January 4th, 2007 → 11:51 am @ Seth Mnookin
I have a soft spot for Red Sox second basemen. There’s Jerry Remy, of course (I refuse, on principle, to call him Rem Dawg), the power-hitting second baseman I grew up with and perhaps the smartest baseball broadcaster in the game. I spent much of the ’03 playoffs screaming “Toddie Wahker” in a remarkably obnoxious Boston accent…which likely would have resulted in a beating had Walker not morphed into the second coming of Babe Ruth. Mark Bellhorn — he of the shaggy hair and bedroom eyes — was another favorite, and I’m glad he got an SI cover out of the ’04 playoffs; he should rightly have been the WS MVP. And even though Mark Loretta was incredibly overrated — give a guy an All-Star berth and all of a sudden there are folks who think he actually is an All-Star caliber player — I liked him, too.
It looks like he’ll be manning second for Houston. Now I can’t wait for DP to turn into ’07’s sleeper hero.
Post Categories: Dustin Pedroia & Mark Loretta
January 4th, 2007 → 11:36 am @ Seth Mnookin
Duh: the Jews! What’s more, they’re funnier. Woody Allen, of course, exhibits both qualities in spades, as does David Rakoff (who also gives proof that head shots have little to do with reality: Rakoff is folically challenged and most certainly does not have that funny-looking, quasi-rakish cowlick). For the last week or so, Rakoff has been blogging about the Film Forum’s Woody Allen extravaganza (only one week left, folks!) on Nextbook, which officially bills itself as a “gateway to Jewish literature, culture, and ideas” but in reality is not nearly so stodgy.
So check it out (it’s not Joel Pineiro is exciting enough to occupy your time). I guarantee you’ll laugh out loud at least once per post. To wit: “The best example of GVMS {Gerontological Volume Maladjustment Syndrome} occurred when my friends Joel and Kate were in grad school in Ann Arbor. They went to a midday showing of Damage. The man of the aged couple behind them couldn’t hear, asking his wife what Miranda Richardson had just said. The wife responded without preamble, yelling loudly to the entire theater, ‘Fuck me, Peter!'” (That was worked into a post on “Wild Man Blues” and “Sweet and Lowdown,” as was this gem of a one-liner: “There’s a psychological term for this kind of self-deprecation: Mom.”) Now the next time Rakoff is a guest on the Daily Show you’ll be able to impress your friends by working in a comment about his views on “Hannah and Her Sisters.” Or impress your cat. Same difference.
Post Categories: Making flippy floppy & Rahm Emanuel & Steve Phillips
January 3rd, 2007 → 12:09 am @ Seth Mnookin
…but I’m gonna miss Keith Foulke, who looks to be taking his hockey-loving self to Ohio. (Someone should warn the ladies of Cleveland just what they’re in for.) The history of the 2004 World Series will be replete with tales of Christ-like Curt and Papi “David” Ortiz, but Burger-King Keith was as much of a hero as anyone, and should have gotten some kind of postseason award for his trouble. For whatever weird reason, two of my enduring images of those playoffs are: 1. Foulke on the mound in the bottom of the ninth in Yankee Stadium, blowing snot out of his nose (trust me, it was kind of amazing), and 2. Foulke with his arms out in the air after the final out of the Series in the ultimate “Can You Believe It? pose.”
Anyway, here’s my description of Keith at the end of that Yankees game as described in Feeding the Monster:
In the ninth, Keith Foulke was called upon for the third straight game. Out of everyone in Boston’s bullpen, Foulke was likely the most spent. He’d thrown 50 pitches two nights earlier in Boston’s Game 4 victory, and followed that up with 22 more pitches in Game 5. Before that, the most pitches Foulke had thrown in a game that year was 41, and the most he’d thrown in any three-day stretch was 62. When he came to the mound in Game 6, he’d thrown 72 pitches in the previous 48 hours.
Foulke’s best pitch is his changeup. Changeups are thrown with the same pitching motion as a fastball, but come in with less velocity; because the hitter can’t tell what’s coming, the reduced speed leaves him off-balance. In order for a changeup to be effective, a pitcher needs to have a decent enough fastball to keep the hitter honest. Foulke’s fastball had never been overpowering, but at 92 miles-per-hour was respectable enough to adequately set up his change.
