Steven Goldman looks at A.J. Burnett vs. Ivan Nova:

Everything about Nova—good fastball but weak secondary offerings and a tendency to stop fooling hitters in the middle innings seems to scream relief work. He might someday develop that solid extra pitch, but it’s a gamble, whereas a Jimenez (or another established pitcher) has already cleared that particular hurdle. I remain a strong believer in internal development and a youth movement for the Yankees, but I don’t believe in youth solely for youth’s sake—if that was a goal worth pursuing, you could bring up any kid from any level of the minors. No, the youngster has to be demonstrably better than what you currently have. Nova is better than Burnett right now, but in the long term he’s likely to be surpassed. He’s just not special, and when someone offers to trade you their best stuff for your everyday, average players, you jump. That’s how legendarily lopsided trades are born. Every deal is a gamble, but Nova is not one of those chips not likely to come back and bite them.

In short, when it comes to Nova, the Yankees need to use him (for Burnett) or lose him (for someone better than Burnett and himself).

Summer Jam: The Great Dot X.

[Painting by Ana Teresa Fernandez]

I couldn’t get started this morning and it is already hot and muggy so the walk to the subway didn’t speed me up any.

When I got to work I said to one of the security guards, “Jesus, hot enough for you?”

“Never mind that, I’m already dealing with bullshit.”

I asked her what was wrong.

“This skinny bitch tries to come through here and I tell her she’s got to get put her bag through x-ray before I can let her in. Dude she’s with says, ‘She’s from the L.A. office, it’s okay.’ No, I don’t care where you from, over here you go through x-ray.”

I laughed and said, “Well, it’s over with so don’t dwell on it.”

“Oh, I’m done. Got to leave room for the more bullshit. My day’s just started.”

[Photo Credit: Penny Anderson]

AJ Burnett was one of four Yankee pitchers who exceeded expectations in the first half. I covered many of his starts and found most of them to be well pitched, even though they were almost all losses. He sped out of the second half gate and straight into the gutter with Bartolo Colon and Freddy Garcia tonight prompting every Yankee fan to look up Ubaldo Jimenez’s velocity charts on Fangraphs. Even though they already scoffed at the asking price yesterday. For the record, while it would be a lot to trade Montero, Nova, Banuelos and Betances for Ubaldo, I admire the heck out the Rockies for having the restraint to not ask for Lou Gehrig’s bones in the deal.

Whether or not the Yankees pull off a trade this summer, and whether or not they get a nice surprise from one of the young arms in the minors, I think we’ve just seen the beginning of winter. If you’re a fan of A Game of Thrones, you’ll know the Stark family is fond of reminding everybody that “winter is coming.” In terms of the Yankees, I’m not at all saying their season is over or that they can’t rally past Boston for some kind of title this year, just that winter is coming as sure as the calendar says so and when it gets here, CC Sabathia is going to rule the Seven Kingdoms and beyond.

I have followed the Yankees for so long and in all that time, they’ve never had a guy as good, as healthy and as consistent as CC Sabathia. Has any Yankee had three years in a row this good since Guidry from 1977-1979? Moose had three good years to start his tenure in New York, but I don’t think his best was as good as CC’s best. In two and half years he has made himself utterly indispensable. I can’t imagine the Yankees going forward without him. Luckily, I can’t imagine the Yankees letting him go either. But with every stinker from AJ and the rest, CC’s payday grows.

Tonight AJ revealed the stink with a quickness. After being staked to an early run, he allowed the first four men to reach. It looked like he would escape with only two runs when he caught a two-out chopper behind the mound, but instead of taking a half-step to set himself for an easy toss, he hurried a “throw” past Teixeira while wheeling and whirling. A third run scored. A T-Rex could have made a better throw, and I’m talking about the fossils on Central Park West.

The score was 4-1 when the Yankees rallied off Tampa starter Alex Cobb in the fifth. Teixeira singled to cash in Gardner’s lead off walk and Robbie Cano looked dangerous representing the go-ahead run. Then the power went out at that crappy stadium and ruined the at-bat. When he finally got back in the box fifteen minutes later, the rookie regrouped from his only real jam of the night and retired Cano to end the threat.

Just at that time, Baltimore took a lead on Boston for thirty seconds, hell froze half-over and dogs and cats considered mutual respect before the natural order sped to reassert itself. Boston tied the game before Baltimore could record an out.

Burnett continued to be hot garbage into the sixth. He ended up allowing eight hits and six walks and looked every bit as bad as that line suggests. But thanks to a bail-out from Hector Noesi, the score was somehow stuck at 4-2 when he hit the shower. Shower as long as you want AJ, some odors are stubborn. (Apparently he got into it with a fan behind the dugout. I think the fan was mad that AJ didn’t invite him out to run the bases; everybody else in the stadium had had a chance.)

The Yankees brought the go-ahead run to the plate again in the seventh, but Mark Teixeira struck out looking on a close pitch. The replay showed the pitch clearly outside, but with the game on the line, if you leave it up to the umpire on a close pitch, you have to live with some bad calls.

