The 1st place Indians lost who should be their best player for the 3rd time this year with a knee injury.
Sizemore has never been the same for the passed 3 years, and last year was out 10 months due to microfracture surgery. He wasn't having the best year this year hitting around .240 with 10 hrs and 30 rbis, but he's been injured a lot.
The Indians have been amazing this year figuring they have been able to still be in 1st place after 92 games with that slapstick line up and rotation.
Indians outfielder Shin-Soo Choo could miss up to 2½ months after having surgery on his broken left thumb. ESPN
1st the guy gets a DUI, then he forgets how to hit, then breaks his thumb and is now out a billion weeks.
The Indians have slowed down significantly from their ridiculously hot start and now with losing presumably their best players, this only spells more trouble for the Tribe. Choo is a big part of their offense and even though he wasn't hitting that great he was still very aggressive on the base paths. I don't expect the Indians to be in it once he comes back so this won't do much, but is definitely the nail in the coffin.
Home run derby time as the Red Sox beat the shit out of the Indians started off with 7 quick runs and ended up winning 14-2. In the 14 runs the Red Sox had 4 homeruns, Pedroia hit a 2-run homer in the 1st, Crawford hit a solo shot in the 3rd, Ortiz had a solo homer in the 6th, then the next 2 batters reached after Papi, and Salty brought them in with a 3-run shot.
Everyone on the Sox got at least 2 hits except Jed Lowrie who went 0-5.
Jon Lester was great. Lester went 6 innings, gave up only 3 hits, no runs, 1 walk, and struck out 7. Lester has a major league best 7 wins.
We were up on the Yankees for an hour, but they ended up winning.... gay
The Sox finally beat the Indians, and with Lester on the hill one would think they should be able to win another one today. In a rare day game we get Lester vs. Mitch Talbot.
Mitch Talbot (1-0, 1.46), who has been on the disabled list since April 17 due to a strained throwing elbow get the start for the Indians. Personally, I think he sucks. I know every time I say that the player goes out and has a great game, but this guy throw garbage. Talbot's season debut came against the Red Sox, when he allowed 2 runs, 5 hits and 3 walks over 4 1/3 innings of Cleveland's 8-4 victory. You can tell that even though he only allowed 2 runs, he was far from strong in that game. I think today Boston capitalizes and blows this guy up.
Lester is 3-1 with a 3.93 ERA in 9 career starts versus the Indians. He is also an amazing 8-0 with a 3.16 ERA in 10 May starts over the past two seasons. Lester has won his last two start, but has been far from sharp. He has allowed a total of 14 runs over his last 3 games, including 12 hits against the Cubs last time out. The Red Sox really need him to step up, and be an ace (along with Beckett), which the starting rotation looking thin. I expect 7 innings from him every time out, something he hasn't done in each of the last 3 games. Lester is too good to struggle for long, so today would be a perfect day to go out and throw a gem.
Red Sox win 7-1 Players of the Game: Lester/Gonzalez Game starts at 12:05pm
***LINEUP***
Kevin Youkilis has a sore left hand, the result of a fielding play last night, and is out of the lineup, but Pedroia is back. Here is the rest of the lineup...
Ellsbury, CF Pedroia, 2B Gonzalez, 1B Ortiz, DH Lowrie, SS Crawford, LF Saltalamacchia, C Cameron, RF Sutton, 3B
That's what Josh Beckett was screaming after he was relieved by Rich Hill in the 7th after walking a batter. Rich Hill promptly struck out Jack Hannahan causing Josh Beckett to expressing his true feelings towards Cleveland and earning his first win at the Jake. Hill worked the 8th only allowing a walk. Papelbon worked the ninth and despite giving up his first home run of the year to Travis Buck, gets his ninth save of the year.
Beckett was really good tonight, 6 2/3 innings, five hits, and allowing one run in the second. Beckett's ERA this year is now a ridiculous 1.69 on the season.
Adrian Gonzalez and Jed Lowrie both drove runs in and David Ortiz is the only member of the Sox who had a multi-hit game, going 2-for-4.
The Sox have battled out of one of their worst starts to a season they have ever had, but they still (like much of the league) haven't figured out the Indians. Tonight they will get another shot with Beckett going against Carmona.
Beckett has been awesome this year (3-1 1.73 ERA), but had to leave last game with a stiff neck. Hopefully that is gone tonight, and he can get back to dominating, because the Sox can't afford to lose another starting pitcher. Beckett has not been very good against the Indians going 0-3 with a 6.48 ERA in 3 starts.
Meanwhile, Carmona has been pretty damn good against the Sox with a 1.69 ERA his last 4 starts against Boston. Carmona is a guy who lives for ground balls, so the Sox are going to need to find a way to elevate the ball. They also need to be patient, as Carmona has had a tendency to walk a lot of guys (though not this year 19 in 64 1/3 innings).
The Red Sox haven't dropped seven in a row in Cleveland since a 12-game skid Aug. 23, 1931-Sept. 15, 1932. The streak has to stop somewhere, so I say it stops tonight.
Red Sox win 6-3 Player of the Game: Ortiz Game starts 7:05pm
Daniel Bard sucks... He's on my shit list for a while.
