Sound Advice

Back to the Basics

Hidden in the Mets' seven game winning streak were fielding gaffes and baserunning lapses, and they finally reared their ugly heads in their series against the Braves. Between David Wright's poor throwing arm and refusal to charge balls and get played by bad hops and Jose Reyes' curious baserunning decisions -taking a massive risk going for a triple in the eighth inning of the second game, running on a ground ball to short and walking into a Larry Jones tag and the icing on the cake, cadillac-ing around the bases on a deep fly ball to left center that bounced off the top of the fence- there is a general sloppiness to the team that wasn't nearly as damaging when they could outslug opponents with Carlos Delgado in the lineup. Wright and Reyes are not the only culprits, but the highest profile ones: Luis Castillo also refuses to play ground balls and waits for them, and Daniel Murphy still plays left field on rollerskates. Manager Jerry Manuel and bench coach/infield instructor Sandy Alomar Sr. can run as many drills as they want, but perhaps new voices are needed to reach to the players, voices like Tom Emanski -winner of back-to-back-to-back AAU national championships- and Fred McGriff -"these are the instructional videos that GET RESULTS!"

More Fallen G's

Thought I'd stay with the fallen G theme this week. This here is Ralph Beard, a star 1940's hoopster for Kentucky who passed in November of 2007.

By all accounts Beard was a baller who should be remembered amongst the pioneer greats from the post-war hoops era. Unfortunately Beard was a grizzly bear who stayed on his hustle, getting caught up in the City College of New York point-shaving scandal that engulfed college hoops in the early 1950's. The Repercussions were extreme, to put it milder than Hunt's Ketchup.

Besides the many ballers like Beard who were blacklisted, powerhouse teams such as C.C.N.Y., N.Y.U. and L.I.U. gave up D-I hoops. The N.I.T. began to wane in dominance, and New York City in general lost its central status in college ball.

Beard obviously wasn't too happy with the outcome, giving this powerfully poetic quote to the Tampa Tribune in 1999, "“I loved this game. It isn’t like losing one of my kids. It isn’t like losing my wife, Bettye. It isn’t like going blind. But I’m telling you what — it will be with me until they hit me in the face with that first spade full of dirt — because basketball was my life.”

Remembering Two Fallen G's.

Two baseball G's passed recently. Dom "The Little Professor" DiMaggio and Jack "Lucky" Lohrke.

DiMaggio, besides strongly resembling "Steve" from Sex and the City, is a genuine Bosawk legend who suffered from playing in the shadow of his Yankee brother. Matter of fact, one of the records he still holds-longest hitting streak on the Red Sox-came to an end at the hands of Mr. Coffee.

He didn't sound too bitter about it tho, here's the Little Pro telling it to the NY Times:

First of all, when I hit in 34 games in a row, I was only doing my job. I played every game pretty much as I played any other game. I got my fair share of walks during the streak — I don’t think I chased bad pitches. I was a line-drive hitter. My job was to get on base and let the sluggers like Ted Williams drive me home. I wasn’t even aware of my streak until it was at 22 or 23 games, and I didn’t make a big deal of it.

On the day it ended, Aug. 9, we were playing the Yankees at Fenway Park. Our rivalry with the Yankees was great — every bit as emotional as it is now. The atmosphere was very thick whether we played at Fenway Park or Yankee Stadium. That afternoon we were in third place, six games behind the first-place Yankees, but playing great. We were just entering the pennant race. These were big games.

But when you feel pressure, you do not perform. The first thing you’ve got to do is be completely relaxed. And that’s the way I was. On that day against the Yankees, I felt good. I hit one solid shot to the third baseman that was turned into an out. I got out another couple of times. I was 0 for 4 when I got to the plate in the eighth inning against Vic Raschi, who was a darn good pitcher.

I smacked a line drive right up the middle so hard that it passed Raschi’s ear! He ducked to get out of the way of it! As soon as I hit it, I said, “O.K., that’s 35.” But that ball wouldn’t drop. The ball refused to drop. Joe is standing out there in center field, and he didn’t have to move. He said it himself later — if he hadn’t caught the ball, it would have hit him right between the eyes. So there was no effort on his part. It wasn’t a great play by him, like they’re still saying today. I just hit the ball too damn hard!

But the streak was over, and I didn’t mind that much. (After all, we’d won the game, 6-3.) And hitting streaks didn’t matter to me, even when I hit in another 27 straight in 1951. It’s just a statistic. And the only statistic that really matters to me is hitting .300. I did it four times in my 10 full seasons in the major leagues, and finished with a .298 average lifetime. My only regret is not hitting .300.