Around this time, dogs and cats rekindled their age-old feud in earnest and the Red Sox blew the game open in Baltimore. Pedroia has raised his slugging percentage 100 points in about 15 games and somewhere along the way lapped Cano in bWAR (4.9 to 2.7).

The Yankees rallied again in the eighth, this time they meant it. Brett Gardner singled off Kyle Farnsworth to make it 4-3, but there was no chance to score Russell Martin from second. The bases were still loaded for Eduardo Nunez and he went up hacking under the pressure. It looked like a bad idea as he grounded a potential double play ball to short. But there was Brett Gardner, all over the second baseman with wonderfully tough slide to destroy the pivot. The game was tied. Derek Jeter swung at balls four and five and whiffed to end the inning, but it was sweet to get to Farnsworth for the first time this year.

While the Yankees assaulted the lead, the bullpen held the line admirably. David Robertson backed up Hector Noesi and both were excellent. Robertson especially so, as he set down the top of the Tampa order in the blink of an eye. The Rays sent out Alexander Torres to make his Major League debut. He was called up because they used nine pitchers the night before in the 16-inning loss to the Red Sox.

The rookie allowed a lead off single to Granderson, but recorded the next two outs. With Granderson on third, Joe Maddon had Torres walk Swisher. I noticed the intentional balls were fluttering to home plate – he was not comfortable. The last one bounced. David Cone and Ken Singleton were all over it as well and they wondered if the nerves might be getting to Torres. Whatever the reason, he ended up walking the next two men as well, and forced in the go-ahead run. Give credit to Jones and Martin for beautiful at-bats, but I can’t support a manager asking a guy making his Major League debut to intentionally put a base runner on in the ninth inning of a tie game. Brett Gardner did his best to draw another walk, but Torres finally found the zone and escaped the jam without further damage.

Mariano Rivera came in to face the heart of the Rays order in the ninth. And, well, you know how that story goes. It was over before I had a chance to get nervous. I was amused and offended by BJ Upton’s angry reaction to getting punched out. The pitch was placed so perfectly, broke so late and so hard, that he just should have been proud to be part of that moment. Like being photgraphed by Richard Avedon or something.

The teams combined for 16 walks and 17 hits, so it was quite a slog, and maybe it wasn’t a good game, but it was a great win for the Yanks, 5-4. And hey, if you consider the Rays’ bullpen was shot from the night before, the Yanks owe this victory to the Red Sox.

Yanks in Tampa. It was a late night for the Rays who lost 1-0 to the Sox in 16 innings. Ouch.

Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Mark Teixeira 1B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher RF
Jorge Posada DH
Russell Martin C
Brett Gardner LF
Eduardo Nunez 3B

Cliff’s got the Preview. You know how we do:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Credit: Mark Borthwick]

Fighting the Good Fight

By John Schulian

Chicago was a great city for anyone who worked on a newspaper. There were three dailies when I got there–the Daily News, Sun-Times and Tribune–and people read them voraciously, passionately. They were part of the fabric of life in the city. There wasn’t a great paper in the bunch, but they were still lively and full of first-rate reporting and writing. What they did not have when I hit town, however, was memorable  sportswriting. It was, if I may be blunt, painfully mediocre.

The sports-page revolution that had swept through New York, L.A., Boston, Philadelphia, and Washington hadn’t caused so much as a ripple in Chicago. Nor did the city’s newspaper executives seem to realize that all over the country, young hotshots were seizing the moment — Dave Kindred in Louisville, Joe Soucheray in Minneapolis-–and seasoned wordsmiths like Wells Twombly in San Francisco were still going strong. The Tribune had two first-rate sportswriters, Don Pierson, a wizard at covering pro football, and Bob Verdi, a droll stylist who went back and forth between baseball and hockey. Otherwise, the Trib was dreary, uninspired and burdened with lazy, burned-out columnists. The Sun-Times was trying to shake things up by bringing in consummate pros like Ron Rapoport, Randy Harvey and Thom Greer. Tom Callahan, a ballsy columnist from Cincinnati, was supposed to be part of the revolution, but he took one look at the in-house chaos and went right back where he’d come from.

Nobody was going to get rid of me that easily. I wrote an introductory column laying out my ties to Chicago -– the days I’d spent in Wrigley Field’s bleachers, the night I’d seen Bobby Hull score the 499th and 500th goals of his career -– and I followed it up with pieces on Al McGuire, a columnist’s dream, and the Bulls’ tough guy guard, Norm Van Lier. Next thing I knew, some guy was walking up to me and saying, “So how does it feel to be the best sports columnist in town?”

Jesus, the hours I put in. The deadline for the first edition at the Daily News was something like 5 in the morning, and I can’t tell you how many times I came close to missing it. (It always made me feel better when I heard that Larry Merchant did the same thing at the New York Post.) Understandably, my work habits grated on my wife when I got married. They also raised the anxiety level for the two guys who put the sports section together, the positively Zen Frank Sugano and Mike Downey, who went on to become a star columnist at the Detroit Free Press, the L.A. Times, and the Chicago Tribune. I can still quote headlines that Downey put on my columns: “She’s Dorothy, Not the Wicked Witch” for one in defense of Dorothy Hamill, and “That Mother McRae” (well, for one edition, anyway) after things between the Yankees and the Royals got chippy during the 1977 playoffs.