Daniel Bard came in with 1 out and 1 on in the 8th and couldn't get the job done as the Indians scored twice and took the first game 3-2.
Clay Buchholz had another good start as he went 7.1 innning, struck out 4 and let up 2 er.
Dustin Pedroia left the game with an unknown leg injury that was sustained when he rounded second and seemed to get his feet caught up. No word on what the injury may be.
Carl Crawford hit his second homer of the season, a solo shot in the 5th, that gave the Red Sox the 2-1 lead. But Clutch wasn't so clutch last night as he hit into a double play with a man on 1st and 3rd.
The Indians went from being the laughing stock of the MLB last year to so far posting one of the best record in baseball (29-15). One top of that they have swept all three games they played the Sox this year, but the Sox are a much different team now.
The Sox have gone a major league-best 23-11 since April 16. Adrian Gonzalez looks like an MVP, Ellsbury looks like a leadoff hitter, and Ortiz is swinging like it's 2007. Still, there are some problems with this team. Dice-K/Lackey are both on the DL, and the bullpen hasn't been all that stable. That shouldn't hurt them too much tonight though with Buchholz on the hill.
Buchholz is 4-3 with a 3.42 ERA, which is decent, but is 3-0 with a 1.40 ERA in his four starts, so he is really starting to look more like the guy we saw last year. Going against him is our old friend Masterson, who has been stellar (5-2 2.52 ERA). On top of that Masterson is 2-0 with a 0.64 ERA against the Sox in his career. He is going to be tough against a lineup that can have trouble against lefties.
I am putting my trust in Buchholz tonight, and Gonzalez is so hot right now I think they squeak by in this game.
If you haven't noticed, the Mets are actually playing pretty good baseball these days. I know, I'm shocked, too, but the numbers don't lie. New York has won six straight games and jumped to a high-water mark of nine games over .500 for the season, leaving them just a half-game behind Atlanta and three ahead of the suddenly listless Phillies, whose offense seems to have come back to Earth after two outrageously productive seasons. Meanwhilst, New York, which had an offense that decided to take the day off every time its ace was on the mound, has suddenly been pounding the ball, including last night when the Amazins strung together four straight doubles in a five-run third inning of their 8-4 win over Cleveland, the first time they had turned that trick since matching the feat against the Dodgers on July 21, 1991.
Of course, while it is obviously exciting for Mets fans -- after all, the team is a Major-League best 17-5 since May 21st -- it has to be kept in at least some perspective. In this case, five straight wins, albeit on the road, against the Orioles (one of which I attended in Baltimore) and Indians, two of the worst teams in baseball, should be seen as less of an achievement than taking care of business. You can't blame the teams on your schedule, but at the same time, to be a contender you have to beat the teams you're supposed to beat. Right now, the Mets are doing just that, and with the bats and the rotation flourishing -- the starters are 16-3 with a 2.61 ERA in the last 27 games -- they are making quite a charge at contention.
The only question now is staying there, and while manager Jerry Manuel might be ludicrously putting his faith in Hisanori Takahashi and R.A. Dickey, Buster Olney is reporting that upper management isn't quite so optimistic. And thank goodness for that. After frustrating fans with their refusal to go after a potential big fish at the trading deadline, the Mets, as one of the few buyers on the market, are poised to bolster their starting rotation with some huge addition along the lines of Roy Oswalt, Ben Sheets or Cliff Lee. And all signs seem to imply that the Mets are going to get one of them.
And at that point, who knows what could happen.
It's foolish to start fitting the players for rings just yet, obviously, and this has been a notoriously streaky team for most of this year, but if the offense can keep the Mets hot into September, well, a top three of Johan Santana, Mike Pelfrey and, say, Roy Oswalt, in that stadium, would be awfully nasty to go up against in a short series. Now, many sources are reporting that with concerns about the cost of his contract, Oswalt would be a less likely target than Lee or Sheets, but the Mets can handle the cost and taking all those dollars off Drayton McLane's books might mean surrendering less in the way of prospects, whereas Seattle might require John Niese's future to make the pieces fit for Lee, who is more than likely to test the free agent market this winter. Oswalt could be guaranteed to pitch at Citi through 2012.
Ben Sheets is a solid option, also, but either way, the Mets are at an exciting juncture of the season, and after last year's nightmare 70-92 campaign, you'll have to excuse us if we're getting bold enough to dream.
And here I thought the most outlandish dreams I was having these days was a deep run for the U.S. in South Africa. After Saturday's 1-1 tie against the Brits in the opening round, which I attempted to watch among the monstrous hordes at Dupont Circle this weekend, a win tomorrow against Slovenia could nearly assure the Yanks of getting through to the knockout stage.
Of course, Slovenia can't be underrated. After the Swiss turned the tournament upside down yesterday with an upset of Spain, it's clear any team can win any game, but the U.S. should be considered the favorite, and amidst signs that soccer fever just might be catching on around here, the buzz generated by a second-round berth could be pretty fun to see for football fans like myself.
