the Bombers. I have to confess that I’d forgotten about Rickey’s tenure with Boston, but he did play there for 72 games in 2002. Like Goose Gossage, Rickey put in cameos for just about everyone.

Unlike Rice, there’s really no argument over Henderson’s worthiness as a Hall of Famer, not when you’re the all-time leader in runs scored and stolen bases, and second on the all-time walks list. The 28 writers who left Henderson’s name off the ballot really should step up and explain themselves. (Up till now, only one has, a man named Corky Simpson, who said Henderson wasn’t his kind of player.) If they left him off as a protest against Rickey’s occasional tendency to lollygag, I can somewhat understand their point; Henderson did his reputation no favors when he tanked his performance with both the Yankees (in 1989) and Mets (in 2000). If they left him off because they don’t vote for first-year eligibles, or because they don’t want to see a unanimous selection, they really need to lose those antiquated ideas. Those simply aren’t legitimate reasons to keep someone’s name off the ballot. It would be nice for the Baseball Writers to come up with a system that demands accountability. Perhaps the voting for the Hall should no longer be done with secret ballots; let’s make each writer publicly list his or her choices. Maybe that will eliminate some of the silliness.

What about Rickey as a Yankee? I’ll always have mixed feelings about Henderson’s days in the Bronx. At his worst, he pulled a Manny Ramirez-like stunt in 1989, jogging after balls hit to left field, running the bases at three-quarter speed, all because of his unhappiness over his contract and his displeasure with management. But at his best, Henderson was THE Best. From 1985 to 1988, he performed at a level never matched by any other Yankee leadoff man in history. He also had his best power seasons while playing for the Yankees, 24 home runs in 1985 and 28 in 1986. For his career, he nearly reached the 300 milestone, an amazing accomplishment given the lack of power he had displayed throughout the minor leagues. Except for one minor league season, Henderson hit with no power at all. Over his first 942 major league at-bats with Oakland, basically the equivalent of two seasons, he hit a grand total of ten home runs. But then he turned his muscular build into legitimate power, making him the ultimate three dimensional leadoff threat. His 1990 performance highlighted his power at its peak, when he slugged an amazing .577 for the A’s. If Henderson had wanted to, if he had changed his plan from slash-and-dash to a muscle approach, he could have hit 500 home runs, though it likely would have hurt his all-round game. The “Man of Steal” had that kind of talent. He was Ty Cobb with a power stroke.

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Powered by ’80s New Wave music, here’s the news:

• Over at LoHud, Pete Abe wonders “at what point is rotation depth a concern”:

It’s not acceptable for a contending team to go into the season with four good starters and hold a contest for the fifth spot. You need to have a good No. 5 and decent options beyond that. Or do you believe that Sabathia, Burnett, Wang and Chamberlain will all stay healthy for six months?

Sign Andy Pettitte and the problem is solved. We wrote last week that one side had to blink. But so far nobody has. If not Pettitte, then somebody else.

[My take: I know I’m gonna sound like a broken record, but why not take a stab at Ben Sheets?]

• At the Times, Jim Dwyer opines on the Stadium funding fiasco and the political machinations thereof:

Without a doubt, politics is part of the invisible cost benefit analysis of the Yankees and Mets stadium deals — not only for those who now criticize them, like the comptroller, William C. Thompson Jr., who approved them in 2006, but also for those few who champion them, like Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg.

Such political values may not turn up on any public balance sheet, but it would be unwise to ignore them simply because they are invisible.

Suppose you are Mr. Bloomberg, your hopes of becoming president or vice president all but vanished. You have to step down as mayor in 2009 because a law that you unequivocally supported says you only get two terms.

How handy, then, to have powerful allies, like the developer, Jerry I. Speyer and the lobbyist, Howard Rubenstein, to convince other influential people that term limits will deprive the city of an essential leader during an era of financial crisis.