As soon as I proved myself, I had the clout to lobby for bringing in Phil Hersh, an old friend from Baltimore, to cover baseball. Phil was a first-rate writer, an intrepid reporter, and a fount of story ideas. While I covered Leon Spinks’ upset victory over Muhammad Ali in Las Vegas, he jumped on a plane to St. Louis and wrote a killer feature about the God-awful Pruitt-Igoe housing project where Spinks’ family lived on government-issue peanut butter in a blistering hot apartment with no way to control the heat.

Once we did a few things like that and wrote the hell out of whatever was on the agenda for the day, the bright kids on the Daily News staff caught the fever. Kevin Lamb, our Bears writer, already had it, because he’d broken in at Newsday, which had been at the heart of the revolution. All Downey needed was someone to free him from the copy desk and point him in the right direction. It was the same with Brian Hewitt, who was straight out of Stanford.

We didn’t have much space at the Daily News, but we made the most of it by out-hustling and out-writing the competition. Even when the sports department got moved downstairs to a dreary space next to the backshop, we didn’t miss a beat, just kept on kicking ass.

Seeing that happen was one of the real thrills of my first year as a columnist. I was in the middle of something that was more than just exciting, it was important. We were doing our part to keep the Daily News alive.

After I’d been in Chicago for a couple of months, I started hearing from papers that wanted to lure me away. The Tribune was the first of them. Fat chance. Then it was the San Francisco Examiner because Twombly had up and died when he was barely 40. The only call I paid attention to came from Larry Merchant. I would have sworn he didn’t know my name and here he was on the phone telling me he was in discussions to become the New York Times’ sports editor. If he took the job, he said, he wanted his first hires to be Peter Gammons and me.

Once again my head was spinning. But Merchant didn’t get the job, so I went back to busting my hump in behalf of the Daily News. I wish I could tell you every column I wrote was a work of art, but that wasn’t the case. Sometimes they were good, maybe even very good; other times I floundered and grasped for ideas and phrases that were beyond me. Still, I’ve always been grateful that I could break in as a columnist on a p.m. paper. It gave me the time I needed to master the form.  If I’d been at an a.m. paper, I’m not sure I would have survived as well as I did.

And here’s something that could only have happened at a p.m.: When I walked out of the paper to look for a cab home in the wee small hours one snowy morning, my footprints were the first on North Michigan Avenue. I had my dream job, in my favorite city in the country, and in a few hours, the people in that city–some of them anyway–were going to read what I had stayed up all night to write for them. And in that moment, I felt the romance of the newspaper business as I never had before.

It didn’t seem anywhere near as romantic late on March 3, 1978 as the Daily News staff waited for the paper’s final edition to come off the press. My face was as long as anybody’s, but I wasn’t entitled to sadness, not the way the people who had given their lives to the paper were. I was standing next to M.W. Newman, who wrote elegantly about architecture and books and local history and pretty much anything else that popped up on his radar. He’d been at the Daily News for something like 30 years. He was the one who had the right to sing the blues. I was just somebody who came along too late to help save the paper. And yet you’d be surprised how often I think of it. And how proud I am to have been there.

Click here for the full “From Ali to Xena” archives.

[Photo Credit: N.Y. Times]

From Kostya Kennedy:

It was 70 years ago, on a mild and misty night in Cleveland, before the largest crowd of the 1941 baseball season — 67,463 in Municipal Stadium — that Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak came to an end. The game became, in today’s parlance, an “instant classic.” It would have been destined for countless airings on many sports channels had only there been footage to air.

Instead the night of July 17, 1941 survived only in memory (and in some part myth), re-lived and re-told not just by DiMaggio himself but also by his teammates and by the opposing Indians players and by the coaches and the batboys and by the people who attended the game and by the many thousands more who were not at the game, but who would swear, year after year, that they were.

The facts are simple: DiMaggio went 0-for-3 with a fourth-inning walk. Yet each of DiMaggio’s at-bats that night was an event, the mass of fans cheering and hooting each time he strode to the plate. Many of the people felt unsure whether or not they wanted to see the Great DiMag, as he was called, succeed against their Indians. Cleveland’s ace pitcher, Bob Feller, felt that way as he watched from the Indians dugout. When I spoke to him, some nine months before his death at age 92 last December, Feller said he remembered the game clear as if the floodlights were still upon it.

Of course, a new hit streak started the next day.

Louis had skills. These are his collages.

Phil Hughes was not great Sunday. There were liners that found gaps, but more that found gloves. He did not dominate. But he was good. And we haven’t seen good since last October in the first round clincher versus Minnesota. So welcome back, Phil, please stick around for the rest of the season.

