90% Of The Game Is Half Mental

[What follows is a review of Emma Span's book, 90% Of The Game Is Half Mental written by a good friend who wishes to be referred to simply as "Jack". In addition to being a stalwart Mets fan and supporter of the Rays, he makes an annual pilgrimage to Spring Training in Florida and is an aficionado of minor league ball, particularly here in the northeast.

Emma, who occasionally writes for Bronx Banter and her own site when she has time, sent me a review copy of the book. I'm going to read the book and do a review at some point, but when Jack heard about Emma's work, he asked if he could get the first crack at it.]

I recently finished reading Emma Span's 90% Of The Game Is Half Mental and the short of is that it's a very good read. While you can't go wrong with a Yogiism for the title, I think the sub-title, "And Other Tales from the Edge of Baseball Fandom" more accuately portrays her baseball experiences, from her New Jersey childhood to working odd summer jobs while attending Yale, to her brief gig as the Village Voice baseball writer and beyond. Baseball, especially New York baseball, isn't something you would expect to be a consuming interest of a funny, sarcastic, literate, New York-centric, admittedly neurotic, female insomniac, but Emma clearly loves the game.

Chapters related to the job with the Voice and the trip to Taiwan (not Japan?) are often hilarious in their observations. Locker room scene descriptions and commentary on the New York press corps highlight her awkwardness, but despite being a bit of a nerd, she seems to be pretty self-confident.

Emma obviously knows her inside baseball. Her blog was once called Eephus Pitch and the book discusses the arguments of stathead sabermetrics vs. old school scouting. She gets into some detailed modern history of Yankees' and Mets' postseason appearances and touches upon male/female baseball perspectives, Yankees/Mets fandom, New York/non-New York fandom, and baseball movies (she hates "The Natural", I love it).

I was surprised that she never mentions any great baseball books or their writers (i.e. Halberstam, Kahn), but I was glad to read that she shares my criticism of some elements of The Great American Pastime. For instance:

• Loud amplified needless cheering nonsense at games (between innings, between batters, sometimes between pitches) when normal converstion becomes impossible

• The distraction caused by the gigantic TV screen in the new Yankee Stadium

• Joe Morgan's television commentary

With 160 pages, an easy and conversational tone, an occasional F-bomb for emphasis, and some really laugh-out-loud passages, it's a quick, entertaining, and confessional autobiography that will especially appeal to New York baseball fans.

I strongly encourage you and your readers to give it a rip.

Game 42: Another Saturday Night

Neither the Yankees nor the Met have many Saturday night home games. The only one the Yankees played in the New York area last year was against the Mets at Citi Field, with current farmhand Tim Redding getting the start for our crosstown rivals.

For the most part, the lack of these night games are a good thing. For one, this tilt will be televised on FOX and that of course means that Joe Buck and Tim McCarver will invade out ears with their smarmy declarations and/or nonsensical ramblings.

More relevant to the teams, however, Saturday afternoons tend to draw the biggest crowds in the New York area as many people find it more convenient to spend part of their day going out to the ballpark as opposed to burning most of the useful hours of their evening in the Bronx or Queens.

A few of my buddies and I used to have a Saturday package in Section 7, Row M of the Old Stadium and we quite literally never had a game scheduled later for later than 4:10pm. If we had to wait until 7pm the game to jump off, things might have gotten awfully ugly.

It was just a quick subway ride up to the Bronx from the Upper West Side, so even for the 1:00pm starts, we used to drink a few beers before we left, in an effort to dodge the excessively priced stadium concessions. For the one or two games per season that started at four o'clock, we couldn't resist mixing up a batch of margaritas and kicking on the terrace to pregame. There were three of us with the package, and since we basically never had anything better to do on a Saturday afternoon stuck in a small apartment, it's safe to assume that we would have taken in too far with our preparations for an evening game.

Of course the concept of pregaming is a flawed one. The money-saving aspect of it is debatable at best (do you really drink less when you show up all locked and loaded, or are you actually prone to spend more?) and beyond that, it increases the odds of you getting too drunk exponentially.

