Who can forget Rudy Giuliani dashing onto the field to playfully grope his newly christened mates!
Then, Yankiverse cynics claimed betrayal by America's Mayor.
Today, we realize that he was merely setting the table.
Yes, Yankiverse, we must remember, we must channel, we must cherish that immortal comeback. We must resurrect the Redsock spirit and Cowboy Up. The Idiots did it. We Yanktards can do it, too.
Tonight, may Phil Hughes be Bronson Arroyo, and Lance Berkman Kevin Millar.
And most importantly, root tonight in the knowledge that -- no matter what happens -- Javier Vazquez is not a Yankee.
Another cliché, one game at a time, but he had already acknowledged that momentum can shift in a playoff series like the weather. In fact, who is the upstart now as this one returns to Texas — the team with the $206 million payroll or the one that was in bankruptcy as recently as August?
Yet, as Lary points out:
Wow, that would really be a valid comparison. Except that the Texas “bankruptcy” was much more a technical one, having to do with the resources of the outgoing owner, and did not entail the team having to give up a single player or make a single economy.
A more relevant question would be what their actual payroll is. But don’t expect that from Harvey. That would mean comparing two identical facts. In fact, who is the upstart now, the team that plays in the poorest urban county in the nation, or the one that has its home park in the booming Lone Star state? In fact, who is the upstart now, the team that’s been getting its head bashed in in all phases of the game, or the one that has a 3-2 series lead and can pitch the hottest pitcher in baseball in Game 7?
"Tell em Dali Baby"
Edward Charles "Whitey" Ford (born October 21, 1928 spent his entire 18-year career with the New York Yankees. He was voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1974.
Ford was a native of the Astoria neighborhood of Queens, located in New York City just a few miles from Yankee Stadium over the Triborough Bridge. Ford was signed by the New York Yankees as an amateur free agent in 1947, and played his entire career in a Yankees uniform. He was given the nickname "Whitey" while in the minor leagues for his exceptionally blond hair. Ford graduated from Aviation High School in nearby Sunnyside, Queens.
Ford began his Major League Baseball career on July 1, 1950, with the Yankees and made a spectacular debut, winning his first nine decisions before losing a game in relief. Ford received a handful of lower-ballot Most Valuable Player votes despite throwing just 112 innings, and was voted the AL Rookie of the Year by the Sporting News. (Walt Dropo was the Rookie of Year choice of the BBWAA.)
Maybe Whitey should have started game 4. Joe wouldn't have told him to give an intentional walk to Murphy since Whitey had no prior record with him.
When we accepted you as a Yankee for a clutch and dominating performance in the playoffs and World Series last season, we did not give you a pass to fail this year.
The great Yankees like Joe D; Mickey; Bernie, Paul O'neil, Derek, Jorge, Andy, Mo, Whitey, etc, did not have one decent post season, and return to sleep.
They came through all the time when it mattered most.
You are hitting .176 against the Rangers with no home runs and two rbi.
Somehow, the Yankees deserve more from a $25 million per year guy.
With Tex out, you now have to take the lead and become a dangerous and reliable hitter again. You need to do it now.
1. Next year, by mid-season, we will be transitioning from a once-great catcher to a perhaps future-great one, without noticing much change defensively.
2. In a move reminscent of the 2006 Dice-K contract, the Redsocks will sign Cliff Lee. He loves beating the Yankees, Boston needs a boost, and the Redsock Nation will hail the Second Coming of Curt Schilling/Josh Beckett.
3. The Yankiverse must not forget that Joba just turned 25 last month. After Hughes, he remains our best pitching prospect. (BTW, Andrew Brackman turns 25 next month.)
4. If Boston signs Cliff Lee, the Yankees would have one option: To sign Carl Crawford, the best position player on the market, and trade Brett Gardner, plus a few of their best pitching prospects (Joba, Brackman, Betances, etc.) for Felix Hernandez.
5. Soon, some team will make Kevin Long a manager, due to his incredible success with Curtis Granderson. It must not be forgotten that Granderson's turn-around is probably just as much due to his stand-up character and willingness to learn.
6. Next year at this time, Jeter will be batting ninth. Brace yourselves.
7. The most unmentioned aspect to the Yankees this year is the decline in A-Rod's game. At this rate, he will be mediocre by 2012.
