My Irrational Love Of The Yankees...

It's after midnight and I'm having a hard time digesting the Yankees 8-0 loss to the Texas Rangers (not pictured).

Cliff Lee (who hopefully will be donning pinstripes next year) threw an absolute masterpiece.

It's a game that you MAY have expected to lose or at least struggle in.

And yet, here I sit at 12:25 disgusted and unable to sleep.
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I fully recognize how silly the love of sports can be.

In my mind, I can do all the jumping jacks to talk myself down from being upset.

It's just a game.

One you didn't play in.

They'll get 'em tomorrow night.

You can't win every year.

Doesn't work.
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To my credit, I've gotten better.

The year was 1995.

The Yankees had NEVER won a playoff game in my lifetime.

It was Don Mattingly's last season.

Game 5 of the opening round against Seattle.

The Yankees are UP in extra innings and for SOME ungodly reason, Buck brings in Jack McDowell to close it out.

Why?

Many people remember, Edgar Martinez doubled to drive in Ken Griffey Junior and end the Yankees' season in heartbreak.

What you may not have known is that a 14-year old boy in Hollywood, Florida dropped to his knees and wept.

I mean loudly sobbed.

I'm not sure if I cried that hard when my grandparents died (I realize how awful that sounds).

My parents gave me the lecture.

It's just a game.

There will be others.

You can't live your life like this.
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But I have, for the most part.

I've toned it down a bit.

Having a job, a girlfriend, and a life help.

But they're not the end-all, be-all.

The Yankees have carved themselves an immovable piece in my heart.

Watching their games is part of my identity.

More importantly for me, it brings normalcy and routine to the world.

The 162 game grind has them there for me every day, to follow the box scores, losing streaks, and wins.
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And then there's the baseball playoffs.

So much tension in every single pitch.

Each moment can literally be the difference between a season's life or death.

With the Yankees everything is magnified because of their payroll, history and expectations.

Plus, they're old.

You never know when or if these guys will be back again.

There are no moral victories in the Bronx.

You're either champs or bums.

There is no middle ground.
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And so I sit.

Staring at the beautiful skyline of downtown Miami.

My awesome girlfriend sleeps peacefully in the bed.

And all I can think about is why Girardi is throwing AJ instead of CC on 3 days' rest.

There's a reason fan is short for fanatic.

Gaby Sanchez And The Clothesline Of Justice...

Nyjer Morgan (not pictured) got everything that he deserved on Wednesday night.

The Washington Nationals speedster instigated and instigated until the Marlins couldn't take it anymore.

And for that I thank him.

To think, on the eve of the Canes first game, I was inspired to write a blog about the Marlins and Washington Nationals.

It was game that, much like MCI's old calling plan, was played in front of friends and family.
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Allow me to quickly lay out the case against Morgan.

His first offense was throwing a baseball into the stands.

He was suspended 7 games by MLB.

Ah, but baseball has an appeals process.

Morgan was allowed to continue to play.

You'd figure being on parole of sorts, he'd be on his best behavior.

Think again.
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So let's break down Morgan's week.

On Saturday in St. Louis, Morgan had a clear path to home plate.

Rather than score, he intentionally took a cheap shot at the catcher, hitting him hard.

Jim Riggleman, in a move that I can only describe as weak, decides to sit out Morgan for the next game.

He was protecting his guy from retaliation.

So you can dish out cheap shots, but not get hit by a pitch?

We flash forward to Tuesday night.

In a godawful game, the Marlins and Nats are scoreless in the 10th.

Morgan makes a break for home with what could be the winning run.

In lieu of sliding in, he TRUCKS Marlins catcher Brett Hayes.

Hayes holds onto the baseball.

The Marlins go on to win, Hayes is done for the year with a shoulder injury.

Rather than making a winning play, Morgan continues his assault on catchers.
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Wednesday night, Riggleman FINALLY decides to let Morgan face the music.

4th Inning, Chris Volstad of the Marlins gently plunks Morgan.

A clear intent pitch, but not hard, not around the face.

It was a pitch that said, we don't like what you did.

Fine.

Should be case closed.

But in a blowout game, Morgan decides to steal 2nd and 3rd.

I can't explain EVERY nuiance of the 'unwritten rules of baseball,' but that's considered a no-no.

It was Morgan's way of SPITTING in the face of the Marlins.
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And so, next at-bat, Volstad throws behind him.

Message sent again, knock it off.

Then, Morgan pretends like he's not going to do anything, and RUNS OUT right at Volstad.

