STERLING SIGHTING!

Wish They Were Here

 Eddie Fisher sings our current Yankee lament. A h/t to El Duque for reminding us of Eddie's
unappreciated talent.
Joltin Jorge and Joltin Derek,
Oh, where have their talents gone?
Our hopes turn our lonely eyes to you

They not making the skies as blue this year
Wish they were here
As blue as they used to when you were near
Wish they were here
And the mornings don't seem as new
Brand-new as they did with you
Wish you were here
Wish you were here
Wish you were here

RE: Men Left On Base 3, Ken Phelps LOB Coach

 

RE: Men Left On Base, Suzyn Reminisces Broadway Style

Is that all there is

Schvance

For Every 15000 Men Left On Base....

Looks like they may have to build something together now in order to see the game 

from the Lowe's Broadcasting Booth.

Twenty-six, Twenty-four: The Poem

To those who'd say this team's not done:
Twenty-six, twenty-four, since August one.

To those whose bubble r'mains unburst,
Twenty-six, twenty-four, since August first.

For us now pending, broken-hearted,
Twenty-six, twenty-four, since August started,

And when the pundits ask us, why...?
Twenty-six, twenty-four, since died July.

Eddie Fisher is gone: Is this the celebrity death that turns around our autumn?

First, condolences to the family. He was a great man. I still remember him guest-hosting The Mike Douglas Show. Nobody ever brought more joy to the Monday-Friday 4 p.m. to 5 p.m. TV slot. I am not being sarcastic. You cynics, with your smartalecky shirts and collars, sicken me. Eddie Fisher was a good man. Liz never knew what she had.

Secondly, we must face scientific reality: Last year, the deaths of several celebrities sparked Yankee winning streaks. I'm not talking gibberish. We have irrefutable, anecdotal evidence. We have cold, hard numbers. You could google it. I'm not going to now, because I'm on a spiritual and literary roll.

Tonight begins the Yankee post-Eddie Fisher era. Everything that ever happened no longer is a factor. This is Day One. 

As for Liz -- may she be comforted in her grief. 

Winning the World Series is not for sissies. Sometimes, blood must spill.

Has Jorge Turned 50?

I finally broke all my rules and attended a game at the new Yankee stadium.

I said; to hell with sentiment; to hell with memories of Mickey and Billy and Hank Bauer. I don't need to see " old reliable" standing in left field anymore; nor Enos Slaughter racing around the bases; Whitey and Vic Rashie and , my personal favorite, " The Super Chief ( Allie Reynolds ). Steady Eddie and Jerry Coleman.

I put them all to rest and caved.

And Jorge struck out three times in every manner possible. A great Yankee who, last night, looked older than I.

He'll give us a few more big moments, but the air is leaking out of the balloon.

“It’s over with. We don’t see them again.”

Words of Joba, spoken last night, after we cleansed ourselves once and for all of the 2010 pennant.

Done. "It's over with." 

A truly classic Yankee defeat.

A magnificent Yankee fiasco.

Artistic. Pure. Creative. One for the ages.

From now on, Wild Card 2010!  That is, unless we drop six to Boston.

Hard to rule that out.

We led. We had our ace. We loaded the bases with one out. We popped up. Our Cy Young also-ran walked the 8th and 9th men in the order. He walked in a run. Our strategic winter 2009 acquisition -- the one the expert cyberwhizz bloggers condemned us for ridiculing, the one they lauded Brilliant Brian for obtaining, while he was authorizing their press credentials -- plunked three batters in a row, in his new role as the mop-up Sergio Mitre. We loaded the bases again. We popped up. We finished the game with a Triple A infield being watched by a crowd that could have fit into a Sarasota snuff movie, having pissed away a two-game home field advantage, following a ceremonial dignitary chickenfuck, in which we unveiled a George Steinbrenner plaque nearly as big as the disappointment this team is going to foster next month, when Minnesota gets through with us.

It's over.

Wild card. That is, unless we blow six against Boston.

Hard to rule that out.

Wild Card. Hooray.

WILD CARD, HOORAY.  WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY.
WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY.
WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY.
hey, why not walk another fucking run in, okay, thanks for nothing, joba,
WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY.
WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY.
hey, can we strike out with the bases loaded a few more times? that would be nice
WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY.
get your vacation rentals reserved for second week of october, yankees, no games
WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY.
WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY. WILD CARD, HOORAY.

The Audio

"Sir Lancelot rides to the rescue! C'est lui! C'est lui!"

The Chad-Bow Incident

An old classic appears to be slated for re-working with my old teammate Benny Bengough

More Scenes You May Have Missed From The Steinbrenner Memorial 4

Shrinkage?