8. AJ Burnett is not Carl Pavano.
9. As Alphonso has pointed out, the Yankee collapse since Sept. 1 has been for the ages. This team has one hope of redeeming its cracked reputation. It must happen this weekend.
I received this from my old teammate Lyn Lary at the start of today's game, but I was afraid of offending the Gods of juju and waited till now to post:
With apologies to William Blake
And did Babe’s feet in ancient time
Walk on the Bronx's field so green?
And was the holy Mick of God
On New York's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance DiMag
Shine forth upon our clouded bullpens there?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic Rangers?
Bring me my bat of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my Bear! O Derek unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my glove sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In the Bronx's green and pleasant land.
It's now or never,
don't give up the fight
yankees, my darlings,
please, some key hits tonight
Tomorrow will be too late,
it's now or never
The playoffs won't wait.
IIH has gotten exclusive access to a high resolution photo of that meatball fan who prevented Brett Gardner from catching a foul ball. Looks like it's Ranger VP Jim Sundberg.
video clip from "Mickey Mantle In His Own Words"
My lifelong friend Richard Karney, a fellow Mickey Mantle worshiper, who converted himself into a switch hitter (solely in baseball terms) always reminds his friends when Mickmas Day occurs (the anniversary of Mickey's birth, October 20, 1931) and posts Bob Costas' stirring eulogy:
The Mick would not be pleased that on this great anniversary the Yankees would let us down. Let's win this one for the Mickster. and btw, wouldn't it be classy for some public address announcement be made prior to today's game that it is Mickey's birthday.
from Rich:
Happy Mickmas! Today we celebrate the Mick's 79th birthday. I wish all a very happy holiday.
Although this year's festivities are potentially muted, let's not forget the Mick-led comeback from a similar brink in 1958 against Milwaukee, and a lot more formidable staff led by Spahn, Burdette and Buhl. C'mon, Lee, Wilson and Lewis? The Mick recorded the final putout that year and would remind us that all can be recovered.
While the Mick never met a woman or single malt he didn't like, it is too early to let the good times roll. We can celebrate his birthday just the same, savoring a good and substantial outing by Carsten Charles and not joining others already on the golf course. Sadly, playing the last game of the season on Mickmas Day itself has occurred in a prior debacle, but let us plan our trip back to DFW and be prepared for Friday and Saturday contests. We should still raise a glass or two today to celebrate the birth of the Mick, while keeping our hands to ourselves, and praise His wonderment and career, but not necessarily the abundance, recently highlighted, of trysts and days of stupor.
Costas:
You know, it occurs to me as we're all sitting here thinking of Mickey,
he's probably somewhere getting an earful from Casey Stengel, and no
doubt quite confused by now.
One of Mickey's fondest wishes was that he be remembered as a great
teammate, to know that the men he played with thought well of him. But
it was more than that. Moose and Whitey and Tony and Yogi and Bobby and
Hank, what a remarkable team you were. And the stories of the visits you
guys made to Mickey's bedside the last few days were heartbreakingly
tender. It meant everything to Mickey, as would the presence of so many
baseball figures past and present here today.
I was honored to be asked to speak by the Mantle family today. I am not
standing here as a broadcaster. Mel Allen is the eternal voice of the
Yankees and that would be his place. And there are others here with a
longer and deeper association with Mickey than mine.
But I guess I'm here, not so much to speak for myself as to simply
represent the millions of baseball-loving kids who grew up in the '50s
and '60s and for whom Mickey Mantle was baseball.
And more than that, he was a presence in our lives-a fragile hero to
whom we had an emotional attachment so strong and lasting that it defied
logic. Mickey often said he didn't understand it, this enduring
connection and affection-the men now in their 40s and 50s, otherwise
perfectly sensible, who went dry in the mouth and stammered like
schoolboys in the presence of Mickey Mantle.
Maybe Mick was uncomfortable with it, not just because of his basic
shyness, but because he was always too honest to regard himself as some
kind of deity. But that was never really the point. In a very different
time than today, the first baseball commissioner, Kenesaw Mountain
Landis said, "Every boy builds a shrine to some baseball hero, and
before that shrine, a candle always burns."
