Monday Madness

LOOKS LIKE my reverse Yankees curse has worked to perfection. Just about a week after writing off their season with extreme prejudice, my boys have turned it around and now sit at their high-water mark: 53-45, 8 games over .500, and just 4.5 games behind the first-place Rays.

Just heard on WFAN that Jorge Posada may be headed back to the disabled list, and his season may be over. This is the main reason I was against signing him to a new contract in the offseason. The guy will be 37 years old next month, so how can it be a surprise when a catcher with that much age on him starts breaking down? Posada has never been a defensively gifted backstop, but the last few years he's become a major defensive liability. This season he's cut down just 3 of 37 runners.

That leaves us with Jose Molina, who is the mirror opposite of Posada: can't hit a lick but is excellent behind the plate. This year I believe he leads all catchers in throwing out base stealers. Now Cashman faces a quandary of either playing Molina every day and suffering his weak bat, or finding another catcher who can hit. And since catchers who can hit are as rare as the duck-billed platypus, good luck with that search, Brian.

Let's face it: the Yankees have not been the same since Homer Bush left town.

And why no Oscar Gamble Day at Yankee Stadium? Give out huge Afro wigs to the first 20,000 fans and let the hilarity ensue.

Funny moment in yesterday's Mets game. Jose Reyes lets an easy grounder go right through his wickets, and Gary Cohen says: "That is so unlike Reyes, but we've seen it about six times this year." Huh?! If it happens that many times, then maybe it's a trend, Gary. I will never understand how everyone seems to think Cohen is some kind of gifted baseball broadcaster. He's more of a homer than even Phil Rizzuto, but nobody calls him on his absurd home run calls in meaningless situations, and lately he's been having a field day with low-class shots at departed Willie Randolph. I can't stand Cohen, and it's more than my anti-Met bias, trust me, because I loved Bob Murphy, and I thought Cohen consistently treated Murphy with something less than the respect he deserved. Best pitched game of the year was Roy Halladay 2-hitting the Yankees last week. Now, the Yankees have not been tearing the cover off the ball for long stretches this year. But Halladay looked like vintage Tom Seaver with an unhittable array of pitches. He pitched another complete game shutout, and if he had to go 18 innings, the Yankees still wouldn't have touched him for more than a couple of week singles.

Texas Rangers CF Josh Hamilton put on a show with his Home Run Derby performance. Even when going for the long ball, his swing was so smooth and unforced that it brought comparisons to guys like Ted Williams and George Brett. His 95 RBI at the break were 22 more than the next runner-up, Justin Morneau, and that kind of disparity at the top of a major statistical category is just not supposed to happen.

I realize we're knee-deep in baseball here, but football training camps are opening all across this great nation of ours. And with the start of football comes the first of many ridiculous columns by Gary Myers, for some reason the lead football writer for the New York Daily News. Considering that the paper still employs Bill Gallo in its sports section, perhaps we shouldn't be surprised that Myers, such an obviously untalented, unoriginal writer, has managed to hang on for as long as he has.

Sunday's column, Rising To The Challenge, about the 10 teams likely to challenge the Giants for the Super Bowl this year -- a premise absurd on its face because never in the history of major sports has such a fluke team managed to win it all -- was full of typical Myers inanities and absurdities. If Myers had even a thimble full of talent, perhaps it wouldn't be so offensive, but he doesn't and so it was.

Myers typically takes cheap shots at all things Dallas Cowboy, because he thinks that plays into how New Yorkers view football. And he's probably right. But to play to the peanut gallery with such relish bespeaks of a lack of character on his part. How else to explain Myers' opening salvo of the 2009 season:

"The 'Boys are loaded with talent, but it would be nice if Tony Romo, the celebrity quarterback, had more on his resume than being Jessica Simpson's boyfriend and inspiring a hilarious tear-filled defense by T.O. of Romo's mediocre playoff performance against the Giants."

First of all, Romo is known as something other than what Myers cited by large portions of the population. A free agent who came from absolutely nowhere to take over one of the marquee positions in all of sports. I will take Romo over the next 5 or 6 seasons, the Giants can have Eli Manning, a first overall pick who struggled for years, dropping his first two playoff games before getting hot in last season's playoffs. We'll see who has more overall success in their careers.

Last season, all Romo did was have one of the best statistical seasons in the history of the NFL. In 2007, Romo was 335 for 520 for 4,211 yards, with 36 TDs against 19 INTs. Manning was 292-529 for 3,336 yards, with 23 TDs versus 20 INTs. Romo's QB rating was 97.1, Manning's 73.9. What would Manning be known for today if he didn't benefit from a great running game and a shut-down defense?

Do I have to go through the postseason career of every quarterback not named Tom Brady or Ben Roethlisberger to find examples similar to Romo? I will, but most casual fans without an agenda will admit that even all-time great QBs like Peyton Manning, Roger Staubach, Dan Fouts, Joe Namath and even Brett Favre have had far more playoff heartache than success, even if they managed to win the ultimate game once or twice. It's the nature of the sport.
Second, football is the ultimate team game, so laying playoff failures at the feet of one player in most cases is not only disingenuous but patently unfair. And that makes Myers an ugly human being in my book, and I'm not even speaking here of the picture that unwisely peers out from his byline, but rather nothing less than an ugliness of the soul that is visible in all of his subpar football columns.

In two seasons, Romo has made two Pro Bowls, has a 19-7 record in 26 regular season starts, and is only 28 years old. I think he's a little closer to the top of his chosen profession than Gary Myers is to the top of his. Just a hunch, but that Pulitzer Committee isn't gonna need Myers' number any time soon. Romo is even a better golfer than Myers is a writer, and more than one talent usually can be found in talented people, I'd be willing to bet Romo is a better writer than is Myers, but that's not saying much.

If it wasn't for Tom Brady's once-in-a-lifetime season last year, Romo might already have one MVP trophy in the case. As it is, he's got to be a leading contender for one this year. But don't expect the cheap shots to cease from the Gary Myers of the world.

Just like Derek Jeter in another sport -- and this is not to compare Romo to Jeter, who might be one of the most clutch postseason performers in baseball history -- people are moved to take unnecessary digs at Romo. The words envious, jealous and bitter come to mind when describing such people going out of their way to degrade the success of another, but don't go far enough in describing this phenomenon. A new phrase -- to be a hater like Baldwin -- may be close to emerging that does more justice to it.

Chris Baldwin, like Myers a completely talent-free hack, writes for something called Travelgolf.com. This preppy-faced nothingman managed to sink sports talk to a new level. Indeed, no one would have ever heard of this golf dweeb, and rightly so, were it not for his highly personal attack of Tony Romo a few weeks ago. The Dallas Morning News picked up on Baldwin's blog, which went beyond the pale even on the scale of invective for which pro sports "journalism" is known. Under the unwieldy and typically juvenile headline

Attention whore Tony Romo falls into a pond at Lake Tahoe Celebrity Classic, how typical of dunce Dallas Cowboys quarterback

Baldwin displaces his all too obvious shortcomings onto the star quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys, in what is sure to be a textbook case of penis envy for our future football Freuds to refer to. For the crime of falling into a pond during a tournament in which Romo finished 3rd in a crowded field of former football players and current golf pros, he was subjected to barbs of the following sort:

"The guy just can’t help himself. He’s going to find a way to make himself the center of attention while showing the lack of smarts that stops him from ever winning a single playoff game" and "Being stuck with his guy couldn’t have happened to a better set of bandwagon fans. And it must be nice for Jessica Simpson to feel like she’s the smart one in a relationship. No wonder why she doesn’t want to give Romo up."

