New York Tomato cans

A seemingly deep thought about the Yankees

In two starts at Scranton, Michael Pineda has pitched 9.2 innings and given up 8 earned runs.

As We Close Out The First Half...... A Secured Message Revealing A Top Secret

Dateline: Badlands of North Dakota

Date:  Sometime between 1895 and 2013

The Author:  The LONE MUSTANG

Content:

I used to wear this mask only on all hallows eve.  That's what we called it up in the badlands where I was born and raised.

Today, I am the voice of a once great franchise in major league baseball.

But my eyes tear at what has happened to this formerly proud and revered organization.

You see, as with most all family run businesses, the second generation of owners is milking the profits for their personal aggrandizement, at the expense of the team's former glory and honored place in history.  Short-term benefits triumph over long-term vision.

Even in Mariano's last season, the Hated and Cheap Steinbrothers buy more Ferrrari's rather than players.

When I was an up and coming voice of reason, truth, justice, and the American way in the wild west, I designed this mask to complete the mystery of me, and protect my modesty.  I went into radio, so I would not be seen.  I always felt that the power to do good work is best swathed in secret garb.

Now I must do what I can to unglue the Yankee devils residing in Tampa.  Freedom is not free and Winning is not Easy.

It is time to act.  It is time that the good ( Yankees and their fans ) revolts to thwart the evil that grows around us ( Boston, Tampa, Baltimore and Toronto ).  It is time for me to speak the truth on air.  It is time for me to undress Brian Cashman and his incompetent staff of talent evaluators, and player development experts.

I will be your leader, and I shall speak the truth.

I may have to flee the states and hide in a Russian airport when I am done.

I will do this because I am the force of good.

I am Mustang.

The LONE MUSTANG.

A seemingly deep thought about the Yankees

The last Yankee named "Lyle" was Sparky.

The Yanknado: We are swirling down the drain

Six games out and fading. Jeter unable to heal, A-Rod facing a ban, nobody at Scranton to inspire long-range hope, and - ouch - we lose to Minnesota, our Minnie Mouses, with another one-run outing. One and done: The 2013 team motto. The Unibombers.

I can't remember an All Star break with less hope. Will we really resume play next week in Boston with Travis Hafner and Vernon Wells batting three/four - pretending there is believe they'll hit? Last August, we finally punted on Andruw Jones, whose season mirrored that of both of our "sluggers." Last year, we had options. This year, who replaces them? Jayson Nix?

Our hope has dwindled to the point of waiting to learn what we'll get in a trade for Phil Hughes and Joba Chamberlain - two career Yankees who once embodied our future. Neither could ever measure up to our expectations. Soon, we will hang a dead bird around their necks and banish them to another city - one with hope - probably for little more than a right-handed Hafner. Does anyone not expect them to be revived, once free from the demoralizing Yankee outlook?

In the final weeks of 2008, the Yankees played so listlessly that a Greek chorus of critics, myself included, called for the trading of Robinson Cano. At one point, in the last gasp of our last meaningful game, he watched a ball roll into right field with barely a wave. That's what happens to hopeless Yankees in September, folks. That's how awful it gets. And right now, it sure looks as though we are going there.

We are going to have to start thinking about a backup subject for this blog. 

A seemingly deep thought about the Yankees

Considering Brett Gardners's streakiness, there is no way he can be nicknamed "The Constant" Gardner.

All this time, we weren't waiting for Jeter; we were waiting for Minnesota

It's rare to find a competitor who respects you, honors you, and who - in times of desperation - always extends to you the Helping Hand of Friendship. Yes, I'm talking about our heroes from the Iron Range. Hats off to our brothers from Minnesota, the Gopher State!

Too often, we take for granted those who aren't afraid to give more than they receive - players who are not always muttering "Me, me, me...!" - a team of fine fellows like the Twins. And during Hope Week, nobody restores more hope among Yankee fans than this bunch of stalwarts, who I am proud to call our opponent.