Brett Gardner led off the game with a hit while Derek Jeter got the day off. I think Jeter has looked fine since he came off the DL, but watching Gardner perform so well up there sure was easy on the eyes. I have friends who are offended that Jeter is still leading off. I’m not at that point, but the Yankee machine might run a little better by flipping the two. At least against righties. Gardner was on base four times and even his out was ripped to short.

Behind Gardner and his three hits, the Yankees rapped out eight more and built four rallies. Each time they rallied, they scored. Whether it was Russell Martin, Robbie Cano, Curtis Granderson or Nick Swisher, there was a key hit or sacrifice fly at the right time to keep the scoreboard flashing. They never broke the game open, but they kept pushing the lead until it was safe.

And with Phil Hughes on the mound, there was really no way to be sure exactly how big the lead needed to be. But Hughes was right and seven runs were more than enough as the Yanks won 7-2. He looked like a big leaguer again. The pitches weren’t blowing people away, but they didn’t look like they were on a tee either. And I was especially encouraged by the break on his curve ball. A baby-step, sure, but aren’t a baby’s steps the hardest to come by?

Two games ago I wrote about the gloomy dome. But when the roof is open on a sunny day after an easy Yankee win, it’s not so bad.

Now head over to the women’s World Cup final. The USA squandered several first half chances and Japan will punish them on the counter attack eventually. The US deserves a goal, and if they score first, they should win.

Phil Hughes looks to show us something this afternoon.

Derek Jeter has the day off.

Brett Gardner LF

Curtis Granderson CF

Mark Teixeira DH

Robinson Cano 2B

Nick Swisher RF

Jorge Posada 1B

Russell Martin C

Eduardo Nunez SS

Ramiro Pena 3B

Never mind the heat:

Let’s Go Yank-ees!

[Photo Credit: the most talented, Joel Zimmer]

Mornin’.

[Photo Credit: Peter Stray]

One of the nicer outgrowths of Robinson Cano winning the Home Run Derby was the attention given to his designated pitcher, his own father. I suspect that a lot of non-Yankee fans did not know that Cano is a second generation major leaguer, but now they realize that his dad, Jose Cano, did have a major league career–albeit a brief one. And they should know that it was Jose who made the respectful decision to name his son after Hall of Famer and civil rights pioneer Jackie Robinson.

Jose Cano was originally signed by the Yankees in 1980, but was released that summer after making three rough appearances in the Sally League. The tall, thin right-hander then signed with the Braves–on two different occasions–only to be released each time. After signing with the Astros’ organization, he finally made it to the big leagues in 1989, nearly a full decade after beginning his pro career.

Cano did not put up good numbers with the Astros; he had a 5.09 ERA in six career appearances over one fragmented season. But here’s an oddity. In his last appearance, coming on September 30, Cano actually pitched a complete game, allowing only two runs in a 9-2 win over Scott Scudder in the Reds. Now Cano wasn‘t exactly facing the “Big Red Machine“ that day. The Reds, who were playing out the string, featured only one good hitter that day, a fellow named Paul O’Neill. The rest of the lineup showcased people like Herm Winningham, Luis Quinones, onetime Yankee Joe Oliver (who batted fifth!), Rolando Roomes, and a shortstop named Jeff Richardson.

Still, Cano pitched very well that day. How many players throw complete game efforts in their final major league appearance? Well, it turns out that Cano is the only one in history to have achieved that strange feat. Cano, who saved his best pitching for last, then left the Astros’ organization to sign a contract to play in the relative obscurity of the Taiwanese League.

Well, he’s no longer obscure. With a big assist from his son, Jose Cano is now a household name in baseball circles…

***

I’m not normally a fan of Deadspin, but Eric Nusbaum contributed an interesting article there the other day in which he rated the 100 worst players in major league history. Some of the entries were funny (Johnnie LeMaster once wore the word “BOO” on the back of his jersey) and others were downright revealing (did you know that Mark Lemongello once kidnapped his cousin, singer Peter Lemongello?).

Yet, I do have objections to the inclusions of two former Yankees on the list: Billy Martin and Curt Blefary. “Billy the Kid” and “Clank” were hardly stars, but they were useful players who could contribute to winning teams. Martin was a good defensive second baseman who could fill in at short and third. He also elevated his game enormously in the postseason; he batted .500 with two home runs in the 1953 World Series, and .333 over five World Series combined. Those are hardly the accomplishments of one of the game’s worst players.

In regards to Blefary, I’ve long been a fan of his and feel a need to defend the late journeyman. While it’s true that he was a terrible defender at several positions, he also had some power, drew a lot of walks, and gave teams flexibility with his ability to catch, play first base, or the outfield. At the very least, as a left-handed hitting backup catcher, Blefary provided value in a limited role. Once again, that hardly qualifies him as one of baseball’s worst.