It should also be noted that the with Argentina's 4-1 win this morning over South Korea, the scoring may finally be opening up in South Africa. While South Korea may be stinging from a brutal loss that could all but end its hopes of advancing to the knockout stage, at least the Taeguk Warriors can take solace in the fact that unlike some less fortuitous sabre-rattling neighbors, they can actually send their own fans to the tournament. It's not over and stranger things have happened in the World Cup, but South Korea seems unlikely to recover either in points or in goal differential. Then again, it's still early in the group stage. Who knows how it will all wind up.
As far as that other football is concerned, I've spent the last week sifting through the implications of what was nearly the destruction of the college football landscape as we know it, but instead is just a few moves that still leaves the shaky Big XII in tact with 10 teams while the Big Ten added Nebraska to give them 12.
Yep. Strange.
I don't know that I've gotten used to considering Nebraska a Big Ten team just yet, but I'm awfully curious to see if the schedules for the next three seasons that will now be thrown out put a wrinkle into my plans to see Northwestern visit BC in September of 2011. An impact on non-conference games seems unlikely, but the implementation of divisions will turn the typical Big Ten schedule unrecognizably upside down. I'm awfully curious to see how it all winds up.
Lastly, I've made note of how bizarre it is to see Giants Stadium disappearing piece by piece before, but as it stands -- or doesn't stand -- this morning, the final part of the building is ready to collapse, and the Giants and Jets have already begun practicing in their brand-spankin' new facilities, with disastrous results in some cases. Either way, while the new stadium is no doubt going to be beautiful, it will still seem eerie the first time I'm back in East Rutherford. Of course if they win, I won't really mind.
And now, back to the most exciting sport there is. Open wide, people.
Yes, I know many of you would probably expect me to continue talking about the Mets, who, amazingly won their seventh in a row yesterday to stay atop the NL East by completing their first sweep of the Dodgers in 15 years. Exciting time are afoot in Queens, as New York takes its 1/2-game lead into Philadelphia this weekend for the first major challenge of the season. Of course, it would have been 1 1/2 games were it not for a late rally by the Phils in San Francisco yesterday, but I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth.
First place is first place, even if April is still April.
But the more pressing an exciting news comes in the way of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, which, after a wild Game 7 that saw the No. 1 team in the League blow a 3-1 series lead in the opening round, hits Round 2 tonight with no break whatsoever -- a rarity for the NHL. Instead Mega Shark Versus Giant Octopus gets underway in San Jose tonight, with the rest of the second round following suit tomorrow and Saturday. These aren't exactly the matchups I was expecting, peculiarly the 4, 6, 7 and 8 seeds were the ones to advance in the Eastern Conference, and with no Devils and no Capitals getting in the way I can't possibly imagine a scenario in which Sidney Crosby and the Penguins don't get to the Stanley Cup Finals.
And a rematch with the Wings for the third straight year doesn't seem all that crazy either. But of course, that's why they play the games.
And to that end, here are my certain to be just as wrong as they were in the first round predictions for the second round of your Stanley Cup Playoffs.
Eastern Conference (4) Pittsburgh over (8) Montreal in five games (6) Boston over (7) Philadelphia in six games
Western Conference (1) San Jose over (5) Detroit in seven games (2) Chicago over (3) Vancouver in six games
Yeah, I'm willing to bet at least on of those doesn't turn out right, probably Boston and Philadelphia, which some of you may recall is a rematch of this year's Winter Classic, and while I make no secret of disdaining Philadelphia, my only real hope for the rest of the playoffs is that the Blackhawks win the Stanley Cup.
Of course, knowing my luck in the playoffs so far, they'll probably get swept.
Lastly, I came across this news item on ESPN.com today stating that, according to a report by the Nielsen Company, the most hated team in Major League Baseball is... wait for it .... yep, just who you thought it'd be.
The Cleveland Indians.
Wait, what? A team that continually has its heart broken and hasn't won a World Series in 62 years is the most hated franchise in the sport? I see no way that this is feasibly possible. For one thing, I've had nothing but pleasant experiences seeing the Indians in person. For another, Cleveland isn't exactly a city that overwhelms you with its power and arrogance.
It's Cleveland, for heaven's sake.
And lastly, their mascot, Slider, is adorable. I mean look at him. As I told a friend earlier today, the only thought in my mind when I see him is to pinch his cheek and call him "Shookums".
Even that Roger Dorn, is kind of fun in his own assholish way. Now, I know the Indians lose some cache now that Pedro Cerrano has called it quits, but seriously, someone please explain to me what is eminently hateable about this team in anyway.
I'll buy you a cookie if you can convince me. Let the contest begin.
It’s a dirty not-so-secret of mine that despite my masochistic dedication to the New York Mets, my parents are both Yankees fans. It helps that their early lives took place when only one Major League Baseball team was in New York, but in the case of my mother, it helps even more when you grow up with Archie and Jughead in the Riverdale section of the Bronx. My father grew up in the Westchester town of White Plains, and while his grandfather was an enormous New York Giants fans – a picture of my father as a toddler in a black and orange uniform is reputed to exist somewhere – by my father’s 7th birthday there were no New York baseball Giants. With nowhere else to go, he held fast to the pinstripes, though it should be noted that for years after I was born he continued wearing his White Plains High School Class of ’69 T-Shirt, which prominently featured a pennant of the Miracle Mets.
