Buck Showalter Hates Us: Five Ways We Can Return the Love

For starters, no surprise. Showalter should come clean and admit to being the guy who - during his time with the Arizona Diamondacks - played "New York, New York" on the public address system following the 2001 World Series, an act so mean-spirited that it was criticized by Peter Gammons.

No sir, we will never forget. The Diamondbacks are on our shitlist, (which is why Cashman delivering Ian Kennedy on a silver platter is particularly offensive.)

We can't go back in time and keep Buck from playing his victory music, but we can send him some flowers in Baltimore.

1. Refuse to take Vladirmir Guerrero off his hands. Whenever the Yankees get within 500 miles of Baltimore, the sportswriters start ginning up rumors that the Yankees would trade Jesus Montero for Vlad. Yeah, right. Sorry, O's. He's all yours. Enjoy.

2. Matt Wieters? Wanna be a Yankee? Not sure we need a catcher, but hey, I think this guy will be a player in two years -- and you know what? You can never have enough catching. If not Wieters, surely, Baltimore can come up with at least one young free agent worth us signing. They want a Boogeyman? Let's give them one.

3. The hell with their crabcakes. Nothing beats playing Baltimore in Baltimore with a crowd of New York fans. Let's not change that. But let's pack our lunches. Let's boycott their stadium food, because we don't fund the people who hate us. We, as Yankees and Americans, are tired of sending our money to people who express hatred for us.

4. Beat their asses like a kettle drum. This should go without saying. Sixteen and oh would be sweet.

5. When he's done, when he's fired, when he's an old, coughing lung of a memory, invite him back. Then, we forgive. We always do. Let the Redsock fans harbor hate. We forgive. After crushing.

10 Reasons Why Arod Should Be Named "Assistant Yankee Captain"

1. With Jete on the DL, we have no captain. Thus, there is an opening for Assistant Yankee Captain. (AYC)

2. As we all know, Arod is trying to rebound from girl trouble. If he's like most guys, he could use a little rabbit juice in the pants. Being named Assistant Yankee Captain (AYC) will impress the ladies and put him back on track to net Drew Barrymore, ending the Fever Pitch curse.

3. As Assistant Yankee Captain, (AYC) he probably won't have to do anything.

4. As Suzyn often points out, Arod took Boone Logan aside and gave him captainlike advice: Always have a plan. Apparently, Boone was taking the mound without a plan. Now that he's got a plan, he's pitching well. Without Arod, Boone didn't even plan to have a plan. Now he plans ahead. Arod deserves credit for taking on the role of assistant captain. Arod, like Boone, has a plan. Naming him Assistant Yankee Captain (AYC) shows we have a plan.

5. With modern word processing technology, we won't even have to print up stationery letterheads saying Assistant Yankee Captain (AYC).

6. The Yankees have never had an Assistant Yankee Captain (AYC). It will be another career milestone for Arod. He can have AYC embroidered on his jersey.

7. When Jete returns, he can expect to find a full report from Arod on what transpired during his absence.

8. Arod will not need to discipline delinquent Yankees by himself; he can write down their names and keep a shitlist, so that when Jete comes back, there will be hell to pay.

9. AYC = another piece of Hall of Fame consideration.

10. If he does well as Assistant Yankee Captain (AYC), he could someday be promoted to First Assistant Yankee Captain. (1YAC)

The Missing Mickey In 1963

Why he wasn't in the doubleheader win against the Sox of June 30, 1963, despite "Jane Leavy's" comment
an excerpt from sports illustrated

Mickey Mantle came out of the tunnel from the New York Yankees' dressing room and walked along the dugout in front of the crowded bench. There was no place to sit, and at the far end he put a foot up on the step, rested his arm on his knee and looked out at the rain. Another Yankee player said, grinning, "You'd think one of you writers would get up and let a $100,000 ballplayer sit down."
The rain finally slowed and stopped, and the game started, more than an hour late. The night before, when Baltimore had beaten New York 3-1 to take over the league lead, Mantle had hit a home run, two outfield flies and a single to center and had been on third base, waiting to score, when the game ended. Now, this wet night, he singled to right in the second inning and walked in the fourth. In the sixth he doubled to left and scored when Roger Maris hit a home run to put New York ahead 3-2.
Then in the last half of the sixth inning Brooks Robinson of Baltimore hit a ball high and far toward the center-field fence. Mantle turned and raced back for it, running at full speed in his choppy, high-stepping sprinter's stride. He looked up over his right shoulder as he ran, and as he neared the ball he lifted his glove to catch it. But the point of juxtaposition of glove and ball that Mantle anticipated was theoretical—it lay a few feet beyond the seven-foot-high wire fence bounding the outfield. There was no cinder warning track in front of the fence, as in most ball parks, and as the ball went over for a home run Mantle ran into the fence. His left foot hit on the downward stroke of its stride, and his spikes caught in the wire mesh. The front part of his foot was bent violently up and back. The momentum of his run smashed him up against the fence and he seemed to hang there for an instant. Then he crumpled to the ground.
Roger Maris ran over to him and Bobby Richardson ran out and the players in the Yankee bullpen in right field streamed along the fence toward him. Other players ran out and joined the uniformed throng massed incongruously in the deepest part of the outfield. A Yankee came out of the tangle and signaled to the dugout, making a wheelbarrow-pushing motion with his hands. "They want a stretcher," said a writer in the press box.
The stretcher went out and disappeared into the crowd. When it appeared again, it bore Mantle. He lay on his side, half sitting up, supporting himself on his right elbow, somber and quiet. "He looks like a warrior being carried on his shield," said the man in the press box.
Beneath the stands in the corridors behind the Yankee dressing room the sportswriters were held at bay by polite but adamant guards. The writers argued. "You can't go in," a guard said flatly, and the writers waited. They saw New York players come back through the tunnel from the dugout—the Baltimore half of the inning had ended—and go into the dressing room: Ralph Terry, Bobby Richardson, Roger Maris, others. They looked tired. They were in the dressing room with Mantle for only a moment or two, and then they filed back along the tunnel to the dugout. The game went on.
Beneath the stands a door opened and a wheeled stretcher rolled out. Mantle lay on it, flat on his back now, a blanket covering him. He was rolled quickly to an ambulance waiting in the dark at the curb outside the stadium. The stretcher was lifted and slid in. Mantle stared up at the dark ceiling of the ambulance, his face expressionless. Then he lifted his hands and pressed them against his cheeks and held them there for a long moment. The ambulance drove away.