The bottom line is this: there have been hundreds of players far worse than either Martin or Blefary. Those two simply don’t belong on the Deadspin list…

***

I love living in Cooperstown, in part because on any given day, just about any former major leaguer can show up. You never know whom you might meet in the Hall of Fame, or on Main Street. Already this summer, ex-big leaguers like Luis Gonzalez, Glenn Beckert, both Jose Cruz, Jr. and Jose Cruz, Sr. (who briefly played for the Yankees), and former Met Gene Walter have visited the Hall of Fame. One of the most recent to land in Cooperstown is Mike McCormick, who last week toured the museum with his daughter and her family. McCormick pitched briefly for the Yankees, making a handful of appearances in 1970 before finishing up his career the following summer with the Royals.

McCormick’s prime seasons came with San Francisco in the sixties. It’s easy to forget that McCormick once won the Cy Young Award. In 1967, he moved up from being the Giants’ No. 3 starter behind Juan Marichal and Gaylord Perry to being the staff ace. Pitching 262 innings, McCormick led the league with 22 wins, pitched 14 complete games, and posted a 2.85 ERA. He was clearly the best pitcher in the league–and fully deserving of the honor of the Cy Young. Still, he is one of the least known winners of the award, a relative no-name compared to the likes of Seaver, Guidry, Gooden, Maddux, Clemens, and Johnson. McCormick lacked the staying power of other Cy Young winners, largely because of injuries.

Still, McCormick won 134 games during a highly respectable career. He has been retired since 1971, but had never visited Cooperstown until now. “It’s the first time that I’ve been to the Baseball Hall of Fame, and shame on me,” McCormick told Hall of Fame researcher Bill Francis. “It’s an incredible place. I would tell everybody that has an opportunity that this is the place to come.”

Amen, brother. I’m surprised that even more retired players don’t come to Cooperstown. After all, they receive free admission to the Museum, along with a behind-the-scenes tour of the Hall of Fame, if they want it. For the 72-year-old McCormick, it was an experience that was almost as thrilling as winning that Cy Young.

Bruce Markusen’s The Team That Changed Baseball was recently quoted in Sports Illustrated.

The best argument for me against an unbalanced schedule is 19 games versus the Blue Jays. I find the dome gloomy and ugly. The team bores the heck out of me, and they beat the Yankees too often for my tastes. At least they have Jose Bautista and his improbable career arc is fun to watch and to try to make sense of. Except he’s injured. So when the Yanks lost to the Jays tonight 7-1, there were no redeeming features whatsoever.

The really bad news is that to start the second half, the Blue Jays have roughed up two of the bright spots of the first half. And since we have had our doubts about both of those guys, let’s hope this isn’t the beginning of a turbulent course correction.

Freddy Garcia appeared to have good stuff. The fork ball was tumbling out of his hand and his off-speed stuff looked to have good downward action. Lots of swings and misses. Watching the Jays break the tie in the fourth on two beautiful doubles by Snider and Encarnacion, it would be hard to pin the runs on the pitcher. He made his pitch, got the location, speed and break he wanted, but both hitters managed to sweep the barrels of the bats down and out of the zone and right into the pitches’ paths.

Crack, crack. That was all the Jays needed, though Garcia surrendered four more runs. The Jays plated three in the fifth on one hit as Garcia backed up a lead-off double with three walks. If the Yankees had not emptied the bullpen in the previous game, would Girardi have made a move there? I think he would have. The Yankees weren’t hitting thanks to a good outing from flame thrower Brandon Morrow, but at 3-1 or 4-1, they had the puncher’s chance. Whatever – the punch never came.

Thursday’s loss wasn’t hard to take because those freakish early runs were so strange. It was clearly an “inning from Hell” and the bats showed up and scored seven runs, and even made it interesting for half an inning. Tonight was just a drubbing in every aspect. The Blue Jays were chewing sweeter gum and sucking on saltier sunflower seeds. Their water was wetter.

In the bottom of the seventh Russell Martin took a foul ball off the face mask really hard. Yankee fans tuning in for these last two games thought, “Right there with you Russell.”

CC Sabathia and Phil Hughes for a series spilt? Stranger things have happened, but I won’t be able to visualize Hughes having a good game until he has one.

Photo by John Frisch

Allen Barra on James Rodney Richard:

You’ve heard stories about how great J.R. Richard was at his best, and they are all true. What the stories don’t tell you is how thrilling it was to watch him on the mound on a good day. He was the scariest pitcher I’ve ever seen. He was 6’-8 ½”, and his three-quarters side arm fastball sometimes made it to 100 mph. Imagine a right-handed Randy Johnson with 30 more pounds of muscle, and you’ll get some idea of how terrifying he was.

I don’t think he was a great pitcher—great in the sense of being the best in the league for a couple of seasons—and it’s true that he had an advantage when pitching in the Astrodome, the best hitter’s park in the game back then. But midway through the 1980 season, Sports Illustrated’s William Nack called him “the best right-hander in baseball,” and that was probably true.

By 1980, at the age of 30, he was certainly on the verge of greatness. From 1976-1979 he won 74 games, completing 62 of them and averaging 260 strikeouts per season. He had over 300 strikeouts in both 1978 and 1979. As he got older, he seemed to be getting better and smarter, with a change that startled some hitters. (Of course, when you consistently throw everything, including your slider, in the high 90s, a changeup is going to be even more devastating.)