I grew up in a different world. While my father occasionally humored me by pulling for the Amazins my mother made no such ambivalence over her loyalty. That is not to say she didn’t appreciate my fandom. She and I went to dozens of Mets games together over the years, but she made no illusions. She pulled for the Bombers. That was that.
Considering her love for the Yankees, something seemed appropriate about the New Yankee Stadium opening on her 55th birthday, but when I attempted to buy us a pair of tickets, the prices were so high even I couldn’t justify it. And then a plan was hatched. Rather than take my mother to Opening Day at the Stadium for her birthday for what would have been at least $500 for nosebleeds, it seemed a far better idea to get better seats for far cheaper to the second game for not just her and I, but the entire family, with a dinner in the Stadium’s steakhouse beforehand.
Because apparently new stadiums have those things.
Unfortunately, the best laid plans of Mets and Yankees, as they often do, ran astray. After tickets were purchased for the Friday night game against Cleveland on April 17, 2009, the game time was shifted to a 1 p.m. start, which threw an awfully large wrench with my sister, brother and sister-in-law to be all working 9-to-5. My brother and his girlfriend would only be able to make it for dinner afterwards, while my sister would be late. All of this put the screws on three extra tickets that had to be dealt with.
With the date fast approaching, my mother’s close friend, Emily and her son Harry, who was one of my close companions for most of my childhood, took two of the tickets and the final one I managed to sell online – at a profit no less.
With the anxiety gone and the day here, I gathered myself on the subway to check out my 15th Major League stadium. My sister Stephanie would be meeting us at the stadium while my mother, Emily and Harry would drive in from New Jersey. I arrived early for my requisite picture taking, and as the subway pulls up near the park, it’s pretty hard to miss. Indeed it dwarfs the rest of the area, fulfilling an intended impression of massiveness. The building sits across the street from the Old Yankee Stadium, which, at the time of Opening Day for the new park was still standing, albeit eerily empty.
The pinstripes’ new home and the various plazas around it bustled, however, with many people playing tourist just like myself. The most noticeable external feature of the building is the limestone wall that surrounds it. While most new stadiums opt for the aged friendly feel of brick on the exterior, Yankee Stadium doesn’t want to be friendly. It wants to intimidate. It wants you to know that you are not walking into a baseball stadium. You are walking into a temple.
And for $1.5 billion, it ought to. That was the price tag for the building, at the time the second most expensive stadium ever built after the renovated Wembley Stadium in London. The $1.5 billion nearly went for naught after a construction worker, who was also a Red Sox fan, boasted he had put a hex on the new building by placing a David Ortiz jersey in the concrete while on the job. As I’ve said, with the exception of the Chicago Cubs, curses are silly, but sports bring out a peculiar anxiety in the masses, and fake or not, the threat of constantly playing on top of buried Red Sox paraphernalia was of deep concern not only to Yankee fans, but the club’s front office.
Of course, at the time I first showed up that was a ways off. Things hadn’t been hunky dory in the Bronx – the Yankees were coming off their first non-playoff season since 1995 – and it was important to open the pinstripes’ new home with a bang. They didn’t get it the day before. Cleveland beat the Yankees in their first regular season game there, 10-2. Not that this was the worst thing for me. Despite not being a Yankee fan, I still appreciate history, and the team’s home opening loss afforded us the chance to see the first win at the new home.
I took several pictures around the stadium’s external façade. Its limestone was inspired by the original pre-renovation Yankee Stadium and it makes the building seem more fit for the National Mall in Washington than it does for the Bronx. It is, indeed a beautiful and impressive exterior. After rendez-vousing with my mother, Emily and Harry, there were more pictures to take before we finally entered.
Interestingly, the limestone walls are less a wall than an outer shell, which might explain why the plot of land the New Yankee Stadium covers is dramatically larger than the old one. Between the limestone walls and the seating areas is a huge, open, naturally lit area known as “The Great Hall”. While it is decorated with banners and signs echoing the club’s rich history, “great” seems like a bit of a dramatic adjective for a building that hadn’t actually had anything great happen in it yet.
But as the family Mets fan, who am I to argue?
Along the inside it seems as if every square inch of wall space has been set aside for some purpose to symbolize Yankee history, and when you reach the seating area, which continues to reinforce the franchise’s richness and importance, the full impression is complete. If the purpose of Citi Field was to provide you with an adorable, care-free family outing at the ballpark, the New Yankee Stadium’s aim was to impress upon you the grandeur of its tenants. And it pulls it off with flying colors, with the icing on the cake, and personally my favorite aspect, being the wonderful white frieze that crowns the upper deck.
The white fencing was a key characteristic of the original building when it opened in 1923, but when George Steinbrenner renovated the building in the mid-70s, select sections of the frieze were moved to the outfield while the rest of the stadium was bereft. In the decades since, the team acknowledged a mistake was made, and the frieze has since become a symbol incorporated into the franchise that is as ubiquitous as the interlocking NY. The frieze featured prominently in the stadium’s inaugural season logo and mini friezes adorn the top of each player’s locker.