I mean, even in the depths of the leaguewide Eli-bashing last season, did Cowboys fans call up WFAN and ever get this low? I hope not. But was Baldwin finished with his abuse of Romo? Of course not. Correctly sensing that this was his last/only chance to seize the limelight -- an opportunity that simply was never gonna happen due to an accomplishment of his own -- followed up the original Romo article with a post about the reaction he got from Cowboys fans. In another wordy post title that shows his awful Website exists without the assistance of either proofreaders or copy editors --

Dallas Morning News writes about TravelGolf.com Tony Romo blog, but homers forget to mention that Romo choked in yet another sport --

Baldwin takes pride in being a wise-ass, the first refuge of the spoiled brat so prevalent in our MTV-molded culture:

"Interesting how the Dallas Morning News failed to note how Romo choked in another sport this weekend though. That’s right, it turns out that Jessica Simpson’s dimmer half doesn’t just freeze up in football when something’s big on the line. He gags in golf too."

and

"This guy couldn’t win a Scrabble tournament against a 3-year-old if he was given a 500-point lead. Heck, Romo couldn’t beat a blind man in tag. (Though that blind man could probably intercept one or two of his playoff passes). There’s a reason Tony Romo has lost every playoff game he’s ever played, including this last year when everyone knew he had the best team in the NFC.) It’s 0 for 2 and counting for Tony Romo in playoff football, set to be 0 for 3 this winter with PacMan "it’s not Adam, it’s Adam” Jones screaming at him. And it’s 0 for and counting for Romo in big celebrity golf tournaments too. You know when he’s not just playing against Matt Lauer and true class act Justin Timberlake."

My first guess, like yours, is that somehow Romo snubbed this nobody when he asked for an autograph or insulted him in some other way. But his venom runs a bit deeper than that. That's for the mental health professionals to worry about, not me, and for that I am thankful.

It's almost embarrassing to have to wade through Baldwin's column again. But his editorial superiors should be the embarrassed ones for first employing and then retaining him. The only thing worse than Baldwin the person is Baldwin the writer, although I admit it's a tossup as to which is more noxious.

After 15, 11 Straight For AL

DID YOU NOTICE that none of the New York Five -- Jeter, A-Rod and Mariano for the Yanks, Wagner and Wright for the Mets -- exactly distinguished themselves in last night's All-Star Game? Jeter got a cheap infield hit, then hit into yet another double play, seemingly the only thing he might lead the AL in this season; A-Rod was 0-2; Rivera gave up 2 hits but no runs; Billy Wags gave up the tying run that sent it into extra frames; Wright had a hit but struck out twice.

Now, none of them were Dan Ugglia ugly -- 3 errors, 3 strikeouts, half-a-dozen men left on base in the game for the Marlins 2nd baseman -- but the worst night had to belong to Red Sox closer Jonathan Papelbon. He had set off the crowd long before he entered the game in the 8th last night and proceeded to give up a cheap run that really wasn't all his fault. But Papelbon had the nerve to say on Monday that he should be the one closing the All-Star Game, not the venerable Mariano in his home park. Then Papelbon, who has reliably proven to be a cringe-inducing egomaniac even by professional athlete standards, predictably backed off his comments later, saying he was misquoted, etc. To top it off, Papelbon used profanity to express to a reporter that he was pissed off about New Yorkers yelling stuff at him and his wife in public. He was roundly and soundly booed by the capacity crowd at the Stadium with every pitch, even though he was technically after all on the American League's and, thus, the Yankees' side, such was the hatred pulsing through the crowd. You'd like to believe Papelbon -- a remarkably talented closer -- would think twice next time, but that would imply that he thinks at all before opening up his big yapper in the first place.

Yet as right as the crowd was to defend the honor of the Great Marinao and let Papelbon have it, there was no call for a chant of Let's Go Yankees! when Rivera entered the game. That's bush league. First of all, the chant only makes sense when the home team is at bat. Second, it's the kind of thing you'd expect from Red Sox fans, or Mets fans.

Why was there nothing about Bobby Ray Murcer last night? Not a mention, except for the Bleacher Creatures, who chanted his name in their roll call last night, more than the stuffed suits of Fox or MLB managed. I guess they couldn't find a fucking sponsor in time, unlike everything else connected to the game, in a typical classless, tasteless MLB/Fox display of rampant, crass commercialism. Joe Buck is the perfect ringmaster for this kind of crap, and that is in no way intended as a compliment, in case you were wondering where we stand here.
Murcer, like Donald Arthur Mattingly, had the poor timing and misfortune to play their peak seasons during lengthy fallow periods in Yankee history, missing out on the postseason parade that just followed. Thus the big stage eluded them both. Mattingly retired in 1995, following the Seattle series where Ken Griffey Jr. ripped out the Yankees hearts. The next year Buck Showalter was also out, replaced by Joe Torre, and the glory years that followed.

Bobby Murcer came up just when Mickey Mantle was hitting his down years, and there would be no playoffs for Murcer's first 8 years with the Yankees. He was then unceremoniously traded to the Cubs, only to watch in agony as the Yankees made the postseason 5 out of the next 6 years, winning World Series in 1977 and '78. Murcer did rejoin the Yankees for the very tail end of that run, but by then he was on the last legs of his own fine career.

A moment of silence for Murcer was not warranted at some point in the endless pregame ceremony of hype? Not to be cynical, but it's probably because nobody stood to make a buck from it, so it was therefore overlooked, what with all the hideous product tie-ins we were inundated with throughout the game. It was all Fox could do to catch the first pitch of an inning.

I shut the damn thing off after 9, switched on the radio as I got ready for bed, and then fell asleep with the game still tied. Most of the reserves were in at that point anyway. I got up around 1:30, and the game was still going on, 15th inning. I was too sleepy to care at that point, and found out this morning that the AL had won an incredible 11th straight All-Star Game. But after such a streak, and after a resoundingly dominant interleague advantage in favor of the AL, maybe it's not a shock anymore.

I had somehow forgotten that homefield advantage was once again on the line last night, with the American League winning the right to host the 7th game if the World Series should come down to that. Not that I think this is gonna affect the Yankees in any way, because I really don't see them making a playoff run this season. Just too many injuries, too much age, too many other good teams for the Yanks to sneak in there again this year.

But I know enough to know that I don't know which Yankees team will show up in the second half. Will they make a trade for a corner outfielder if Damon and Matsui can't come back? They've been shut out 3 times in the last 20 games, and have had trouble scoring runs all year. The kid they brought up to play left, Brett Gardner, is batting just .167 (6 for 36), proving the old adage that you just can't steal first. Gardner is quick as a flea, but unfortunately has about as much pop as a small bug.

The only player who came close to stealing 1st base was Rickey Henderson, whose ridiculously low crouch -- where his chest was almost touching his knees -- reduced the strike zone to the size of the baseball itself. Henderson, a true Walking Double, drew more cheap walks than any other player in history, and once on first he wouldn't be there long before he was headed face first for second. Good times, good times...

Poe Eye For The Straight Gent

WE ARE NOTHING HERE at Warden's World if not eclectic. Some would say we are nothing period. Nihilists. In any event, a few months ago I bought an old book at The Strand on 12th Street, which I found outside the store where all the discount stuff is priced to move.

It had a worn green cover, with a beaten-up spine, and I could barely make out the title. On closer inspection, it was a copy of The Works Of Edgar Allan Poe. I immediately looked for a date on the title page, nothing there, and then looked for it elsewhere. Still nothing. But this sucker looked really old and I couldn't believe it was only one dollar. I would have paid at least two!