At a certain point not too long ago I realized that, despite what you are led to believe in college, drinking isn't a race and there is no prize given out to the person who consumes the most alcohol at the end of the night. Most of the time, it's the person who starts drinking later and takes it somewhat easier than everyone else who has the best time (and the most tolerable morning after).

Anyway, when the Yankees moved over to the new Stadium we got pushed out of our Saturday package by all the people who got priced out of their full season packages and had to step back to partial plans. I live Upstate now anyhow and probably wouldn't have bought into one this year anyway, but one of the things I miss dearly about having a place in the city was that bundle of 13 games a season. I hardly go to games anymore because I have a sweet ass TV and don't want to drive three hours both ways and pay for parking at the Stadium, but having that Saturday blocked off to go to a game with my buddies roughly every other weekend was one of the pillars of my summers in the city.

Oh yeah, the game...

Phil Hughes, fresh of his worst start of the season (which wasn't bad until J.D. Drew had to rain on the party with a three run homer) goes for the Yanks. For the Mets, Mike Pelfrey, who has cooled off considerably after a scorching hot start gets the ball.

Another Saturday night and I ain't got nobody,
I've got some money 'cause I just got paid,
Now, how I wish I had someone to talk to,
I'm in an awful way.

-Lineups-

Yankees:

Jeter SS
Gardner CF
Teixeira 1B
Rodriguez 3B
Cano 2B
Swisher RF
Cervelli C
Winn LF
Hughes P

Mets:

Reyes SS
Castillo 2B
Bay LF
Davis 1B
Wright 3B
Pagan CF
Barajas C
Francoeur RF
Pelfrey P

The View From The Bridge

The view from the George Washington Bridge gets me every time. Not as much as the first few times I crossed the GWB and gazed down towards Manhattan, but it's still gripping nonetheless. On a perfectly clear night like we had yesterday, the lights are impossibly dense and bright. They peak at the Empire State Building and below that slowly slope towards either end of the island. I imagine back before September 11th the Twin Towers would have played a prominent role in the skyline, but now the height of the Financial District is disguised by shorter buildings in the foreground.

The GWB has always been my conduit into Manhattan - well at least since I was old enough to drive and figured out that using the Major Deegan was for suckers. Coming from Upstate, I take I-87 to Rt. 17 to Rt. 4. Others take the Palisades, but the gas is cheaper the way that I go. And every time I go that way and funnel down through the approach to the lower level of the bridge, drive through the tolls and make my way through the short tunnel before it begins, I anticipate the view. Sometimes it's too hazy or foggy or rainy to really see, but I turn my head and look just the same.

Everyone has their own way of entering New York. Long ago Ellis Island was that way for millions, with the buildings appearing over miles and miles of ocean after a seemingly interminable journey from Europe. Today, many come in through Penn Station and get a feeling in the pit of their stomach when they first step outside and crane their neck in an effort to find the tops of the skyscrapers. Some look left when descending down the spiraling entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel and see the heart of Midtown rise from the Hudson River. Plenty see the skyline start to rise as they drive down I-495 towards the Mitdown Tunnel. Others press their face to the window of a plane to observe the perfect grid of the streets from high above.

Whatever it is, it's hard to miss the moment that you realize you're here when you arrive.

Being A-Rod

TMZ's hook for this video is that A-Rod got out of a parking ticket in NYC - which in my experience is not possible after a cop starts writing you a ticket, those dirty liars - but it's also an interesting glimpse into what it's like to be a A-Rod in New York nowadays.

This is just a little snapshot into A-Rod's life, and I'm sure there aren't always weirdos with cameras recording his every move, but you've gotta believe he causes a fair commotion where ever he goes, especially as of late. That kind of attention has be tough for anyone to handle.

He's doesn't appear to be stingy about giving out autographs, which I've heard in the past. It looks like a waiter brought him a ball to sign (which are suddenly becoming a whole lot more valuable) and he obliged. Outside, he scribbled his John Hancock one of the school kids' $20 bills.

You can bet that this time last year, people weren't telling him that he was terrific. They certainly weren't wishing him good luck like the old woman at the end of the clip did. Nothing like a meaningful October in The City.