In the last 39 games, we are 32 and 7 against Minnesota, and I for one want to express this blessing of thanks:

Boys, while you're in the Big Apple, I hope each of you enjoys himself to the limit - back alley drug deals, late night punk shows, Ecstasy-laced dance raves and, of course, the finest hookers east of Trenton. We need two more games, Minnesota. That's all. Your job is nearly done. And on behalf of the Yankiverse, let me say "Thank you, o, Stars of the North."

"Bored to death:" Suzyn Waldman pans Moneyball

Yesterday, as their Yankees were defeating the Royals of Kansas City, John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman took listeners on a journey to the untruths of Tinsel Town, with a spontaneous review of the movie "Moneyball."

Because the movie came out after 1957, John refuses to watch it. But Suzyn was far from impressed. It's a good thing the Captain returned, or the mere memory would have put a blight upon an otherwise fine afternoon.

Spoiler alert: In the movie, Carlos Pena gets traded.

The Lone Sterling Photo

I may be crazy, but I think it is Mustang in that photo.

The Lone Mustang.

Is it possible that, all along, it has been Mustang and Suzyn broadcasting Yankee games on radio?

Look carefully at the photo.

Yes, it's Mustang.

I'm sure of it.

Open Letter to Baseball Juju Gods: We have had enough of your brutality

Dear Madams or Sirs,

OK, we get it. You enjoy shaking the ball of yarn, so that when we instinctively claw it, everything unravels and we become helplessly ensnarled. You know we cannot look away. It must be fun.

Shame on you. For shame...

Last winter, we sat out every free agent auction and scurried home with a yard sale Travis Hafner, a day's worth of Russell Canzler and 20 Reid Brignacs.

In the first days of Florida,  Grandy and Tex wrecked their wrists - and months later,  they came back for barely a week before getting hurt again.


On opening day, we crapped the hot tub against Boston. We lost Youkilis, Cervelli, Nunez and anybody who offered a ray of hope, all the way down to Ronnier Mustellier. 

Now, as MLB plans to short-circuit A-Rod's return, you have Jeter come back... for six innings? And he tweaks a gonad? Going for a MRI? Six innings? One day. Are you f---g kidding me? ONE DAY? 

This is wrong. Dammit, this is an outrage. This flies against reason. This is a naked attack on Yankee fans, and you won't get away with it. You think there's nothing we can do? Well, you're wrong. We have Yankee fan lawyers. We have Yankee fan soldiers. We have Yankee fan cab drivers, barbers and sheet metal workers - hordes willing to climb each other until we scale your outer wall, and then bite you on the other side. We will eat you. Understand? We will eat you.

I don't mind a hammy here and there. It reminds us of Rickie Henderson. But Jeter coming back...  for one day - one day. That's sick. That's just wrong. Something's happened to you. We know what you're doing: He'll be gone a month, and then need a full rehab, and then what - a wrist? No. We're not falling for it. We will not claw at your brightly colored yarn. This is cheap. This is bogus. You will not do this to us again and get away with it.

That's right. This is a warning: Don't push us, juju gods. Back off. That's right. Back off.

There are things we can do. I'm not going to list them. I'm going to let you think about them. But if you think the Yankiverse will sit on its hands while you tinker with the fates of our players - well, you have things to learn.

That's right. Things. To. Learn.

That's all I'm saying. Mums the word. This is not a threat. It's merely a statement of fact. Next time you start your car, juju gods, remember what I'm saying. By the way, would you like pictures of your children yesterday while on their way to day camp? Oh, yes, we know where they go to day camp. The counselors are Yankee fans. Die hard Yankee fans. 

So, do we understand ourselves? Jeet had better not be hurt. Right? I think you get it. There. I'm glad we had this talk. Now, go, shoe... run off and fix some games. I've got to study maps of your neighborhood. Did you know your dog is visible from nearby rooftops? 

