AP photo of Cliff Lee in the 8th inning

So, I’d say my pre-series prediction of “Yankees 3, Rangers 3, Cliff Lee ascends to a higher inter-dimensional plane midway through the fourth inning of Game 7” is looking pretty good.

Tonight’s game ended up a 8-0 drubbing, but it was a tight pitchers’ duel most of the way through. Only it didn’t really feel like a pitchers’ duel, because Andy Pettitte was merely excellent, whereas Cliff Lee was, as a friend of mine has put it, the T-1000.

Allow me to sum up the Yankee offense for you:

• In the 4th, Mark Teixeira walked.
• In the 5th, Jorge Posada singled (it’s kind of embarrassing how relieved I was, at this point, that New York would at least not get no-hit).
• In the 6th, Brett Gardner singled and stole second.

That didn’t take long, did it?

Andy Pettitte was very, very good himself: seven innings and just two runs, which you’d sign up for any time. Those two runs came in the first inning, on an almost-accidental Josh Hamilton home run — he stuck his bat out awkwardly, the ball flew off it and into the stands, which is the kind of thing that only happens when your arms look like Josh Hamiltons’ — but given the Cliff Lee situation, that was enough. Pettitte was followed by Kerry Wood, who pitched a drama-free eighth, and since two runs ain’t much for the Yankees, I still held out hope going into the ninth.

At which point: Josh Hamilton doubled off Boone Logan; Vladimir Guerrero and Nelson Cruz singled off David Robertson, making it 3-0; after David Murphy was intentionally walked, Bengie Molina and Mitch Moreland joined the party with singles of their own off of Robertson; Elvis Andrus of all people decided to shake things up by, instead, doubling off of Robertson. Sergio Mitre (!) came in and put out the fire, but seeing as how it was 8-0 at that point, the building had already burned down.

So the Yanks are down 2-1 in the series, which is hardly insurmountable, but they do kinda need a win tomorrow – and A.J. Burnett is the one who’ll be asked to provide it, or at least facilitate it. Joe Girardi has said all week, when asked if he isn’t tempted to just pitch C.C. Sabathia on three days’ rest instead: “I believe in A.J.” Well. I believe in him too… in the sense that I am certain he exists, and indeed is a pitcher with the New York Yankees. Whether he can pitch more than four innings while giving up less than five runs is another question entirely.

Cliff Lee… I don’t know whether to shiver in terror or drool. I’d do both at once but I’ve been told it’s not attractive.

My new screen saver, courtesy @KRADeC

On paper, you have to like the Yankees odds in a C.C. Sabathia – C.J. Wilson matchup. Off paper, well, it didn’t go quite the way you might have expected… but it came out all right in the end.

Sabathia was off tonight, because of the long layoff or who knows why; he got off to an inauspicious start in the first, with a walk, a single, and a prompt three-run home run to Josh Hamilton before I’d even had time to crack a beer. He got out of this inning with a diving play at the plate – and watching C.C. Sabathia dive is a thing to behold – and kept it together after that, more or less, but was never close to his dominant self; as he said after the game, he couldn’t execute a game plan because he couldn’t get the ball over the plate consistently. In the fourth inning he gave up two more – singles to Matt Treanor and Elvis Andrus, and a double to Michael Young. It was 5-0, the Yankees had barely touched C.J. Wilson, Sabathia was out of the game, and it didn’t look good for the Bombers.

Joba Chamberlain took over and threw a solid inning, with just a walk and no further drama. He was was followed by Dustin Moseley, who much to my surprise became one of the night’s heroes: he went two innings, struck out four, and allowed exactly no baserunners. (He was also adorably thrilled after the game, eyes bright and wide and talking about how tonight was a dream come true). New York didn’t get on the scoreboard until the seventh inning, when Robinson Cano hit an arcing home run that landed just on the good side of the right field foul pole. At the time, it seemed like a moral victory – hey, at least they won’t be shut out.

Then came the eighth inning.

Ahhh… the eighth inning.

The Rangers went through five pitchers in the eighth before they recorded a single out — and bafflingly, none of them were Neftali Feliz. A gassed C.J. Wilson started it off, Brett Gardner singled, and the old-school version of Derek Jeter doubled him all the way home (Brett Gardner, incidentally, will henceforth be known as “Zippy” in my household). Ron Washington turned to his bullpen, and came up with Darren Oliver – who although I’ve seen him pitch many times this season, my initial reaction is always “wow, he’s still playing?!” He is, and he proved it by walking the only two batters he faced, Nick Swisher and Mark Teixeira. Next up was Darren O’Day, who came into the unenviable situation of bases loaded, zero outs, A-Rod at the plate. The result was a sharp single and two Yankee runs that made it 5-4… and another pitching change. Clay Rapada, come on down! (The Rangers bullpen is just Chock Full O’Lefties, not that it helped them tonight). His luck, or stuff, was no better, and Robinson Cano’s single tied the game. The Yankees had come all the way back, and were rewarded with yet another reliever: Derek Holland, who promptly allowed a single to Marcus Thames. A-Rod scored, clapped and pumped a fist, and the Yankees took the lead, 6-5.

Holland settled in and stopped the arterial bleeding after that, but it was too late – and where was Neftali Feliz? (As The Joker would say: “he’s at home, washing his tights!”) Joe Girardi is a fairly by-the-book guy, but he’s shown time and again that when things get tight in the eighth, he’ll go to Mariano Rivera, at home or on the road. Ron Washington has yet to reach similar conclusions, apparently.

Mariano Rivera came in for the ninth, of course, and outside of a Mitch Moreland single he was just fine. Fittingly, given the way the game started, it was Josh Hamilton who made the final out. It would’ve been a tough loss for the Yankees, but it turned into a tougher on for the Rangers – and it was only the fifth time in all of postseason history that a team came back from a deficit of four or more runs in the eight inning or later. Since it was only Game 1, I don’t know that this ranks at the top of great Yankees October comebacks, but it was still a hell of a win and a great start to the ALCS. Tune in tomorrow for the Phil Hughes Show.

(more…)

Like many of my statistically-inclined colleagues, I tend be wary of arguments that put a lot of stress on “experience”. Too often that line of thinking seems to result in managers playing declining veterans instead of more talented young players, something fans of many, many teams gnash their teeth over every year. Experience will only get you so far; the ability to hit a good fastball, or throw a great curve, will get you farther. So I don’t put a lot of stock in automatically favoring a player just because they’ve been there before.

But — did you guess there was a “but” coming? — with that said…

Andy Pettitte.

I can’t help feeling a bit relieved knowing that if the Yankees get to a Game 7 in the ALCS, Andy Pettitte will be on the mound and not Phil Hughes. That’s not only because of the experience factor – I think that when healthy Pettitte pitched a bit better, or at least pitched well more consitently, than Hughes this year; Hughes is absolutely a quality Major League starter now, but he’s still got a few kinks to iron out, as just about anyone does at that age.

But it’s more than that. I mean, there’s experience, and then there’s experience. And Andy Pettitte has experience. Postseason experience, sure, having thrown the equivalent of more than an entire regular season just in the playoffs, but I’m not so worried about that – I don’t think we’ve ever seen anything to suggest that Phil Hughes will suddenly crack under pressure, Game 7 or not. It’s more that Andy Pettitte just plain knows what the hell he’s doing out there. He knows what to throw to who when, and he knows exactly how he can best compensate when his velocity isn’t quite there, or when his cutter isn’t cutting; he knows how to get double plays and hold runners on and the odds of catching him sleeping are slim. He may not win – he may not even pitch well, he’s blown his fair share of postseason starts – but there likely won’t be too many what-ifs about it. If Phil Hughes pitches and loses Game 7, I think you start going over how things might have gone differently, pick over mistakes or questionable choices. If Andy Pettitte loses Game 7… well, what are you gonna do?