When I looked inside, I found it was actually Volume VIII of a 10-volume set. Another page indicated that I was holding No. 581 of a limited thousand-copy set published in New York by Henry W. Knight. Knowing a little something about old books, I'm gonna say this edition dates to 1910 or 1914. Just has that feel.

I guess the editors of this edition front-loaded all his best-known tales and poems into the early volumes, because Vol. VIII contains mostly lesser-known work of uneven quality. Among the short stories are The Oblong Box (about a mysterious coffin taken aboard a ship), The Man That Was Used Up (about a literally broken war veteran), The Business Man (a satire on the self-made man) and The Sphinx (a gimmicky short horror story).

Also included in the volume are a few nonfiction pieces, including one on a mechanical chess player in Richmond, Virginia, that generated a strong response (according to Wikipedia) when it first appeared in 1836.

But my favorite piece in this volume is Philosophy of Furniture, a strange little treatise that bluntly, sometimes hysterically, outlines Edgar's strong feelings about the art of interior decorating. In our modern vernacular, Poe takes no prisoners. You'd hate to see the man's powers of description unleashed on a studio apartment furnished by, say, Ikea or Gothic Cabinet Craft if he ever did return to life and subsequently started his own blog.

As in most of his more familiar prose, here Poe becomes very excitable about the subject, almost overwrought at times, and as a result we get a liberal use of dashes and italics scattered throughout as he goes about decrying the startling lack of taste found among the new nation's nouveau riche. He begins, however, by engaging in a sweeping generalization of other nations' predilections in this regard, a pattern which continues with an offhand stereotyping of America's lower rabble. Here are some highlights:

"In the internal decoration, if not in the external architecture of their residences, the English are supreme. The Italians have but little sentiment beyond marbles and colors ... The Dutch have, perhaps, an indeterminate idea that a curtain is not a cabbage. In Spain they are all curtains--a nation of hangmen. The Russians do not furnish ... The Yankees alone are preposterous.

To speak less abstractedly ... first, wealth is not, in England, the loftiest object of ambition as constituting a nobility ... The people will imitate the nobility, and the result is a thorough diffusion of the proper feeling. But in America, the coins current being the sole arms of the aristocracy, their display may be said, in general, to be the sole means of aristocratic distinction; and the populace, looking always upward for models, are insensibly led to confound the two entirely separate ideas of magnificence and beauty. In short, the cost of an article of furniture has at length come to be, with us, nearly the sole test of its merit in a decorative point of view--and this test, once established, has led the way to many analogous errors, ready traceable to the one primitive folly.

There could be nothing more directly offensive to the eye of an artist than the interior of what is termed in the United States--that is to say, in Appallachia--a well-furnished apartment. Its most usual defect is a want of keeping. We speak of the keeping of a room as we would of the keeping of a picture--for both the picture and the room are amenable to those undeviating principles which regulate all varieties of art; and very nearly the same laws by which we decide on the higher merits of a painting, suffice for decision on the adjustment of a chamber.

A want of keeping is observable sometimes in the character of the several pieces of furniture, but generally in their colors or modes of adaptation to use. Very often the eye is offended by their inartistical arrangement. By undue precision, the appearance of many a fine apartment is utterly spoiled.

Curtains are rarely well disposed, or well chosen, in respect to other decorations ... Carpets are better understood of late than of ancient days, but we still very frequently err in their patterns and colors. The soul of the apartment is the carpet. From it are deduced not only the hues but the forms of all objects incumbent. A judge at common law may be an ordinary man; a good judge of a carpet must be a genius ... The abomination of flowers, or representations of well-known objects of any kind, should not be endured within the limits of Christendom ... As for those antique floor-cloths still occasionally seen in the dwellings of the rabble--cloths of huge, sprawling, and radiating devices, stripe-interspersed, and glorious with all hues, among which no ground is intelligible--these are but the wicked invention of a race of time-savers and money-lovers--children of Baal and worshippers of Mammon--Benthams who, to spare thought and economize fancy, first cruelly invented the Kaleidoscope, and then established joint-stock companies to twirl it by stream.

Glare is a leading error in the philosophy of American household decoration--an error easily recognized as deduced from the perversion of taste just specified. We are violently enamored of gas and of glass. The former is totally inadmissable within doors.

In the matter of glass, generally, we proceed upon false principles. Its leading feature is glitter--and in that one word how much of all that is detestable do we express! Flickering, unquiet lights are sometimes pleasing--to children and idiots always so--but in the embellishment of a room they should be scrupulously avoided ... The huge and unmeaning glass chandeliers, prism-cut, gas-lighted, and without shade, which dangle in our most fashionable drawing-rooms, may be cited as the quintessential of all that is false in taste or preposterous in folly.

The rage of glitter--because its idea has become, as we before observed, confounded with that of magnificence in the abstract--has led us, also, to the exaggerated employment of mirrors. We line our dwellings with great British plates, and then imagine we have done a fine thing. Not the slightest thought will be sufficient to convince any one who has an eye at all, of the ill effect of numerous looking-glasses, and especially of large ones ... In fact, a room with four or five mirrors arranged at random is, for all purposes of artistic show, a room of no shape at all ... The veriest bumpkin, on entering an apartment so bedizzened, would be instantly aware of something wrong, although he might be altogether unable to assign a cause for his dissatisfaction. But let the same person be led into a room tastefully furnished, and he would be startled into an exclamation of pleasuse and surprise.

It is an evil growing out of our republican institutions, that here a man of large purse has usually a very little soul which he keeps in it. The corruption of taste is a portion or a pendant of the dollar-manufacture. As we grow rich, our ideas grow rusty.

It is therefore not among our aristocracy that we must look for the spirituality of a British boudoir. But we have seen apartments in the tenure of Americans of modern means, which, in negative merit at least, might vie with any of the or-molu'd cabinets of our friends across the water. Even now, there is present in our mind's eye a small and not ostentatious chamber with whose decorations no fault can be found. The proprietor lies asleep on a sofa--the weather is cool--the time is near midnight: we will make a sketch of the room during his slumber."
Poe closes the essay by detailing the contents and arrangement of an idealized room that would suit his high standards. Let's just say Poe would have made a perfect Felix Unger if he had been born a hundred years later. One would think long and hard before rooming with Ed Poe for any duration.

This piece was first published in May 1840 in Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, a Philadelphia-based publication where Poe contributed stories before becoming a co-editor starting in 1839.

Ball On A Wall

THAT JOHNNY DAMON PLAY yesterday during the 6-4 loss to Boston at Yankee Stadium -- the one I excoriated play-by-play man John Sterling for getting wrong on the radio broadcast -- was more than just a little freakish. Damon went back to the wall, leapt for the ball hit by Kevin Youkilis, had it in his glove, snowcone style, only to lose it when he hit the wall. What Sterling and really almost everyone else didn't know, including Michael Kay on the TV side, was that the ball was somehow resting for a few seconds on the ledge of the wall, which can't be more than a few inches across.

I got on Sterling for first saying Damon made the catch, then, seeing Kevin Youkilis standing on 3rd base, changing his call to a triple. Sterling had blown so many calls the last few seasons, one or two a game it seems, that I thought this was just another case of his bad eyesight. But Sterling would've needed Superman-type vision to see the ball resting on the wall hundreds of feet from the Lowe's Broadcast Booth, one of about 7,000 sponsors name-checked into the radio broadcast of every game.

Damon crashed to the ground on his back, dazed, not knowing where the ball was, until a fan yelled at him and pointed to the baseball atop the wall, which was poised to either fall back in play or fall over to the other side of the fence for a home run.