Mick wouldn't play again until August. He only played about 90 games that year.

Happy Birthday Derek: You May Be Old.......

Thanks Jeff

At least our NL exile team can get the job done

The human face of hate

He Hate Me

In Days Of Old When Knights Were Bold And The Yankees Swept The Sox: June 30, 1963

The Yanks beat Earl Wilson in the back end of a doubleheader sweep. Maris and Pepi homered. But where was the Mick? He didn't play in game one either.

More Tales Of Bulger's Boys And America's Team

From Friends Of Ours
Howie Carr, the unofficial biographer of Winter Hill gangster James "Whitey" Bulger, has just released Hitman about former Bulger enforcer Johnny Martorano, and he is running excerpts from the book over the next four days in the Boston Herald. In today's first excerpt Carr discusses the relationship between Martorano and Boston Red Sox team member Earl Wilson who in June 1962 became the first African American to pitch a no hitter after an alleged night of debauchery at a Roxbury night club run by the young gangster. By 1999 Martorano reached a plea deal with federal prosecutors pursuant to which he confessed to twenty murders in exchange for a 14-year prison sentence, and he now is retired and living in Boston, MA.

As for the way the Sox treated a great talent like Wilson

.....It was during this season that the Boston Red Sox began to notice the young ballplayer. The scouting report sent to the team’s head office is indicative of the racial bias that Wilson had to overcome in his early years as a professional ballplayer. It stated, “He is a well mannered colored boy, not too black, pleasant to talk to, well educated, has a very good appearance and conducts himself as a gentleman.”
That same year the Red Sox signed Wilson. Elijah “Pumpsie” Green, the first African American to play a game for the Red Sox, wasn’t signed until 1956. These two were the first African Americans ever signed by Boston.
Wilson was drafted into the Marines in 1957. Although he continued to play military ball his opportunity to become the first black player to crack the Red Sox lineup was delivered a setback.
In 1959, Green had hit .400 during spring training with the parent Sox and was named “Camp Rookie of The Year” by the press. Even with those accomplishments, Green had not secured anything. When writers asked owner Tom Yawkey if Green would make the team, he replied, “The Sox will bring up a Negro if he meets our standards.”.........

Early 1966 saw an event occur that had a monumental effect on the rest of Wilson’s life. During spring training, while in Lakeland, Florida—the spring home of Wilson’s next team, the Detroit Tigers—Wilson and a couple of his teammates, Dennis Bennett and Dave Morehead, decided to go to a local bar named the Cloud 9 for a drink after a day at the park. In Bennett’s words he describes what happened that night: “The bartender asked Dave and I what we wanted. He then turned to Earl and said, `We don’t serve niggers in here.’ So we all got up and left the place. Earl was upset at first as he had never been refused service before.”
Author Peter Golenbock, in his book Red Sox Nation, wrote that incidents such as this tended to bring negative publicity to the team rather than to the racist attitudes in the South. Wilson understood this was the case and although he revealed the incident to Boston writer Larry Claflin, he asked that the writer keep it to himself and not write about it. Claflin agreed but another writer found out about it and instead of exposing the racism of the incident focused his story on the Red Sox players going out drinking.
Most observers—including Wilson, according to his son—felt this incident was the reason the Red Sox decided to deal him. To Earl the writing was on the wall when on June 13, the Red Sox acquired two black players, John Wyatt and Jose Tartabull. That night, Earl told his roommate Lenny Green, who was also an African American, “There are too many black players on the team, someone will have to go!”
The next morning manager Billy Herman informed Wilson that that he and a black outfielder, Joe Christopher, had been traded to Detroit. Earl at the time had appeared in 15 games with the Sox that season and had a 5–5 record with an Earned Run Average of 3.84.
Although upset at first, Earl quickly rebounded and went on to post a 13–6 record for the Tigers to finish the year with 18 wins overall and a sparkling Tigers Earned Run Average of 2.59.
For Wilson, though, 1967 was without doubt his finest season. He appeared in 39 games and led the Tigers with 22 wins against just 11 defeats. Detroit finished the season just one game behind the Red Sox.