[My take: I think every member of the City Council, the NY State Assembly, and the Mayor’s Office of Management and Budget should be forced to read THIS book, especially Chapter 6 – The Stadium Issue].

• In a separate Times article, is it noted that the Stadium financing issue may be an albatross for Bloomberg’s re-election hopes.

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My latest for SI.com looks at the Braves’ new rotation in the wake of the Derek Lowe and Kenshin Kawakami signings, including a scouting report on the 33-year-old Japanese import. Toward the end, I summarize the remaining free agent market for starting pitchers in two paragraphs:

After [Oliver] Perez and [Ben] Sheets, there’s only a handful of veterans that could be considered remotely reliable signings. That group includes Andy Pettitte, who continues to play chicken with the Yankees over a one-year deal, Paul Byrd, Randy Wolf, whose name frequently surfaces as a back-up option, Braden Looper and Jon Garland. Of those five, however, only Looper posted an ERA better than league average last year.

Beyond that group there’s a series of bad bets, be it on aging stars who’d be better off retiring (Tom Glavine, Pedro Martinez, Curt Schilling, Kenny Rogers, Orlando Hernandez), the perpetually injured (Jason Jennings, Mark Mulder, Bartolo Colon), roster fillers (Livan Hernandez, Sidney Ponson, Josh Fogg, Josh Towers) or assorted castoffs who will be lucky to land a non-roster invitation to camp (Steve Trachsel, Jeff Weaver, Kip Wells, Mark Redman, Matt Belisle, Esteban Loaiza, Kris Benson).

I realize now I left Odalis Perez and Jon Lieber out of the list of roster fillers and failed to find a place for Freddy Garcia. Nonetheless, that’s about it. In fact, you can cross Prior off the list, as he’s landed back with the Padres on a minor league deal. So, do you think the dearth of alternatives gives Pettitte any leverage over the Yanks? Should they peel off and sign Ben Sheets or Braden Looper before they’re forced to overpay for one of the next five or turn to one of the bad bets? Or should they walk away now and let Alfredo Aceves, Phil Hughes, and company fight it out over the fifth spot in the rotation?

For most of us, death will not announce itself with a blare of trumpets or a roar of cannons.  It will come silently, on the soft paws of a cat.  It will insinuate itself, rubbing against our ankle in the midst of an ordinary moment.  An uneventful dinner.  A drive home from work.  A sofa pushed across a floor.  A slight bend to retrieve a morning newspaper tossed into a bush.  And then, a faint cry, an exhale of breath, a muffled slump.

Pat Jordan, “A Ridiculous Will”

My father died on this day two years ago.  He was at home with his wife.  They were getting ready to watch their favorite TV show.  He had just eaten his favorite pasta dish.  He slumped over in his chair and that was it.  He officially lasted until the next day but really that was when he left us.

I always imagined that he would have a dramatic death.  He was a big-hearted and volatile man.  He was unafraid to get into it with, well, virtually anyone.  I saw him kick the hub cap off a moving vehicle that had cut us off on West End Avenue and 79ths street, and was with him when he pulled a vandal out of a parked car.  I thought he’d die in a pool of blood.  I worried about it constantly.  But he left quietly.

I think about him less now.  Of course, I still think about him but I am not consumed with it as I was for the first year after he died, when his absence was acute.  Almost every block in the city, certainly on the Upper West Side where he lived, holds a memory, some happy, others not so much, of the old man.  I miss his stories, I miss asking him questions about the theater and the Dodgers and Damon Runyon.

But I don’t miss how tough he was on me, or the fact that even as an adult, I felt anxious around him.  I don’t miss how competitive he was with me, and I don’t miss worrying about his financial state.  When he was alive, I don’t think there was a time when I wasn’t afraid of him, even if it was on a subtle or subconscious level. 

I feel relief now that he’s not around. I loved him very much and the feeling was mutual.   He was proud of me, he was proud all of his kids, as well as his neices and nephews.   He and I buried the hachet long before he died and I tried my best to accept and love him for who he was not what I wanted or needed him to be when I was a kid.  Like most parents, he did the best that he could.