The Palm Beach High Grad doesn't run away, he throws down his glove and is ready to go.

Morgan throws a punch, but Volstad, tall and goofy, is able to dodge the punch as if channelling the Matrix.

And then a hero came along.

Marlins first baseman Gaby Sanchez RAN in from first base and threw a WWF style Clothesline.

It was his most important hit of the season.

He showed that he's the kind of guy you WANT on your team.

He protected his pitcher.

After that, typical baseball fight, plenty of talking and piles.

But it was mean-spirited and passionate, in other words, super-entertaining.
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The bottom line is, this fight had ONE instigator and one instigator only.

Nyjer Morgan is going through something right now.

I'm not quite sure what it is, but he needs to be done for the year.

He's not 'playing hard' or the 'right way,' he's out of control and is injuring people.

As bad as I feel for Hayes about his shoulder injury, I'm emboldened by the actions of Gaby Sanchez.

When the stuff hit the fan, he showed himself to be a true teammate.

Nyjer Morgan, I hope before you hit the ground, you were taking notes.

Loss Of The Boss...

I couldn't believe I was standing at the Deli counter at Publix crying.

But, it's true.

I was standing there waiting to get sandwiches for myself and my girlfriend, and I was shedding tears over George Steinbrenner (not pictured).

This was absurd to me.

George was the owner.

That's it.

He wrote the checks.

He never caught a flyball, drove in a run, or stole a base.

So why did I care so much?
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The short answer is that I'm a loser.

But that wouldn't make for a very interesting blog.

I didn't realize I had such an emotional pull towards Steinbrenner, until the day that he died (isn't that always the way).
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I kept saying to myself: I feel like the Yankees died today.

I called my father (I know it's a cliche to say that baseball is between fathers and sons--- but it's true--- it's the most consistent part of our relationship).

My dad basically said, That's life.

He's a neurosurgeon.

Death is sort of par for the course with that profession.

And I appreciated his point of view.
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I met George once when I was a kid.

It was at Spring Training.

He was surrounded.

He was wearing a white Yankees jacket.

I managed to find my way to approach him.

I was that kid.

I could ALWAYS get to the athlete and get the prized autograph (a skill that has served me well throughout my life).

He signed an autograph and was really nice about it.

But that wasn't it.

I once was able to get an autograph of the rapper Ice Cube at a Heat game (that was a good day) and yet I don't feel the same emotional pull towards him.
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After a day of thinking about it, I finally put my finger on why I was so upset.

My father grew up in the era of Mickey Mantle.

He still tells stories about taking the Subway to Bronx Science and seeing the Mick in the outfield.

Championships were expected.

I grew up watching Yankee games on WPIX.

As charming as Phil Rizzuto was, the Yankees sucked (he had more shoutouts than an award show, often at the expense of the broadcast, LOVED Scooter).

I felt the Yankees never gave Don Mattingly the team he deserved.

It always bothered me.
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It bothered Steinbrenner just as much.

That's why I loved him.

Steinbrenner demanded excellence.

He would do WHATEVER was necessary to make sure the Yankee franchise was returned to its glory days.

Yes, there are people who say, it was Steinbrenner's suspension from baseball that allowed the Yankee dynasty to bloom.

He was out of the game, and so he couldn't trade away the likes of Mariano Rivera, Derek Jeter, Bernie Williams, and on and on.

I don't see it that way.
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For better or worse, George Steinbrenner was America.

Unbridled capitalism and excess.

For crying out loud, he was born on the 4th of July.

Steinbrenner fancied himself a modern-day Patton and deluded himself into thinking he had more to do with the outcome of the games, than he actually did.

But, as a Yankee fan, I always knew this: He would try.

George cared about putting the ultimate product on the field, every day.

That's all you can really ask from an owner.
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Many of my best memories in life revolve around the Yankees.

I kept the ticket stub from Game 1 of the 2000 World Series in my wallet until it evaporated.

I was at Duke.

I flew to New York.

My dad, brother and I had bleacher seats in right field for the first game of the Subway series.

The Yankees won on a hit by Jose Vizcaino. That building shook.

I remember flying to San Diego for the clinching game in the 1998 World Series.

I nearly crapped my pants when Jim Leyritz nearly hit the ball out for San Diego, but the ball fell short, and the Yanks completed the sweep.

I can't count the number of times my mother dressed a dog up in Yankees gear.

My mother would routinely pull me out of school to go to Spring Training games in Fort Lauderdale.

I never stayed home from school being sick, wasn't allowed, but Yankee games were sacred.

I've smoked countless victory cigars with my friend Will.