The frieze was a reminder. It may be in a different place, but this was still the Yankees’ home. In fact, great lengths were made to ensure that the New Yankee Stadium was less a change for cash than an update necessitated by the wear on the old building. Of course, that cash did flow. In its opening season, seat prices ranged as high as $2,625 per seat for a regular season game. Unfortunately for the front office, the stadium opened in the midst of a recession and the embarrassment of empty seats behind home plate, as well as the bad press that came with such high prices while a segment of the fan base was seeking work, prompted the team to cut the cost of the most expensive seats in half.
Because $1,250 is clearly more affordable.
We were not sitting in those fancy chairs, nor in any of the other upper class clubs around the building. We sat in the northern reaches of the upper deck, but behind home plate. Perhaps what is most remarkable about the building is that when you sit in your seat it doesn’t feel like you’re in a different building. Certainly it feels newer, cleaner and, given the wider seats, roomier, but it still feels like Yankee Stadium. And considering the team went to pained extremes to ensure that, it makes sense.
The field itself has the exact same dimensions with the lone exception being a backstop that is now 20 feet closer. While the players must have felt as though they were at familiar environs, however, the stadium didn’t play like it. Perhaps it was the slightly different angle of the building or the vaguely different construction of the outfield stands, but as the Yankees would find over the next six months, baseballs flew out to right field at a stunning pace. Through 23 games at the stadium, 87 dingers would be clocked out of the yard. Right field itself was considered a major culprit, with heavy criticism levied by the media and the park being decried as a joke by some. Numerous wind studies were commissioned but as of the first year at the stadium no certain reason had been determined.
Tensions eased when the pace of homers slowed over the course of the season, but Yankee Stadium’s reputation as Coors Field East, would be firmly entrenched, and true to form, the Yankees won their first game at the new park that day by way of the long ball. A solo home run by none other than uber Yankee Derek Jeter in the 8th inning provided the margin of victory, with Mariano Rivera appropriately nailing down the save in the 9th. Jeter’s homer was the fifth by a Yankee that day.
Despite being stunned that the urinals were already dirty, and confused as to why the Yankees were showing H&R Block Provided Tax Tips on the jumbotron two days after taxes were due, the rest of the experience couldn’t be argued with. From the frieze, to the sightlines, to the hand-managed scoreboard along the outfield walls, the stadium feels like a cathedral, a place befitting the most decorated franchise in American sports.
And despite my own opinions of the Steinbrenner family, they got it right.
With our dinner reservations at NYY Steak in the right field corner waiting, we stayed in our seats while most of the fans filed out to the blaring Frank Sinatra. All the traditions remained to a T. We headed to the restaurant where Elliott and Danielle arrived for dinner and while I felt my porterhouse was slightly overcooked, the meal was a pleasant coda to my mother’s birthday. The restaurant itself doesn’t look over the field, but it does have a wall with the signatures of nearly every famous Yankee ever. In addition, my dessert, was a ball of ice cream topped with chocolate, toffee and a flaming shot of Bacardi 151 rum. They tell you the alcohol burns off, but that is a complete lie. It was the drunkest I’d ever gotten from dessert.
I was quite smug paying for the dinner with my New York Mets credit card, but given that I was going to be back the next day, that may not have been the wisest move. My stepmother had decided months earlier to buy tickets for herself, my father, my stepbrother Jake and I for a Saturday afternoon game, and while I wasn’t necessarily going to have the time to explore the stadium nearly as much, given that we were seated with the Bleacher Creatures I was sure to be entertained.
Fans who spend their days beyond the right field wall at Yankee Stadium are notorious for their dedication, rowdiness and enforced sobriety. Beginning in 2000, the Yankees had banned beer sales in the bleachers in an attempt to curb the wild behavior of its denizens, but this was tenuously overturned for the new building. While we would be in the right field bleachers, we were fortunate enough not to be in the almost comically ill-placed seats at the edge of the section that are next to a wall and as a result have the view of left field completely blocked. Those seats, did, however, provide a clear view of the most expensive seats behind home plate which were predictably empty while the cheaper sections were filled to capacity.
The Bleacher Creatures are noted for their first inning roll call. After each pitch they begin chanting one of the fielder’s names until he acknowledges them with a wave, which is met with a cheer, and each game they go through every man on the field. In addition to that heartwarming connection, however, they also live up to their reputation in amusing vulgarity. It became very obvious very quickly that I could be dominating the field were I playing a game of swear word bingo.
The group was emboldened by an early Yankee lead. Mark Teixeira hit a two-run homer in the first inning – to right field of course – and with two-time 19-game winner Chien-Ming Wang on the mound, surely it was a victory in the making. As Indians right fielder Shin-Soo Choo approached the plate with two men on, one fan in the rows in front of us yelled out, “You suck, Choo! You fucking suck!” Ever the classy gentleman, the bleacher creature’s comment was met with a three-run jack by Choo, putting the Indians in front.
Surely, an isolated incident.