In the Times story headlined Ball Sits on Wall, and Yanks Have Great Fall, Tyler Kepner wrote how:

"...everything changed with one play in the third inning — one bizarre, painful, and possibly season-turning moment. Damon crashed into the left-field wall as he gloved a high drive from Kevin Youkilis. The ball popped out, resting perilously atop the fence before dropping back onto the field.

The Yankees had lost the lead on the tying triple, and soon enough, they lost the game to the Boston Red Sox, 6-4, at a soggy Yankee Stadium. More significantly, they might have lost the engine of their lineup for a while."

When you see the play, you realize it's a once-in-a-lifetime, defying-all-laws-of-physics kind of play. The baseball gods seem to save this kind of stuff for Red Sox-Yankees games, knowing these miracles will thereby get the biggest exposure. Even gods like good ratings for their miracles.

After this latest feeble loss, Yankees are now 2-35 when trailing after 7 innings. You can hardly do worse. But then again, Yankees are gonna be without their 2nd best overall hitter, Hidecki Matsui, with Madonna's newest boy toy, A-Rod, being their best hitter...when his head isn't up his own ass. Or up Madonna's no-talent, Kabullah preaching, washed-up old ass, I guess.

Matsui ain't coming back any time soon, not soon enough to save the season at least. You only miss his kind of consistent excellence when it's missing from the lineup. The guy is such a serious, professional hitter that he would probably commit hari-kari if he ever failed to hit .300 or drive in 100 runs for a season. I can think of a few Yankees I'd like to see follow suit and do likewise.

Yanks are now fully 9 games behind the Rays, 6 behind the 2nd-place Red Sox, and technically behind even the Baltimore Orioles, also known as the perennial laughingstocks of the AL East. Yet I still get the feeling this isn't the lowest your Yankees will be sinking this season. I wish I was wrong, but I see more humiliation ahead. Maybe the curse of the new stadium. Call it a hunch...

Yankee Futile Dandy

YANKEES GETTING BESTED once again by Red Sox this afternoon, 6-3. For anyone still so untroubled by factual evidence to need even more proof that the Boston curse has indeed been reversed, and that this is again just not the Yankees year, like the 7 or 8 previous seasons, these two games -- last night's lifeless 6-0 loss and this afternoon's almost predictable blowing of an early 3-run advantage -- should suffice to dampen even the most optimistic Yankees fans' spirits.

For example, the Yankees had managed to load the bases against Josh Beckett in the bottom of the 4th, but then up to the plate strode the human groundout, Jose Molina, he of the perpetual 0-3 hitting collar. No surprise that he bounced out meekly to 2nd base to end the threat, nor could there have been much surprise that in the next frame, top of the 5th, with journeyman Darrell Rasner (4-6, 4.42 ERA) on the mound, the Sox took their 3-run lead on a HR by Mike Lowell, former property of the Yankees in a long-gone era.

Molina is a sorry excuse for a major leaguer, one of Cashman's typical pickups in recent years. In 150 at-bats, Jose, the worst of the many Molinas in major league baseball, is hitting .230 with as many HRs as I have: zip, zero, nada. There are American League pitchers who I'd rather see come up with men in scoring position. Anyone with a bat in his hand, I'll take my chances over Molina, as close to an automatic out as you will find in modern baseball.

Melke Cabrera is also killing the team lately. He hasn't hit a HR since mid-May, his average is down to .244, and in 290 at-bats, he has just 17 extra-base hits. That punch-and-judy act won't cut it as a centerfielder, a power position. He's killed a ton of rallies hitting into double-plays, and it's time for another direction. I've seen enough of this guy to know he's not the long-term answer.

Speaking of not getting it done, I think I just heard the worst radio call in John Sterling's long, long career of mis-calls and butchered plays as a Yankees play-by-play man. I know worst is saying something, considering the number of wrong home run calls he's blundered over the years, all because of his hurry to go into his whole "It is high, it is far" schtick. This time, it was 3-1 Yanks, and the Red Sox had men on 2nd and 3rd when Kevin Youkilis hit a long drive to left. "Oh, great catch by Johnny Damon!" screamed Sterling. I had time to pump my fist and think, alright, out of the inning, still got the lead.

But then seconds pass and finally Sterling sees that the ball is in fact rolling on the grass, and Youkilis standing on 3rd base, and tells us it's a triple, 2 runs in, tie game. Of course Sterling goes into excuse mode, couldn't see where the glove was, blah blah blah. You would think a guy with his history of getting it wrong would just wait a beat until he was sure what the hell was going on before conveying information to the millions listening on radio. But nooooooooo....

To add injury to insult, Damon is shaken up on the play and is forced from the game. Sterling should be fired after this year, and he can take his companero Suzyn "Oh My Goodness" Waldman with him. Sterling's got a great trademark game-ending call after big Yankees wins, I'll admit that, but it's the 3 hours of absolute ineptitude leading up to it that he should be forced to answer to.

Tampa Bay keeps winning, 20 games over .500, in first place, all with a $43 million payroll. Cashman has roughly 5 times that amount, and yet Yankees fans are subjected year after year to the likes of Molina, LaTroy Hawkins (5.94 ERA), Kyle Farnsworth (39 hits and 15 walks in 37 innings), Kei Igawa (13.50 ERA, 13 hits in 4 innings, millions of wasted dollars), Ross Ohlendorf (50 hits and 19 walks in 40 innings)...
Another thing while I'm at it, and no one has ever been any more at it, at least not to my knowledge. Major League Baseball, as it usually does, really blew it this year with interleague play. I have always been a big fan of it, but this year it just came way too early. We had the first 3 Mets-Yanks game way back in May, and then last week the second set, and now that's it for the year. Nothing after the All-Star game except a make-up game with the Pirates. That's just dumb. Nothing to look forward to.

Not only that, but this was easily the worst slate of games the Yankees have been handed, with no real ties or rivalries to speak of. Okay, so the Pittsburgh tie-in with the 1960 World Series was legit, but the Astros, Padres, Reds. There's the 1976 World Series with the Reds, a 4-0 sweep by Cincy, not a happy memory for Yankees fans, and the 1998 W.S. with San Diego, a capper to the Yankees incredible 125-50 season. But those are stretches, and I don't see any connection whatsoever with the Astros, except that Pettitte and Clemens pitched there for a few seasons.

Well, still 6-3 Sox, but Yankees fans just had the best news we could have hoped for: rain. John Sterling gets a chance to shut his mouth for a while, listeners get a break. And Yankees get a chance to line up their pitching rotation to make a run at the Sox and Rays. Look out world, here comes Sidney Ponson. Maybe Cashman still has David Wells' number somewhere.

But in all seriousness, this series with the Sox could be the proverbial nail in the coffin for this Yankees team. Yes, it's still technically early, but all that means is things could just as easily get much worse before they get any better at all. I know they're not catching the Red Sox, but what odds would you give they catch Tampa Bay, which sits 3 games ahead of Boston and has all the earmarks of a special team having a special season. In fact, the team the Rays remind me of, and the National League style ball they play, is the 1996 Yankees: a hungry, fast, aggressive, complete club that played with an edge. Can you say anything of the sort about the 2008 version of the New York Yankees? Of course you can't. Case closed. Season over. Yankees, at least this year, do not win.

Take Two?

YANKS-METS playing a rare two-stadium Subway Series doubleheader today/tonight. Unfortunately for my fellow Yankees fans, Mets are crushing us 15-5. Carlos Delgado had a good season in the 1st game: driving in 9 runs and smashing 2 HRs. If I told you his second homer -- an absolute moon shot to the old Yankees bullpen -- came off Yanks reliever LaTroy Hawkins, would you be even remotely surprised? How could you be? This guy gives putrid a bad name. He had an ERA over 6 coming into the game, and now it's a case of If 6 Was 9, which it will be. This guy is not only letting in 6 of his own runs a game, but what about the inherited baserunners he lets in every outing. This is one of Brian Cashman's more boneheaded moves, and that's saying something. The guy has absolutely nothing left, and I don't even have the heart if that's the right word to look up Hawkins' salary this year; it's gotta be something obscene that Cashman threw at this guy to come ply his trade in the Bronx.