For a huge portion of my generation, Mickey Mantle was that baseball
hero. And for reasons that no statistics, no dry recitation of the facts
can possibly capture, he was the most compelling baseball hero of our
lifetime. And he was our symbol of baseball at time when the game
meant something to us that perhaps it no longer does.
Mickey Mantle had those dual qualities so seldom seen-exuding dynamism
and excitement, but at the same time touching your heart-flawed,
wounded. We knew there was something poignant about Mickey Mantle before
we know what Poignant meant. We didn't just root for him, we felt for
him.
Long before many of us ever cracked a serious book, we knew something
about mythology as we watched Mickey Mantle run out a home run through
the lengthening shadows of a late Sunday afternoon at Yankee Stadium.
There was a greatness about him, but vulnerability too. He was our guy.
When he was hot, we felt great. When he slumped or got hurt, we sagged a
bit too. We tried to crease our caps like him; kneel in an imaginary
on-deck circle like him; run like him, heads down, elbows up.
Billy Crystal is here today. Billy says that at his bar mitzvah he spoke
in an Oklahoma drawl. Billy's here today because he loved Mickey Mantle,
and millions like him are here today in spirit as well. It's been said
that the truth is never pure and rarely simple.
Mickey Mantle was too humble and honest to believe that the whole truth
about him could be found on a Wheaties box or a baseball card. But the
emotional truths about childhood have a power that transcends objective
fact. They stay with us through all the years, withstanding the
ambivalence that so often accompanies the experience of adults.
That's why we can still recall the immediate tingle in that instant of
recognition when a Mickey Mantle popped up in a pack of Topps bubble gum
cards-a treasure lodged between an Eli Grba and a Pumpsie Green.
That's why we smile today, recalling those October afternoons when we'd
sneak a transistor radio into school to follow Mickey Mantle and the
Yankees in the World Series.
Or when I think of Mr. Tomasee, a very wise sixth-grade teacher who
understood that the World Series was more important, at least for one
day, than any school lesson could be. So he brought his black and white
TV from home, plugged it in and let us watch it right there in school
through the flicker and static. It was richer and more compelling than
anything I've seen on a high-resolution, big-screen TV.
Of course, the bad part, Bobby, was that Koufax struck 15 of you guys
out that day.
My phone's been ringing the past few weeks as Mickey fought for his
life. I've heard from people I hadn't seen or talked to in years, guys I
played stickball with, even some guys who took Willie's side in those
endless Mantle, Mays arguments. They're grown up now. They have their
families. They're not even necessarily big baseball fans anymore. But
they felt something hearing about Mickey, and they figured I did too.
In the last year, Mickey Mantle, always so hard on himself, finally came
to accept and appreciate the distinction between a role model and a
hero. The first he often was not, the second he always will be.
And, in the end, people got it. And Mickey Mantle got from something
other than misplaced and mindless celebrity worship. He got something
far more meaningful. He got love. Love for what he had been, love for
what he made us feel, love for the humanity and sweetness that was
always there mixed in the flaws and all the pain that racked his body
and his soul.
We wanted to tell him that it was OK, that what he had been was enough.
We hoped he felt that Mutt Mantle would have understood that Merlyn and
the boys loved him. And then in the end, something remarkable happened,
the way it does for champions. Mickey Mantle rallied. His heart took
over, and he had some innings as fine as any in 1956 or with his buddy,
Roger, in 1961.
But this time. he did it in the harsh and trying summer of '95. And what
he did was stunning. The sheer grace of that ninth inning, the total
absence of self pity, the simple eloquence and honesty of his pleas to
others to take heed of his mistakes.
All of America watched in admiration. His doctors said he was, in many
ways, the most remarkable patient they'd ever seen. His bravery so stark
and real, that even those used to seeing people in dire circumstances
where moved by his example.
Because of that example, organ donations are up drastically all across
America. A cautionary tale has been honestly told and perhaps will
affect some lives for the better.
And our last memories of Mickey Mantle are as heroic as the first. None
of us, Mickey included, would want to be held to account for every
moment of our lives. But how many of us could say that our best moments
were as magnificent as his?
In a cartoon from this morning's The Dallas Morning News. Maybe some of
you saw it. It got torn a little bit on the way from the hotel to here.