From March until November every year, I can count on the Yankees fielding a great to outstanding team.

I'm a jumpy dude.

The Yankees are one of a handful of things that can actually allow me to relax.
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All of that is because of Steinbrenner and the culture that he reinstilled.

The Yankees were lost for a while.

Steinbrenner put them back on course.

I can't give him enough credit for that.

So yeah, maybe it wasn't so bad that I cried.

I really hope he's honored in November with Championship 28.

I promise when I'm smoking my victory cigar, I'l think of the Boss and say the one thing every Yankee fan should: Thank you!

Four-Fingered Salute...

It was an emotional weekend for Joe Torre (not pictured) and for Yankees fans.

The Yankees returned to LA to take on the Dodgers.

Most importantly, it was the first time that Joe Torre and Don Mattingly ever OPPOSED the Yankees.

It was strange as a fan.

It was surreal.

And more importantly, as a 3-game series, it was ****ing awesome!
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There are really two stories that were at work.

There was the baseball story.

This was a potential World Series preview. This is a rivalry that goes back to Jackie Robinson sliding under Yogi Berra in the World Series. This is the two biggest media markets, two of the biggest payrolls.

All of that.

And, more compelling in my view, there was the human story.
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I read Joe Torre's book "The Yankee Years" and I watched him build an empire in New York.

The day he was signed the New York papers ran a headline "Clueless Joe." He went from that, to four world championships.

Along the way, Torre always demonstrated class, dignity, and a quality that made people hate the Yankees less.

That's hard to do.

Even Yankee haters respect Jeter, Rivera, and Posada (Pettitte would be on this list but he cheated).

Torre was also on that list.
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That said, to write a tell-all book about your players, WHILE YOU ARE STILL MANAGING, is pretty bush league.

Seriously.

I read the book with great interest.

But did he really need to rip AROD like that?

For a guy who excudes class, I thought it was a cheap money-grab.

But more importantly, I thought it reflected how truly HURT he was by the end of his Yankee years.

Not only did Torre not go out on his own terms, but he was essentially made to grovel for his job.

In the book, he stooped to management's level.
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Which brings me back to this weekend.

Yes, there were emotional reunions.

Jeter hugged Torre.

Mariano hugged Torre.

Billy Crystal showed up wearing a Switzerland Hat (he's a Yankees fan but close friends with Torre).

Jack wore a Yankees hat (is there a bigger front-runner on planet earth--- really? Yankees and Lakers? Does he go to Vegas to cheer on the dealers?)

And the games were great.

Friday night, 2-1 win for New York. CC Sabathia and Mariano combined to shut down the Dodgers. AROD hit a beautiful F-U home run.

Saturday, the Dodgers strike back. They trounce the Yankees as Reggie Jackson and Tommy Lasorda shoot the stuff in the Fox broadcast booth (note to Tim McCarver: less is more, it's not about you when two legends are riffing).

Sunday: The Yankees trail 6-2 in the 9th. They had a 9th inning rally off Dodgers closer Jonathan Broxton and eventually won in the 10th on a 2-run homer by Robinson Cano (who is baseball's MVP so far--- go look at his stats--- SICK).
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During that rally, Torre had to look over wistfully and think, DAMN!

The difference in this game is simple.

I rolled out Broxton in the 9th, Joe Girardi rolled out Rivera.

With Mo, I'm a genius 4-time champ.

With Broxton, I'm Philly's bitch in the Playoffs.

Is Torre a better or worse manager in LA than he was in NY?

Nope, he just had better players in NY.
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I say all of that to get to my favorite moment, and it involves my favorite athlete.

The Yankees had rallied to tie the game at 6-6.

There was a runner on 2nd and two outs.

Torre had looked cool, calm, and collected as his team was falling apart.

That was until Derek Jeter walked towards the plate.

ESPN cut to a panicked Torre throwing up 4 fingers.

I said to my girlfriend (who has quickly learned that Yankees game are a central part of my existance): He's walking Jeter.

He's scared.

Joe Torre has dealt with a lot in baseball and in life.

He was fired prematurely (and reacted badly only after the fact).

He was a rock while his brother battled cancer.

He was abused as a child (and has done amazing work to prevent that since).

He's a former league MVP and 4-time WS champion as a manager.

But that guy wanted NO PART of Derek Jeter in the 9th.

Too many times he'd seen DJ get the needed base hit to settle games.

When Jeter was coming up, I could already visualize the base hit to right, the run scoring and Jeter giving his little fist pump.

So could Torre.

He had seen this movie before.