So I don’t know, maybe it’s the same old “experience” fallacy tricking me one more time. But one of these years, Andy Pettitte’s going to stop his annual (and by now kind of comic) contemplation of retirement and actually retire; until then, I hope the Yankees squeeze everything they can out of his seasoned veteran brain.

…Okay, it sounds kind of gross when I phrase it like that. But you know what I mean.

…I would just like to point out that:

Puppies. Are they cute or what?!

You know who loves puppies (probably)? Mariano Rivera. He is a talented closer.

Tomorrow’s post will tackle either the true meaning of abortion in America today… or why I like pretty flowers. Haven’t decided yet.

This topic seems to get brought up every season at some point, but nothing ever comes of it. I was reminded of it again during last night’s NLDS game, when I kept trying to root for the Braves. Whenever I started to feel a little enthusiasm, the crowd would start up with the Tomahawk Chop, and it was quickly snuffed out.

Look: I know it’s a tradition; I know the vast majority of people who do that chant, or wear caricatured Cleveland Indians mascot gear, are not racist and have no actual problem with Native Americans. But it’s well past time for those fans, and those teams, to demonstrate that by knocking this stuff off. Even if no great harm is being done now, these are the vestigial remains of a very real racism which has done plenty of harm, and I don’t understand why anyone would want to associate themselves with it. Does the pleasure of tradition really outweigh the ickiness of taking part, however briefly, in that kind of creaky, ugly, outdated world view?

The usual response to this argument is “lighten up,” and sure, there are bigger problems in the world today. But words have power, and so does iconography, and the argument “I just like doing this chant” simply doesn’t outweigh the negatives of perpetuating trite racist stereotypes.  I know a lot of great Braves fans, and none of them are enthusiastic Tomahawk Choppers; I know a few Indians fans, and none of them are comfortable with Chief Wahoo. This doesn’t seem to negatively impact their enjoyment of (or, more recently, hair-pulling frustration with) their team.

Imagine that a team had a Jewish caricature for a mascot. And that their traditional chant involved counting money. It’s actually not easy to picture because it would never, ever fly today, and I’m not sure why this is considered all that different. Last night I made the mistake of looking for a Jewish caricature to illustrate this point, and I came across a couple. One is part of a clever series at a website called Honor Indians, which along with imaginary team logos for “The Cincinnati Rednecks” and “The L.A. Wetbacks” is making an argument against the use of Indian mascots:

The other image I found is not making a satirical point. It’s from a cesspool of a white supremacist site which, for obvious reasons, I’m not going to link to:

Morbid curiosity got the better of me and I couldn’t help reading a few posts – about Jews ruining the Aryan Nation, “muds,” “wetbacks,” and a lot worse; how seeing white women with black men made the writer want to castrate the men and chop off the women’s heads; honoring the anniversary of Hitler’s coup; debating the feasibility of ethnic cleansing in America today.

To be clear, this is the site of a fringe sociopath and, OBVIOUSLY, in no way reflects the views of Braves or Indians fans. And it’s exactly because that kind of thinking – the kind that represents a race of people as an ugly little cartoon, or takes the centuries-old reduction of Native Americans into scalping warriors and turns it into a cheer – in no way reflects the views of fans that we should distance ourselves from it whenever we have the chance. No matter how innocent it might have become over the years, that’s just not a tradition worth carrying on.

Time to get creative, Braves fans – and well past time to ditch the Chop.

The postseason schedule is so relaxed, it’s now actually napping. As a result, we’ve got five whole days to kill before the Yankees play again, and while we figure out what to do with ourselves as we wait, I can only assume the players are doing the same. Some uneducated guesses as to how the Yankees are passing the time:

Robinson Cano: Hanging with his cousin Burt Reynolds*, tearing around Texas with a truckload of beer and eluding the sheriff with help from some friendly CBers.

*(No, really. I watched Burt Reynolds play for the Hudson Valley Renegades against the Brooklyn Cyclones this summer with, as you might imagine, considerable glee, and the discovery that he is Robinson Cano’s cousin just absolutely made my day.)

Alex Rodriguez: Sitting for a portrait of himself as a gryffin.

Derek Jeter: Oh, you know. Just chilling.

Andy Pettitte: Carefully planning ahead so that he will have just the right amount of stubble for Game 2 on Saturday.

Jorge Posada: Urinating on his hands a few extra times, spitting a lot, trying to hold his knees together with Fun-Tak, chewing gum, paper clips, and twine.

Nick Swisher: Finally getting that neck tattoo.

Mark Teixeira: Stroking a fluffy white cat and working on his sinister plan for world domination (well, I assume. No one is really that bland).

Joba Chamberlain: Wandering the streets and accosting random strangers to make sure they can see him.

A.J. Burnett: [sitting in front of the mirror]: “I’m going to pitch a great game next week! And I’m gonna help the team! Because I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and, doggonit, people like me!”

C.C. Sabathia: Watching fit, trim Cliff Lee and David Price as they pitch on absolutely nothing less than full rest, pointing, laughing, having another cheeseburger.

–

Mariano Rivera: Being the speaker. Being the listener. Being the giver. Being the sustainer. Protecting us from the front and back. Protecting us from the north and the south, from above and below. Protecting us from all directions.

 Being full of perfect knowledge of truth and awareness. Being full of bliss and pure consciousness. Being truth, consciousness and bliss. Being the absolute awareness. Being full of supreme wisdom and knowledge.

Being the earth, water, fire, air and the space. Being the root foundation of speech. Being beyond the physical, mental and causal bodies. Being beyond the three aspects of time: past, present and future. Being eternally established in the muladhara chakra. Having three shaktis: action, knowledge and will.

(Griffon via Christian Damm at conceptarg.org, Photo via the AP)

…Why’d it have to be the Twins?

First of all, I’m going to be very careful not to get too jinxy here – ahem, Mayor Bloomberg, what the hell?!  – because of course it’s entirely possible that the Twins will come back; they’re plenty good enough to win three games in a row. (Not that I actually believe in jinxes, of course. I would never walk all the way down five flights and two blocks over to find a tree so I could knock on wood because there was none in my platic-metal-glass office, for example. Nope, never done anything like that, certainly not during the 2005 postseason, not that it worked anyway).

That said, it’s not looking good for the Twinkies right now, and although of course I want to see the Yanks move on, I wish it could be any other team. Minnesota’s been my second-favorite AL club for a long time now: I like how they’ve managed to succeed with a small market and a relatively small payroll; I loved reading about them on Bat-Girl back in the day; I have issues with some of his strategic movies but I find Ron Gardenhire to be a likeable and twinkly little baseball gnome; I am in awe of Joe Mauer even though there’s no way he’s actually that wholesome and one day I’m sure they’ll find a bunch of heads in his freezer or something. I liked Joe Nathan, I like Orlando Hudson, because I am a red-blooded American I of course adore Jim Thome, and then I always root for my guy Denard Span, the only other Span I’ve ever come across outside of immediate family.

The presence of useless wretch Carl Pavano helps, of course, but even he can’t make the Twins unlikeable all by his lonesome.

Back in August, I went to Minnesota for a college friend’s wedding on a bison farm outside of Rochester (not a typo). My traveling companion and I figured, how the hell often are we gonna be in Minnesota? So we flew in a day early, got standing-room tickets, and drove our rental car the 90 miles up to the Twin Cities. The park itself is lovely (only complaint: they need to get something better than a few dull-looking trees out there in center field), but I was more impressed by how psyched the fans were – for outdoor baseball, for their first-place club, for Jim Thome.

Also, the cheese curds. Mmmm… cheese curds.

Their fans were enthusiastic and engaged without being quite so rabid as I’m used to here in New York – which has both advantages and drawbacks, I suppose (I grew up surrounded by rabid fanbases, and a game watched without surrounding spittle and bile doesn’t quite seem like a game to me). Almost everyone at the ballpark seemed to have some kind of Twins gear, and even though Carl Pavano got crushed by the White Sox, the crowd never turned sour or hostile. (They did boo A.J. Pierzynski every time he came up, but that’s both understandable and praiseworthy). It was just a nice atmosphere, and while I’m generally used to shrugging it off and enjoying myself when the Yankees crush small-market competitors, I feel no bloodlust for the Twins. I hope they lose tomorrow, but I want the best for them.