The trial of John and Suzyn is still raging at the Times

The Times comments section is brimming over Dan Barry's satire of John and Suzyn.:

 jb20 My favorite worst Sterling comment this season: "Did you see that?! That was an amazing play by Cano. You'll never see that again." No - I DID NOT SEE THAT - I'm listening to the radio. I have no idea what kind of play it was, why it was amazing, or even if it was actually Cano who made the play. When out out of state I always try to get the opposing team's radiocast; if not available, I am stuck with the worst broadcast team in baseball. 

Bill B Sterling is corny as anything, but I love it. I find him incredibly entertaining, and I listen to Yankees games more often than I watch them. Been doing this since my mid 20s. His homerun calls are often laughable, but what's so bad about laughing? Listening to him, I can't help but laugh and shake my head during each game, and that makes it enjoyable. I'm sure John knows how corny he is, it's all part of the act. Suzyn, on the other hand, well her voice is just grating on my ears, so I am glad John does most of the talking.

RM  First, I am a Red Sox fan. I used to hate the pompous John Sterling approach to a game, and Waldman always acted as if she was so much of an insider. However, as time went on, I grew to appreciate their presentation as a parody of a real broadcast team, and now avidly listen for the humor. Its sort of like a World Wrestling approach to broadcasting an event. The one I cannot stand is Michael Kay. No matter how bad things are going, it is as if he has some kind of data base computer to find some statistic that is very positive for the Yankees... He would have been a great propaganda announcer in 1944 Germany, spinning battlefield losses into victories.

Brendan The only thing missing from this piece is a Sterling home run call where the ball does not even reach the fence.  

Imagine a worse lineup than the Yankees...

And you can see it in Syracuse next month.

Debating John & Suzyn At The New York Times

This piece by Dan Barry, who complains (fairly) that the Hertz 24/7 Broadcast Booth play-by-play contains too many commercial messages and (unfairly) that John never lets Suzyn talk, has ignited a hot comment war on the state of the New York Yankees Radio Network.

133 comments so far.

Bob Sheppard returning to Yankee Stadium

Those words, that voice:

"Ladies and gentlemen... now batting... the shortstop... number two... Derek Jeter..."

On behalf of the Yankees and MLB, the ghost of Dick Young attacks A-Rod

It was interesting this week to read Billy Madden's tribute to Tom Seaver, who is recovering from Lyme disease and will throw out the first pitch Tuesday at the All-Star game. The Daily News wasn't always so supportive of Tom Terrific. In fact, its lead baseball columnist from the 1970s, Dick Young - Madden's predecessor - ran Seaver out of New York, trashing his Met career and even attacking his wife.

Imagine that.

Well, today, here's Madden in the Daily News ripping A-Rod in ways that would put a smile on Young's dusty corpse. (The Village Voice, years after Young's death, satirized his style in a segment called "Dateline: Hell.) Of course, today's official rule among writers is to never speak of A-Rod unless you condemn him.  And I shouldn't lump A-Rod into the same kettle as Seaver, who was never accused of juicing. But for pure unadulterated hypocrisy, I think today's writers can measure up to the greats of the past.

In today's attack, Madden says:

1. A-Rod will never play for the Yankees.
2. His rehab is a charade, so he can collect the remaining 4 years on his contract.
3. He isn't any good.
4. MLB might punish A-Rod for "procuring and/or compensating the attorneys for the witnesses they have been interviewing," (in order words, mounting a defense.)
5. He should be banned from the game permanently.


Alex Rodriguez has become a constant embarrassment to baseball and a living, breathing, still-playing symbol of the steroid era, which continues to plague the game and dog Selig’s legacy.  The sooner he goes away — for good — the better off everyone, including A-Rod, will be.

So there you have it. A writer who has broken many exclusives, straight from the Yankee brass, is firing silver bullets at the last twitching corpse of the 2013 season.

As Yankee fans, we're supposed to board the A-Rod Hate Wagon and support the team on its quest to escape the contract that it foisted upon him. Our job is to forget everything that has happened over the last 20 years.  Once the "living, breathing, still-playing symbol of the steroid era" goes away, we will all be free.

Just forget. Let MLB ban him, and forget.