Sidenote: There are a few of Serafinas in Manhattan, and by the looks of it, I'd guess that's the one Madison Ave (I've been to the one on 55th and Broadway a couple of times). Nice Northern Italian fare at pretty reasonable prices. I'd recommend it.

Some Lunchtime Reading

Nothing crazy, just a few quick links:

• Here's a piece on summer sports in New York City that Alex Belth of Bronx Banter wrote for SI.com. As you would expect from a piece about the city penned by Belth, it's beautifully written, and it's long enough to swallow your lunch break whole if you so choose. If you get through that, check out his post on the blog about it.
  
  
• Lar from wezen-ball dug up some pictures of past Yankee players wearing uniforms (and fake mustaches) from the early 20th century and before. That's where the one of Yogi to the right came from, but click through for a bunch more.
  
  
• There's been plenty of talk about Jeter and his side of the Yankee hit record recently. Here's a little about Lou Gehrig's.
  
  
• Matthew Pouliot from NBC's Circling the Bases arrives at the Yankees during his series "Restoring the Rosters" in which he ranks the teams in the MLB based on the players they have drafted or acquired via international free agency. The Yanks are ranked pretty highly, but much of their depth comes from the latter of those two components.
  
  
• Rob Neyer suggests moving Phil Hughes back to the rotation and Joba back to the bullpen. It sounds good on paper, but inertia of the status quo will keep in from happening. The risk of injury while transitioning roles is probably too risky for the Yankees to stomach as well.
  
  
• God help me, I actually agree with Bob Raissman. I vehemently disagree with this mustache, however, which makes the fake one Yogi is wearing look reasonable by comparison.

One More

Doris Sighting!!!!!!!

Yup. That's her. Swear on my life. I obviously couldn't get a pic of her face because that would put me in her peripheral vision and that was a confrontation I was not at all interested in. That, and also I drew the line (for once). If I'm not going to put my face on this blog, I really shouldn't put hers, I don't think.

I really didn't know how this day could get any better. There are some things in the works that I don't want to mention for non-jinxing purposes, and the snow, and the shrimp fritters, and my new headphones...

I actually went back to Whole Foods to pick up some more those fritters, along with a sirloin for the grill tonight. I asked the guy at the meat counter for a steak that was about a pound and three quarters. He put it on the scale: 1.75lbs. Bang. I mean, who cares? But that was pretty cool.

That beer is the Dogfish Head Olde School Barleywine. It's 15% ABV.

I needed to stop by Pioneer on my way back to grab some more brews and walking in, I spotted the mythical beast known to you Fackers only as "Doris". I very nearly soiled myself.

I didn't observe her eating habits like Sampson did, but this is kind of similar as she was in hunter/gatherer mode. It's not everyday she leaves the apartment. Actually, this may have been the first time in 46 years.

We left Pioneer at about the same time, and I skittered back over the icy sidewalks, hid out in my entrance way and nabbed this shot.

Look familiar? It's blurry and everything, just like the original! There was a girl right there walking her dog who saw me do it and gave me this look. I shrugged my shoulders and went "It's a long story..." and scampered upstairs to write this post.

This was one of the best snow days ever.

Sean Daley from Atmosphere, would you do the honors?



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We should be back in sports mode tomorrow. Hopefully you enjoy the non-sports stuff too, because it's really fun to write. I don't really know where to even send these links, but if you read other blogs with similar content like Schiff's, feel free to point me in their direction or vice versa.

Finally [Part II]

I had this thought walking around this morning, but it didn't make it into the previous two posts.

Maybe the reason I like seeing the Manhattan covered in snow so much is that it gives you the chance to catch The City That Never Sleeps quietly nodding off.

The snow cover dulls the sounds that typically reflect off hard surfaces like streets and branches and buildings, so it's literally quieter. Parking is suspended and lots of people from surrounding areas don't come into work. I still walked here, but I can tell by the amount of pedestrain traffic on Central Park West that most people opt for the subway. Today, the infamous line at Whole Foods in the Time Warner Center was non-existent.