It would have meant so much. Enos Slaughter hit exactly .300 in his career — and he’s in the Hall of Fame. Why? Did he hustle any more than I did? Did he have a better arm than I did? Did he run the bases any better than I did? Did he play defense as well as I did? Who knows? All I needed was 12 more hits — only about one per season — and I would have had a .300 average.

But that’s O.K. As I said, I was a leadoff man. I think one of the finest compliments paid to me was from my own teammate, Bobby Doerr. He said to me on more than one occasion, “Dommy, if you had been batting fifth or sixth in the lineup, I am positive you would drive in 100 runs a year.” That to me was the ultimate compliment. Just like the streak, I did what my job called for.
-----

Jack "Lucky" Lohrke had a short career, mostly with the New York Giants. As for that nickname? "He didn't really like that nickname," his son said. "It reminded him of too many things."

What things? From his AP obit:

Mr. Lohrke served in the Army during World War II and fought in the D-day invasion at Normandy and later in the Battle of the Bulge. He recounted how four soldiers, two on each side of him, were killed in combat.

In 1945, Mr. Lohrke was leaving the service when he prepared to board a military transport for the trip home to California. Shortly before takeoff, he was bumped from the flight by a higher-ranking officer. The plane crashed, and all passengers were killed.

In 1946, Mr. Lohrke and his minor league teammates on the Spokane Indians boarded a bus for a ride across the state of Washington. During a lunch stop, Mr. Lohrke got word that he'd been promoted to Triple-A San Diego, took his gear, and hitchhiked home.

That night, the bus careened off a rain-slicked pass through the Cascades mountain range and plummeted into a valley, killing nine players. It remains the most deadly crash involving an American professional baseball team.

By the time he reached the majors, Mr. Lohrke was "Lucky."

The Amazin Mess Casting Call II

Via the Almighty Bizman, here are former KC Chiefs' WR Johnnie Morton as Johan Santana and late 1980's funnyman Mario Joyner as Carlos Delgado.

Casting Call

What if Hollywood, already inspired by the upcoming Moneyball adaptation to film, gets an itch for another baseball drama? What was more tumultuous than the 2008 Mets season that featured backstabbings, power struggles, midnight firings and a second straight choke job? Casting from the top:

Gregory Itzin as Fred Wilpon

Out-of-touch patriarch of the franchise already handing the reins to his son...

Steve Carell as Jeff Wilpon

and always behind Jeff's back, whispering into his ear...

Carlos Gomez (the actor) as Tony Bernazard

Robert Townsend as Willie Randolph

Billy Dee Williams as Jerry Manuel

Temuera Morrison as Carlos Beltran

Chris Pine (r) as David Wright

and on the other line with Joe Benigno and Evan Roberts on WFAN...

Zac Efron as Cole Hamels

Obviously, Omar Minaya is a glaring hole, as are the roles of Johan Santana, Carlos Delgado, Jose Reyes, but that's what the experts are for, right? Get cracking on that screenplay!

Don't have the time or money to attend a Mets game?

Get pumped up by the techno beat of 'Sandstorm' before a Met hits into a double play.



Simulate the slow walk out of the ballpark after another excruciating loss with the End Credits to Jurassic Park playing in the background.

I Luv You Like A Fat Kid Love Cake

Powerful. Magnetic. Intriguing. Omnivorous. These are the words that come to mind as I peer into Officer Rick Ross' (Boss) mug. Watch all the way through, you will be rewarded.

Deeper than Rap? Deep-Fried in Fat?

Byrd Calling

Get on the phone, Omar!

Still Sheaing Hey

Full props & pounds to No Mas and Uni Watch for their campaign to call the new Mets Stadium "Shea."

After all, Citigroup didn't pay any of us fans to call the stadium what they want. Us fans are free to call the park whatever we'd like, and nothing makes more sense than calling it what us fans have always called it, "Shea."

As any Mets fan knows, William Shea willed the team into being. At the time, as Jimmy Breslin reported in his 1963 classic "Can't Anybody Here Play This Game?" Major League owners were content to let the Yanks enjoy a monopoly over big league ball in the big apple. William Shea ensured this would once again become a National League town.

The Mets should never have taken Citi's money. No doubt it's hard to turn down $20 mil a year, but the Yanks surely turned down more dough than that for their new bandbox. New Shea was the Mets big chance to get on level footing with the Yanks in at least the stadium department. The Yanks turning the money down makes the Mets look even tackier than the billboards for Geico and Caesar's Palace that adorn the facade facing Northern Boulevard.

William Shea's name could have at least been preserved at the #7 station, but the MTA oddly chose to go with "Mets-Willets Point." "Shea Station" is a more proper, and his name is worth preserving more than the obscure Charles Willet, who was an early 19th century landowner.