Next winter, the Yankees can sign a couple new Travis Hafners and settle into a comfortable mediocrity, chasing the annual Wild Card slot, until eventually, we stink enough to accrue high draft picks and build a winner the Washington Nationals way. Just forget A-Rod was ever here. Forget the Yankees were ever the gold standard. Forget. And who knows, 30 years from now, maybe some enterprising Daily News columnist will phone A-Rod at his assisted living facility and say how great it is to talk with him again!

Meanwhile, the 2013 season looms like one of those NFL games where the replacement refs throw a flag on every down, and then call pass interference on the final play, literally dictating who wins.

And then is the other little stinker issue, the one so conveniently avoided, if we can get rid of A-Rod. With steroids as rampant as they have been for the last 40 years - (the allegations go back to Mickey Mantle in the '60s)  - what was known within each organization, up to the owners themselves? For years, outsiders took one look at the Giambis, the Clemenses and the Cansecos and recognized unbridled steroid use. But the writers somehow pretended not to notice. And in the 1990s, when baseball homered its way back into post-strike popularity, the only sound the owners made about steroids was the flap of eyelids winking.

Talk about a "charade?"

I've never known a star like A-Rod. I can imagine a self-absorbed monster, witnessed up close, is no pretty sight. He probably has earned every ugly paragraph ever written about him. Still, when guys repeatedly get savaged by sportswriters, those of us who are old enough to remember Dick Young cannot help but wince.

He started as a great writer, one of the first to patrol the clubhouse. Some even say he birthed the modern sportswriter profession. Then he drank his own Kool-Aid - with gin. Young stopped trying to hear the other sides of stories. He ripped Jim Bouton for "Ball Four," even though it was basically the same stuff Young had once championed writing about. He attacked the unions, which he hated. He called Howard Cosell "Howie the Shill," and his bashing of Eddie Murray was borderline racist. When Seaver publicly complained that the Mets owners weren't trying to keep their stars - (no truer words were ever expressed, by the way) - Young became the Mets' snarling attack dog. In columns, he not only ripped Seaver but he started in on Seaver's wife, Nancy. And so it went: Seaver left New York, saying he'd had enough.

That didn't stop Young. He relentlessly pounded Seaver as "greedy," because the guy wanted a better contract. Then - as if to prove God has a sense of humor when it comes to shameful boars - in 1981, four years after running Seaver out of New York, Young broke his contract with the Daily News and moved to the Post - for more money.

He started as a great, ended as an embarrassment. Sound familiar?

Maybe Madden is right. Maybe A-Rod is in this for the money. I still wouldn't fault him. The Yankees have plenty of money. To let a columnist poor-mouth on behalf of the Steinbrenner twins - that's borderline Bond supervillain stuff. But I suspect A-Rod is somewhat of a nutcase, by now. He doesn't need the money. He just wants one last chance at the game, the crowds, the glory. I bet he'd chuck all the money for one last good year. Because after baseball - considering his tarnished image - it's going to be a long drought. How much can you sit by the pool?

Finally - (yeesh, this screed went way too long, I apologize) - I am amazed at how happily baseball - a game whose popularity revolves around history - is so determined to erase the existence of its stars. The Hall of Fame will never include Barry Bonds, Pete Rose, Roger Clemens and now Alex Rodriguez - the best players of their generations, with or without drugs. We have an industry bent upon devouring its stars. Soon, Bud Selig will be taking a victory laugh, while the media cheers and a new set of sluggers compete in the home run derby. How many of them will someday - when they're making too much money - be hounded from the game?

Something here is horribly wrong, and the writers who feed that sickness are just as guilty as any player who ever jabbed a needle into his body. Where have you gone, Red Smith, our nation turns its lonely eyes to you...

OverBlast !!!

The one old guy who has battled all year, and come through with the most significant big hits is Mr. Overbay.

Last night, he passed up on ball four with the bases loaded, and took a cut instead.  It landed in the left field seats and was scored a, " grand slam."

He broke the game open, which is a rarity for this team.