If they do come back and beat the Yanks somehow, then as soon as I get past a brief mourning period, they’ll have my support all the way. And if they don’t… well, I hope they run into somebody else next year.

[Photo via 1) http://www.gephartelectric.com and 2) stolen from my traveling companion without even asking]

As another postseason begins, today’s events serve as a reminder that it’s time for our annual public safety announcement:

BEWARE OF MOLINAS.

Molinas are extremely common this time of year. Always keep in mind that, even if they do not appear to be a threat, Molinas are very dangerous and can strike without warning. Almost every fall they claim at least one victim, tragedies that could likely have been avoided by taking a bit more care.

So, please, remember to remain on your guard when in the presence of Molinas throughout October and early November. If you come across one, do not attack or threaten it, do not approach its young, and do not hang any curveballs. Back slowly away and overpower it with your fastball. If all else fails, Molinas can generally be outrun.

Observing these simple safety tips will help ensure that you have a happy, healthy, and pleasant fall season.

-Your Friends at Bronx Banter

–

Photo of Molinas in their natural habitat by Iscan via Flickr

Yesterday afternoon I got the chance to go to a blogger roundtable conversation with Bernie Williams. (Many thanks to Amanda Rykoff, aka the OCD Chick, for putting me in touch with the organizers). He’s in town to promote a new MasterCard program, and if you care about new MasterCard programs you can check that out here, but we got that out of the way in the first few minutes and then just talked baseball. We got a solid 50 minutes with Williams, with six of us asking questions. He’s spending most of his time on music these days, promoting his last album (rather directly titled “Moving Forward”) and planning the next one, and had just gotten back from a few weeks on tour.

As I’ve written before, Bernie Williams was my favorite player growing up – mostly because when he arrived in New York, he seemed shy and had big dorky glasses, like me (though of course unlike me, he also had incredible grace and athletic ability and went on to become a wealthy icon beloved by millions). I was at Yankee Stadium with a press pass on his last day as a player in the regular season, October 1st 2006, when he served as manager – a Joe Torre tradition when the division was already well in hand. He put himself in as a pinch hitter and lined a solid double, though the Yankees lost to Toronto 7-5; afterwards, in his press conference in Torre’s office, he joked that he was expecting Steinbrenner to call and fire him.

Williams has always been articulate, and throughout the conversation yesterday he was engaged and thoughtful, with lots of eye contact. He was also more forthcoming than I expected, especially about retirement, on which more later. I’ve talked to my share of players in locker rooms, and based on the admittedly small sample size, talking to former players in bars is a lot more constructive. Here are some of the highlights.

He said that as impressive as the new Stadium is (“They did a magnificent job”), “I’m always going to be partial to the old stadium, because it’s where I played my whole career.” Then someone asked him if he would’ve wanted to play at the new Stadium:

“Would I? Yeah! I mean the first year, first couple of months, all they talked about was that jet stream thing — everything that was hit to right-center was going out. So yeah, I would have loved to play there.”

I asked him how much baseball he watches these days, Yankees and otherwise:

“I rarely watch any other teams. If I see a game on TV, I scan through it, I look for players who played with me, and I try to follow what they do… but for the most part, mostly I see Yankee games, because I have such strong ties to the organization. I like to see my guys do well, the guys I grew up playing with. Even if I don’t watch the games I’ll try to see what they did, if they won, they lost, who’s hurt, who’s struggling, who’s having a good year. So I try to keep up.”

He was asked about the Yankees’ chances in the playoffs this year:

“…To me it’s gonna come down to the pitching – they have three, hopefully three solid starters in C.C., and the fact that Andy may be even more rested now, coming back from his injury, may be a little benefit; I think having the opportunity to have Hughes establish himself as a big-time pitcher, that’s a great opportunity for him.

After that, then you have… you know… guys who have to pitch. Hopefully they have it in mind, this mentality like they have something to prove in the postseason, because their season has been somewhat disappointing. So, you know, if they’re gonna go down they’re gonna go down swinging. I know that they’ll be able to hit, I think it’s going to come down to their pitching.

Williams talked about how he was part of the shift in the Yankees’ strategy in the early 90s, when the team started holding onto its young players instead of trading them. He talked about the role of home-grown players in the Yankees’ success, and then went on a bit of a tangent, mostly unprompted:

“By the way, I think they’ve come into a situation where it kind of backfires on young players coming up these days, because they can’t afford the luxury of struggling the first two years. Guys like Ricky Ledee, Melky Cabrera, people that have come into the organization at a time that expectations are so high… they have become very impatient with young players. So I think in a way it has backfired… I think in a way it’s kind of ironic, the one thing that has made us successful is working against young players nowadays.”

That, he added, is why he’s been so impressed by what Robinson Cano has been able to do:

“He’s just taken off, taken second base by storm, and I think in the next couple years he’s going to be definitely considered one of the best players in the game… So when you’re good, you’re good.”

“Being part of the Yankees for six years, with no options – not having the free will to decide my own destiny – I think I sort of owed it to myself to explore the possibilities. Maybe just see what’s out there, not necessarily that I wanted to make a change, but just to see what was out there. And when the Red Sox came with their offer – it was the Red Sox, Arizona, I think it was Detroit also – I was like wow, man, this is kinda cool, going into the free market now. But at the end of the day, it came down to the fact that I had been with the Yankees for such a long time – that I was so used to the city, the system, my teammates – so, deep down inside, I know that I just want to remain a Yankee.

–

So you’re trying to work with the agents, the people who are negotiating the deal, to try to accommodate that desire for you. But I thought it was a little bit too late, because I thought – you know, at the time, Joe was sort of wining and dining Albert Belle [laughs]. And I was like, well, maybe this is not gonna happen.

And actually it took, I called George from my house in Puerto Rico – this is a true story – I called George from my house in Puerto Rico. And I said to him, ‘George, Scott and Brian have been talking, and you know, I don’t think they’re getting it done the way that I want to get it done. And I just want you to hear it from me that I want to become a Yankee, I want to remain a Yankee, I want us to work this out.’ And he said, ‘What do you want?” And I said – at the time, Piazza was the guy that was getting kind of a comparable contract – I told him, ‘Well George, I think I want to get a contract similar to the one Mike Piazza has with the Mets.’ And he said, ‘Okay. I’m gonna discuss it with my people here, give me some time, and I’ll give you a call.’ I think it must have been a couple hours, maybe two or three hours, and he said ‘Okay, here’s the deal’.

…And that’s how it happened, it was between me and George, we were just negotiating – after all this, you know, great contract negotiation with agents and general managers, it came down to two people.”

The second phone call came one year when the Yankees unexpectedly canceled their annual Family Day, a time when players could bring their kids onto the field to play before a game, which Williams’ young children loved and looked forward to.

I called him. Well actually, I talked to Joe Torre, I said ‘Joe, what happened? Why don’t we have Family Day this year?’ He said ‘Well, it’s coming from up top, it’s been suspended, I don’t know.’ And I said, ‘Well, we can’t have this. My kids are looking forward to this, I’m in a tough situation.’ And he said, ‘Well, you wanna call George? Give him a call.’ And I said, ‘Okay, I will.’ And I gave him a call- it’s a funny story cause I called, and I don’t think he was expecting a call from me, I mean, obviously. And I said, ‘Hey George, how’re you doing-‘ — well, no, actually I said ‘Mr. Steinbrenner, how’re you doing?’ And he said, ‘Good, what can I do for you?’ I said ‘Well, I heard we’re not having Family Day this year, and I was wondering why we’re not having it, cause I know my kids are looking forward to it, and I’ve been one player who, I really don’t ask for much, but I really would like you to reconsider this decision, because it’s really important for me and my family,’ and this and that. He said ‘Okay, I’ll get back to you on this.’