Yanks in Toronto for a long weekend.  Cliff has the preview.

The Bombers have reportedly signed J.C. Romero to a minor league deal. Greg Golson was called up from Triple A.

Derek Jeter SS
Curtis Granderson CF
Mark Teixeira 1B
Robinson Cano 2B
Nick Swisher RF
Russell Martin C
Andruw Jones DH
Eduardo Nunez 3B
Brett Gardner LF

Never mind the spiel:

Let’s Go Yank-ees.

[Picture by Bags]

The 2011 midseason classic had more luminaries than the night sky over the Arizona desert. In total, 84 different players were designated as All Stars, but the no shows wound up garnering more attention. In particular, Derek Jeter’s decision to skip the game caused quite a stir. A week earlier, Jeter’s selection was widely criticized as being undeserved, but after the future Hall of Famer joined the 3,000 hit club in grand fashion, it seemed as if the entire country was clamoring for his appearance in Arizona. Apparently, Minka Kelly held greater sway.

Jeter wasn’t the only Yankee to ditch his American League teammates. In fact, of the five selected players who didn’t make the trip to Chase Field, four were Bronx Bombers. Between Jeter, Mariano Rivera, Alex Rodriguez, and C.C. Sabathia, the American League was forced to do without over 276 career wins above replacement, so, when this year’s World Series begins in a National League ballpark, you know who to blame. Those damn Yankees!

If not for the no shows, the Yankees would have almost been able to field their own All Star team in Arizona. Not since the franchise earned nine selections in 1958 did the Yankees have more players honored with an all star invitation, so even with the absences, the Bronx Bombers were still well represented.

Yankees’ All Star Selections by Year

Source: Baseball-reference.com

Since the inaugural All Star Game in 1933, the Yankees have had 121 (71 position players and 50 pitchers) different representatives account for 406 (282 position players and 124 pitchers) total selections, the most of any team. However, the quintessential Yankees’ All Star was Mickey Mantle. Remarkably, the Mick was selected to the play in the midseason classic during every season of his career but the first. In total, Mantle represented the Yankees in an AL record 20 All Star Games. You can just imagine how many he would have liked to skip, especially when you consider he was only on the winning side five times.

Yankees’ All Stars Ranked by Total Selections and Games Started By Postion

Source: Baseball-reference.com

Although Mickey Mantle was the most tenured Yankees’ All Star, his midseason line of .233/.365/.372 suggests he was far from the most prolific. Instead, that distinction belongs to none other than Derek Jeter. In 11 games played encompassing 25 plate appearances, Jeter has batted .435/.458/.608, a level of performance just a notch above fellow Yankee Captain Lou Gehrig. What’s more, the shortstop is the only Yankee to ever be named the All Star MVP (2000). I guess Jeter really could have made a difference had he decided to play in this year’s game?

Top Yankees’ All Star Position Players, Ranked by OPS

Note: Includes all players with at least 20 PAs.
Source: Baseball-reference.com

Among pitchers, Mariano Rivera’s 12 All Star selections are tops in franchise history. In eight appearances, the immortal closer has not surrendered a run while recording a record four All Star Game saves. Lefty Gomez is another Yankees’ all star record holder. Not only are Gomez’ three wins unmatched in All Star history, but his five starts are tied with Don Drysdale for most all time.

On the other end of the spectrum is Whitey Ford. Like his best buddy Mantle, the Chairman of the Board didn’t exactly shine at All Star time. Ford and Mantle were known to have a good time or two when together, so, although their performance in the game wasn’t stellar, you can bet they made up for it during the rest of the break.

Top Yankees’ All Star Pitchers, Ranked by ERA

Note: Includes all pitchers with at least five innings pitched
Source: Baseball-reference.com

Based on past performance, it’s easy to see why so many fans were eager to have Jeter and Rivera make an appearance at Chase Field. Among all their other accomplishments, the future Hall of Famers are also two of most successful All Star performers. Then again, maybe it was time to give someone else a chance to shine? Jeter and Rivera have always been very charitable, so perhaps their absence was a gesture of goodwill? Let’s just hope they aren’t as generous in October.

Over at River Avenue Blues, Ben Kabak picks up on a story by Bob Raissman of the Daily News and furthers a discussion about the Yankees radio rights.

Here’s a must-read for you, from Texas Monthly.  A long profile on Bill Halley by Michael Hall:

There are many reasons why Bill Haley hasn’t gotten the credit he deserves. The main one, at least the one that comes to mind when you first think of the man, is that damn curl, which you can see in every picture ever taken of him. It looked like a gimmick, a symbol of the cheerful good-time music Haley made, songs such as “Rock Around the Clock,” “See You Later, Alligator,” and “Crazy Man Crazy.” This wasn’t the sex-crazed, dangerous music made by those other guys. Elvis was all about sex. Bill was the pudgy guy with the curl. Wearing the plaid dinner jacket.