There's a figure here, St. Peter I take it to be, with his arm around
Mickey, that broad back and the number 7. We know some of what went on.
Sorry, we can't let you in, but before you go, God wants to know if
you'd sign these six dozen baseballs."
Well, there were days when Mickey Mantle was so darn good that we kids
bet that even God would want his autograph. But like the cartoon says, I
don't think Mick needed to worry much about the other part.
I just hope God has a place for him where he can run again. Where he can
play practical jokes on his teammates and smile that boyish smile,
'cause God knows, no one's perfect. And God knows there's something
special about heroes.
If we look carefully at this team, and the season it has had, we won't be so shocked at what is now happening.
Remember those endless rants of mine in September, about; " if it wasn't for Swisher's walk-off home run; and A-Rod's dramatic blast when down to our last strike; and Jorge's pinch hit homer in the 10th; and Mo's miraculous saves, etc." ????
What I was saying was that without unbelievable drama and clutch hitting during a generally horrible month of play in September, we would never have gotten even to face the Twins.
The team's performance, overall, was worse than Toronto or Boston during the season's last 40 days. We generally beat the lousy teams, stole a win now and again from the good ones, and let everyone else beat each other. It works. And it worked.
But it masked the fact that this team has been sputtering for a long time.
We all turned the clock back to day one once we finally made it into the playoffs. We felt a resurgence of that old Yankee magic when we swept the Twins for about the twentieth straight time. And the late inning win against Texas re-assured us that the best of the Yankees was coming out.
Had the team been bored as the season wound down? Were age and injury beginning to take a toll?
For some reasons we may never be sure of this team has run out of gas. The offense isn't there. We used to score 9 runs a game for Phil Hughes. Now we don't. We used to drain the other team's pitchers and bullpens. Now we don't. We used to get clutch hits. Now we don't. We used to hit multiple home runs. Now we don't.
No one even remembers when Joba was "lights out" as a rookie relief pitcher.
Derek's bag is on the top left; Tex has the white one in the second row; Andy's is the mustard; A-Rod is the brown in the center; Jorge has the royal blue on the bottom row; Swish and Grandy each have a red one; Phil Hughes' is bright white; while AJ's is black; Mo owns the green one at bottom left.
Robbie hasn't packed his yet, but he is sort of on his own in this trip.
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Teixeira ? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
Rather proclaim it, Teixeira , through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of the Steinbrenner
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of the Steinbrenner
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Steinbrenner:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Steinbrenner's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Derek the king, Andy and Mo,
Jorge and A-Rod, Robby and C.C,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Saint Steinbrenner shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in the Bronx now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Steinbrenner's day.
Fortunately, Lance Berkman can handle the bag with Ron Kittleian grace. It'll give us a chance to appreciate the Astro Man's leather hide, flashed daily in the Ghost of Gehrig's corner -- and to snicker about those who questioned the Mark Melancon deal, fearing our Joba/Meat Tray bullpen wouldn't hold.
So the question, Yankiverse: Who takes Tex's roster spot in the upcoming 7-game series?
Hard to say, 'till we learn our opponent.
If it's SF: Speedburner Eddie Nunez enhances our late-inning baserunning capes. We can rest the overworked Ramiro Pena, so in blowouts -- say, 10-3 scores -- we can give our left side, The Captain and Tenuous, a well deserved curtain call.
If it's Phily: I'm thinking last year's juju charm, Chippin' Chad Gaudin.
Or... Old Reliable... the hanging Chad...
Mr. Moeller, come on down! Your ring is waiting, and we don't mean Royce.
Some interesting info provided by Joe De Pastry
from a comment on a previous post
Things Ron Darling and John Smoltz will not tell you about tonight's actual starting pitchers:
A.J. Burnett's career W-L percentage is virtually identical to Nolan Ryan's, and his career K/BB ratio is better than Ryan's.
Tommy Hunter is the grandson [by artificial insemination] of actor Tab Hunter, after whom the worst tasting diet soft drink in history was named, and whose film career is best remembered for his roles in "Operation Bikini," "Island of Desire," and "Lust in the Dust" [starring female impersonator Divine], and his debut performance in "Gay Casting Couch 7: The Warner Brothers and the Pool Boy."
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