Screw 'Em

Enough with the romancing of this big jerk. He doesn't play here anymore and he helped beat us last night. The fans remember the good times . They should remember these too

Medical Updates and Questions

It doesn't matter what Phil's AA work amounted to unless he was throwing heat. I heard he wasn't. What have you heard?

Colon seems further ahead of Hughes on the " road back." That is good news. Although I worry that they are rushing him too quickly.

Eric Chavez is walking again. Soon, they will ask him to try on shoes.

Pedro Feliciano is still pretending that he won't need arm and shoulder replacement surgeries. Oh, that we would have left him a Met.

The Soriano head case was last seen gathering acorns beneath a coconut tree in Florida. Get it?

Derek is trying to use each of the 33 bathrooms in his new house before beginning the, " walk on the beach, " therapy for his calf. He'll still go to the all star game.

Damaso Marte has had a setback in his rehab, and is not expected to call until next summer.

Joba was last seen with his pitching arm in a sling, drinking lefty in a Nebraska bar. See you in 2013 Joba, and we can all wonder if you will qualify for the 6th or 7th inning job.

Only, by then, will there still be a need for a "bridge to Mariano?"

Same Tired, Old Sandwich

Stale bread.

Crusty cheese slices.

Discolored mayo.

A dab of sticky jam.

The same old Yanks showed up to do nothing last night.

Fall behind early.

Miss early opportunities to score big.

Flail away the rest of the night.

Show no life.

No ability to rally, to put pressure on the other team, to do anything.

Mediocre starting pitching.

Excellent and wasted relief efforts.

Puny offense.

Another "L" to open another home series.

Last Friday Night

Last Friday Night

There's a Rockie in my bed,
There's a pounding my head
Men left on base all over the room
Giambino's in the pool
I smell like a minibar
AJ's passed out in the yard
Jorge's on the barbeque

'27 Redsocks reveal "Murderers Row" in Pittsburgh

Yankeetorial: In the late innings, must everyone swing for the fences?

Witnessing last night's excruciating defeat was like watching the latest Marvel comic CGI movie fiasco: We've seen the same big-budget plot 20 times now, and it's gotten stale:

Yanks down by two, and our only plan is to get somebody on and hit a homerun.

Last night, in the final, draining innings:

Russell Martin pounded a lonnnng fly to right. Russell jusssst missed showing muscle.

Curtis Granderson hit a lonnnnng one to the warning track. Oh, it was almost sort of Grandish!

Mark Teixeira blasted a long one to deep left field. He was nearly on the mark, Teixeira!

Jorge nearly juiced one to left!

We went down like lambs.

Martin swung at a 2-0 count, after Jimenez threw two pitches not only out of the strike zone, they were out of the time zone. He couldn't even take the next pitch?

Is Girardi so cowed by the Yankee payroll that he can never give the take sign at 3-1 or 2-0?

We lead MLB in homeruns. Whoopie.

We've seen this movie before.

It ends in early October.

Breaking news: New York state approves same-sex marriage ... but same-person marriage still banned

Sorry, ARod

Links

Teixeira goes googoo over Gaga

Man wishes he didn't bring "girly" umbrella to Yanks-Reds rainout

Is Eduardo Nunez the new Mr. Yankee?

On father's day, man claims to be Jeter's real Dad?

Cubs-Yankees literary dustup

War over truth over Ruth.

Will Giambi wear his Golden Thong?

Tonight, the prodigal thong returns.

Let us remember our call to action,

Yanks Make Use Of Off Day To Help Protest For Gay Rights Bill In Albany

At least we still own Jersey

Somewhere, probably below Anarctica, there is a fantasy world called Quinnipiac University, where the Quinnipiacians - for fun - phone people during dinnertime to talk Yankee baseball. Yes, they're much like Alphonso, but I digress.

A few weeks ago, these pollmeisters showed the Yankees to be the most popular team in white-bread, Vince McMahon/Joe Lieberman Connecticut.

Yesterday, we learned the Yankees control also Tony Soprano/Danny DeVito New Jersey. We beat Philadelphia by more than 20 percentage points, with the Mets coming in third, out of the running for even a Wild Card.

This should be no surprise. In 2008, a keg-shaped stubble-chin named Ryan Ward supposedly bagged 100 women in the Jersey/Philly area by impersonating Joba Chamberlain in bars. At one point, he signed autographs while Joba was pitching on TV. That's the stuff of legend! He eventually was arrested for impersonating a Yankee, which may be a crime in Jersey.

When we have that kind of talent combing the landscape, do we need polls?

Your move, Quinnipiac. What can you tell us about Vermont?