Monthly Archives: April 2010

Our boy Josh Wilker, whose book dropped earlier this week, was featured in Bats, the baseball blog over at the Times yesterday. Greg Hanlon writes:

The memoir follows Wilker, now 42, into his adulthood, most of which he characterizes as a series of failures for a would-be writer. Having long since stopped collecting baseball cards, Wilker found himself lost and adrift, with childhood’s “unbroken ladder of years seemingly aimed in the direction of the gods” having dissipated.

In 1999, in search of fulfillment and literary inspiration, he moved for a year into a Vermont cabin without electricity or running water while teaching creative writing at a small state college. Without much else in the way of stimulation, he found himself staring at his baseball cards by a kerosene lamp. The childhood memories stirred up by the cards inspired him to write. By turning to his cardboard gods, Wilker found his voice as a writer. His blog followed a few years later, followed by the book deal. (In addition to his writing, Wilker works part-time as an editor and proofreader, and lives in Chicago.)

Wilker counts Frederick Exley, author of “A Fan’s Notes,” a fictionalized memoir weaving his New York Giants super-fandom around tales of his alcoholism and mental illness, as one of his literary heroes. Exley’s influence is apparent in “Cardboard Gods.” Both narratives are steeped in the authors’ feelings of failure, but they end on a triumphant note that is the writing of the books themselves. “Cardboard Gods” is also a worthy descendant of “A Fan’s Notes” in showing that when it comes to sportswriting, what the games mean to its fans is often more interesting than the games themselves.

You want great Sichuan? Then take the train (take the train) to Flushing and look no further than Spicy and Tasty.

Banterites continue to marvel/giggle from afar at the plight of Big Papi, who has continued his slide from feared slugger to possibly benched DH by K’ing 12 times in his first 25 plate appearances (23 ABs) this season.

It brings to mind the Yanks’ history of famed, and in some case surprising, whiffers.

Mike Pagliraulo, who struck out once every 5.5 plate appearances in his career, holds the franchise record for most consecutive game starts from the beginning of the season with at least one K, with 9 in 1988.  Ortiz’s worst such streak was the first four games of 1999, when he was still with the Twins.

None other than Alex Rodriguez has the team record for most consecutive starts with at least one strikeout, with 15 in July/August of 2005.  Despite this, A-Rod DID hit .276/.377/.603 during the streak, with 6 homers and 12 ribbies.  Ortiz compiled a ten-game streak during 2006.  If you are wondering, Mickey Mantle’s longest such streak was 11 in 1952.  Reggie Jackson had a 17-game streak in ’82, but he was already with the Angels by then.

Big Papi has K’ed at least twice in his last five starts.  Six different Yankees have compiled streaks of five straight two-K starts, most recently Tony Clark in 2004.

Ortiz’s high-water mark in terms of season’s strikeouts was last year’s 134, when he put up a line of .238/.332/.462.  He also struck out 133 times in 2004, but that year he hit .301/.380/.603.  Alfonso Soriano holds the Yankee season strikeout record with 157 in 2002.

Hell, let’s make it an ass-kickin’ two-fer:

Phil Hughes and Joba Chamberlain, the Yankees’ two best right handed pitching prospects of my lifetime, don’t stand at a crossroads of their careers – they stand at a cloverleaf freeway entrance. Since 2007, Joba has been a starter, a reliever, a starter, a reliever, a starter, a reliever, a competitor for a starting job, and currently, a reliever. Phil has a more reasonable track record. He’s been a starter, a reliever and currently a starter. The buzz is that Joba may never make it as a starter, and if Phil also fails, they Yankees will have to ask if they handled them correctly.

Off the top of my head, I can think of several high profile, pitchers who jumped back and forth between starting and relieving roles and whose destinies were not forever derailed. Adam Wainwright and David Price pop immediately into mind as starters turned relievers turned back to starters with little detriment. And who could think that Mariano Rivera or Jonathan Papelbon were meant to do anything but hasten the extinction of rally caps and monkeys? Did the Yankees do anything that differently with Joba and Phil than has been done in the past?

I think the Yankees have a healthy respect for pitch counts and innings limits and are willing to pre-determine usage quantity for their young guys in the name of injury avoidance. But after that, I think they really don’t see much difference in which roles their pitchers accumulate those innings. What this may mean is that the arms are protected, but the starting pitching skills are severely under-developed.

