We have a blog

Three years ago, friends of ours named Luke and Sandy went on a baseball road trip and kept a joint blog about it. So I figured we should either rip them off, or pay homage to them, depending on whether or not Luke and Sandy are going to be reading this.

This is actually the replacement for some “manual” blogging I had been doing about this trip on my own web site, so I’ve copied all those entries over to here. The advantages are that Levi can easily make entries here as well, and we can both make entries from anywhere…including while we’re on the trip, if we can beg, borrow, or steal a computer capable of connecting to the Internet at some point.

It has also been rumored that Luke may be joining us for the first portion of our road trip. I hope he can make it, even if I disagree in part with his opinions on National Anthem etiquette. While I will happily sing along to an instrumental version (especially if it’s being played live by an organist), I will remain silent if someone is out on the field performing, because I actually want to listen to their performance. But I do agree that the cheering shouldn’t start until the end of the song, no matter how good the singer is at hitting the high note.

Therefore, in case they do instrumental versions of “O Canada” in Toronto and/or Montreal, I want to be sure I have the lyrics down.

On another note, my mother tells me that my cousin is getting married in Connecticut in July. Depending on the exact wedding plans (and the exact wedding location), I may attempt to come up with a scheme to visit New York for a day, a city which is a noticeable gap on the road trip itinerary. The Yankees will be in town that weekend, right before the All-Star break, playing my hometown Devil Rays.

A certain something in the air

I apologize for being a couple of days late with this, but here you go:

Did you notice on Wednesday morning that the world was a bit brighter? The sky a bit more blue? The normally sad-eyed businessmen downtown walking with a bit of life in their step?

Maybe the pretty girl you see every day on the train raised her eyes over the top of her RedEye and flashed you a conspiratorial smile? Maybe a group of schoolkids on a field trip walked by your office window singing “Kumbaya“? Maybe the sweet strains of “Morning in Cartoonland” drifted your way across a meadow?

Ah, yes. For at least one day, America was a happier, sunnier, more hopeful place. The Yankees had lost, 22-0 the night before, the worst defeat in Yankee history. And to paraphrase Ernest L. Thayer, “Oh, everywhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright. The band is playing everywhere, and everywhere hearts are light.
And, everywhere men are laughing, and little children shout.”

Such wonderful times come so rarely, one must savor them. So raise a glass, baseball fans, Americans, humans. To home, to country, to Johnny Damon’s beard, to history!

More bites from the Big Apple

One of my stops while I was in New York last week was the New York Transit Museum, which is in an old subway station in Brooklyn. Many of the old subway and elevated cars that are normally parked on the lower level had been moved out to run on fan trips all summer (this being the 100th anniversary of the opening of the first subway line in New York), so instead they brought in some not-so-old cars that have only recently been retired from the system. Including this one:

Yes, there’s a Yankees logo on the other end of the car, but the platform wasn’t wide enough for me to get a picture of the entire car. Besides, I would see plenty of Yankees logos at Yankee Stadium.

When I arrived at the stadium from the subway, wearing my Devil Rays shirt and cap, I ended up walking around the stadium the “wrong” way looking for the ticket booths. At the press/game personnel entrance, one of New York’s finest stopped me and said, “You look like a big fan,” then asked me who Paul Olden was, since he had just come in. I eventually remembered he was their radio play-by-play announcer. He was the TV broadcaster for the Yankees in the mid-1990s, but perhaps the cop was actually a Mets fan in disguise.

At any rate, there were plenty of good seats left for this game, now that the Devil Rays were no longer the hottest team in baseball. Here’s the view I had:

Yes, you can smell the history at Yankee Stadium, or maybe that was just in the men’s room. I completely forgot about going to Monument Park on my way in, so I had to settle for taking pictures from across the field. Also, I guess Adidas has enough money that they can print up a different bullpen awning for every visiting team:

Now, here’s the sacrilegious part: because certain people had to work Thursday night, I was at the game alone; when I’m at a game alone, I try to keep up my scorekeeping skills. At Yankee Stadium, you had to buy the $7.00 magazine to get a scorecard, which I expected because of their evilness. (Surprisingly, though, they serve good and pure Coca-Cola instead of evil Pepsi.) One of the articles, written by Keith Olbermann, was about how no one can remember who the P.A. announcer for Yankees was before Bob Sheppard took over in 1951, not even Bob Sheppard himself. These days, he doesn’t even do the between-inning promotions, just announces the starting lineups and does some of the other announcements at the beginning of the game, and then announces the players during the game. Problem is, I found him a little bit hard to hear and understand, especially his first announcement of each half-inning where he was usually talking over music. It’s probably a combination of the P.A. speakers all being in center field, plus his 136-year-old voice. Vin Scully, who is almost as old, has the benefit of going through radio and/or TV audio engineering.