Well before the inning was out Cleveland would string together 13 hits and 14 runs, the largest inning ever surrendered by the Yankees in their history. The frame created a number of records for the new building, and the eventual 22-4 loss for New York would be the third most runs ever allowed by the franchise. Remarkably, the first, second and fourth most runs allowed by the Yankees were all reaped by the Indians in a bizarre coincidence.
The early collapse created dissension among the bleacher creatures who were extremely displeased when one frustrated fan started chanting, “Jeter sucks!” There are certain lines you do not cross in Yankeeville. That particular fan tip-toed it ever so precariously. With the entire section’s ire raised, massive booing and grumbling commenced. One thing they did agree on, however, was that with a pitching change needed, right fielder Nick Swisher was the man for the job. Indeed, Swisher, was no pitcher. But as teams will sometimes have position players take in a few innings to spare bullpen arms in blowouts, Swisher had recently gotten his chance.
Five days earlier the Yankees were routed by the defending-AL Champion Tampa Bay Rays, and with arms at a premium, manager Joe Girardi put Swisher on the mound, where he responded with a scoreless inning, including a strike out of Gabe Kapler on a blistering 78-mile-per-hour fastball that made even Swisher laugh. With the Indians in the midst of their second-inning onslaught, cheers of “We want Swisher” rang from the crowd, but the right fielder was unlikely to come out again.
As he said after his 22-pitch outing in Tampa Bay, "I'm walking out of my professional career with a 0.00 ERA.”
With the result not in doubt, I seized the opportunity to check out one of the few areas of the park I missed the day before, the Yankees museum. Evidently I wasn’t the only person with this idea. When I left a line stretched hundreds of feet outside the doors. The museum features a heaping amount of impressive memorabilia from Thurman Munson’s locker, to Babe Ruth’s jersey, to Mickey Mantle’s cap, to several of the Yankees’ World Series championship trophies.
The literal centerpiece of the museum is a wall of autographed baseballs by nearly every man to have worn Yankee pinstripes from the legendary (Joe DiMaggio) to the forgotten (Woodie Held). While there is an impressive amount of items on display, the room itself is small, and I got the sense that they could have done more with it. After all, these are the Yankees, the most historic, successful, renowned franchise in the history of American sports. If the building befits their greatness, why doesn’t the museum, the place that is supposed to put all the accomplishments on display?
Perhaps I’m being picky. It is still worth the trip, particularly given that Monument Park closes well before game time each day. As I walked past the long line outside the museum and back to my seats, the game’s momentum, unsurprisingly, was still firmly behind Cleveland. The Indians had tacked on another run in both the third and fourth innings, but evidently it took until a three-run homer by Mark DeRosa in the fifth inning for fans to finally give up hope. After the 19th marker had crossed home plate, the stands slowly began to empty, as if that 19th run was the final one that had clinched it for the visitors and made a comeback impossible.
Surprisingly, perhaps out of a desire to look around the new building, my father and stepmother stuck it out until the end of the game, which I was fine with. It was a beautiful day and I make it a point not to leave early if I can help it. Good thing, too. Had we left, we would have missed the third go round of the “We Want Swisher” chant in the eighth inning.
As we and whatever fans left exited the stadium – and there weren’t many – there was laughter and disappointment. Sure these blowouts happen and most educated fans know you just have to let them go, but it was clear that after three games and one win in their new building, for many people this didn’t yet feel like home. They wouldn’t suffer the same malaise I did after visits to Citi Field, however. While the Mets collapsed brutally, the Yankees brought home their first title in nine years that November. With another trophy in tow, I’m sure the new residence felt plenty comfy.
And maybe that new trophy would spruce up the museum some.
The last few days of college are a bizarre time, particularly for those of us who are without a job or any real idea of where they’re going in life. I had no job lined up and prospects were pretty scarce. I applied to 100 or so over the final few weeks as I wrote my last papers and began packing up. Most of the calls had come from news clipping organizations I had little interest in working for that would have required me to be in the office by 4:30 a.m. on some days. Beyond that the ways to find a job writing in sports in New York without having ever actually interned for a major newspaper seemed few and far between.
I believe it was my stepmother, Audrey, who asked me what I wanted to do for a living the day I graduated. The latter of my two commencements ended at Welsh-Ryan Arena in Evanston and as we went through the obligatory picture taking session by Ryan Field, Northwestern’s football stadium, she posed the question.
“I want to watch baseball,” I said. “For money.”
It was always good for a laugh, and yet I wasn’t particularly sure where I’d go. I had tried my best to balance mailing out resumes, packing my things, and squeezing in all the necessary goodbyes and drunken memories that the final two weeks after finals provide you with. Those goodbyes are tricky. You’re not sure which of the people you’ve spent the last four years with you’re going to still be in contact with and who you need to say goodbye to for good.
And there are some.
But you can’t afford to be too schmaltzy or else your life will never get where it’s going. You just have to take it in stride. And it ain’t easy. But you manage.
I tried not to let it on as I packed my room and scrambled to sell furniture that I wouldn’t be taking back east, but jobless me was a nervous wreck and what laid ahead was a mystery. Fortunately, I had one carrot to distract me from the uncertainty before my mother and I caravanned two cars full of four years back to New Jersey.