And I think – I think it was because the Yankees, we won that day. So he said ‘Okay, we’re going to have Family Day tomorrow.’

Finally, I asked: “So, as far as I know you’ve never actually, technically, officially made a retirement announcement. Is there any particular reason for that? Do you have any plans to ever do that?”:

“Yeah, I do have plans – you know, at the time – I think it’s been four years now? Like the first year or two, I was going through somewhat of an… existential crisis, I guess. So to speak. Because you know it takes, it takes you some time to adjust – and you have this possibility of maybe playing for another team, and so many options running in your head. And, you know, you just start missing the game, and going through the World Baseball Classic didn’t help – cause I was like “Oh man, I can do this again!”. But I knew deep down inside, you know, it was a situation in which I would have to move on and do other stuff, like my music, that I have a lot of passion for. But I sorta kept it open, I think maybe just trying to fool myself into thinking that maybe one day I could come back, but every year that passes obviously it’s just harder and harder and harder to get back into it. And I think, you know, if it’s not this year, then probably next year I’ll just make it official. But it’s been unofficial for quite some time now.”

That’s not a surprising answer, really – it’s probably what most of us assumed. But I didn’t expect him to be quite so up front about it; when he was in his prime, I never thought of Williams as a tear-the-uniform-off-me kind of guy. And if it was this difficult for Williams, an intelligent guy with a second career in music that he seems to love, you can only imagine how hard retirement must be for someone less well equipped for post-baseball life. 

In fact, the conversation ended on a rather wistful note. Williams was asked if the Yankees had approached him about possibly retiring his number, and about what it meant to him to be considered one of the Yankee greats:

“I have no expectations, as far as that goes, that’s their decision… What I can take with me, which is something that nobody can take away from me, is my experience, the years that I played with them, the World Series rings, the batting title, the Gold Gloves, all the relationships that I have within the organization. Even though I left on not the best terms, I’m still able to feel that I’m part of this great organization, and that’s something that nobody can take away from me. In my head, that I have this great experience – and I’m, I don’t want to say great career – but this great experience that I have, being part of the Yankees for such a long time.

…At the end of the day, you know, it’s just about the memories. It’s about the time that you spent that you’ll never be able to forget – the ticker tape parades, the goofing around in the clubhouse, spring training, running around the field – it’s just the little things, to me, it’s what made the difference. Now that I’m moving into this other period of my life, with the music, it has become even more prevalent – to be able to remember those little details.

And I have absolutely no complaints whatsoever.”

I don’t think most Yankees fans have too many, either.

Odds and ends:

-Asked about playing guitar while Paul O’Neill played drums: “We jammed all the time,” he said, before and after games, during rain delays. O’Neill used Ron Guidry’s old drum set, which was kept in the bowels of the old stadium in “the Paint Room” (which in fact was full of paint).

-In talking about how the team developed into the late 90s dynasty, it was clear 1995 still stings: “The first round of the playoffs, still – I still remember those games… they were HORRIBLE. Losing three straight…” He trailed off.

-On how important home field advantage is in the playoffs: “I think it helps a lot; I don’t think it’s critical.”

-Williams’ manager said that Williams was probably the only man with a World Series ring and a Grammy award… but Amanda pointed out that Jay-Z does, in fact, have a World Series ring. Still: not a lot of dudes.

-This October 23rd, Williams will play a concert in Suffern, NY; part of the proceeds will go to support the Vincent Crotty Foundation and The Christopher Konkowski Memorial Scholarship Fund, charities set up in the memory of two local high school baseball players who were killed in a car accident last year.

There were lots of questions I wanted to ask, but didn’t get the chance to: Who’s the toughest pitcher you ever faced, and why; What was it like playing guitar with Bruce Springsteen; What do you miss most about playing, and what do you miss least; Do you even like the song “Disco Inferno”?

What would you have asked?

Structurally, this was one of those classic, endless Yanks-Red Sox seesaw games – except that since only Wild Card-vs.-AL East is at stake now, it was significantly less tense than those usually are; I can’t recall ever being quite so calm when the Sox were down by two and had the bases loaded against New York. It took 10 innings, and 14 pitchers altogether, but in the end the Yanks beat the Red Sox 6-5 in game one of tonight’s doubleheader.

Andy Pettitte was not great, but he was just about good enough to stave off panic about his fitness for postseason play. He only went four innings, giving up nine hits (!), walking two and striking out eight (! again), and allowing three runs. He did look healthy, though, and as witnessed by all those strikeouts there wasn’t much wrong with his stuff, so here’s hoping he was just shaking off some rust. Mike Lowell (on Thank You Mike Lowell Day, natch) drove in Boston’s first two runs with a double in the first inning; Daniel Nava added an RBI single later. It wasn’t a disaster, although allowing that many baserunners in general is not going to lead anyplace good.

The Yankee offense was perhaps more concerning, as the team engaged in one of those left-on-base smorgasbords they seem to have become so fond of recently. They had many, many, many opportunities, and capitalized on disconcertingly few of them. In the third inning, a Curtis Granderson triple, A-Rod ground out, and Robinson Cano homer gave them a 3-2 lead; an inning later it was a tie game. They took the lead again with doubes from Teixeria and Cano in the fifth, making it 5-3; Boston chipped away with a run in the seventh, off Boone Logan, and then tied it in the eighth, off the usually impeccable Kerry Wood. To be fair, the ump was calling a strange and small strike zone all night – and while that went for both teams equally, it seemed to hamper Wood more than most. Tonight also witnessed the temporary return of Phil Hughes to the bullpen; he came on in the bottom of the ninth and pitched beautifully, making me wish once again that we could clone him and use him in both the rotation and the pen. (You know Brian Cashman is already working on this).

Finally the Yankees took a 6-5 lead in the 10th inning, when Brett Gardner walked (bad idea, Papelbon), was bunted to second, and scored when Bill Hall couldn’t make a bare-hand play on Derek Jeter’s (super-clutch!) dribbling little infield hit. I’ll take it. Much to my relief, Rivera came in and took care of the bottom of the 10th inning without breaking a sweat: Mo’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world.

I guess I better keep this recap concise, because we’ve got another one of these babies starting right now. So: that was fun; let’s do it again!

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Bronx Banter Productions presents

JAVY & THE STRIKE ZONE:

Thin Chalk Line Between Love and Hate

(Rated R for scenes of extreme, graphic violence against baseballs thrown by Javier Vazquez)

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EXT. ROGERS CENTRE, TORONTO, NIGHT.

JAVIER VAZQUEZ [34, fit, haunted eyes] stands on the mound, tossing warm-up pitches, listless. The STRIKE ZONE [ageless, flirty, too beautiful to trust] approaches, stands at home plate. Waits for him to notice. Vazquez looks over, flinches.

STRIKE ZONE: Hi, Javy. Good to see you. It’s been a while.

Long, awkward pause.

STRIKE ZONE: I’ve missed you–

JAVY: Don’t.

Behind the Strike Zone, FRANCISCO CERVELLI busily cleans the plate and pretends not to listen, embarrassed.

STRIKE ZONE: Oh, Javy. We were so good together – you know we were.

JAVY: It hasn’t been good for a long time now.

STRIKE ZONE: If only we hadn’t left the National League… we were happy there.

JAVY: Look, I just, I can’t be with you anymore. I don’t want to get hurt again.

STRIKE ZONE: How many times do I have to tell you that I’m sorry? Give me one more chance.

JAVY: After everything… how can I trust you now?

STRIKE ZONE: Please. Just come back, Javy. It’ll be different this time.

Vazquez looks at his shoes, at Cervelli, at the stands. Trying to control his emotions.

JAVY: Dave Eiland says–

STRIKE ZONE: Dave Eiland doesn’t know me, Javy. Not like you do.

JAVY: I need time to think.