Yes, Haley was a bit of a square. And I’ve been a fan of his ever since I saw American Graffiti, in 1973, when I was fifteen. “Rock Around the Clock,” the first song in the movie’s first scene, jumped out of the theater speakers: an exuberant 128 seconds of driving guitar and sax riffs, an amazing guitar solo, and Haley’s breathless vocal. It made me feel good; it made me want to move. And if it did that to me, imagine what it did to teens in 1955. Kids—to say nothing of grown-ups—had never heard anything like it before. There’s a before “Rock Around the Clock” and an after “Rock Around the Clock.” The before is Glenn Miller, Perry Como, and Bing Crosby. The after is Elvis, the Beatles, and Lady Gaga.

Like so many people, I wondered, How did Haley go from The Ed Sullivan Show to Sambo’s, from the top of the world to the bottom of Texas, where he would suffer a lonely death in February 1981? No one seems to know much about his last twenty years. Five books have been written about Haley, and the best one, by his son Jack, treats that period in a fourteen-page epilogue. And those last desperate months—what happened?

Remembering Royko 

By John Schulian

I was instantly happy at the Daily News. It was frayed around the cuffs and just about everywhere else, but that was a relief after all the power and glamour at the Washington Post. Just the same, the Daily News had a distinguished history of its own -– Carl Sandburg strumming his guitar in the city room, a distinguished cadre of foreign correspondents, Pulitzer prizes galore, and, of course, Mike Royko. But for the two decades before I got there, it had been searching for an identity. The one thing about it that couldn’t be changed was that it was an afternoon paper, and afternoon papers were the dinosaurs of the newspaper business. Readers were turning to TV instead, and besides, there was never any guarantee that our delivery trucks were going to make their way through the increasingly gnarly traffic. Add it all up and you had Chicago’s version of  the Alamo.

I was at the Daily News for the last 13 months of its existence, and it was probably the most exhilarating time of my career. The paper’s old hands did great work, and most of the newcomers fell right in step with them. When the paper was re-designed, it looked great, too. (The guy who re-designed it had also given the New York Herald Tribune a new look right before it went under, so maybe he was the kiss of death.) I remember Royko saying the paper was the best it had been in all the  years he’d been there, and Mike didn’t throw compliments around lightly. He couldn’t have cared less about peoples’ feelings. But he was truly proud of the Daily News as it battled extinction.

Being on the same paper with Royko was a privilege. Actually, I was on two papers with him: the Daily News and the Sun-Times. The man was a genius as a columnist. It’s not like great cityside columnists fall off trees, either. But Mike worked in an era that had a bumper crop: Jimmy Breslin and Pete Hamill and Pete Dexter. There was Murray Kempton, too -– God, what a beautiful writer — and the marvelously off-the-wall George Frazier in Boston. They called Paul Hemphilll “the Breslin of the South” when he wrote a column in Atlanta, and Emmett Watson was the soul of Seattle. When I look around the country now, the pickings are pretty slim. I consider myself lucky to read Steve Lopez in the L.A. Times — he really works to make sense (and fun) of an unbelievably complicated city. I can’t help thinking that he learned, at least in part, by studying the masters.

It’s a tough call–maybe an impossible call- to say who was the best of those giants from 20 and 30 years ago. They all had days when they stood atop the world. Royko and Breslin defined the cities they worked in for the rest of the country. Hamill wrote with the eye of the novelist and memoirist he became. Dexter was the most unique; he went way beyond the Philadelphia city limits to the borders of his imagination. Of course he didn’t do it anywhere as near as long as the others. Hamill kept taking side trips, too–to screenwriting, novels, editing–but I never lost the sense of him as a committed newspaperman. Still, it was Royko and Breslin who seemed to capture the most imaginations. For pure writing I’d give the nod to Breslin. But for knowing how to work a column, whether he was raising hell with the first Mayor Daley or making you laugh with his alter ego,  Slats Grobnik, or breaking your heart, Royko couldn’t be beat.

And he did it five days a week. Tell that to these limp-dick editors who think a columnist should only write twice a week. Royko didn’t have the privacy of  an office at the Daily News, either. He just moved filing cabinets around until they formed a wall around his corner desk. And he’d be at that desk from morning until late at night.

When he’d send a copy boy to fetch him a cheeseburger from Billy Goat’s Tavern, his instructions were to the point:  “Tell the Goat to hold the hair.”

He’d answer his own phone and tell callers he wasn’t Royko and didn’t understand why anybody wanted to talk to the son of a bitch. Then he’d go off on some wild tangent about Royko’s lack of hygiene until he hung up cackling like a madman.