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Completely random food-realted aside: This is too good not to mention. At Whole Foods today, they have Creole Shrimp Fritters for $7.99 a lb. I got 5 for $2.88. If you are in the area, get 'em while they're hot, because if you ordered them in a restaurant, they'd cost $10 at least.

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The only wall hangings at the Lenny's location around the corner from our apartment (shown in the top picture) are pictures of NYC in the snow. I'm not sure if all their spots are similarly decorated, but it's really cool.

I wasn't down here for the 26.9" dumping in 2006, but I have been assured by Sampson and others that it was epic. Not everyone likes the snow as much as I do, and part of the allure for me was having to wait so damn long to really see it. I'm still holding out hope for one more shut-down-the-city style storm before I'm done with this place.

Damn, I'm going to miss you when that time comes, NYC.

Finally

[You can find Part II here]

This is the third winter I've been down in NYC and this is the first real snow storm I've had the pleasure of bearing witness to. Basically every time they've predicted any significant amount of snow, it turned into a wintry mix or missed us completely. I hate wintry mixes. I hate them so much that I think I also hate Christmas music compilations and the rapper Snow by association.

Although the possibility of getting a snow day has long since passed, I still get incredibly excited when we get a healthy ground cover. Far too often growing up, I would watch the weather before I went to bed, and hear Bob Kovachic talk about the slam dunk storm headed our way, only to wake up at 5AM so excited I couldn't sleep, look out, see nothing and cry myself back to sleep. It was soul crushing.

On the other hand, when we did get hit, Sampson and I would suit up and take to the streets. And by "the streets", I mean the 50 acres of common land shared by the residents of Riverview Landing, which borders on the Mohawk River. It is serenely beautiful even when it's not covered in 10 inches of snow. There are cliffs and waterfalls, a run-down pavilion, and paths connecting everything. It's basically fucking paradise to two kids with a couple of stolen cigarettes and a water bottle filled with about two fingers worth of six kinds of liquor (so we wouldn't take too much from one bottle).

Despite the fact that I don't have any boots or snow pants, today, I got up early and took a bunch of pictures in the park. Why? Because you only live once, Fackers.

I'd guess we got about 5 or 6 inches. It was windy, so the accumulation doesn't show up as much as you'd like it to, and my camera kind of sucks, but I still think they came out really well.

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I had to make these smaller because it would have taken me 9 years to upload them all. If you would like a full size one to use for a desktop background or something, email me. If your request meets my politeness requirements, I will send you a picture or two.

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On the way to the park. 75th street, I believe.

This dog was the only life form in Central Park more excited than I was.

The Dakota (and the tip of my glove)
Oops.

Strawberry Fields

You won't believe this, but I had a nice conversation with a girl who was walking her dog, standing right over the spot pictured below. Imagine that. For once, I didn't even throw up like Stan from South Park talking to Wendy Testaburger. If you are out there, you divine being, please identify yourself in the comments as "The Uncontrollably Hot Woman From The Park With The British(?) Accent". Your move.

Daniel Webster was feeling it.

Kind of cool with the statue in the background, no?

My camera doesn't do well with capturing colors, so you really had to be there for this one.

It's not Spring yet, brah.

In The Ramble. Same exact spot as the picture on that link, I believe.

View of the Buildings on Central Park South from the North end of the Pond.

Calling any part of Central Park "Forever Wild" is pretty laughable since it's all man-made and adjacent to one of the most densely populated places on planet Earth.

I have a bit of a San Remo fetish. You can see it from our terrace and almighty Jesus, it makes for some beautiful pictures. The one on the top of this post is of it too.

Looking down Central Park West.

Risked my life for this one. You're welcome.

Columbus Circle.

You know it's the real deal when they've got news crews out.

The snow almost makes our building not look like the shitshow it currently is due to the makeover. Apparently re-surfacing the building gives them the right to change the address. 3 Columbus Circle? We are a block away from the circle. It's 1775 Broadway, assholes. In light of this, I've decided to change our address to 2347 Central Park West.

Oh, you came to this blog to read about sports? Sorry. Maybe next time.