Mets shill Mike Lupica was whining about the Yankees having such an easy stretch recently: "The Yankees really are in the middle of one of the softest interleague schedules in the history of the known universe: Astros, Padres, Reds, Pirates. And, well, our kids from Shea." Lupica can't resist taking shots at the Yanks, even if he did cloak it with a knock at the Mets. What can't be denied is that nobody would have heard of him if he didn't ride the wave of New York Yankees championships back in the late 1970s (writing several books about the team in the process) while he worked for the Daily News. Now that he's on the Wilpons' dick, however, he takes a minimum of 2-3 shots in his lame Sunday "Shooting from the Lip" column.

The irony is that the Mets hosted the mighty Mariners of Seattle earlier this week, owners of the worst record in MLB coming into Shea at 26-49, and yet the Mets were lucky to salvage the last game after getting absolutely humiliated at home the first two games. In fact, the first game they were shut out by M's knuckleballer R.A. Dickey -- which come to think of it sounds like a name Bart Simpson would use on a prank call to Moe's Tavern. Dickey came into the game with a 5.77 ERA, and had lost 11 of his last 12 decisions. He got well on the Mets, though, but in fairness seeing a knuckleball for the first time in who knows how long can't be easy for the hitters.

Ex-Yankee Shawn Chacon was first suspended by the Astros for insubordination, then waived, after his run-in with GM Ed Wade. Actually, it was more of a physical attack than a run-in. After Wade informed him he was going to the bullpen, Chacon took him by the neck and pushed him to the ground, if you can picture that. This is not the first sign of disturbing behavior by Chacon, but it could be he just burned his last chance in the bigs.

Mets have a nice 12-game stretch coming up: 4 against Yanks, 4 vs. Cards, then 4 with Phils. Cards are a surprise team, 10 games over .500, while Phils have been sucking lately (10 runs scored in last 5 games) but they're due to break out offensively any day now.

The 9th inning of the Mets-Yankees game at Yankee Stadium just started and it's almost 6:00. The next game is at Shea and is set to begin at 7:30. Unless the teams are airlifted, it looks like that start will be pushed back a bit. But wait, Wilson Betemit just drove in a run, cutting it to 15-6! John Sterling senses a comeback! But no, it's over. Mets win, Thuuuuuuuuuuuhhh Mets Win!

Now it's off to Shea for 3 more games this weekend. Guess who starts for the Yankees tonight at Shea? Sidney Ponson! I'd rather have Shawn Chacon pitching the second game. Maybe Cashman is working the phones trying to pull off a big deal for pitching between games of the doubleheader. With no Hidecki Matsui available, hitting .323, Yanks are gonna need all the help they can get tonight against old friend Pedro Martinez in Game 2.

Sacrilegious Satirist Ceases

Knew it right away, before I heard it officially, because some things you just sense. Someone on my clock radio mentioned something about comedian George Carlin this morning at about 7, and somehow I knew that could only mean one thing: the man was dead.

Got to work and hit The Times website for the obit, then Wikipedia...

Growing up in NYC, Harlem, Carlin wanted to be Danny Kaye, the "rubber-faced" film star. Carlin had a plan to become real funny in radio, then the movies would surely call. Instead broke into comedy on television. Went on Carson, Sullivan, wore a suit, even had a recurring role on a sitcom (That Girl)! Played the mainstream game, but ultimately hated it. Reinvented himself in a way. Ditched the suit, wore what he wore in real life, and found his true comedic calling.

23 comedy albums. 14 HBO specials (his best work in my opinion). 3 bestselling books. Shit, even 23 episodes of his early 1990s Fox sitcom where he played a New York cab driver! Rated 2nd-best standup comic of all time, behind only Richard Pryor and just ahead of Lenny Bruce, by Comedy Central, the final authority on all matters mirthful. 1st person to host Saturday Night Live.

But of all the numbers, Carlin's legacy will undoubtedly be shaped by those 7 dirty words -- Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker and Tits -- the Heavy Seven, as he called them in the original routine that became a moral outrage before taking on new life as a landmark Supreme Court case relating to freedom of speech and obscenity -- the intersection where Carlin did his best work.

As a keen word-watcher Carlin would have been amused at some of the adjectives used today to describe his comedy; they ranged from the medical-sounding "Splenetic" to old standbys like "Irreverant" "Acerbic" and "Acid-Tongued."

Actually the craziest thing I read about Carlin all morning was on the Entertainment Tonight link I followed from Wikipedia: "ET breaks the news that comedian George Carlin has died from heart failure." Just say the guy is dead, stop with all the "breaks the news" bullshit. A little respect for a guy who hated people who for whatever reason corrupt the language for their own selfish ends. That's why in his best routines his words are like finely honed spears that he uses to demolish the hypocrisy of everyday modern life, and it's why as long as people put the words funny and guy together, the name George Carlin will come up first in a lot of places.

Just a few days ago he was named as the next recipient of the Mark Twain Award, which is one of those deals where you go to Washington and there's kind of a retrospective of your work and people roast you in a very PBS kind of way. I think it would have been cool to see how Carlin took to being honored like that. One thing's certain: Carlin reads just as funny on the page as he does from a stage, which is something else he has in common with Twain.

Some favorite Carlin:
"Think of how stupid the average person is, and realize half of them are stupider than that."

"Always do whatever's next."

"I would never want to be a member of a group whose symbol is a guy nailed to two pieces of wood."

"If God had intended us not to masturbate, he would've made our arms shorter."

"I think this species had great, great promise, with this great upper brain that we have, and I think we squandered it on God and Mammon. And I think this culture of ours has such promise, with the promise of real, true freedom, and then everyone has been shackled by ownership and acquisition and status and power."

"When you're born you get a ticket to the freak show. When you're born in America, you get a front row seat."

"I think we're already circling the drain as a species, and I'd love to see the circles get a little faster and a little shorter."

"I don't have pet peeves, I have major psychotic hatreds."

"How come when it us it's an abortion, and when it's a chicken it's an omelet."

"People who go to Las Vegas, you've got to question their fucking intellect to start with. Traveling hundreds and thousands of miles to essentially give your money away to a large corporation is kind of fucking moronic."

"I look at it this way. For centuries now, man has done everything he can to destroy, defile and interfere with nature: clear-cutting forests, strip-mining mountains, poisoning the atmosphere, over-fishing the oceans, polluting the rivers and lakes, destroying wetlands and aquifers... So when nature strikes back and smacks him on the head and kicks him in the nuts, I enjoy that. I have absolutely no sympathy for human behavior whatsoever. None. And no matter what kind of problem humans are facing, whether it's natural or man-made, I always hope it gets worse."

"If you think there's a solution, you're part of the problem."

"There is no hope because we're locked in by commerce. The whole idea of goods and possessions has completely corrupted the human experience, along with religion, which I think limits the intellect."

"There are some two-way words, like it's okay for Curt Gowdy to say, 'Roberto Clemente has two balls on him.' But he can't say, 'I think he hurt his balls on that play, Tony, don't you? He's holding them. He must have hurt them, by God.' And the other two-way word that goes with that one is prick. It's okay if it happens to your finger. Yes, you can prick your finger, but don't finger your prick. No, no."

"I don't have hobbies; hobbies cost money. Interests are quite free."