How Brian Cashman Acquired His Second String Relief Corps

Tonight is the pennant race

If we win tonight... o-yessss-mamma!... then we beat those smug, sun-blocked, first-round-pick, Playstation fratboy bastards. We whupped them. We open a lead that won't disappear in the last week. We'll have taken three of four in a prelude to October. We'll have hit their aces, frozen their bats, they'll go home and we can start scouting Texas -- mm-mm, o-yess, warm Texas -- with its honey-baked ham-juicy bullpen and free-swinging disco buffoon lineup. We win, and we can mess with Boston heads this weekend -- "Watch out, Youk'll be back for the second round!" -- with Juan Miranda at first! Ramiro Pena leading off! We win, and we can just pleasure ourselves with Big Papi, make him a sex toy. We win tonight, we win the AL East.

If we lose? Well, then our first two wins -- taken in the ceremonial gush of a George's Great Pyramid at Giza dedication --simply foreshadowed our collapse: We got ahead, then watched them chip away. If we lose, they're the comeback team, they're the team that doesn't quit, and we're the guys with the swiss cheese bullpen and the hitters who can't move a baserunner. We lose, and we tromp off to cold, angry, Tea Party-crazed Minnesota in the first round, knowing in our doorknob-filled guts that they're the team with a score to settle, and you can't beat them every year. The Royals proved that in 1981. The Angels proved it in 2002. Boston proved it in 2004. If we lose tonight, bend over, Yankiverse. The Rays beat us, fair and square. We're the Wild Card team. And the planets are lining up for another epic humilation, this time maybe at the hands of Carl Pavano.

Let's hope we win.

I Don't Get All Of John's Home Run Call For Lance Berkman (UPDATED THREE TIMES!)

It sounded like:

"Sir Lancelot rides the the rescue! C'EST LOUIS! C'EST LOUIS!"

I get the Sir Lancelot reference--obviously--but "C'est Louis?" "Say Louie?" "St. Louis?" What?

UPDATE: Am I the only one who heard the "C'est Louis" part?

UPDATE 2: Solved (I think):

Thanks, J Lam. But, still... what??

UPDATE 3: Oh, Christ. It's another Broadway reference. In Camelot, Sir Lancelot sings a song called "C'est Moi," meaning, of course, "It's me!" So, not being Berkman, John must say--no, cry--"It's him!"

Gaah, I have spent so much time on this. Thanks, John!

Randy Levine Defends Supersized Steinbrenner Monument

 

Talk about examples of chutzpah! Randy seen at construction site of the monument last month.

“The size of one’s ego shouldn’t determine the size of one’s monument,” another commenter said.

Best Wishes Kevin

Imagine the chutzpah of Kevin to think he could make it back in time for the playoffs.
Playoffs in his wet dreams maybe. But just in case my old friend and hall of famer Tony Lazzeri is waiting in the wings with his lips puckered

MIRACLE ON YAWKEY WAYYouk Might Heal In Time For PlayoffsSTAR CAN SIGN AUTOGRAPHS AGAIN

Kevin Youklis' Diary, ESPN: 

My thumb is good. It's getting strong and I'm able to grip stuff now. The first week of October, I think I should hopefully be able to start implementing baseball activity. Right now we're working on strengthening it. We’re basically going along with how the season is going and not going too crazy. If we get in the playoffs, they'll get me back in shape and hopefully ready to play. Maybe not ready by the first round, but hopefully the second round.  

Yes, I can sign autographs now.

Has Lance Turned A Corner?

 With his size that would be pretty tough to do
If so then we may have to call off this future event. The photo mock-up at left was sent in by beloved ex-Yankee coach Frank "Hondo" Howard. It demonstrates how he could dispose of the whale that swallowed Houston if previous attempts had failed.

.....But Tuesday night, the flashes were back. Back in a way that Berkman or the Yankees have yet to full experience. He easily turned on a James Shields pitch in the first inning, ripping it to deep center field and driving in two runs. While it was his only hit of the night, it has the Yankees DH feeling like he's finally back at a place that feels comfortable.
"Coming into this year, my career numbers were pretty good as far as batting average and I'm hitting .250," he said. "I've never really done that before. There had to be something going on because I'm too young, I think, to really feel like I'm falling apart. I mean, I'm 34. I'm expecting to jump out there and hit 50 homers or get that much better, but there's a level of consistency.
"To all of a sudden, just hit .200 for the year. That didn't make any sense."
Now fully healthy, Berkman has taken to sessions with hitting coach Kevin Long, trying to get back the swing that made him a feared cleanup hitter in Houston. The results might be a slow drip, but Berkman can feel something bigger bubbling under the surface. Nights like Tuesday only prove that.....