But I don’t compare myself to him these days.  I am my own man. I remember his warmth and compassion, his laugh and his righteous indignation, and that for all his flaws he was a good man.  I’m proud to be his son.

Powered by the thought that the Mets would have been better off wearing a Nicorette patch on their 2009 uniforms rather than this, here’s the news:

• Harvey Araton of the Times has a nice piece on Willie Randolph’s appreciation of the talents of Rickey Henderson:

“I had the good fortune of playing in three decades, and when you play that long, you’re going to see some unbelievable players,” Randolph said Tuesday. “But for me, pound for pound, for the things that Rickey could do with his legs alone, I’ve never seen anyone change the complexion of a game like him.” …

“If you looked at his legs and whole body, you’d think he was one of those guys who was in the gym all the time, but he wasn’t,” Randolph said. “He was like Bo Jackson or LeBron James — built like a man when he was a kid.”

Hitting behind Henderson, Randolph said, was natural for him, being a patient right-handed hitter with good peripheral vision, the ability to wait on his swing until he saw Henderson take off and hit the ball to the opposite field.

On earlier Yankee teams, he hit behind a rabbit of lesser renown, Mickey Rivers, a character in his own right. “With Mickey, we would communicate because he didn’t know the signs and I had to let him know when the hit-and-run was on,” Randolph said. “With Rickey, nothing, really, other than sometimes in the on-deck circle he’d say about a pitcher, usually a left-hander, ‘I have trouble picking up this guy.’ So I knew he might not run and I could swing earlier in the count.” …

He and Henderson will forever be linked by friendship and their pairing in the Yankees’ batting order. “It was a pleasure hitting behind him, and a privilege to watch him,” Randolph said.

• The Times’ Jack Curry gives us the ever-quotable Henderson on his big day:

When Henderson was asked what his salary would be if he were in his prime in 2009, he boosted himself into Alex Rodriguez’s financial territory.

“I don’t think they could pay me what I’d probably be worth,” Henderson said. “Or I’d probably be one of the highest-paid players out there, as far as what I brought to the game because I brought so many different weapons to the game.”

• Curry also has an article on Tony LaRussa’s appreciation of Rickey:

“For the period of time that I’ve been around, I think the most dangerous player is Rickey,” La Russa said. “In our time, Rickey worried you in more ways than anyone.”

So step aside, Barry Bonds. Sit down, Albert Pujols. They are dominating players, but La Russa stressed how Henderson’s combination of patience, speed, power and instincts made him “the guy that you felt was the most dangerous as far as taking that thing away from you.” That thing was the lead and the game. …

“One thing you’d try to avoid, if you’re trying to get an out, is distractions,” La Russa said. “Rickey just made it impossible not to be distracted by him.” …

“Everybody tried to stop Rickey,” La Russa said. “The feeling was, you stop Rickey and you stop the other club. He never had an easy at-bat, and he still put together a Hall of Fame career. He was amazing.”

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The Rickster…No, not that one…This one.

And more Rickey from the vaults…Here is David Grann’s 2005 New Yorker profile, and old ESPN piece by the late Ralph Wiley.

Last Friday night, I had the pleasure of listening to George Kimball read from his new book at Gelf Magazine’s Varsity Letters reading series.  (Here are two video links: One and Two.) The book,Four Kings: Leonard, Hagler, Hearns, Duran and the Last Great Era of Boxing is a must for anyone interested in the fight game.  

Kimball was there for it all and conveys the excitement these four champions brought to the game in this expertly reported book that is written in pleasing, straight-forward prose.

For a sampling of Kimball’s work, check out his archive at The Sweet Science.  For example, here is his story on the Hagler-Hearns brawl: 

Nearly a quarter century later it remains a high point of boxing in the latter half of the twentieth century. Some knowledgeable experts have described it as the greatest fight in boxing history – which it probably wasn’t, if only due to its brevity. But its ferocious first round, which to this day remains the standard against which all others are measured, was undoubtedly the most exciting in middleweight annals, and one of the two or three best opening stanzas of all time.