Mets Fire Randolph, Shabbily

I first heard the Willie news at around 7 on ESPN Radio's Mike & Mike Show, except there was only one Mike this morning as usual. We all knew Randolph was on the proverbial hot seat. But why would you fire a manager on the first day of a West Coast road trip? And after a win?

It got me to thinking: What's the corollary to this in the real, non-sports world? Is there one? Maybe going on a week-long business trip with your colleagues and then getting the bad news on the first night as you're settling into your hotel room and thinking about ordering room service. Perhaps.

Bill Madden came on and he had no trouble blasting the Mets, I believe the words disgraceful, undignified and cowardly were peppered liberally into the conversation.

As we "speak" Omay Mineya is now getting grilled on the Mike & The Mad Dog Show, and rightly so as he tries to defend the indefensible.

Along with Willie, pitching coach/gury Rick Peterson and 1B coach Tom Nieto were also unceremoniously sacked. Jerry Manuel takes over. Thank god they kept 3B coach Sandy Alomar. You don't wanna lose baseball talent like that.

This morning Madden dished that it's Jeff Wilpon who has it in for Willie, along with assistant GM Tony Bernazard. The former resented Willie holding out for more $$$ on his last contract; the latter reportedly was undermining Randolph's standing with the players, especially those of a Latin persuasion, which let's face it is most of them.

Willie, helped by an infusion of cash into the payroll and an influx of talent onto a roster that lost 91 games under Art Howe in 2004, led the Metsies to baseball's best record just two years later, taking them to within one game of the World Series.

What sucks about this is not only the shabby way Willie and the coaches were terminated, but the fact that Mets management was swayed in their decision-making by the fans who had turned on Randolph, voicing their displeasure with loud boos at the ballpark as well as through calls to the sports talk radio shows on the team's flagship station. What's good about it is all the negative pub over at Shea; let's see the Mets play through this kind of monumental distraction the way Yankees teams have had to since just about forever.

Madden, in his Daily News column today, said of the Randolph firing: "In the history of New York baseball, there has not been a more cowardly, indecent or ill-conceived firing of a manager." This in a town where as Madden knows Boss Steinbrenner fired Yankee legend Yogi Berra after 16 games in 1985 and where Dick Howser was fired after a 100+ win 1980 regular season but a first-round playoff ouster at the hands of the KC Royals.

Ironically Willie Randolph was at the center of that storm as well. As a player he was thrown out at home at a key moment in the series, and when Howser refused to fire 3B coach Mike Ferraro as a sacrifice to the mentally deranged Steinbrenner, he was sent packing. Howser landed on his feet as manager of those very Royals, though, and just 5 years later guided them to their only World Series title. I expect Willie to get at least one other shot, probably as soon as next year. Anyway, he's due a few million dollars from the Wilpons on the remaining year of his contract, so he doesn't have to take the first situation that comes along.

So the Mets hierarchy put their heads together and came up with firing Randolph & Co. in their Anaheim hotel rooms and then communicating the news by e-mail to Mets beat writers at 3:00 AM Nueva York time -- elevating incompetence to a new level and providing a neat little "How Not To" lesson in public relations management.

I thought Rick Peterson was a solid pitching coach. The Mets had the 4th best ERA in the National League -- how else exactly are you supposed to judge a pitching staff? He also seemed like a character, but I had no idea how much until I read his parting statement. As they say in the business, give me some of what this guy is smoking:

"Homes go through renovations, and sometimes you have to make changes when things don't to well, and I'm part of that change. I'm the hardwood floor that's getting ripped out, and they're going to bring in the Tuscany tile. It'll be great."

Great, Rick? C'mon! How about a little East Coast venom toward your old employer. But no. Instead he goes from This Old House to channeling that old Eastern League swami, the Dalai Llama. Peterson continues.

"I wear this bracelet because I'm very in tune with Eastern philosophy and universal law. The rings (on the bracelet) signify faith, compassion, equanimity and love. The Eastern language writes in symbols, and the symbol for crisis they also use for opportunity. I've been given a great opportunity here, and as I walk out that door, I seek my next stop. I walk out in peace. Hopefully the Tuscany tile will do a lot better than a hardwood floor."

I imagine a big gong being sounded, and Peterson in his trademark zippered-up windbreaker walking off into the California sunset or sunrise or whatever position the sun happens to be at. I mean, is this a pitching coach or Ricky Williams after a few bong hits? Just when I thought nobody could top Kobe Bryant's bizarre we-wet-the-bed postgame comments the other night for sheer head-scratchability, along comes Peterson and his Zen Yogi-ism.

Obviously it was all Tom Nieto's fault, just like Rick Down's before him. What's priceless is how Mike Lupica takes so many shots at the Yankees, yet it was the ownership team that he is so close to that perpetrated this disastrous PR nightmare that is sure to have a long, long shelf life, perhaps even an aisle of its own, in the New York tabloid supermarket of the mind.

Freestyle Friday

WHAT'S THIS I SEE? Why, it's that rarest of occurrences: a New York Yankees game on Free-TV. Must be Friday the 13th. Taking the mound against the Houston Astros, one Joba Chamberlain. But more on that later.

Tim Russert died this afternoon. Russert's the NBC news guy who hosted Meet the Press on Sunday mornings for a long time, wrote some books about his old man, moderated some debates, and used to appear regularly on the Imus radio show, where he came across as a regular guy. I haven't listened to Imus for more than about an hour combined since he first came back, so I couldn't tell you if they patched things up, although I think I read somewhere that they did. Russert died at 4:07 pm, so congratulations to all of you who had that time in your Celebrity Death office pools.

This is what is known on the Internets as Live Blogging, as opposed to your more traditional Taped Blogging, or Previously Recorded Blogging. And yes, this Post was filmed in front of a live studio audience, just like all your classic Odd Couple episodes.

The Willie Watch is on: Daily News reported on its Website that the Mets manager will be terminated this weekend -- well, not that he will be executed, it's just they will fire him from his job. Although for some fed-up, unhinged Mets fans the former would be infinitely more satisfying, judging from the venom and rancor they seem to work up, at least if calls to WFAN are any indication. Willie, you're better off getting out of there. At 31-34, with just under 100 games remaining in the season, it ain't getting much better any time soon over in Flushing.

The Phillies are on a major roll, and now sit perched in first, 7 1/2 games in front of the Metropolitans as we speak, or as you listen, take your pick. And while their stellar 2B Chase Utley would seem a no-brainer of an MVP pick (.313, 21 HRs, 58 RBIs), there's another 2B, in the same division, who's having an amazing season at the plate: Dan Uggla of the upstart Florida Marlins (36-30) is hitting .298, with 18 HRs and 48 RBIs, including some unbelievable recent clutch hits. I think it's a battle of the killer U's at 2B for NL MVP -- but if Met fans favorite Larry Jones (.414, 15 HRs) can remain healthy and his Braves in contention, then the nation may indeed turn its lonely eyes to Chipper and his assault on the unthinkable .400.

If Utley wins, it will make the Phillies the first team since the early-1960s Yankees to have 3 consecutive MVP winners: first Ryan Howard in 2006, then Jimmy Rollins last year. Yanks did it with Roger Maris-Mickey Mantle-Elston Howard.

In fact, Philly is leading 20-2 tonight over the Cardinals. Missed extra point, safety. Actually, Utley has a HR and 3 RBI, Howard has 2 and 5 RBI.

Speaking of unbelievable years, no Yankee fan, no baseball fan, no hairy Himalayan shaman saw this coming: Johnny Damon hitting .320, with 6 HRs, 31 RBIs, 11 steals! C'mon!