He has played more games than any other washed up player on the team.  His defense has saved about 20 errors from the left side of our infield, and robbed the opposition of 26 hits and numerous runs.

Basically, he has made us forget Tex.

Unfortunately, he is squeezing the last fumes out of his baseball tank but let's give him a rouse.

It will be an unforgettable season for him, particularly when he gets to play with Jeter.

It is also an unforgettable season for we, the fans.

 In the sense of torture, failure and hopelessness.

From the official transcript: The People v. A-Rod

July 11, 2013 (Official Major League Baseball Document) TRANSCRIPT:

MLB: Testing, one-two-three. Hello, Myrtle? This is Ted. Fill in the legal blah-blahs. We’re here with Mr. Rodriguez, his lawyers, the Commissioner and our task force, the Ryan Braun Fan Club. Guys, guys, that's just a joke. Myrtle, I wish you could see the smiles. Ready, everybody?

For the record, everybody here nodded, except for Mr. Selig, who has made a puppet out of his hairpiece and used it to mouth the word “yes.” For the record, the man is a delight.

Let me also state that we have duly informed The Suspect that one single lie - any falsehood - will bring about his suspension, plus erasure of all achievements in baseball records. All his hits will be distributed to a pool of players including Charlie Hayes, Rickie Ledee and Clay Bellinger.

OK, please state your name and Yankee number.

DEFENDANT:  Alex Rodriguez, number thirteen.

MLB: So... I hear that you’re a real tough guy, a superstar, a Mr. Big, a man who bagged Madonna, a smart cookie, the hombre known as “A-Rod,” am I right?

DEFENDANT: I decline to speak under my Fifth Amendment rights.

MLB: Hooookay? Looks like we got ourselves a real Marcel Marceau, eh? Too bad, A-Rod. I thought you were supposed to be smarter than Ryan Braun. Is that how you plan to hit Verlander? He throws a curve, so you take the Fifth? Listen, Bartolo, I thought we could talk, you know, man to man. I mean, everybody takes some crazy ass pills now and then, right? Aint no shame in playin’ the game... right?  

DEFENDANT: I’m not sure I understand what you said.

MLB: Yo, smartypants, work with me. I’m talking juice, parsley… linseed oil, if you catch my meaning. See that man, Mr. Selig? Last year, the docs said he suffered from low-T. Couldn’t get a rise from an elevator. Now look at him. Thank you, Mr. Selig, you can put down the couch. Come on, A-Rod. We know you juice. Everybody does. How often? Once a day? Twice? When I juice, my pee turns orange? Your pee ever turn orange?

DEFENDANT: I decline to comment based on the Fifth-

MLB: Yeah, right, the Daily News Fifth. Well, I’m taking that answer as a “Yes,” that you pee orange, and you’re probably peeing right now. Let the record show the suspect is blinking, and probably peeing, because we’re onto him.

DEFENDANT: You’re peeing - I mean, playing - with my words.

MLB: I’m taking that as another “Yes.” Quick now, A-Rod, name this person: I’m long, thin and have a point, and on occasion, I’m in the Biogenesis office, and I am sticking out of A-Rod’s caboose. Name me?

DEFENDANT: I don’t know. Joe Torre?

MLB: No, dammit, I’m Pointy McNeedle, and before I entered A-Rod's shiny butt, I took a long drink of something. Yup, I filled up like a camel, and what was it that I drank?

DEFENDANT: Beer, wine? I don’t know.

MLB: It was Human Super-Being Transformational Nectar, like what the secret American scientists gave Captain America, so he could defeat the Nazis? Remember Captain America, A-Rod? When you had that needle in your butt, did you think you were Captain America, fighting the Nazis? Because you’re no Captain America. You were just fighting Jason Varitek. Is that why you juiced?

DEFENDANT: No. NO! You're wrong. No!

MLB: I’m taking that as a “Yes.” Dammit, you’re a worse liar than Papi.  I’m warning you, Thirteen: One lie, and you are gone. Mr. Selig will throw you out of this building like a bag of lice. Take all the super-power serum you want, but you’re no Captain America.