The time I spent yakking with Royko was always at work. He liked to drink -– man, did he like to drink -– but I stayed away from him then. He was a binge drinker, dry for weeks or months and then he’d go on a toot and turn ugly and abusive. When he was drunk, he was forever getting in a scrap or pouring ketchup on a woman who’d rejected his advances. Legend has it that he once fell out of his car while he was driving and broke his leg. There was a group of ass-kissers who tagged along after him like puppies, encouraging him to be more and more outrageous and saying yes to every nonsensical thing that came out of his mouth. As far as I could tell, the only good man in the bunch was Big Shack, who worked in the Sun-Times’ backshop. He looked out for Mike, and he wasn’t afraid to tell him when enough was enough.

Royko with Studs Terkel

Ultimately, Rupert Murdoch bought the Sun-Times and Mike moved to the Tribune, a paper he had always hated. I like to think he still hated it when he worked there, except, of course, when it gave him a chance to call  Murdoch “The Alien” in print.

Mike was the best.

Click here for the full “From Ali to Xena” archives.

The first half of the Yankee season has been overshadowed by Derek Jeter and his boatload of hits. Rightly so. As much fun as it is to watch the Yanks play well and win 60% of their games, that happens almost every year. Celebrating 3000 is not only appropriate, it’s necessary. For me, anyway. It helps realign my fandom to the primal things that sustain the relationship.

However, apart from Jeter’s heroic game on Saturday, he’s had little to do with the wins and losses thus far. For that, we have to thank a host of usual contributors including CC Sabathia, Mariano Rivera, Alex Rodriguez, Robinson Cano, Curtis Granderson and Mark Teixeira. But their production was banked on from the day Texas ended their 2010 season. The door to such lofty success hinged on Freddy Garcia, Bartolo Colon and Ivan Nova.

And therefore, the first half hinged on Brian Cashman. The moment the Cliff Lee trade  fell through last July, I openly fretted about the 2011 starting rotation. But the rotation did not implode; it thrived. I don’t think Cashman expected anywhere near this level of performance, but he was smart enough to know that there was little difference between what these guys could do and what was available for big money after Cliff Lee chose Philadelphia. I’d still love to have Dan Haren in the rotation, but he now represents a pleasant upgrade rather than a savior.

And though he gets little attention in the press and is often the first to go when things turn sour, I think the pitching coach must have something to do with a success on this scale. Whether it’s creating a comfortable environment where pitchers can harness confidence and learn from mistakes or isolating successful pitches and honing them into weapons, I bet Larry Rothschild has been an asset.

But since their work is mostly behind the scenes, let’s focus on the guys holding the the ball.

Colon’s restructured arm and waves of flesh propel a lively fastball with impeccable accuracy. He’s got the best strikeout-to-walk ratio on the team outside of Mariano Rivera. And when he’s on, he can churn through innings like platters of ribs. Just give him a bib and don’t put your hands near his mouth.

It defies all expectations considering where he was before this season. And looking at him just makes it harder to believe. But watching him throw, all doubt is squashed by the harsh reality of the four-seamer and the horizontal shenanigans of the two-seamer.

Freddy Garcia has a different story. Cashman also found him on the scrap heap, but he doesn’t have the new arm, the big belly, nor the gaudy stats. He’s just kept the ball in the park and the runs off the board. His fastball might make him a number two starter on a high-school team with aspirations, but his change-up and breaking stuff float in at those tricky hitting speeds. Like Mike Mussina in his final year.

While Colon throws his heaters over 80% of the time, Garcia only shows his every fourth pitch or so. The other three are dipping, darting and diving as they inch towards the plate. Perhaps Rothschild deserves credit for refining their pitch selection, but these guys are veterans and I’m sure they can feel what’s working for them.

There are serious doubts about both of these guys as we look ahead. Colon has already had a trip to the DL and doesn’t look like he’s skipping any second breakfasts. Despite Garcia’s trickery, he’s not striking out enough guys to keep that ERA looking so spiffy. But they’ve earned a very long leash in the second half. And should either of them falter badly, well there’s a good young arm in AAA named Ivan Nova.

Ivan Nova looked excellent almost every time he pitched in 2010. But he also looked awful almost every time he pitched in 2010. The second time through the order, he could no longer get anybody out. The first few games of 2011 held the same pattern. But Cashman, Girardi and Rothschild were very patient. Where a pessimist would see disaster waiting to happen, they believed in his stuff and start by start, the results improved.

He resembles Chien-Ming Wang to me, and they have their sinkers and their ERAs in common. There are differences between the two, but like Van Gogh and Gauguin, their work shares the same foundation. They paint with hard sinkers, sometimes touching the mid-90s, grazing bat-barrel-bottoms and inducing grounders. Nova throws a curve often enough to be the stand out difference between the two. He strikes out and walks one more hitter per nine than Wang did, and considering the amount of balls in play, that extra base-runner is probably not a tradeoff that benefits Nova.

Chien-Ming Wang was the Yankee ace for two playoff years. I’m comparing him to the sixth starter on the current squad.

The Yankees are 27-16 in the 43 games started by these three pitchers. That edge has them neck and neck with an excellent Boston squad and securely ahead of the game Rays. And if you tried to tell me this might happen in the winter on an adjacent barstool, I would have laughed in your face or cried in my beer.

Pitch FX data from FanGraphs