Hidecki Matsui, that's another story. Hitting .322, another solid year, and yesterday, his birthday, he had a grand slam to propel the Yankees to their 4-1 win over Oakland. Now we'll see if they can stay above .500. They've been at the .500 mark something like 25 times already this season. Maybe that's what they are: mediocre. A long way to go, so we'll find out if the pitching holds up.

I guess I owe Iron Mike Mussina an apology. I more than wrote him off earlier this year on this very blog. He's leading the AL in wins with 9, or he's right up there, pitching with guts and moxie. If he keeps this up, he gets his first 20-win season, and then people will start thinking of him as a Hall of Famer. He's already got 259 wins lifetime. Now that I'm praising him, I'm sure he will go into the tank again. This is what's known as the official WardensWorld Jinx. But seriously, if you go back into the archives, you will find me right way more often than wrong when it comes to just about everything. And I'm sure you wouldn't have it any other way.

How about those Lakers! Did you read about this, did you hear about this. They were right on the verge last night of evening the NFL Finals at 2 games apiece with one more game left on their home court. They had a 24-point lead after one quarter -- a record for those keeping score at home -- and were coasting along, but then the Celtics turned on the defensive screws. They switched Paul Pierce onto Kobe Bryant, and that totally bottled up the supremely annoying Lakers star in the second half. The Lakers as a result were held to a measly 36 total points in the half, and that ain't getting it done even in the WNBA -- you know, the basketball league that doesn't currently have a long shadow of suspicion cast over the integrity of its game officials.

No one could possibly be enjoying David Stern's misery more than me; it's just not bleedin' possible. Call it Schadenfreude if you must, I call it messin' with the kid.

Yanks up 1-0 after 3 innings. Joba threw just 19 pitches through 2, got into a slight jam in the 3rd, but this is his best start of the 3 so far.

By the way, Minute Maid Park, where the Astros play, looks like the ultimate HR hitters park. For one thing, it's 315 feet down the leftfield line. Then there's the low wall, a la the old Tigers Stadium. Now, centerfield at its deepest is a mammoth 436 feet away, plus there's the cool hill out there. Michael Kay just said that in the last 3-game series here against the Brewers there were 17 HRs flying out of the yard, 10 by Milwaukee.

Maybe some of the slumping Yank hitters can get well against this poor Astros pitching staff. Tonight it's the immortal Shawn Chacon, the ex-Yank himself. Let's face it. Derek Jeter is having a subpar season, maybe his worst as a pro: .272, 3 HRs, 27 RBI, just 4 SBs.

Robinson Cano, I don't know what happened here. My pick for the next Rod Carew is hitting in the very low .200's. Maybe they should send has butt down to the minors for a few weeks, maybe he needs a good kick in the ass. But that's just me, I'm Old School to the bone.

Yankees announcer Michael Kay just said on the air (of course it was on the air, he's not sitting here next to me, although funny story: I once sat next to him in a Manhattan restaurant called Angels on I believe 60th Street off 1st avenue, not that me and Mike were hanging, I was with my date, he was with his, but I literally heard every word he said the entire meal, including how he thinks Steinbrenner really likes him and how he used to have a severe Diet Coke addiction, at one point guzzling one can every half inning, for a total of 18 every game) that Newsday.com is reporting that Willie Randolph has this weekend to get the Mets ship turned around, otherwise it's curtains -- a slight spin on the Daily News story that claims he's in "grave danger" of getting sacked this weekend.

Of course, if "closer" Billy Wagner hadn't blown 3 straight saves over the past week, and 5 on the year, maybe we're not having this discussion, and by we I mean us.

And while we're at it, Billy Boy, maybe next time someone sticks a mike in your mug and asks why the Mets lost you won't call out your teammates for their failures; instead here's an idea: just say nothing or better yet shut the fuck up altogether. Dang fool.

Astros 1B Lance Berkman also has to get serious NL MVP consideration. He's hitting .359 with 19 HRs and 57 RBI. But Houston's 10 games behind the Cubs in their division, and that's not gonna help him any.

Last year's AL MVP, Alex Rodriguez, has a long way to go if he's gonna make another run at it. He is starting to get hot, and entering the game he was 12 for his last 25. He's hitting .318 with 10 HRs and 33 RBIs, not bad considering the time he spent on the DL.

Just saw disgraced, failed politician Rudy 'Nosferatu' Giuliani at the Yanks-Astros game, sitting first row behind directly home plate. His snarled mouth is going a mile a minute, bringing to mind a spin on a familiar old adage: How do you know he's full of absolute shit, because his name is Rudy Giuliani.

Yanks-'Stros tied at 1-1 now. The immortal Ty Wiggington just knocked in his 11th run of the season. You can't stop Ty, you can only hope to contain him.

Back to the NBA, my impression from watching parts of the first 4 games is that Kevin Garnett, as much of an impact as he has on a game rebounding and playing defense, just cannot shoot the basketball. I mean, he's not all-time bad like Ben Wallace or Dennis Rodman --- completely bereft of offensive game -- but it gets ugly around when he has the rock in his hand and starts trying to, ahem, "maneuver" around the lane for a shot attempt. Garnett has hoisted up some of the fugliest shots you're gonna see outside of a New York City playground.

After the devastating loss, Kobe was asked how he and his teammates would bounce back for Game 5. He responded with some of the more bizarre comments you're likely to hear in any sport or in any context period except perhaps for Washington politics:

"We'll whine about it tonight," Kobe began. "A lot of wine, a lot of beer, a lot of shots, maybe 20 of 'em," he continued. But the bratty Bryant was just getting started.

"We just wet the bed," Bryant told reporters. "A nice big one too. One of the ones you can't put a towel over. It was terrible."

Didn't Kobe predict this Lakers team as presently constituted was gonna win 3 or 4 titles before he retires? Better get started, or better yet get Bavetta.

Hatred of Kobe and Phil Jackson and all things Los Angeles and Laker over the years (except for the Wilt Chamberlain teams in the '70s) is the only conceivable reason I find myself rooting for the Boston Celtics, or any team from Boston for that matter. The frontrunning L.A. fans, celebrity and otherwise, are enough to turn the stomach.

Speaking of which, did you catch what my fellow blogger Curt Schilling wrote about Bryant the other day? Let's just say it wasn't very complimentary toward the pampered prick. Schilling attended Game 2 in Boston wearing a Larry Bird #33 jersey, and then the next day on his blog 38pitches, in a long post that begins with a little baseball talk, the injured Red Sock offers the following observation about Bryant:

From the first tip until about 4 minutes left in the game I saw and heard this guy bitch at his teammates. Every TO he came to the bench pissed, and a few of them he went to other guys and yelled about something they weren’t doing, or something they did wrong. No dialog about “hey let’s go, let’s get after it” or whatever. He spent the better part of 3.5 quarters pissed off and ranting at the non-execution or lack of, of his team. Then when they made what almost was a historic run in the 4th, during a TO, he got down on the floor and basically said ‘Let’s f’ing go, right now, right here” or something to that affect. I am not making this observation in a good or bad way, I have no idea how the guys in the NBA play or do things like this, but I thought it was a fascinating bit of insight for me to watch someone in another sport who is in the position of a team leader and how he interacted with his team and teammates. Watching the other 11 guys, every time out it was high fives and “Hey nice work, let’s get after it” or something to that affect. He walked off the floor, obligatory skin contact on the high five, and sat on the bench stone faced or pissed off, the whole game. Just weird to see another sport and how it all works. I would assume that’s his style and how he plays and what works for him because when I saw the leader board for scoring in the post season his name sat up top at 31+ a game, can’t argue with that. But as a fan I was watching the whole thing, Kobe, his teammates and then the after effects of conversations. He’d yell at someone, make a point, or send a message, turn and walk away, and more than once the person on the other end would roll eyes or give a ‘whatever dude’ look.