For me, I generally would drive from my childhood home in Millburn to Evanston in one shot if I were by myself – all twelve hours of it. My mother couldn’t stand to sit in the car that long in one day and whenever I made the trip with her, we would break it in two, often staying at the same Hampton Inn in Milan, Ohio that had a rather pungent textile factory across the highway from it. That wasn’t always bad, as we would usually eat at the same restaurant, a BBQ grill joint called the Roadhouse, which was the type of place that served you your rack of baby back ribs with a side of 5 oz. grilled sirloin.
But for the trip home my mother had suggested that we instead stay in a nice hotel in Cleveland and treat ourselves. The actual hotel itself that we stayed in was of little interest or import to me, but I did notice one thing that was.
The Indians were in town.
That sealed the deal. When I originally asked my mother if the Indians were in town she told me she had already checked and that they were not playing the Mets. Of course, given that they play in two different leagues, the chances that the Mets would be there that week were scant anyway, but Cleveland was playing Philadelphia. At the very least I could root against the rival Phils. I decided to be the generous one and buy the tickets – after all, my parents had just paid for four years at a private college, I could give my mom a break – and I found two seats in row GG not far behind home plate for the Wednesday evening tilt on June 20, 2007.
And the seats came out to a mere $50 each. I love being impressed by ticket prices that aren’t in New York.
Of course, before the game came there was still the nasty business of graduating, writing my final papers, doing my drinking, saying my goodbyes, packing for home and selling my furniture. The furniture would be the most immediately impactful as I slept on my own bed one night before selling it, then slept on the bed my roommate had left before selling that, and then spent the last night sleeping on our disgusting couch.
The abruptness of the transition is confusing if for no other reason than that you’re not always sure how sentimental to get. Luisa had come over to give me company while I packed my final things and when she left nonchalantly said, “Well, it was fun going to college with you.” It seems simple, but sometimes you aren’t sure how serious to take these things, particularly since in the case of Luisa, we have kept close contact since graduating and college no longer appears to be the basis of our friendship so much as one chapter of it.
This is the case with a number of my close friends, but not so much with others. Knowing who will and won’t stay a part of your life is probably the most uncertain and difficult aspect of transitioning to the real world. Perhaps that's one of the reasons I'm doing this: To have an excuse to go around the country and keep in touch with all of them.
Still, at the time I was far more preoccupied with packing and getting on the road quickly on the 20th. The game itself was the night that we were leaving Evanston, which meant we’d have to make a quick exit to ensure we made it to Cleveland in time for the 7 o’clock start. This would be delayed by, as so often happens between children and their mothers at moments of heightened stress, a fight. In this case it revolved around a parking ticket my mother had gotten while we were loading up the cars that morning and my juvenile insistence that she simply ignore it so we could hit the road.
With the city backlog, my logic went, they’d never know the difference.
This, of course, did not sit well with my mother who made a point to go to the town municipal center and pay the ticket. Considering town hall was next to my apartment building, this wasn’t too big of a diversion.
After getting on the road, cooler heads began to prevail and we left one car behind the other on Lake Shore Drive, where I got my last looks at the city I had called home for four years. As I teetered between lead-footed and sentimental we eventually found our way onto I-80 and, with 90 minutes or so to spare, pulled into the Hilton Garden Inn in Cleveland.
My mother and I checked in and headed to the stadium just a few blocks away. Jacobs Field, or the Jake as it is colloquially known, is often considered one of the best parks in the Majors. This doesn’t come from any sort of trendsetting architecture. The modern trend of faux-retro parks still pulls its impetus from Camden Yards, which beat the Jake to opening day by a few years.
But indeed the intimacy and sight lines are among the best in baseball. To me, however, the most striking architectural feature is outside the stadium. The building’s structure features visible steel beams all around its exterior that give the appearance of an exoskeleton holding the stands up. What was most fascinating to me, however, is that the skeleton and its older style stadium lights are painted a bright white, making them stand out and giving the building an individualized and unique appearance that straddles the line between antiquated and futuristic.
The inside has a few features that might make it seem noteworthy, but nothing overwhelms anything else – with, perhaps, the notable exception of the 149-foot long video screen in left field. At the time it became my favorite park in the Majors. I can’t begin to imagine how much more pleasant it is to watch a game there than it was to do so in the Indians’ former home, the monstrous Cleveland Municipal Stadium, which housed 74,438 fans as opposed to the relatively cozy 43,515-seat capacity of the Jake.
I decided, as I often do, to take a stroll around the park and view it from different angles and see what it has to offer. As I continued my walk I happened upon Heritage Park, a circular museum dedicated to the Indians’ hall of famers and major moments that resides behind the batters eye in center field. Apparently it had just opened that year, but regardless, I hadn’t seen a hall of fame section that was quite so aesthetically pleasing in its subtle appearance and seamlessly weaved into the style of the ballpark. As I’ve visited more parks that have added their own hall of fame sections, I’ve enjoyed seeing the different orientations, but this one teaches you about the club’s history while still maintaining its presence as part of a stadium.