Joba throws a 96-97 mph fastball out of the pen. He throws a 92-93 mph fastball in the rotation. Hughes throws 95 in the eighth, but only 91 in the first. These guys have to learn how to get out MLB hitters with the lesser stuff if they want to make it as starters. In short relief, they rarely work in a third pitch, and they never have to face any hitter more than once in a game.

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After the Yankees lost to the Angels 5-3 this afternoon a friend of mine, big Yankee fan, came up to me and said, “You know, I’m really sick of how long it takes them to sweep a series.”

Straight-faced and completely serious. “It didn’t happen for the longest last spring,” he continued, “now, they ain’t even sweep the Angels. What’s up with that?”

“Dude, you are the reason why people hate Yankee fans,” I told him. “What’s a matter, winning the first two series of the year isn’t good enough, winning the Whirled Serious last fall wasn’t enough, you greedy bastid?”

“See that’s how you and me are different,” he said. “You focus on October, I want total domination all season.”

Now, what do you say to that?

Up at Yankee Stadium today, there was more of this kind of piggish behavior as Javy Vazquez was booed after a pedestrian outing. We know the story here, success breeds entitlement. That doesn’t mean we have to like it. Ah, but what would rooting for the Yanks be like without some good, old fashioned self-loathing? Walt Kelly put it best:

Javy “Puttin Out the Fire (with Gasoline)” Vazquez makes his re-debut in the Bronx this afternoon at the River Avenue Oil Slick.

Let’s hope his stuff is as crisp as this gorgeous spring day, and…

Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

In a television interview in 2002, Larry King asked Julia Child which foods she hated. She responded: “Cilantro and arugula I don’t like at all. They’re both green herbs, they have kind of a dead taste to me.”

“So you would never order it?” Mr. King asked.

“Never,” she responded. “I would pick it out if I saw it and throw it on the floor.”

I’ve long considered cilantro, what we used to call coriander, to be the Steely Dan of herbs–you either love it or hate it. For the longest, I didn’t dig it at all, but since I’ve learned to appreciate and desire Thai, Vietnamese and Mexican cuisine, I’ve also learned to appreciate, and even crave, cilantro as well.

There’s a fun piece in the Times today by Harold McGee about how cilantro: 

“I didn’t like cilantro to begin with,” [Jay Gottfried, a neuroscientist at Northwestern University who studies how the brain perceives smells] said . “But I love food, and I ate all kinds of things, and I kept encountering it. My brain must have developed new patterns for cilantro flavor from those experiences, which included pleasure from the other flavors and the sharing with friends and family. That’s how people in cilantro-eating countries experience it every day.”

“So I began to like cilantro,” he said. “It can still remind me of soap, but it’s not threatening anymore, so that association fades into the background, and I enjoy its other qualities. On the other hand, if I ate cilantro once and never willingly let it pass my lips again, there wouldn’t have been a chance to reshape that perception.”

[Photo Credit: Pinch My Salt]

Dining Room Overlooking the Garden, By Pierre Bonnard (1930-31)

[Photo Credit: Peter Morgan/AP]

Course there was lots to enjoy yesterday: the ring ceremony, Gene Monahan, Godzilla, (and Jerry Hairston, Jr!), the Boss, and an Opening Day win.

Alex Rodriguez was appropriately geeked about getting his ring:

“A lot of guys are saying they’re not going to wear it. They think they’re too cool. I’m calling BS on that,” Rodriguez said. “I will wear it and wear it every day.”

Fortunately, the dude is rich enough to have bodyguards cause first thing I thought about when I read this was Stephon Marbury getting robbed outside of a nightclub. Word to Herb.

Then, there was this too…

[Photo Credit: Chris McGrath/Getty Images]

Photo courtesy of the NY Yankees

The Yankees got their shiny new rings today, and they were just as subtle and understated as you might expect. But if the swelling music and the giant hunks of ice were not exactly humble, the ring ceremony itself still managed to be lovely – because of the presence of Whitey Ford and Yogi Berra, the glee of the crowd, and the obvious joy on the players’ faces as they jogged out to collect – and a perfect prelude to a 7-5 win.

The highlight was the reception for Hideki Matsui, now the Los Angeles Godzilla of Anaheim, who was given a ring, a huge ovation from the fans, and hugs on the field from all his teammates. I can hardly wait for the inevitable squawking about the horrors of fraternizing with the “enemy.” This may be the most amicable player-team divorce I can recall, and it was nice to see the uber-professional Matsui reap the benefits of that. Even the many Yankee-haters of my acquaintance find it hard to work up any bile for the guy.