On the 19th, it was clear from the first batter that Foulke wouldn’t be throwing in the low nineties. His fastball was topping out at 88 or 89 miles-per-hour, which didn’t provide enough deception to make his 82 or 83 mile-per-hour change its normal, knee-buckling self. What’s more, home plate umpire Joe West had a tight strike zone: anything the slightest bit off the plate was going to be called a ball. Hideki Matsui, the first man up in the inning, walked, bringing the tying run to the plate. After striking out Bernie Williams and getting Jorge Posada to pop up, Ruben Sierra came to bat. Like Matsui, Sierra—who’d been 0 for 3 with three strikeouts against Schilling—battled his way on base via a seven-pitch walk. He was followed by former Red Sox first baseman Tony Clark, and as Clark prepared to hit, the angry and frustrated fans in Yankee Stadium came to life. This was how it was supposed to work in New York. A walk-off home run by one of the Yankees role players would make up for the anguish of the last several days.
“That at bat, for me, was the most nerve-wracking moment of the series,” says Epstein. “Foulke has nothing, he’s getting squeezed, and a Clark home run ends it all.” At home, at least the Red Sox would get a chance to bat last—in Yankee Stadium, there would be no more chances. As Clark settled into the batter’s box, the Boston outfielders moved back about ten feet. They’d gladly sacrifice a single in order to save a game-tying double from getting over their heads.
When Foulke pitches, he looks a bit like a cobra striking: he has a compact delivery and jerks the ball out of his glove before exploding toward to the plate. He wound up and threw in to Clark. Ball one. Seconds later, he tried it again. Ball two. In the Red Sox’s dugout, Terry Francona bowed his head and began rocking back and forth. Foulke’s third pitch was eminently hittable, but Clark held off, bringing the count to 2-1, and a fourth pitch foul evened it up. The fifth pitch of the at bat was in the dirt. With a full count, the Yankee runners would be off with the pitch, meaning they’d be even more likely to score on a single. Foulke took a deep breath, walked around the mound, and started his windup. He threw an 88-mile-per-hour fastball, which Clark swung through to end the game. As Foulke ran off the field, his voice hoarse, he pounded Bronson Arroyo on the back. “Gotta make it interesting,” he shouted before heading to the showers.
In the twenty-five previous best-of-seven series in Major League Baseball in which one team had gone up three games to none, not a single series had been forced to a seventh game. “We just did something that has never been done,” Schilling said afterwards. “It’s not over yet by any stretch.” The Red Sox had already made history. Now the pressure would really be on New York.
Yeah…good times. Happy trails, Keith. I really will miss you.
Post Categories: 2004 Playoffs & Keith Foulke
January 2nd, 2007 → 5:23 pm @ Seth Mnookin
I’m fully comfortable enough in my masculinity to admit that I’m a little bit in love with Michael Cera. (I swear to god, he’s not my cousin.) (You mean, you wouldn’t have a problem with that?)
Anyway, if there’re folks out there who know how cute a Mayonegg can be, this Michael Cera-starring parody (courtesy of Gawker, courtesy of DealBreaker) is super fantastic. It probably helps if you’re at least passingly familiar with Aleksey Vayner’s video CV (and if you’re not, it’s well worth your time — and there’s plenty of backstory here), but it works well as a stand-alone, too. Because as much as I love Tracy Jordan, I miss those Bluths.
Post Categories: Douchebags & George Michael. He's so hunky.
January 1st, 2007 → 2:19 pm @ Seth Mnookin
It’s been quite a year. And in these first hours of 2007, there’s not much going on in Boston, save for the never-ending search for a closer. (Call me an apostate, but I’d love to see Julian Tavarez in the role. Some guy gets a hit off him in the ninth, and bam — he’s laid out flat on his back. Good times.) Two thousand and six was another year in which the Red Sox proved they own Boston (and New England) — even the Globe ranked the signing of a pitcher who has never played an MLB game as bigger news than the death of Red Auerbach.