STRIKE ZONE: We don’t have any more time! The playoffs start next week, and if you don’t want to be with me, I know Ivan Nova does.

JAVY: You wouldn’t.

STRIKE ZONE: Just look at yourself, Javy. What are you without me?

Vazquez stares deep into the Strike Zone’s eyes.

STRIKE ZONE: Come here, baby. Touch me.

[Vazquez looks for a long moment… sets, and hurls a fastball right down the middle. TRAVIS SNYDER, JOHN BUCK, and AARON HILL hit home runs. The Yankees lose to the Blue Jays, 8-4.]

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Let’s all hope we don’t see Vazquez pitch in the playoffs, or I may end up writing a full-length horror film.

On the plus side:

-Alex Rodriguez hit his 30th home run – the 14th time he’s done so (tied for most all-time with one Barry Lamar Bonds), and the 13th consecutive season, which is a record.

-There was also a lovely-seeming pregame ceremony honoring outgoing Toronto manager Cito Gaston, who is retiring on his own terms and earned himself an outpouring of affection from Toronto fans. (I say lovely-seeming because YES didn’t show all of it, and I got home too late for most of what they did show). But I was especially pleased to see that many of the Blue Jays players, by way of a tribute, were wearing fake mustaches to honor their skipper — indeed, Travis Snyder was still wearing his when he hit his home run, which might have been a little insult-to-injury, if it wasn’t so awesome.

If Joe Torre had retired, and gotten a proper sendoff, I wonder what the team would’ve done to honor him. Hold cups of green tea? Look inscrutable? Signal to the bullpen for Scott Proctor?

The last time Sabathia and Price faced each other, I compared it to Dinocroc vs. Supergator. This time around I’m afraid it was more like Sharktopus vs. a blonde in a bikini; the Rays creamed the Yankees 10-1 in a game that saw Sabathia uncharacteristically implode, and Javy Vazquez not entirely uncharacteristically implode.

Neither starter was as sharp tonight as they were in their last matchup, but Price and Sabathia hung in there well enough to keep things close for the first five innings. The Yanks took an early lead when Marcus Thames (“Glenallen Hill Historical Re-Enactment Society Chairman Marcus Thames,” as Jay Jaffe dubbed him) hit a big ol’ homer to left, scoring Robinson Cano. The Rays came right back in the third, as a series of singles allowed Ben Zobrist to score Jason Bartlett; but in the bottom of the fifth, Greg Golson reached home on a gentle Nick Swisher single, and with Sabathia on the mound guarding a 3-1 lead it looked like the Yankees might get the best of this series.

It was at this point that the game got out its MetroCard and hopped on the 9:15 crosstown handbasket to Hell.

Carl Crawford singled, Evan Longoria doubled. Fine – these things happen. Rocco Baldelli singled, which is a bit more surprising but, given all he’s been through, hey – good for him, you know? 3-2 Yankees. Willy Aybar singled; Kelly Shoppach walked. It was at this point, with the game tied, that I began to suspect an evil alien force had possessed Sabathia, and when he then walked Sean Rodriguez, it was all the confirmation I needed. C.C. Sabathia just doesn’t do that sort of thing, and I only hope Gene Monahan and the Yankee trainers have some good exorcism strategies to get this demon out of the Yankee ace before the playoffs start.

Joe Girardi came to this realization around the same time I did, and yanked Sabathia in favor of Joba Chamberlain, who turned 25 today, and also gave up a ground-rule double to B.J. Upton and a single to Carl Crawford. This was probably Sabathia’s worst start of the year – it was the most runs he’s ever given up as a Yankee – and certainly his worst since May, when he scuffled for a few weeks. It was 8-3 Rays, but at this point it looked like a run-of-the-mill bad game, just one of those nights. It took Javier Vazquez to elevate things into Grand Guignol.

I don’t generally buy into the whole “he just can’t handle playing in New York” idea, but if anyone ever changes my mind on that point, it will be Javy Vazquez. I don’t know if he was merely having a very, very bad night or if we just witnessed a Steve Blass-style mental and physical breakdown live on television; Vazquez came into the game and walked Ben Zobrist, then hit the next three batters in a row. This tied the American League record, and was only the eighth time in all of Major League history that a pitcher has hit three in a row. Whether to conserve his pen or to allow Vazquez to reclaim a shred of dignity by letting him clean up his own mess, Girardi left him in the game. The worst was over, but it was one hell of a discouraging moment for a pitcher who’s had a number of them in the Bronx.

The inning finally bled out; it was 10-1 by then and not even the most die-hard fans could envision a comeback. By the end of “God Bless America”, most of the crowd had evaporated and Girardi had replaced his regulars with most of the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre roster. Inspired by that choice, I’ve decided to do the same thing and remove myself from this recap.

Now typing for Emma Span: her dog Pearl.

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Tonight’s pitching matchup proved equal to the hype: it was Sabathia vs. Price, and neither ace gave an inch. Both went eight innings and walked two; I guess Sabathia gets a bit of an edge for allowing 2 hits – as opposed to Price’s whopping 3 – and striking out 9 men, compared to Price’s 4. But basically, for most of the game, nobody was hitting anything. Sabathia changed speeds and spotted his pitches precisely; Price’s fastball blew away the Yankee hitters, who for the last week or so (if not, in many cases, a bit longer) have looked old and tired and tonight looked even more so, although to be fair, most people look that way when facing David Price.

So why, after the game, did Joe Girardi say of the two aces, “both of them were tremendous” in the same flat, soul-crushed tones one might normally use to say, “my girl ran off with my best friend and took my dog with her”? Well, the Yankee hitters didn’t do any better against the Rays’ relievers than they had against Price, and with the score tied 0-0 and the game heading into extra innings, Girardi inserted Chad “Abandon Hope” Gaudin and Sergio “Pushing Your Luck” Mitre to pitch the 10th and 11th innings, respectively. The many viewers who pessimistically assumed that Gaudin would lose the game, particularly after he loaded the bases, were proved wrong when instead it was Mitre who allowed the big game-winning homer — to Reid Brignac, the first batter he faced.

Well, according to Joe Girardi’s testy and dispirited post-game press conference, David Robertson and Joba Chamberlain weren’t available (though why Joba wasn’t, having not pitched since Friday, I don’t know), and Mo (possibly because he looked so dreadfully un-Mo-like in his last outing?) was only going to be used in a save situation. Still, that doesn’t necessarily explain why Kerry Wood was pulled after one quick and easy ninth inning, or why Boone Logan only faced one batter, or why Curtis Granderson bunted against a righty to bring up… Collin Curtis. Coming on the heels of a series of brutal Yankee losses, this latest fiasco dunked New York into second place and left Girardi open to plenty of criticism.

Of course, the Yankees haven’t been making Girardi’s job any easier lately – questionable managerial moves are prone to be noticed and leaped upon much more often when the team of the manager in question isn’t hitting worth a good goddamn. And I’m quite sure Girardi didn’t call for two of his team’s most boneheaded plays: Jorge Posada getting thrown out trying to steal second in the fifth inning and, far worse, Brett Gardner getting thrown out trying to steal THIRD with two outs in the tenth. After the game Gardner apologized to his teammates, and in postgame interviews he looked like he wished desperately for the ability to melt into a guilty puddle of shame on the locker room floor, but even he could not really explain what he’d been thinking.

I’m not somebody who feels strongly about winning the division rather than going in through the Wild Card; I just want playoffs. But if the Yankees don’t start playing better, on both sides of the ball, it’s pretty hard to imagine them lasting long in October no matter how they get there. So here’s hoping they rouse themselves from their slump soon, because a beautifully kickass performance like the one C.C. Sabathia gave us tonight should not go to waste. And also because Joe Girardi sounds like he’s maybe three more bad losses away from taking a fungo bat and going after the next reporter who asks him about his pitching choices.

AP Photo

Well, that’s one way to limit Phil Hughes’ innings.