What did Bob Arum know that the rest of us did not? Already in the midst of an age in which it had already become obligatory to sell every big fight – and many smaller ones – with a catchy slogan, the promoter who had already staged (with Don King) the Thrilla in Manila, as well as served as the impresario for Evel Knievel’s ill-fated attempt to jump the Snake River Canyon, christened the 1985 matchup between Marvelous Marvin Hagler and Thomas Hearns simply “The Fight.”

This Friday, Kimball will be interviewed by none other than Pete Hamill (who wrote the foreword for the book) at the  Barnes and Noble in Tribeca (97 Warren street).  7 pm, ya heard? 

Again, anyone with a remote interest in boxing should brave the cold and check out what promises to be a riveting chat.

Influences play a major role in baseball. It’s no secret that veteran teammates often provide counsel to young players about the subtleties of the game. Perhaps lesser known is the influence that some older teammates have had in shaping unusual characters of the next generation. Few players know that better than Jay Johnstone, who carried the lessons from others into the late sixties, the seventies, and the eighties.

As a high school athlete, Johnstone found himself facing impending trouble from the NCAA. He had signed letters of intent to play football for nine different colleges. That was more than slightly against NCAA rules. Thankfully, the California Angels bailed Johnstone out by signing him to a baseball contract on the day of his high school graduation.

When Johnstone joined the Angels as a rookie in 1966, manager Bill Rigney gave him an intriguing place in the clubhouse. Rigney stationed Johnstone at the locker that stood in between those of veteran flakes Bo Belinsky and Dean Chance. Rigney then gave Johnstone his roommate assignment: the incomparable and sometimes indescribable Jimmy Piersall.

Johnstone had been a quiet, unassuming high school student. That all changed with the Angels. With Piersall becoming his guru, and Belinsky and Chance providing their own unique influence, Johnstone quickly developed into a combination of prankster, quipster, and clown. Within a short span of time, he became known as “Moon Man” to his Angels teammates.

Johnstone fit in well in the California clubhouse, but his lack of concentration and frequent defensive mishaps in the outfield frustrated Angels management. The Angels traded Johnstone to the White Sox, where he continued to show flashes of brilliance but also provided too many fits of frustration. A .188 batting average in 1972 didn’t help either. The White Sox released Johnstone, leaving him temporarily unemployed.

Fortunately, Johnstone had received an earlier promise from another major league owner, indicating that if he were ever to be released, he would have a standing offer of a job. That is how Johnstone came to be matched with an owner fitting of his comedic personality, Oakland A’s patriarch Charlie Finley. Living up to his promise, Finley signed Johnstone to a minor league contract.

In the midst of the 1973 season, the A’s recalled Johnstone from their Triple-A affiliate at Tucson, where he was attempting to begin his climb back toward the major leagues. The free-spirited Johnstone seemed like a perfect fit for the wild, swingin’ A’s, but he struggled to hit for the team that wore green and gold, and eventually became a victim of Oakland’s crowded outfield.

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OK … the HOF vote is done … another month till pitchers and catchers … sigh …

Here’s the news:

• MLB.com has plenty of coverage on the HOF voting.  Here’s an article on the election of Henderson and Rice.  A couple of Henderson excerpts:

“I feel great about it,” said the 50-year-old Henderson during a conference call on Monday. “I love the game and I wanted to continue playing. It came to a time that I had to stop. It’s been five years and they chose me to go into the Hall of Fame. So I couldn’t be any more thrilled or pleased.”

“There was only one Rickey Henderson in baseball,” George Steinbrenner, the Yanks chairman, said about the right-handed hitter. “He was the greatest leadoff hitter of all time. I consider him a great friend with tremendous spirit and a true Yankee.”