(Less fuss was made over current Padre Jerry Hairston Jr’s presence, but I like that he flew all night to be in the Bronx for this moment – without even asking permission, because he was afraid someone might say no. It’s always nice to get a sense that the players care as much or more than the fans; it helps us feel less silly).

As for the game itself, it was about as low-stress as Yankees-Angels games ever are. Is there any Major League player we know better, at this point, than Andy Pettitte? How many times over the last few years have I tried to find a new way to describe a start like this? He got himself into trouble and then he got out of it; he was not dominant or overwhelming, but he was enough. Pettitte’s demeanor and persona do not seem to fit the word “crafty” (more like “aw shucks”), but he has gradually turned into one of those lefties; I wouldn’t necessarily say he strikes me as a deep thinker, but he knows what the hell — “the heck”, he might say — he’s doing. Today’s final line was six innings pitched and no runs allowed, despite five hits and three walks, aided by six strikeouts.

The offense was provided by Nick Johnson and Derek Jeter, who hit solo homers early on, and the Yankees tacked on gradually via a slew of infield singles, walks, and doubles, which never quite coalesced into a huge inning but came out to the same thing in the end. It was a good homecoming for Johnson, who came through in several key moments (and managed not to lose any limbs), as did Cano, an ultra-patient Swisher, and the usual suspects – Jeter, Posada, and of course Mariano Rivera, who saved Chan Ho Park and David Robertson from themselves with his usual easy flair.

So far, so good.

Coverage of the Angels this past offseason focused on the fact that, a year after they let Francisco Rodriguez depart as a free agent, four more of their key players were eligible to do the same. It was generally believed that the Angels had to resign at least two of them to maintain their hold on the American League West, but after quickly re-upping Bobby Abreu for two years at an annual salary of $9 million, the Angels watched as Chone Figgins, John Lackey, and Vladimir Guerrero, not to mention valuable veteran set-up lefty Darren Oliver, all signed elsewhere.

Here’s the thing. I still think the Angels are going to repeat as division champions this year. For one thing, though they didn’t resign Guerrero, they did sign Hideki Matsui for a mere $6 million, and to my eyes, that’s an upgrade. Matsui’s actually eight months older than Guerrero, and both have a lot of mileage on their bodies and have struggled with injuries in recent years, but Guerrero, who signed for $6.5 million plus an option with division rival Texas, just looked used-up last year, playing in just 100 games and failing to reach 20 homers or walks. After leading the league in intentional walks in each of the previous four years, Guerrero was passed intentionally just three times in 2009, damning evidence that the Impaler’s blade has dulled significantly.

Matsui, meanwhile, arrives in L.A. coming off one of his best seasons. Both seem capable of replicating Matsui’s career line of .292/.370/.483 if healthy, but I think Guerrero will need the help of his new park to get there, while Matsui can do it on his own. The catch is that Mike Scioscia has already given Matsui a start in left field. If he continues to do that every so often, the chances of Matsui staying healthy are significantly reduced (not to mention the effect of his two bad knees on the Angels’ defense).

As for Lackey, the Angels replaced him last July when they acquired Scott Kazmir from the Rays for three prospects including Sean Rodriguez. Kazmir is ably filling Lackey’s shoes by starting the season on the disabled list, which Lackey did each of the last two seasons. When he returns, Kazmir will give the Halos a young, hard-throwing lefty to complete a five-deep rotation that also includes Jered Weaver, lefty Joe Saunders, Ervin Santana, and free agent addition Joel Pineiro, the last of whom is the only of the five Angels starters to have reached his thirties. None of those guys is an ace, but Weaver and Kazmir can be number-twos, Saunders and the groundballing Pineiro slot in well at three and four, and the erratic Santana has front-end potential as evidenced by his strong 2008 campaign which earned him his first All-Star selection and even a few Cy Young votes. Hidden in Santana’s 2009 numbers is the 3.18 ERA he posted over his last 11 starts, much in the same way that Kazmir’s unimpressive 2009 figures mask a strong second half in which he posted a 3.27 ERA and a 1.73 mark after becoming an Angel.