Like lions attacking a herd of wildebeests (or whatever it is that lions attack herds of), the Blue Jays have spent this series picking off the Yankees’ young – first Ivan Nova, who was good but not quite good enough to escape two nights ago, and now Phil Hughes, who was less good. The Yankees were behind the entire game and lost 6-3 but, thanks to the Angels’ 12-3 thrashing of the Rays, remain in a tie atop the AL East.

There’s been much discussion of Hughes’ unspecified innings limit recently, and so it would, in a sense, be nice that he pitched less than four innings tonight – except that he threw 106 pitches in those three and two thirds innings, his shortest outing of the year. They were fairly high stress, and definitely frustrating, as over and over again he got a batter to two strikes before eventually allowing a hit. According to Girardi after the game,  3.2 innings is still just 3.2 innings, but that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. Neither does bringing in Javy Vazquez in relief – it would, except I thought the whole issue was he had a dead arm and needed rest, and I don’t see how pitching 4.1 innings on short notice is going to enliven said arm. I assume the Yankee trainers know more about this than I do, so probably it’s fine… but then again with an off-day tomorrow, why push your luck? The Yankees don’t necessarily need Hughes and Vazquez at their best to have some postseason success this year, but it’s hard to see them getting far without at least one of them. Anyway, the good news is Vazquez pitched well (maybe his arm is only mostly dead?), allowing just one run, on an Aaron Hill homer, and finishing out the game.

Meanwhile, Jays starter Brett Cecil is not this good – at least, not against any other team. As the guys at River Ave Blues point out, he’s now got a 1.64 ERA against the Yanks, and a 4.21 ERA against non-Yankees. Whether that’s because he’s doing something particularly effective against the Bombers, or an accident of small sample size, I can’t really say, but in any case he was effective again tonight, allowing seven hits and two walks, but limiting the damage to two runs over eight innings. The Yankees got two runs in the fourth, when Robinson Cano doubled and Marcus Thames, batting right behind him, homered; they tacked on one more in the ninth, when Eduardo Nunez singled home Austin Kearns. It was a short-lived rally, and the Yankees head into their needed off-day still perched on top of the standings, but a bit battered- Nick Swisher’s knee is hurting now, hence his absence from tonight’s lineup.

The Yankees still have two series to play against the Blue Jays, one home and one, the last of the season, back in Toronto. So you haven’t seen the last of these guys. Presumably the Yankees and their coaches will be watching a lot of Brett Cecil video between now and then.

I got tired just watching the Yankees’ rather epic pair of games in Texas, so I can only imagine how the players felt when they dragged themselves to the extremely hot and humid ballpark in Kansas City tonight. They were showing signs of wear – Nick Swisher was pulled late in the game with incipient heat exhaustion, as was the Kansas City center fielder – but the Yanks built a little lead and then clung to it for dear life, eventually staggering home with a 4-3 win. Of course, it probably helped that they were facing the Royals, who are now 47-68, but never mind.

Fun fact: in the seventh inning, Mark Teixeira faced Kansas City reliever Kanekoa Texiera, and flew out.

C.C. Sabathia was in near-ace form tonight, and by pitching to within one out of a complete-game Yankees win, he was exactly the horse the team needed. He flagged in the ninth, quite understandably, but prior to that he scattered his hits and gave up just one run, when Alex Gordon doubled and Mike Aviles singled him home. But that came in the fourth inning, and by then, the Yankees had earned themselves a little wiggle room – all of which they’d eventually need.

Curtis Granderson and Austin Kearns (!) were the main hitting stars tonight. As is often the case when a slumping player breaks out, much of the credit for Granderson’s turnaround seems to be going to hitting coach Kevin Long, who worked with the outfielder on some widely-publicized changes to his swing; but whether it’s related to his work with Long or not, Granderson seems to be returning to decency. His second-inning single scored Robinson Cano and gave the Yanks a lead they’d cling to til the end. They tacked on another in the third, when the much-missed Teixeira hit a sac fly that scored Derek Jeter, and another in the top of the fourth, on Austin Kearns’ homer. (Granderson hit a double in that inning too, for good measure, and walked once as well, just to show off). Their final and eventually crucial insurance run came in the seventh, in rather unexciting fashion, when Derek Jeter – that guy again – scored on an A-Rod groundout.

The bottom of the ninth was a stressful little mini-game in itself. When C.C. reached 110 increasingly laborious pitches, accompanied by an alarming amount of sweat and baserunners, David Robertson was called in to mop up with two outs and Royals on first and third. The last out played hard-to-get. Willie Bloomquist doubled in two runs, and suddenly it was a one-run game. Wilson Betemit, refusing even to ground out properly, instead ended up on first base. Finally, Jason Kendall, after a determined 8-pitch at-bat and numerous fouls, struck out and let everyone go off to bed. Robertson eventually got it done… and then did not punch any older relatives or, so far as I know, anyone else in the face, so the Yanks have that going for them.

The Yankees won last night’s game 7-6, but that’s kind of like saying the plot of The Sun Also Rises is “a guy watches some bullfights.” I really don’t know where to start with this particular thrill ride, which, around 10 PM, I thought the Yankees had absolutely no shot at winning. (I wasn’t far wrong). In fact, I didn’t really think they had a shot until they actually took the lead and put Mariano Rivera on the mound, and then right away the first batter he faced hit a triple and I still wasn’t so sure. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. They say when you don’t know where to start, you should start at the beginning.

The Yankees were facing Cliff Lee, who, in case you’d forgotten, is mind-bogglingly awesome. Since arriving in Texas he’s walked three batters – two of those intentionally. (Though why the hell Cliff Lee was intentionally walking anybody I can’t imagine). He’s allowed nine walks all season, which makes me think of Joe DiMaggio and that crazy 1941 season where he only struck out 13 times. I’ve had a platonic baseball-crush on Lee ever since he made that sick behind-the-back catch in Game 1 of last fall’s World Series and then shrugged it off with Steve-McQueen cool; I’ve also been looking at him as a bit superhuman, and so I didn’t expect much from the Yankees last night. Especially since Marcus Thames was batting third*.

And, against Cliff Lee, they indeed didn’t do much… except they had some good at-bats, and made him work (though of course not actually walk anybody), which is often really the only thing you can do when facing someone like Lee. The Rangers didn’t beat around the bush, starting their scoring in the 1st with a Michael Young homer, as Javier Vazquez continued to struggle with both his velocity and his location. The Yankees evened things up in the 4th, when Marcus Thames singled and A-Rod doubled him home and I thought, not for the first nor last time over a four-hour span, okay maybe I’ve been a little hard on Marcus Thames; but it didn’t take. The Rangers scored two more in the bottom of the inning (two-run Mitch Moreland single, off the glove of Lance “not Mark Teixeira” Berkman at first), and three more in the fifth (single, single, botched run-down, double, fielder’s choice, single), and when Javy slumped off the mound to make way for Sergio Mitre it was 6-1 and I was thinking about how I should frame the loss in the recap.

But Sergio Mitre was just fine, actually – 1.2 hitless, scoreless innings – and it turned out the Yankees were only mostly dead (“mostly dead is slightly alive!”). In the same way they used to have some success against aces like Pedro Martinez back in the day, they took a bunch of pitches, fouled others off, kept scuffling, and got Lee out of the game after 6.1 innings – which is, by Cliff Lee standards, quite early; as Michael Kay pointed out, Lee had pitched 8 innings or more in ten straight starts. The comeback trail began in the sixth, when Derek Jeter tripled –  seems like it’s been a long time since I wrote that – and scored on a rare Cliff Lee wild pitch, but I don’t think the Rangers were exactly quaking in their boots at that point. The next inning, though, things started to get a little interesting: Robinson Cano doubled, and Austin Kearns singled, hard, and when Austin Kearns creams one like that it’s a pretty good sign that Cliff Lee is probably starting to get a little tired. (It was 100 degrees in Texas last night, which couldn’t have helped any). Lance Berkman hit a ground-rule double, and then Brett Gardner singled, and suddenly it was a decently close 6-4 game. The Texas bullpen is very good, though, and the Yankees were relying on Kerry Wood for two innings, so I remained unimpressed except in a vague, it’s-nice-they’re-showing-some-fight-however-futile sort of way.