Also at the game, by the way, were former New York Giants quarterback Phil Simms (who got a lot of applause) and current Tampa Bay Buccaneers coach Jon Gruden (who got no applause because they showed him briefly on the Diamond Vision screen but didn’t put his name on the scoreboard, so I may have been the only person who noticed him and recognized him). I saw only two other people wearing Devil Rays merchandise. I was asked a couple of times if I was from Florida. “Originally,” I said both times. The man sitting next to me asked if I knew why Fred McGriff only had two home runs for the season, so I attempted to explain the whole sordid story.

Anyway, here, have some more pictures. Anyone want to translate the orange-and-white ad here, which I assume is for the benefit of people in Japan watching Hideki Matsui?

And anyone want to translate the “F” and “G,” or perhaps “FG,” on the out-of-town scoreboard? It’s hard to see because I didn’t take this picture until after dark, but there is a column of single-digit numbers available under each letter, which weren’t used at any point. Until I hear differently, I’m going to assume it stands for “Faraway Games.”

They still make the groundskeepers do “YMCA”!

The Number 4 wins the subway race!

Speaking of which, this isn’t necessarily a baseball-related story, but people who know me may find it amusing: on the way back from the game, I had to change trains at 59th Street-Columbus Circle. So picture me, wearing a Devil Rays shirt and cap, on a subway platform with dozens of people wearing Yankees shirts and/or caps, so I perhaps looked less like a New Yorker than every other person there. Nevertheless, two people came up to me and asked about getting to Penn Station. I’m beginning to think my reputation is preceding me. (Yes, I did know the right answer, more or less. I didn’t realize it was as late as it was, so I told them they could either take the local C on the outside track or the express A on the inside track, whichever came first, but in the late-night hours, the A runs local instead of the C, so what showed up first was an A on the outside track. The people I had helped had wandered off, so I didn’t see if they managed to figure it out or not. Yes, the New York subway is somewhat more complicated than, for example, the Chicago ‘L’.)

Later, waiting for the light to change at the corner of 48th Street and 8th Avenue, a man asked me if I knew where the strip clubs were. But that’s another story.

The final line, on the Yankee Stadium scoreboard (and note that, although they have enough money to make a “Tampa Bay Devil Rays” awning, they don’t have enough money to put in a scoreboard with enough characters available to allow a space between “Tampa” and “Bay”):

Here’s the headline from the Daily News. Really, the difference in the game was that Victor Zambrano was shaky at the beginning, and Jose Contreras wasn’t.

And the front page. I wonder how many people know what that thing between “Daily” and “News” is supposed to be, now that they’re “New York’s Hometown Newspaper” instead of “New York’s Picture Newspaper.” Why, they don’t even own WPIX-TV anymore. But the good news is that, since both New York teams have baseball-shaped logos, it makes for a nice layout balance.

Later, in Connecticut, I saw The Ballpark at Harbor Yard, home of the Bridgeport Bluefish. You get a very nice long view into the stadium as you’re on a train that’s decelerating into the Bridgeport train station, it turns out, but there wasn’t a game going on as I was preparing to detrain in Bridgeport.

Original comments…

Dan: I believe I read somewhere it’s an ad for a Japanese newspaper (Yomiuri Shimbun?)

Luke: FG = First game?

Levi: I bet the guy who asked you about the strip clubs had been hoping to run into Mo Vaughn, but in Vaughn’s absence, he turned to you.

Steve: I find it hard to believe nobody knew who Jon Gruden was. During the football season they cut over to him on the sidelines more than any other coach.

maura: victor, not carlos, zambrano. but don’t worry, people make that mistake all the time.

Jim: Well, Carlos Zambrano would have been shaky at the beginning, too, if he’d been there.

maura: a handy mnemonic: the ‘v’ in victor stands for ‘get out of the way, because there’s a good chance he’ll hit you.’

DrBear: Yup, FG is for first game. You kids may be too young, but us old-timers remember when teams used to play two games in one day! The old scoreboard at County Stadium in Milwaukee had the same thing as G1, even including it at the end of the linescore for the Braves/Brewers game.

Note from the Big Apple

Yes, I was at Yankee Stadium for last Thursday’s 7-1 loss by the Devil Rays. I’ll post photos and more details tomorrow (or later Monday, given what the time stamp is going to be on this post), including some perhaps sacrilegious observations regarding Yankee P.A. announcer Bob Sheppard and my ability to understand what he was saying.

Actually, here’s an observation I’ll post right now: during the seventh-inning stretch, the Yankees play “God Bless America” (a recording of Kate Smith, in this case) and then “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” A disheartening number of people sat down after “God Bless America.”

Original comments…

Levi: Though I’m with you on the “Only one song should be played during the seventh-inning stretch, and that’s ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’ (although I make an exception for Wisconsin, where tradition and history demand following it up with ‘Roll Out the Barrel’), I’m willing to give Yankee fans a pass for a few weeks.

After all, maybe they were worn out from booing Cheney recently.

Dan: Yankee fans, with a handful of exceptions, are bandwagon-jumping pricks. And they have been for the better part of 80 years.