The depth of that rotation is a large part of the reason that I believe the Angels are going to repeat, but their lineup is still solid as well. Only the Yankees scored more runs than the Angels in 2009, and with Matsui replacing Guerrero, the only real change is the loss of Figgins. It remains to be seen if Erick Aybar will be an out machine while taking Figgins’ place atop the order, but things are solid behind him, with Abreu getting on base in the two-hole and Torii Hunter, Matsui, and Kendry Morales lining up to drive him in. If Aybar can hit for enough average to prop up his OBP, and Brandon Wood, who replaces Figgins at third base and opens the season batting eighth, can deliver on his considerable power potential (the 25-year-old slugged .541 in the minors and averaged just shy of 29 homers a year over his last five minor league seasons), the Angels should actually be better without Figgins than they were with him. Those are big “if”s, of course, but the Angels have room for error given their production last year.

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What else?

[photo credit: yehwan]

Home: Where we want to be.

Mike Vaccaro in the Post:

These are the kinds of days the old place was built for, when there was bunting draped all around her, when even on the coldest April days you could always coax a whisper of summer out of the sky. Opening Day at Yankee Stadium: five words that never grew tired across the generations.

The move across the street seems more permanent now than it ever did last year. The old place is coming down in hunks and chunks — “It looks like ruins,” Yankee manager Joe Girardi said — and soon there really will only be memories where Ruth and DiMaggio and Mantle did their finest work.

No, as much as the new Yankee Stadium saw last year — all those walk-off wins, all those pies to the face, all those postseason victories and that one final, glorious, championship-clinching win against the Phillies — today is when it officially becomes the Yankees’ home for good.

This morning I see a guy on the train reading Kill All Your Darlings, a fine collection of essays by Luc Sante. So we chat for a minute and I get to thinking about this wonderful essay by Sante, My Lost City:

The idea of writing a book about New York City1 first entered my head around 1980, when I was a writer more wishfully than in actual fact, spending my nights in clubs and bars and my days rather casually employed in the mailroom of this magazine. It was there that Rem Koolhaas’s epochal Delirious New York fell into my hands. “New York is a city that will be replaced by another city” is the phrase that sticks in my mind. Koolhaas’s book, published in 1978 as a paean to the unfinished project of New York the Wonder City, seemed like an archaeological reverie, an evocation of the hubris and ambition of a dead city.2 I gazed wonderingly at its illustrations, which showed sights as dazzling and remote as Nineveh and Tyre. The irony is that many of their subjects stood within walking distance: the Chrysler Building, the McGraw-Hill Building, Rockefeller Center. But they didn’t convey the feeling they had when they were new. In Koolhaas’s pages New York City was manifestly the location of the utopian and dystopian fantasies of the silent-film era. It was Metropolis, with elevated roadways, giant searchlights probing the heavens, flying machines navigating the skyscraper canyons. It was permanently set in the future.

The New York I lived in, on the other hand, was rapidly regressing. It was a ruin in the making, and my friends and I were camped out amid its potsherds and tumuli. This did not distress me—quite the contrary. I was enthralled by decay and eager for more: ailanthus trees growing through cracks in the asphalt, ponds and streams forming in leveled blocks and slowly making their way to the shoreline, wild animals returning from centuries of exile. Such a scenario did not seem so far-fetched then. Already in the mid-1970s, when I was a student at Columbia, my windows gave out onto the plaza of the School of International Affairs, where on winter nights troops of feral dogs would arrive to bed down on the heating grates. Since then the city had lapsed even further. On Canal Street stood a five-story building empty of human tenants that had been taken over from top to bottom by pigeons. If you walked east on Houston Street from the Bowery on a summer night, the jungle growth of vacant blocks gave a foretaste of the impending wilderness, when lianas would engird the skyscrapers and mushrooms would cover Times Square.

Bring in the bass…

Previewing the Angels…

Meanwhile, Tyler Kepner gives his first impressions of Target Field:

You cannot overstate how cool the massive old-fashioned Twins logo in center field is. The Minneapolis and St. Paul characters will share a neon handshake every time a Twin hits a homer. Like the Mets’ apple or Bernie Brewer’s slide or the Phillies’ giant Liberty Bell, this is a distinctive feature that will have special appeal to kids.

…As Peter Pascarelli of ESPN points out, it doesn’t remind you of anywhere else, and that’s a good thing. But there are some of the best elements of other parks, like the evergreen trees behind the center field fence (similar to Coors Field in Denver) and the nearby downtown skyline, like Pittsburgh, Baltimore and Cleveland.

Martine’s Legs, By Henri Cartier-Bresson (1968)

Love this bass line, man.

The classic is still classic even if modern editions don’t include the recipe for simmered porcupine.