That's some good stuff right there. Imagine if famous people in history had their own blogs where they could let off steam or get off a good insult and in an instant the world would know their feelings. If only Bill Gates was born a few millennia earlier. Or was it Al Gore?

Still 1-1 bottom 6, Joba still in the game in humid Houston. Make that after 6, Chamberlain just got through the inning. Posada just threw out a base runner; I think Michael Kay said it was his first caught stealing of the year.

A few absolute must-reads if you're at all curious about that fateful Game 2 Playoff Game between the Lakers and Sacramento Kings in 2002 that is the center of controversy. Corrupt ref Tim Donaghy has pointed to that game as evidence that the league goes out of its way to favor the teams it wants to advance in the playoffs, singling out veteran ref Dick Bavetta as the leading henchman. In an article titled "On Further Review, That Game Was Badly Officiated," New York Times sports media columnist Richard Sandomir went back to the videotape to watch a replay of that game, and what he found was

"...a master class in bad calls, missed calls and miscalls that was sloppy enough to undermine the notion that it was planned ineptitude.

It didn’t require Donaghy’s accusations to divine that Dick Bavetta, Ted Bernhardt and Bob Delaney had a lousy game, and that their work might have led to the Kings losing, 106-102. Their night of underachievement caused outrage in Sacramento and prompted Michael Wilbon of The Washington Post to write, “I have never seen officiating in a game of consequence as bad as that in Game 6."

Sandomir phoned Bill Walton, who called the game on TV that night in 2002, for a comment. Despite a litany of bad calls, Walton wouldn't call it a league-orchestrated campaign that favors the teams with the superstars. Instead, the gutless Walton cops out by saying, “Referees have bad games. They’re human.” Well, as Sandomir wittily puts it:

"Their humanity was well-displayed that night in 2002, primarily in the second half." Well said.

Derek Jeter just hit his 4th HR of the season, a 390-foot shot according to Ken Singleton, also over the air, giving the Yanks a 2-1 lead. See how it works, I call a guy out, he proves me wrong. Good thing like Superman I use this power only for good. That's Jeter's 190th career homer, and he's coming up on 2,500 career hits. And Jeter's HR was the 97th allowed by Astros pitchers this season. We're full of useless facts tonight.

The Back Page, a sports blog on the New York Post website, today pointed out that back in 2002, ESPN columnist Bill Simmons wrote about the questionable officiating in the Kings-Lakers Game 6 that year, citing it as part of a pattern he called the "most disturbing subplot of the last four playoffs". Simmons then lists some of the more shady, suspicious playoff games he had seen dating to 1999. Going back to a 2000 Miami Heat-New York Knick Game 7, he writes:

Knicks advance to the conference finals ... falling out of bounds, Latrell Sprewell awarded a timeout by referee Bennett Salvatore with 2.1 seconds left even though none of the Knicks called for one ... Sprewell admits after the game that he hadn't called a timeout ... the Miami players chase the referees off the court after the game, yelling that they had been robbed ... after the game, Jamal Mashburn tells reporters, "They had three officials in their pocket" and Tim Hardaway refers to referee Dick Bavetta as "Knick Bavetta."

Then Simmons on the now-notorious Lakers-Kings Game 6 in 2002:

LA needs a win to stay alive ... from an officiating standpoint, the most one-sided game of the past decade ... at least six dubious calls against the Kings in the fourth quarter alone ... LA averaged 22 free throws a game during the first five games of the series, then attempted 27 freebies in the fourth quarter alone of Game 6.

What Simmons didn't mention, or didn't realize at the time, is a chilling fact that someone called The Sports Guy points out on The Back Page about the seven games Simmons classified as suspicious or possibly crooked: "Dick Bavetta was assigned to every one of the above games."
Anyway, chew on that for a while. Let me call it a post now.

It's still 2-1 Yanks, top of the 9th. I'm about to switch over to radio hoping for a patented Thuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh Yankees Win! call by John Sterling. He may butcher 4 or 5 HR calls a game, but he'll always have his trademark game closer. Then again, get this: the Yanks are using Kyle Farnsworth as their closer tonight, giving Mariano a rest. So it looks like I may not get to hear that Yankees Win! call after all.

Take A Bow, Bo

The word legend gets tossed around so much that it sometimes loses all meaning, such that these days you can call, say, last year's disposable reality talent series winner a legend and not be shot for it, which of course in a noble, just universe would indeed be the case. But yesterday Bo Diddley, a true pop culture legend, passed away at age 79. He left such an indelible imprint on popular music that he stands an awful good chance of never being forgotten as long as there are still electric guitars around and amplifiers to plug them into.

Because you see Bo Diddley was rock 'n' roll -- or at the very least one of a select handful who could truly be considered pioneers of a strange new sound back in the early 1950s. In songs like "Bo Diddley," "Who Do You Love," "I'm A Man" and, my favorite, "Ride On Josephine," he refined an intoxicating syncopation that quite simply never went out of rock 'n' roll fashion or lost its ability to captivate and sound fresh. Without Bo Diddley, there probably still would have been something called rock 'n' roll, but one can argue that it likely would have sounded a lot different without his hypnotic trademark rhythm.

My first impression on hearing the news was how he never got the credit he deserved for basically inventing an art form along with his much better known, more widely credited co-founding contemporaries like Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis, along with key contributions from Chicago blues legends like Muddy Waters and Willie Dixon.

According to the excellent obituary by Ben Ratliff in today's Times (and let's face it: The Times is peerless when it comes to a good in-depth obit), it always bothered Bo that he didn't get the respect the others got, to say nothing of their outsize fame and riches.
_______________________________________________________
None other than Joe Strummer of the Clash insisted on Bo Diddley as the support act for their first American tour, and sure enough in 1979 you had the unlikely sight of the 50-year-old legend entertaining punk rock fans half his age. (The Clash were known for their incongruous concert pairings; the times I saw them, their opening acts included Sam & Dave, Kurtis Blow and Grandmaster Flash.)

Years earlier, when first the Twist craze and later Surf music ousted the likes of Diddley from the pop charts, another British band was taking elements of the Bo Diddley sound and combining it with the blues to form the basis of their early recordings. So it was no surprise when those same Rolling Stones couldn't wait to share the bill in 1963 with Bo Diddley, Little Richard and the Everly Brothers, and soon Diddley was headlining his own British tour.
_________________________________________
The Times piece also points out another interesting fact: that the man who came to be known for such a basic, primitive rhythm had years of classical training, having studied violin from age 7 to 15. In fact,

On songs like “Who Do You Love,” his guitar style — bright chicken-scratch rhythm patterns on a few strings at a time — was an extension of his early violin playing, he said. “My technique comes from bowing the violin, that fast wrist action”... explaining that his fingers were too big to move around easily. Rather than fingering the fretboard... he tuned the guitar to an open E and moved a single finger up and down to create chords.

Before hitting it big the first time, Diddley led a hardscrabble life, working in a meat plant, as an elevator operator and in a factory, even hoping to make a living boxing professionally. Even when he made it to the Ed Sullivan Show in 1955, he played a different song than the one agreed upon, enraging the network brass and ultimately leading to a 10-year ban from television. As The Times puts it:

Mr. Diddley always believed that he and Chuck Berry had started rock ’n’ roll, and the fact that he couldn’t financially reap all that he had sowed made him a deeply suspicious man. “I tell musicians, ‘Don’t trust nobody but your mama,’ ” he said in an interview with Rolling Stone magazine in 2005. “And even then, look at her real good.”