Go Mets, woo!

Dan: Oh, and kids who like the Yankees are even worse.

More thinking on just rewards

I’ve been thinking a little more about the role one’s behavior at baseball games could play in the handing down of eternal punishment or reward. It’s a complex issue.

For example: Jeffrey Maier. You remember him. He’s the twelve-year-old kid who helped win Game 1 of the 1996 ALCS for the Yankees by reaching over the fence and grabbing what would likely have been a flyout by Derek Jeter, turning it into a home run.

Now, my view on fan interference is this: feel free to interfere with a ball in play, but be sure of what you’re doing before you stick that hand or glove out there. If you’re rooting for the home team from the front row down the line, and the ball hit by the opponent is headed for the corner, a definite triple, feel free to lean over the fence and turn the ball into an automatic double. What I don’t like to see is the fan who, wrapped up in his ignorant desire for a batted ball, turns his own team’s triple into a double. It’s all about thinking in advance. I guarantee that Scott Rolen, before each play, thinks through what he’ll do in any situation. Is it too much to ask fans sitting at field level to do the same?

So Jeffrey Maier clearly fits into the category of righteous interference: he saw that Tony Tarasco was probably going to catch the ball. He may not have been sure that it would be ruled a home run if he caught it, but the consequence of not catching it was camped out beneath him. So grabbing it, despite the fact that he was taking a chance of being thrown out of a playoff game, was clearly the right thing to do.

But the situation gets more complex. After all, the team Mr. Maier was supporting with his action was the Yankees. And I like to think–Damn Yankees to the contrary–the gods know the Yankees are evil. What–you think the gods aren’t as smart as a 6-year-old Sox fan? No, the gods definitely know the Yanks are evil. I think they allow the Yankees their success both as a trial to the rest of us, a test of our faith in our own teams, and as a kind of spiritual flypaper. Anyone foolish enough to fall prey to the easy seductions of the World Series trophies and the black-and-white pinstripes reveals a weakness sure to be noted by the gods.

So given that: was Jeffrey Maier’s action a good action, in a philosophical sense? Is it likely to have added to the credit side of his spiritual ledger, or did it weigh down the debit?

See why the Old Testament God was so cranky? It’s complex. I don’t blame him for just sending plagues all the damn time rather than thinking about this kind of thing.

P.S. Added later
To clarify a bit the concept of “spiritual flypaper”: I think of it kind of like the situation in Nina Simone’s “Sinnerman”: the sinnerman runs to the rock, and it can’t hide him, then he runs to the river, and it’s bleeding, and he runs to the sea to find it boiling, then he runs to the lord, who tells him to go to the devil.

The devil is waiting. He’s always waiting. I picture him in a nicely tailored blue houndstooth smoking jacket, a circle of flattened cigarette butts around his spats a little indication of how long he’s been waiting, knowing that the sinnerman would show up sooner or later.

Like the Yankees. They’re content to wait until your team blows a 13-game lead or goes twelve years without a winning season or your cast-off first baseman rediscovers his youth in the very place Ponce de Leon came up empty.

Original comments…

Steve: So, according to this logic the Cubs are Isaac and Bartman is Abraham–only God decided not to intervene at the last minute.

Luke: >I don’t blame him for just sending plagues all the damn time rather
>than thinking about this kind of thing.

How do you think we ended up with the wild card, green-screen ads and the Devil Rays? We also ended up with, for a time, Johnny Damon’s hair, but if God truly loved us, the shaving cream would have turned to wine when it touched his face.

Other than a handful of personalities and talents who have made fandom worthwhile — the Marks Grace, the Alberts Pujols, the Rickeys Henderson, the Antonios Alfonseca — have there been any developments in the past 30 years to suggest God’s grace? Streaming broadcasts, maybe, but one has to pay for them (that the Bill of Rights fails to mention our right to free baseball audio merely proves our forefathers’ lack of foresight). All other changes to the game — retractable domes, sponsored first pitches and lineup changes, elbow pads — seem to be proof of God’s retributive side.

Levi: So, Luke, you’re saying that Selig is Satan?

Luke, hanger-on: I figured it went without saying, but just in case, I’ll say it: Bud Selig is Satan.

“Allan H Bud Selig,” after all, anagrams to “Hell! Bad! Sin! Luga!”

(Luga being the eskimo word for “menace to a great sport.”)

The Designated Hitter

Steven Goldman, writer of The Pinstriped Bible, a Yankees site worth reading–despite not being a Yankee-hating site–today calls the Designated Hitter “the Free Parking of baseball.”

Aside from the fact that the DH sucks all the time, whereas Free Parking only sucks when your opponent lands on it, I think he’s right on. Finding a good DH should be the easiest thing in the world for a team. That’s why, when the Cardinals (in interleague play) batted Miguel Cairo there a few times, or when the Yankees, this season, have batted Ruben Sierra there against lefties, it has brought sorrow and joy, respectively.