And speaking of being part of a stadium, the outfield concourse at Jacobs Field features a beer garden. Yes, these are common now, but this was the first time I had spotted it, or perhaps as a 21-year-old this was the first time I took note. I don’t much like drinking at ball games. If you have too much the whole experience moves too quickly and you lose track of what’s happening on the field. In the case of baseball, I understand this is preferable for some people but I’m far more concerned with seeing the tension that develops between the pitcher and the batter, and having five too many beers in me makes that infinitely more difficult to keep track of. Regardless, I suppose having the open air beer garden is necessary considering Jacobs Field was paid for by a 15-year sin tax on cigarettes and alcohol.
I will say this, though. The fans at the beer garden certainly looked like they were having fun. In the end that, I suppose, is the key to the experience.
And speaking of beer, as I walked back to my seat I passed by a stand that was selling Leinenkugel’s Sunset Wheat on tap. Sunset Wheat, as any of my close friends could tell you, is my favorite beer on the planet. It’s like candy. The big problem with this lies in the fact that Leinenkugel’s, based in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, hadn’t spread much out east. In fact, I had never seen it east of Chicago in my lifetime, to the point that I had made sure to buy a six pack of it before driving back to New Jersey much like I had always made sure to bring a healthy supply of Yeungling back to Evanston.
I don’t really buy beer at baseball games, both because it distracts me and because, usually, it’s outrageously expensive. I don’t need to spend $9.75 on a Miller Lite. But with the prospects of never seeing Sunset Wheat when I returned to the east coast staring me in the face, I bit the bullet – it was only seven dollars – and bought myself a beer to take back to my seat.
Ironically, I would see a six pack of it at the Kings Supermarket in Short Hills, New Jersey a week later. Leinie’s, evidently, had chosen to expand just in time.
The park was more than 50% full that night, but I was still surprised with the turnout after being accustomed to always seeing a full house on TV. In fact, Cleveland sold out the first 455 games at the Jake, a Major League record at the time, which is commemorated with “455” being among the retired numbers that hang against the brick walls in the right field portion of the upper deck.
Granted it was a week night, but the night I was there, the official attendance was a mere 53.7% of capacity at 24,278. For me, however, the average crowd didn’t take away from the game, which, for its first 5 ½ innings was a rather taut affair. Cleveland and Philadelphia had been tied, 2-2, leading up to the sixth inning, when the Phillies took a 4-2 lead courtesy of a two-run homer by Rod Barajas. The Indians responded in the bottom half of the inning by scoring eight runs and having eight consecutive batters reach base to put the game away. C.C. Sabathia pitched six innings to earn the win, becoming the first Indian to get 10 wins in seven consecutive seasons since Addie Joss turned the trick for Cleveland a century earlier from 1902-1909.
As a rule I will almost never leave a game early, particularly if I’m in a new stadium. My diligence paid off in the top of the ninth inning when Shane Victorino came to bat for Philadelphia with two outs. Victorino had two strikes on him when he fouled off a high pitch that banged off the façade of the second deck and dropped down directly in front of my mother and I.
I never will understand why we scrape so violently and irrationally for a dinged up piece of cowhide, but there I was diving to the ground with my sole competition a glasses bedecked woman who appeared to be in her mid-30s. The woman may have been closer to the ball.
But I don’t care. I got it. It was mine. After two decades of watching baseball games and dozens of close calls, at long last, I had caught a foul ball.
The man sitting to my right asked if he could look at it, and perhaps I was too used to trusting everyone in the Midwest as I handed it over to him. Fortunately, he, too, was a trusting non-east coaster. He glanced at the black scuff mark left by Victorino’s bat, handed it back to me and, with a smile, said, “Congratulations.”
On the way out of the park my mother anxiously told me to stop staring at the ball as we walked back to our hotel for fear someone would steal it. Once we returned, I began telling the world, which seemed far less excited about it than I was, before finally getting some rest for the next day’s drive home.
24 hours later, I pulled into our driveway behind my mother, walked inside, and that was it.
College was over.
I remember the morning after my bar mitzvah dealing with the depression that comes after the passing of a major life event. I was older and more capable of handling it now, but this was far more daunting. I now had to find a way to move on. I had to find something to do.
My first post-college job interview was with an HR person at Time Inc, who was testing my worthiness to be employed at SI.com. I admit that I was unprepared. At the very least I should have gone to the website that morning to familiarize myself with it. Of course, that problem didn’t really prepare me for the woman’s first question:
“If an unexpected occurrence were to arise in the office, what contingency would you have prepared for that paradigm?”
I stumbled my way through some nonsense response that showed how unprepared I was and probably cost me the job immediately – I was ushered out of the office shortly afterwards – but what I wanted to say to her was, “You know people don’t talk like that in the real world, right?”
After killing time with my friend Matt for a few hours, I headed to Chelsea Market to interview at MLB.com for the position of a night shift web producer. The atmosphere was far more relaxed and much less formal, and the first thing I had to do was take a written test on baseball trivia. At the very least, even if I blew another interview, at least I’d have some fun.
Afterwards, I went home to continue my post college malaise as I tried to find direction and, most importantly, a source of income, uncertain of what the immediate future would bring.
Two nights later I got an e-mail from the night production manager at MLB.com. I would be watching baseball for money.