Of course, to many this is just semantics. A bigger issue is the lack of fannies in New Shea's seats.
I'm sure the Wilpons/Coupons had a good laugh in figuring that if the Mets averaged around 5o,000 in old Shea's last years, then if they dropped New Shea's capacity they could ensure sellouts every night. Well, they dridopped New Shea's capacity to around 41,000 seats, yet are only averaging 36,907 a game so far through 6 games in decent April weather.

Here's a comparison of the attendance figures for the first six games last year and this year.

Game 1 2008: 56,350
Game 1 2009: 41,007

Game 2 2008: 47,127
Game 2 2009: 35,581

Game 3 2008: 49,045
Game 3 2009: 35,985

Game 4 2008: 46,214
Game 4 2009: 36,436

Game 5 2008: 54,701
Game 5 2009: 36,312

Game 6 2008: 52,794
Game 6 2009: 36,124

I don't care how many Excelsior boxes they sell and how many Shake Shake burgers they push, losing 15,000 fans a game has to mean less cake for the Coups.

Circle the Date

When writers and fans are preparing postmortems for the 2009 season and ask 'why did this team win 83 games?' this is the date to point to as the boilerplate for the rest of the season and the team as a whole the last two seasons. Hideous situational pitching and hitting against an inferior team at home. And people wonder why there's a such an aura of negativity surrounding the team.

EXTRA: The Mets are already 1-4 in one run games, and while some may say it's due to even out, it could just be a harbinger of things to come.

The Franchise That Just Can't Stand Prosperity.

From Jody Gerut's leadoff homer to former Met fatty Heath Bell's 1-2-3 ninth, the Mets showed the whole world how little has changed for the franchise despite its new home. They were outhomered by a hideous Padres lineup, and predictably hit two warning track shots -they always seem to come up short more often than their visitors. As soon as David Wright collected his first big hit since a walkoff homer against the same Padres team last season, Ryan Church completely misplayed a fly ball and as just as it seemed Pedro Feliciano would work out of the jam, he balks in the eventual winning run. The team has been a colossal tease for several years, but always comes miserably short. Cleveland may have it's Wahoo, but many New York baseball fans have to deal with a nameless, shapeless ghost that haunts their team. Maybe the ghost has a name and wide figure in the form of Mike Scioscia. Or Yadier Molina. Either way, this franchise will continue to find ways not to win. Some will say to be thankful for what limited success they achieve, but they do not root for teams that are massively overshadowed by a crosstown neighbor.

Words Is Bonds 2

A great moment in literary booze from Raymond Chandler's "The Lady in the Lake."
- - -
He looked at me with steady blue eyes and I looked at him. In spite of his weathered appearance he looked like a drinker. He had the thickened and glossy skin, the too noticeable veins, the bright glitter in the eyes.
- - -

Happy to post more great moments like this if you got them.

Excuse Me?

Still A G

Edgardo Alfonzo still swangin for the Yomiuri Giants in Tokyo. For a cool $380,000.

A forgotten Met, which is a shame considering that he was the bedrock for the last Mets' spell of success in the late 90's. 

PNC Park + Busch Stadium III + Citizens Bank Park =...

...you know where I'm going.

As cynical as I was during CitiField's construction process, I couldn't help but be a little excited attending the ballpark's soft opening featuring the baseball squads from St. John's -as the visiting team- and Georgetown last Sunday. On the ride there, if I wasn't certain which major league team called the ballpark home, I was painfully reminded by the same miserable cold and wet weather that closed out Shea Stadium. That was a shame, because it killed any chance of a festive atmosphere -outside of one St. John's cheering section in the 'Promenade:' I'll get to the stupid section names later.

Upon arrival at the Mets/Willets Point station, -good for the MTA for attempting to get something out of the Mets and Citi- you're spit out into the entrance plaza with some token tree and flower patches sprinkled in to try to differentiate it from the adjacent parking lots. The grand entrance, the Jackie Robinson Rotunda, is a hulking mass of fake brick arches and massive steel trusses that along with the cheap looking escalators evokes a subway station much moreso than Ebbets Field. Would it have killed anyone to put some skylights over the space and not make it seem like an entrance cavern? Like what the Yankees did in their entrance plaza? Anyway, the rotunda has some nice posters of Jackie Robinson, though there were still a few open slots left to be filled. While this is a great gesture to one of the most important athletes in American history, where's the love for Branch Rickey? I'll get to the very, very, very uneven 'tribute' to New York National League baseball later as well.