But let’s talk about what’s really important here: me. A lot has happened since this site went live on June 5 (the first post was about Albert Pujols and steroids). Feeding the Monster was released on July 11, and it hit #8 on The New York Times‘s best-seller list a week later, making my grandmother eternally happy. (Other people liked it too: Time said it was a “Moneyball-style triumph,” the St. Pete Times compared it favorably to The Da Vinci Code, the Washington Post said “residents of Red Sox Nation will gobble it up, as may others who are interested in the inner workings of professional sports,” and the Lowell Sun said that FTM was a “must read for members of Bosox nation.”)
In those first, heady days, I learned that Joe O’Donnell didn’t much care for the book, that the Sox were rumored to be instructing staffers to disavow its contents, and that Terry Francona hadn’t read it but knew it was inaccurate. Grant Hill, on the other hand, is a fan, and I’m still waiting to hear what Curt thought of it. Also, FTM was mistaken for a fictional account of the rapture, people tend to get excited when talking about No. 24, and (I can’t help myself) … Murray Chass.
What else? There’ve been 457 posts, the site’s had 1,530,182 page views (and 894,008 unique visitors). December was the busiest month (313,463 page views and 206,358 visitors) followed by August (309,466 and 201,182); June — when this whole party got started — was, not surprisingly, the slowest time (148,469 and 94,172).
Outside of generic pages like the blog’s home page, the most popular page (with 26,062 page views, worth 1.7 percent of the site’s total) was the one where I posted the transcript of Denis Leary’s Mel Gibson rant, proving yet again that the Jews control the media, the entertainment industry, and baseball. (The least popular had to do with race, gender, and succession battles at the Times.) Other popular posts: Nomar’s rants about Boston (16,950 page views, 1.11%) and a pair about Johnny Damon’s departure to the Yankees and Scott Boras’s role therein (16,201, 1.06% and 15,077, .99%, respectively.) Much to my surprise, the throwdown with Bill Simmons was only the sixth most viewed blog post, although it got far more comments — 56 — than anything else. (Don’t worry, folks: we made up.)
So there you have it. Now shake off those hangovers, return The Seven Pillars of Health and pick up a copy of Feeding the Monster for just $17.16 (cheap!). And don’t forget: signed, personalized bookplates are still available.
Happy New Year!
Post Categories: 2006: Bye Bye & Feeding the Monster reactions
December 30th, 2006 → 12:17 pm @ Seth Mnookin
And it’s been a while. There are lots of reasons for this: Boras has been focusing on fleecing the Giants, it’s the holiday season, etc etc. But man, it’s been a while. Saddam Hussein lost his appeal and his life in the period since the Sox have been debating J.D.’s medical records…and the Olde Towne Team does need someone besides the corpse of Trot Nixon patrolling right…
Post Categories: 2006 Hot Stove Season & J.D. Drew & Scott Boras
December 30th, 2006 → 12:13 pm @ Seth Mnookin
I grew up loving Jim Rice. I found him to be nothing but pleasant when I was working on Feeding the Monster. And he’s one hell of a snazzy dresser.
But I just don’t feel I know enough to make any kind of informed decision about whether he deserves to be in the Hall. I know: ignorance doesn’t keep many writers from voting (*cough* George King *cough*). And I see both sides of the argument here. Rice has the MVP award (which isn’t worth a whole lot in my book) and it’s not hard to see the merit in the viewpoint that he was the most dominant hitter in the AL for about a decade. I also see the merit in the argument that if you take Rice out of Fenway, he’s not nearly as fearsome a force.
Finally, I think Dwight Evans was a better player, and nobody’s talking about him going in the Hall. He was more durable (20 seasons vs. 16), had a higher OBP (.370 vs. .352) and had three more career homers (385 vs. 382). And during those 10 years in which Rice was the dominant hitter in the AL, Dewey was the best rightfielder. He deservedly won eight (out of 10) Gold Gloves between 1976 and 1985, and that was playing in perhaps the toughest right field in the game. There were many more ways in which Dewey could alter a game.
Anyway, there it is. I know lots of you have passionate views about this. So have it.
Post Categories: Dwight Evans & Hall of Fame & Jim Rice