Like Sergio Mitre before him, Kerry Wood exceeded my expectations, although he did add a little spice, in the form of two straight singles in the seventh before he induced a Nelson Cruz double play. But he kept things from getting any worse, and so when Marcus Thames led off the 8th inning with a sonic boom of a home run off Frank Francisco – huh, perhaps I really was a little hard on that guy – it was suddenly a one-run affair. Cano and Posada walked… but then Austin Kearns, who giveth and taketh away, ground into a DP of his own and you had to figure that was probably that.

In the top of the ninth inning, Lance Berkman walked and, being rather less swift than a puma these days, Curtis Granderson came on to run for him. And he drew a lot of attention from the hard-throwing Rangers reliever of the moment, Neftali Feliz, but he still hadn’t gotten anywhere when Brett Gardner singled him over. Derek Jeter was getting ready to bunt (grrrrr), but Feliz — perhaps overcome with admiration for Jeter’s selflessness in being willing to sacrifice himself for his team! — threw a wild pitch and both Granderson and Gardner advanced, no bunt necessary. Jeter then bent over, picked a four-leaf clover, and hit a sneaky seeing-eye hopper of a single that came within an inch of being caught by both the pitcher and the second baseman before trickling into the outfield. Tie game. Nick Swisher struck out, but that brought up Marcus Thames, who singled off of Alexi Ogando, scoring Gardner and giving the Yankees their first lead of the game.

You know, it’s possible I’ve been a little hard on Marcus Thames.

Anyway, the one-run lead meant Mariano Rivera for the bottom of the ninth. I’d say he was looking for redemption after the previous night’s rare blown save but, really, Mariano Rivera doesn’t need any redemption; he’s got redemption coming out of his ears. He did, however, give everyone a bit of a start by immediately giving up a whopping triple to Elvis Andrus.

Michael Young flew out, just not quiiiiite far enough to score the run.

Josh Hamilton grounded directly into Rivera’s glove.

Vlad Guerrero took one whole pitch before swinging from his heels and sending the ball to Alex Rodriguez, who made a nice play and tossed him out by several entire feet.

If the Yanks and Rangers meet down the road in October, it could be quite a series. In the interests of being prepared, I recommend you start discussing blood pressure medication with your doctor sooner rather than later.

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*There’s no doubt that the Yankees miss Mark Teixeira – that lineup hasn’t been looking all that awe-inspiring the last few days. (Still, to the people who are actually upset that Teixeira is taking several days off to be with his newborn child and wife, I can only say: you’ll feel differently about this down the road, once you’ve matured a bit, and passed puberty.) Ken Singleton made the extremely good point that, as with the Bereavement List, when players leave for the birth of a child, their team should be able to call up a replacement. Teams would therefore feel less of a squeeze when a player like Teixeira does the right thing and spends a couple of days with his family, and there would be less pressure on the player himself to rush back immediately. Paternity leave: get on it, MLBPA.

Come on, what else could I write about during Shark Week?

Deep Blue Sea opens with an homage to and ripoff of Jaws, as do roughly 90% of all movies about dangerous aquatic creatures. Which is fitting, since Jaws impressed and traumatized me at a very young age and gave me a so far life-long fascination with sharks. I used to check over my shoulder in the deep end of swimming pools, looking for fins; I still to this day scan the horizon only semi-ironically if I’m in the ocean above my thighs. The idea of huge monsters in the murk coming at your vulnerable body from below… it still gets to me more than just about any other horror trope.

That’s one reason I started watching Deep Blue Sea when I came across it on TV for the first but certainly not last time, a decade ago. Another reason, I’m only slightly embarrassed to admit, is the early scene featuring Thomas Jane is a bathing suit:

Hello, ladies.

Deep Blue Sea’s set-up is pretty simple: rich and famous executive Samuel L. Jackson is threatening to shut down the research of driven scientist Dr. Susan McCallister (Saffron Burrows… what? Her hair’s pulled back and everything!), so she flies him out to her floating lab to demonstrate how close she is to curing Alzheimer’s using protein from shark brains. (Indeed, the film’s conceit that a drop of shark brain fluid applied to dead human brain cells will cause them to completely regenerate and spark to life in 6.5 seconds is perhaps its most ridiculous moment of all, which is really saying something in a movie where LL Cool J kills a genius shark with an oven to avenge his dead pet parrot.)

At the lab, far out at sea, we meet the weekend skeleton crew: neurotic engineer Michael Rappaport, dour researcher Stellan Skarsgård, pixie-ish researcher Jacquelyn McKenzie, comic-relief cook LL Cool J, spunky control tower operator Aida “Janice Soprano” Turturro, and macho shark-wranger and ex-con Thomas Jane. Naturally, a huge storm arrives, just as Dr. Saffron Burrows’ rushed research is coming to a head – and as the experimented-upon sharks are acting less and less like fish, and more and more like evil masterminds.

Well, wouldn’t you know it, the sharks’ brains have been genetically engineered to many times their natural size, which made them smarter, “as a side effect.” When the storm hits, they turn the tables on the lab staff in a hurry. Their first assault gruesomely takes out Stellan Skarsgård and causes a huge helicopter crash (take that, Megashark!) that severely damages and floods the lab, kills Janice Soprano, and sets the brilliant demon-fish free to stalk the significantly less brilliant human characters.

The following scene (SPOILER ALEEEEEEEEEERT!) is by far the best in the movie, and almost single-handedly elevates it from so-bad-it’s-good empty calories to something a bit more. This Samuel L. Jackson speech, and its abrupt end, genuinely startled me more than a movie had in a very long time, and in a fun, wry, knowing way.

Obviously Deep Blue Sea is hardly the first movie to kill off what the audience thought was the main character much earlier than expected – see Psycho for the most dramatic example, decades earlier. But Deep Blue Sea gives you no previous hints that it’s going to be that kind of movie. Everything has gone according to the rulebook, and suddenly the rulebook is set on fire. And to do it in the middle of a big, dramatic speech about togetherness and cooperation – that’s just awesome. Sure, working together to overcome obstacles is great and all, but massive, vicious genetically engineered predators with rows of razor-sharp teeth will trump any amount of community spirit.

Dr. Saffron Burrows takes most of the movie’s blame for causing all the trouble by pushing nature (and pissed-off mutant sharks) way too far in her single-minded pursuit of an Alzheimer’s cure. “What in God’s creation…” wonders Samuel L. Jackson. “Not His,” says Stellan Skarsgård, “Ours.” He is, naturally, the first to die, though really it’s as much because he’s a smoker as because of his blasphemy.

This is what happens when you smoke, kids.

So the movie (like so many before it) posits that the Doc brought this misery on herself and her friends because she played God, but I tend to disagree. I think if you can really find a cure for degenerative brain illness, and the price of that is a few terrifying evil mutant sharks, you damn well go for it; the unforgivable mistake of the Deep Blue Sea crew was, rather, surrounding huge unnatural killing machines with freaking mesh wire fences. (Jurassic Park teaches the same flawed lesson about human hubris. I mean, go ahead and mess with nature – just don’t keep your only backup generator on the other side of the goddamn Velociraptor habitat! Common sense, people).

Deep Blue Sea was directed by Renny Harlin, whose spotty record includes the mega-flop Cutthroat Island as well as the minorly entertaining hits Die Hard 2 and the Long Kiss Goodnight. No one would really confuse him with an auteur, but he knows how to direct action and he keeps things taut. Meanwhile, the screenwriters are no one of any distinction. But somehow the movie has a spark of life and ingenuity and just sheer joy in its own stupid premise that elevates it above most similar summer junk.