Moving on, the concourses are wide and lined with plenty of concession stands and restrooms, but the exposed metal decking of the floor above is more appropriate for a warehouse, not a ballpark -wasn't this supposed to be a departure from austere and minimalist designs of the 60s? How about a hung ceiling at least? Or get creative and make it vaulted. The only highlight of my time there was seeing Jeff Coup-, er Wilpon strolling around with an associate, probably trying to overhear conversations or go over punchlists. The centerfield food court offers a great selection of food, including tacos/burritos, Danny Meyer's Shake Shack and Blue Smoke as well as a grocery -very generic, shoulda used local context and model it after a Corona bodega- that sells packaged salads, sushi and most importantly Mamma's of Corona's heroes. Thankfully, the skyline that graced the top of Shea's Gambler's Scoreboard™ has a new home on top of the Shake Shack and Blue Smoke -the original apple unfortunately is in a dark corner under the bullpen bridge: cave troll treatment. Speaking of the Gambler's Scoreboard™, it's successor pales in comparison. It's an obstructive little row of scores over the left field upper level seats that considering how much empty ad space the park has around the jumbotron and outfield wall, they may as well have put a newer, bigger one, like what's done in the parks Pacific Northwest cousin, Safeco Field. The ads that are there consist of an embarrassing array from the likes of Bob's Discount Furniture, Alliance Building Services (???) and an equipment rental company whose name I can't even remember. All that's missing are ads for pawnshops and Denny's.

A word of advice when navigating the ballpark, unless you want access to the Mets' offices -with gorgeous chop shop views- do not take the staircase on the promenade level behind center field and next to the mechanical equipment. It takes you straight down to the exit at street level, or if you're adventurous you can attempt re-entry by walking through the inner ring that connects to the clubhouses and press room -which by the way looks great, Jerry Manuel is gonna love talkin gangsta with the press after games- and eventually the elevators that can send you back up to your choice of the Metropolitan, Empire, Sterling (nice Wilpon schill) or Promenade Levels. I would've loved to have seen Coup's Stoop, Bernie's Bench or something a little more creative, but that's just me. That's probably one way the Mets differentiated the park from its peers in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh and St. Louis, because if you didn't know any better, you wouldn't be able to tell where you are if you were sitting in the middle of the park.

I suppose the one instance of 'creativity' evident in the park are the 'homages' to the New York Giants in the form of black and orange garbage receptacles and outfield wall. Yeah, so deep, I can see Willie Mays snagging flies in center field and throwing his gum away in a trash can... The Phillies, who had no need to even reference their much more successful cross town rival, the Athletics, put up a nice exhibit chronicling the history of Philadelphia baseball: if HOK and the Mets are gonna use templates from every other new park, where was this one? The Giants were the class of New York National League baseball, but you wouldn't know it, at least according to ol' Fred. We've to thank Fred 0as well as co-conspirators Mayor Giuliani and George Steinbrenner- for these new parks, because if he and George didn't leave their parks in such disarray, there wouldn't have been enough clamor for replacements. Dodger Stadium is as old as Shea and even older than Yankee Stadium II and is in great shape. Where have you gone, Nelson Doubleday?

There's so much more I can vent about, but I don't want this to become a dissertation. As the old saying goes, I root for the laundry, so I don't care where the Mets play, as long as I can go to games every once in a while. At least I can stuff my face to avoid thinking about CitiField's shortcomings. Oh well.

LET'S GO METS!!!!

Words is Bond

I was strolling the aisles of the 'brar yesterday and came across "Ernie," everlasting Ernest Borgnine's autobiography. Look at that mirthful mug! So I picked it up but then had second thoughts. Sure, he's been in some greats, but could I get through his entire boo? I decided to flip to a random page, if it was good, I would take it out.

Well, this is the first sentence I read:

"The last thing Sam Peckinpah had said to me was that I should go fuck myself.
So did I want to work with him again? You bet your life!"

SOLD!

Amongst the many classic tales he tells is of the time he was a struggling actor in New York. Walking despondently along 10th Avenue in midwinter, he comes across a roasted chestnut cart with a sign that read:

"I don't want to set the world on fire, I just want to keep my nuts warm."

Borgnine took the creed to heart, working on almost any project that came his way, always reaching for the stars with feet planted firmly on the ground.

So, next time you're in your local 'brar, check it out! Get it? Check....out...ahh forget it.

Inspirational

Times may be tuff, but here's O.J. to remind us to always grab life by the throat.

U C Me? Hi Hater!

I made this of image Oscar hating on y'all inspired by the brilliant t-shirts that line the stalls of discerning Senegalese t-shirt/kicks/chains/beeper vendors along the hallowed thoroughfares of Delancey Street, Canal Street and BK's Fulton Street.

Mondays

Yeah, no matter where you are in the world (Cameroon), school sucks. Keep your head up, lil dude.