30 Years from now when someone starts talking trash about Jeter, and telling me how overrated he is, and how he's not truly a Yankees legend... I'll know.

The man who was afraid of nothing, FEARED Jeter in the 9th.

That four-fingered salute and look of panick tells me more than Elias Sports Bureau's stats ever will.

Do The Right Thing Bud...

There seems to be a perfect game motif to this blog.

Bud Selig (not pictured) has an opportunity to right a wrong.

He has an opportunity to provide justice in an unjust world.

He has a chance to make things right.

Bud Selig neeeds to overturn that atrocious call at first, and give Armando Galarraga his perfect game.
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By all accounts, Bud Selig has been an awful custodian of the game of the baseball.

The steroid era happened on his watch.

Competitive balance ran amock.

He had an all-star game that was a tie.

And overall, he's kind of a doof.

But, I don't think EVERYTHING that he's done has been bad.

I like interleague play.
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But love him or hate him, here's a chance for Bud Selig to do the right thing.

A perfect game is retiring 27 out of 27 batters.

Galarraga did that.

Jim Joyce CLEARLY messed up the last call.

SO, Galarraga got the 28th batter.

Just admit the call was wrong, and let history books reflect that 21 perfect games have been thrown.

We all saw it.

Who among us would object?
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Jim Joyce isn't the first ump or ref to blow a call.

Backjudge Terry Porter cost the Miami Hurricanes a National Championship.

October 26, 1985, Don Denkinger blows a call at first, the Royals go on to beat the Cardinals in the World Series.

1996 Yankees fan Jeffrey Maier reaches over the right field wall and steals the ball from Tony Torasco, allowing Derek Jeter a pivotal home run (thank god he did).


Bad calls are a part of baseball.
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This just feels so different.

What's the point of being commissioner if you can't take action for the "good of the game."

Sometimes you need to throw out the rule books and use common sense.

ANYONE who watched it, saw the highlights, or is reading this knows, the kid pitched a perfect game.

Why not get it right for once, bud?

Do the moral thing.

Just this one time.

Make a decision that you can be proud of.

Besides, the Marlins have been planning on selling ticket stubs to the Detroit-Cleveland game.

Handling Hanley

.342, 24 home runs, 106 RBI, 27 stolen bases.

Those are rock star numbers that Hanley Ramirez (pictured for many South Florida fans who are clueless about how good this guy is) put up in 2009.

So why are the Marlins having issues with their super-star?
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The reason is simple, he's acting like a jerk.

Hanley is in the middle of a 6-year, $70 million dollar contract.

And yet, he has dogged it on several occassions.

That's the unforgivable in sports.

Not trying.

If you don't try during a pickup basketball game, your buddy may want to fight you.

Imagine how Jeffrey Loria felt watching his $70 million dollar man kick the ball around like a 3rd grader.
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Fredi took A step by pulling Hanley out of the game.

But if it were me, it would've been immediate.

I wouldn't have let him finish the inning.

And it would've been by his ear.

Hurt or not, there is an element of professional pride that SHOULD kick in.
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With all that said, Hanley is in a bizarre position.

He puts up MONSTER numbers and is respected around the game.

Yet, on some nights, he plays in front of crowds that rival my Bar Mitzvah.

He's feared around the league, but could probably walk around the Aventura Mall undetected (actually have seen Josh Johnson there a few times, he was NEVER stopped).

How do you stay motivated for that?

I think all that money would help.
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Think about a baseball player's day.

They have to "try" for about 3 hours.

That's it.

You take BP, you hang out at the ballpark...

Who among us wouldn't take a $70-million job where 3 hours of effort are required?

And it's baseball, how much effort is needed?

Oh man, I had a strenuous day of spitting sunflower seeds, checking out the girls in the stands, fielding 3 ground balls, grabbing myself 1895 times...

Man, I need a nap.

Good thing, I get to sit for 25 minute intervals every half inning between at-bats.
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Despite his growing pains, Hanley continues to produce.

Aloof, difficult, productive...

Hanley really is starting to morf into those Manny being Manny comparisons.

In this case, yes, the juice is worth the squeeze.

If the Marlins don't want Hanley, every other team in baseball would be happy to take their problem off their hands.
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I can say this for all this Hanley nonsense, it's the most interesting thing to happen to the Marlins this year.

The Marlins have been moving along, playing around 500.

The real story of the Fish is that they're waiting for the big slugger Mike Stanton to come to town.

He might as well be named Godot.

Back to Hanley, bench him, sit him, doesn't matter, he's still your best player... for now.