For example, I have to give the film full credit for its handling of the obligatory leading-lady-in-her-underwear sequence, which often, in these movies, comes with only the flimsiest of pretexts. Here Saffron Burrows, having gone back to her quarters in a staggeringly stupid fit of determination to save her research, is attacked by a shark in neck-high water, stands on a desk, and takes off her wet suit to reveal her bra and panties… then stands on said wetsuit for insulation and fries the shark with a loose electric cable. I just can’t argue with that reasoning.

Fair play.

In the end, this movie is both saved and cursed by its self-consciousness. That’s what allows the writers to play with the rules of the genre so effectively at times, but it also stops the film from ever being particularly affecting – it never really lets you forget that you’re watching a movie, and a silly one. And so as entertaining as it is, Deep Blue Sea is never all that scary, or sad, or uplifting. It will not distract you from your popcorn.

Just as the movie opened in Jaws’ shadow, it closes there too – with a huge shark exploding in a fountain of blood and flesh, and two exhausted survivors (though not, I have to admit, the two I initially expected). Deep Blue Sea isn’t one fourth of the movie that Jaws is. But it connects to that same primal fear… and then adds hot people in wetsuits, and all manner of explosions, and ludicrous scientific jargon, and an original LL Cool J track. And I have now watched it at least four times.

I had never heard James Shields reffered to as “Big Game James” prior to this afternoon, but the Rays starter didn’t give me any opportunity to snicker at it. Shields handily  outdueled C.C. Sabathia and led the Rays to a clean 3-0 win, and bringing them to within a game of the AL East lead. Sometimes I miss the Devil Rays of my youth.

The Yankees weren’t lifeless, but they only managed to scrape together 5 hits and, tellingly, one walk against Shields, while Sabathia was solid but not at his best – and it would’ve taken his best to compete against Shields, whose changeup baffled most of the Yanks all afternoon. New York wasn’t helped by Girardi’s odd choice to start Lance Berkman at first base over Mark Texeira, and the defensive downgrade cost the Yanks at several points, but given Shields’ great game it probably didn’t matter in the end. Meanwhile, Alex Rodriguez sat out today, to give him a mental and physical break, but I can’t really quibble with that call. And he made a dramatic pinch-hit appearance in the 7th… believe me, if he’d hit one out, you’d have heard about it. So that storyline continues, god help us, but at least Lance Berkman’s 0-for-his-Yankee-career slide ended a day after it began, with a sixth-inning single.

Sabathia chugged along steadily into the 7th inning, but after he climbed over 100 pitches Girardi pulled him for Newest Yankee Kerry Wood – who made a good first impression by striking out Evan Longoria with a nasty little curveball. I really hope one day I’ll be able to look at Wood and see a reliever with good stuff instead of a symbol of sky-high expectations unfulfilled, but I think it’s going to take a while. In the 8th Wood got two outs (thanks in part to Jason Bartlett’s bunting strikeout, which I imagine has to be one of the worst feelings in baseball) but also loaded the bases, and was replaced by… Chad Gaudin? A baffling decision in a pretty close game, if you ask me, which nobody did. But he struck out Reid Brignac, so no harm no foul, I suppose.

Shields came out after recording one out in the 8th, and was replaced by Chad Qualls; but even against Qualls, the bane of many a fantasy team this year (to say nothing of the actual Diamondbacks), the Yankees couldn’t do a thing. Lance Berkman grounded into a double play, and Qualls lowered his ERA to a shiny 8.15. It’s tough dropping a series to the team breathing down your neck in a division race, but the Rays are a very good team and the games were close- plus there’s a bit of breathing room in the Wild Card race – so there’s no reason for alarm. Still, if the Rays don’t scare you this year, you haven’t been paying attention.

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* I of course had, however, heard Lance Berkman referred to as “Big Puma,” which prompted me to head for baseball-reference.com and look up all the Major Leaguers who’ve had “Big” nicknames. It’s quite a list. By my count there have been no less than 17 players nicknamed Big Bill, and 18 Big Eds. In addition to the well-known Big Train, Big Unit, Big Mac, Big Papi, Big Hurt, Big Poison, and both Big Cats, there’s been Big Six, Big Bow, Big Donkey, Big Daddy, The Big Bear, Big Murph, Big Country, and more, including Big Ebbie, who also, to my delight, was known as “Steam Engine in Boots.” You’re welcome.

A Very, Very Resilient Little Muscle

“How the hell do I know why there were Nazis? I don’t know how the can opener works!”

One thing I like about Woody Allen is that, for the most part — and unlike so many of even my favorite movie directors — he tries to create complete, psychologically complex female characters. It doesn’t always work, but I appreciate the effort. Martin Scorsese, to pick just one example, has made some of my favorite movies ever, but no more than a handful of female character with more than two dimensions.

Mia Farrow, Dianne Weist, and Barbara Hershey star in Hannah and Her Sisters as Hannah and… her sisters, Holly and Lee. Hannah is married to Michael Caine’s Elliot, and her ex-husband is hypochodriachal comedy writer Mickey, played by — well, you’ll never guess. But Allen wisely casts himself here as a kind of comedic Greek chorus figure, and not the leading man. The sisters’ various relationships, with each other and with a number of different men, make up the movie’s many plot threads, particularly Elliot’s doomed secret affair with Lee. (Michael Caine is one of the very, very few actors who could pull off this role without leaving you loathing the character, although I still end up having less sympathy for him than Allen’s script seems to). The great ensemble of complex, distinctive, well-drawn characters is the real strength of Hannah and Her Sisters – one of my favorite Woody Allen movies after Annie Hall and Manhattan, and one that he clearly poured a lot of care into.

The movie is packed with cameos, and future stars in small roles – Julie “Marge Simpson” Kavner plays a producer on a comedy show that also employs, for one or two lines each, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Lewis Black, and John Turturro. Allen must have had one hell of a casting director. Sam Waterston plays a slimy-suave architect who dates both Holly and her friend April – who’s played by Carrie Fischer. J.T. Walsh and Daniel Stern make appearances, the sisters’ parents are played by the late, great Lloyd Nolan and Maureen O’Sullivan, and Lee’s pretentious older artist lover is the awesome Max von Sydow. A very very young Soon-Yi Previn even shows up at the end as a “Thanksgiving Guest”.

Woody Allen, even in his youth, was always something of a grumpy old man – he never warmed up to rock and roll even a little bit, and after complaining about Bob Dylan in Annie Hall, here he grouches endlessly about having to sit through the “noise” of a punk band. Everyone in this movie loves opera, jazz, classical music, fine art, and Cole Porter; only Diane Weist’s insecure cokehead listens to musical genres that developed since 1950. But if you can overlook those rather anachronistic character touches in a movie that’s otherwise very much of its 1980s New York setting, you find some very believable, recognizable people. No one in this movie is a villain; everyone is just trying to muddle through, with varying degrees of success. And Allen’s script is big enough to find some sympathy for everyone.

Much like Mia Farrow’s character in Purple Rose of Cairo, Woody Allen’s Mickey essentially has his life saved after a half-hearted suicide attempt by movies – in this case, the Marx Brothers, who convince him that even if life is meaningless and God nonexistent, we might as well try to enjoy ourselves while we’re here. I never found it especially convincing that he and a suddenly transformed Dianne Weist end up blissfully together at the end of the film (with her sister’s/his ex-wife’s blessing), but I do buy into the moral a bemused Allen expresses in the final scene – “The heart is a very, very resilient little muscle, it really is.”

In a way, it’s the same message Allen had for the audience at the end of Annie Hall – a message I like so much that when my dad asked me to read something at his wedding last month, that’s what I picked. We need the eggs.

Granted, all of this might be a little easier to fully embrace if Allen’s own private life hadn’t taken such a creepy turn in the 90s, but never mind; as is so often the case, you have to separate the man’s personal life from his creative one if you hope to ever enjoy a movie without conducting a moral audit of its director. Which is something that I think Allen, or at least the desperate movie-loving character he plays here, would entirely agree with.