“His election is well deserved. He was one of the best players that I ever played with and obviously the best leadoff hitter in baseball,” said Dave Winfield, a now fellow Hall of Famer who was Henderson’s teammate with the Yankees. “We had a lot of fun pushing each other to play at higher levels. I’m very glad to see he got in.”

• Here’s an audio clip with Henderson talking about the honor.
• Former Yankee teammates of Henderson were quoted in an MLB.com here:

“Rickey and I have been friends for a long time, and I am ecstatic for him,” (Willie) Randolph said. “I’ve been fortunate and blessed to have played with a great number of phenomenal baseball players, but pound-for-pound, Rickey Henderson is the best player I’ve ever played beside.

“No one was able to impact the course of a game in as many ways as Rickey. This is a great day for him, and I can’t wait to hear his acceptance speech.”

“Rickey was one of the most competitive players I’ve ever seen,” said former Yankee Ken Griffey Sr. “He was relentless. He could beat you with his legs and his bat, and he could beat you from the leadoff position, which was something people hadn’t seen before.

“As a person, Rickey was very funny and generous. I hung out and talked with him a lot, and we used to go to dinner. I enjoyed every minute of those years.”

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When I first started following the Yankees, their lineup began with Rickey Henderson, Willie Randolph, Don Mattingly, and Dave Winfield. Though Winfield was my favorite player, Mattingly was the most popular, and Randolph was the two-time World Champion veteran, Rickey Henderson likely did more to cultivate my love of baseball than any of the other three. Time and again, Rickey would lead off the game with a walk or a single, steal second, move to third on a productive out by Randolph, and score on a single or sac fly by Mattingly or Winfield. The exceptions were when Rickey would lead off the game with a homer, something he did 81 times in his career, or when he’d steal both second and third, letting Randolph drive him in. In 596 games as a Yankee, Henderson scored 513 runs, drew 406 walks, and stole 326 bases.

Fourteen years after Henderson was traded back to the A’s, Rickey was playing for the Newark Bears, the independent Altantic League team owned by his former Yankee teammate Rick Cerone. I remember reading that Rickey’s monthly salary from the Bears didn’t even cover the rent for the Manhattan apartment he was living in at the time. Rickey was ostensibly playing to get one more shot at the major leagues, but he had already set career records in stolen bases, runs, and walks, and owned 3,040 major league hits. Though he did finish the 2003 season by playing his final 30 major league games for the Dodgers, Rickey was playing to play, just as he did two years later with the San Diego Surf Dawgs.

One weekend in July of 2003, I went with a friend’s brother’s bachelor party to see Rickey play for the Bears against the Mitch Williams-managed Atlantic City Surf. Rickey was having a ball. Before the game he took time out to sign autographs along the first base line.

During the top of the first he chatted and joked with the fans along the left field line between pitches.

Then he led off the bottom of the first.

Just as he had for the Yankees, Rickey walked . . .

Stole second . . .

. . . moved to third on the catcher’s errant throw, and, following a walk to the second-place hitter, scored on a fielder’s choice to the shortstop.

Three batters into the game, I had already gotten my money’s worth.

Not long after that game, Henderson signed with the Dodgers. On September 13, 2003, Henderson pinch-hit for Guillermo Mota in the seventh inning of a game between the Dodgers and Giants at Dodger Stadium. Rickey was hit by a pitch, moved to second on a bunt, to third on a groundout, and scored on a Shawn Green single. He was then replaced by Paul Quantrill, who came in to pitch the next inning. The last thing Rickey Henderson ever did in the major leagues was score a run. As it should have been.

all photographs (c) Clifford J. Corcoran; click to enlarge

It’s a big day for Rickey Henderson who will be elected into the Hall of Fame later today.

Who else goes in?

Will it be this man?

Or this dude?

Or this guy?

So, what would your ballot look like? Pick up to ten–75% is the threshold, just as with the actual Hall.

[poll id=”3″]

Arizona and Philly in the NFC title game …. in Arizona?