DEFENDANT: No, I don't need to-

MLB: Hah. Gotcha. You don't need to, because you already did! Fifty games in the penalty box! No more questions, your honor. Book him, Myrtle. And Mr. Selig, get down from that desk.

The only Met I ever loved will throw out the first pitch in the All-Star Game

Nobody coaxed out more Scooter poetry than Tom Seaver.

Last night, the Yankees even drained all the energy from Adam Sandler

Last night, in the middle of another one-run debacle, the YES Team welcomed comedian Adam Sandler to its Booth of Death. And if viewers inched forward in their seats, expecting a funny song or patter of jokes, well, it was like listening to a retired librarian interview her former accountant for an NPR Storycorp.
 Sandler spoke in a hushed tone, so meekly you barely caught his words. Kay coaxed answers and babbled like a midway barker, touting Sandler as the funniest man in Hollywood and a knowledgeable Yankee fan, to boot! To which Sandler then regaled the YES-sirs by saying of Brett Gardner, "He's really fast."

Together, they promoted Michael Kay's upcoming appearance in Sandler's movie, which, thankfully, is not Jack and Jill II. 

Yep, even HOPE Week stops now and then for a free plug.

Later, Kay blathered about what a magnificent guy Sandler is - no ego, whatsoever, none! And who knows, maybe Sandler is a fine fellow. But this Yankee team has wracked up another achievement: It even makes Adam Sandler sound dull.

Hopeless in HOPE Week

Every year, for one week, the Yankees do good deeds.  They visit sick children and give attention to worthy causes.  You can't mock or criticize HOPE Week. It's a wonderful thing. But I can never forget that it's also the week Hideki Irabu committed suicide.

Yankee HOPE week has a tinge of "Ronald McDonald House" self-promotion. Yes, it's a great gesture, but it would be a little greater if they didn't parlay it so deftly into a p.r. blitz. It's like the Full-Employment Act for publicists. Still, if we're looking for purity or morality in sports - that ship sailed long ago, eh?

But make no mistake about the '13 Yankees: They have killed hope within their fan base. It's sad, because the team has fought hard to get where it is - fourth place in the AL East. And you can't blame the players, in the old Mel Hall or Raul Mondesi way. Travis Hafner and Vernon Wells are fine fellows. But when they step to the plate, I now leave the room.

I can't take it anymore. I cannot bear to watch them go through their mating dances with retirement. I can't watch another pop-up, grounder or whiff on a curve ball in the dirt. Hafner's biggest clutch at-bat recently was a four-pitch walk, while John and Suzyn marveled at his ability to not swing. Wells' moment in the sun came a moment later, in a double-play ground ball punched through a drawn-in infield. It drove home the winning run, and we doused him with Gatorade. Then they went back to their pop-ups.

I've fallen into the abyss - the sense that we're better off if they never get another hit. These small rays of hope merely prolong the agony.

Nobody in the minors can save this team. If Jeter and A-Rod were 10 years younger and healthy, they might rouse this offense. Now, it's going to be sad. This weekend, we'll likely rush Jeter back before he's ready. And today, A-Rod goes before Bud Selig's Clown Court, which - if ESPN is correct - has already reached its verdict. In fact, it made its decision months ago.

Nobody is coming in a trade. We are a team built from the scrap heap, and whenever I see a Cespedes or Puig, or a Harper or a Trout, I want to cry. It's been eight years since we welcomed a young, rising star - Robbie Cano. Now, could anyone blame him for running to a team next winter that will actually be trying to build a winner?

How can we be so hopeless?

Well, cheer up, dammit! We are on target to make our $189 million payroll! Rejoice, Yankiverse! And let us praise the Yankees for their good deeds. They are restoring fiscal integrity to the organization and helping a downtrodden charity - the Mets - become New York's top baseball team. (Look around, folks, they already are.) It's HOPE Week somewhere - no, everywhere - except here.