Back to baseball:

• Michael Silverman at the Boston Herald reports that the recent Teixeira two-step has left the BoSox with some animosity towards Scott Boras:

The Sox, meanwhile, are, at least for now, done with Boras. One well-placed source said the club will never deal with him again unless it can be guaranteed that talks are being conducted honestly. We would take that threat a little more seriously if Boras’ clientele list were to shrink dramatically, but since that is not realistic, we will take it as a sign of just how badly the club felt it got stung by lies from Boras. They are in a “fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me” mode right now, with the Teixeira talks feeling like the last straw to them.

Before Teixeira, it was the failed negotiations with another Boras client, right-handed high school pitcher Alex Meyer, the Sox’ 20th-round draft pick this past summer, who came close to signing but ultimately turned down what was estimated to be a $2 million signing bonus. Before Meyer, it was some needless and excessive behind-the-scenes drama in the Daisuke Matsuzaka talks in December 2006, the Johnny Damon talks a year earlier and of course the Alex Rodriguez talks after the 2003 season.

Having lost out on Teixeira, the Red Sox feel an urgency about their offense. Their inquiry to the Marlins about Hanley Ramirez’ availability speaks to that. As good as the core of the lineup still is, there is a pressing need to beef up with an elite slugger. Teixeira was that guy, and he was the perfect guy. To complain about the process, or Boras, publicly would smack of sour grapes. The Sox know this. Boras is not going away and the Red Sox’ resources and long-term strategy survived the latest Boras encounter.

Still, Teixeira left the club somewhat shell-shocked, some executives taking it more personally than others. It will take a bit longer for the shock and the hurt to dissipate.

• Jack Curry of the Times reflects on the similarities between Rickey Henderson … and Manny Ramirez:

“Rickey did his own thing,” said (Dennis) Eckersley, who was Henderson’s teammate on the A’s. “I never saw anyone like him. It’s like Manny being Manny. Rickey was Rickey.”

Even though Henderson was more known for his speed and scoring runs and Ramirez is more known for his hitting and driving in runs, they have a lot in common. (Don) Mattingly said that Rickey used to disrupt opponents and Manny does that now, forcing them to plan strategy around one dominant player and to worry about might happen next.

“Rickey was a lot like Manny, just in a different way,” Mattingly said. “He changed the game. Manny can do that, too.”

When Mattingly was Henderson’s teammate on the Yankees, he was amazed with how flawless Henderson’s hitting mechanics were and how knowledgeable Henderson was about the strike zone. Mattingly said that it was difficult to know how good Henderson was without being his teammate.

When Mattingly was Ramirez’s coach last season, he saw some of the traits he used to see in Henderson. Ramirez has the same type of plate discipline, work ethic and confidence. In addition, Mattingly said Henderson and Ramirez are both much more intelligent players than they are perceived to be.

• Curry has another article with a deeper appreciation of Rickey:

Henderson stole more bases (1,406) and scored more runs (2,295) than anyone, he had the second-most walks (2,190), and he notched 3,055 hits, regal statistics that prove he was a tremendous player. Henderson was also the best at talking about himself.

He needed no coaxing to cruise into Rickey-speak, a mixture of a streetwise preacher and an eccentric professor. He would talk about how he felt or how his salary was unfair or who owed him money from card games or about teammates whose names he did not recall. Through all of Henderson’s chatter, Don Mattingly considered him a baseball savant.

“He kind of got his words jumbled sometimes so some people thought that he wasn’t smart,” said Mattingly, Henderson’s teammate on the Yankees. “But he was. Rickey knew exactly what was going on.”

Eckersley called Henderson “a game changer,” a disruptive force with a strike zone as small as a shoe box. Seeing Henderson lope to the plate and crouch into his stance was nightmarish for pitchers. O.K., Henderson’s body language shouted, try to throw me a strike. Once pitchers did, Henderson would use a swing that Mattingly called, “one of the best I’ve ever seen” to connect.

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