Who plays where – battle of the babes

Note: This column appears in the 8/11 issue of The Glendale Star and the 8/12 issue of the Peoria Times



We have a Yankee room in our house. This is pretty much what it sounds like, unless you are a million years old and still associate Yankees with northern folk. It is a room filled with New York Yankee-related pictures and memorabilia. The room was not, amazingly, my wife’s idea, although she has never been opposed to it. One time, she even bought me, as a gift, a Yankee lamp. It was the greatest day of my life.



Having a Yankee room was a concept of the mind of a young, passionate Yankee fan with an extra room, no children, and a lot of Yankees stuff. Initially the room was a place to put all the team-related things I had acquired throughout my life, but it slowly morphed into a reason to acquire more stuff. That said, I had embraced a minimalistic approach—less is more, and I wanted to feature only the classier signed photos and nostalgic items, such as my box of Derek Jeter corn flakes. But once I made the conscious decision to stop acquiring, I found myself continuing to acquire items, as my extended family has embraced the room as a foundation for gift-giving. (My mom and mother-in-law share the very thoughtful characteristic of discovering what someone likes, and then getting them that thing forever. If you casually mention around them that you like, say, walnuts, my mother-in-law will put them in everything each time she cooks for you, and my mom will buy you a year's supply of cashews and say, "I know you like walnuts, but they didn't have any, so I got you cashews," while she laughs and my dad nods his head. Suffice it to say, they have been a steady source of merchandise.) Now I have more Yankee stuff than I know what to do with, and the room is more cluttered than classy. So, note to family: from now on, send money.



Another concept behind the room was to have it be a place to hang out with friends and drink beer and watch actual Yankee games or sports in general, as my wife and the wives of my friends hung out downstairs and watched HGTV and drank wine and talked about how frustrated they are with us. But this idea was flawed, mainly in that most of the few close friends I do have here don’t like the Yankees because, I guess, we live in Arizona, and, more importantly, because they have as much time and opportunity to do such things as I do, which is none. Not helping matters is the fact that the TV in the room, which came with us from New Jersey, is not HD and weighs three tons and, ummm, doesn’t get Yankees games.



Unable to utilize the room for its intended fantasy, we were forced to make it practical. It is now a Yankee-guest-workout-storage room which, quite frankly every home should have. The room, however, was recently threatened thanks to a separate concept—a playroom for our daughter.



Obviously, it was more important that my Bucky Dent-signed photo remain on the wall than my daughter be able to experience daily, real-life joy in a safe, contained environment amidst a bevy of toys. Eventually, it was decided an upstairs playroom for a girl her age was as impractical as the Yankee room has come to be. Instead we will attempt to morph a downstairs room into a play room/office, where stuffed animals and a shredder will coexist.



So the Yankee room remains, but it has been put on notice. To increase its chances of survival and ensure the light on that lamp is never turned off, I am in the market for an affordable HDTV. And time. Plus more friends. Apply within. Must love Yankees.

Well, that sucked

To Chien Ming Wang: Maybe you need a new pitch. Dick.

To Derek Jeter: You’re officially on notice.

To Roger Clemens: Go away.

To Andy Pettitte: Whatever.

To Jorge Posada: A hit would have been nice. But hey, you call a great game.

To Joe Torre: Thanks for staying awake.

To Johnny Damon: That thing down the first base line is called “first base.” You should go there sometime.

To Mike Mussina: Thanks for sucking so bad this season that the team had to ask a cigarette-smoking sinker-baller to pitch on three days rest.

To Alex Rodriguez: I don’t care what you do.

To Jason Giambi: You still here?

To John Sterling: Don’t worry, it was the bugs’ fault.


Joe, wake up! You're fired.

John Sterling update: Still not very good

Last summer, I detailed the inadequacies of John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman, the fumbling radio broadcasting team of the New York Yankees. Since last season was their first together, and because I’m a nice guy, I thought I was pretty diplomatic in my assertion. I detailed the positives and negatives of both. In fact, here’s a short recap:

Sterling:
Positives: good voice
Negatives: everything else

Waldman:
Positives: not nearly as exhausting as Sterling
Negatives: bad voice, virtually nonexistent

So, yeah…that was basically it. But now it’s one year later and honestly, I can’t take it anymore. Forget about Waldman – she’s just a necessary evil in the booth/world of John Sterling, as evidenced by his innate ability to simply ignore her, or, to casually yet condescendingly disagree with her. Whatever. My beef here is with Sterling. I mean, how many more seasons do we Yankee fans have to endure with this guy? Seriously? How many?

With that in mind, let’s take a deeper look at the reasons behind my annual summers of discontent when it comes to listening to Yankee games on the radio. And, just for the heck of it, let’s run this picture again:



John Sterling can never let anything just be. If it’s a sunny day, it’s “the most beautiful day you can possibly imagine,” or “a great day to be alive.” If the ballpark is full (and when isn’t it?) it inevitably leads to an incessant monologue about how amazing it is that so many people came to watch the Yankees – I mean, fifty-five thousand people!…On a Wednesday afternoon, no less! It’s just amazing. Simply amazing. And what a beautiful day… Ughhh.

I could even deal with that if it weren’t for the fact that Sterling cannot let the actual game stand on its own. If the Yankees win in the bottom of the ninth – regardless if it’s only an April game against the Devil Rays – Sterling is ready to FedEx a copy of the game tape to the Hall of Fame immediately. WHAT a game! I mean, what a game! The Yankees win it in the bottom of the ninth in one of the greatest games you will see all season long – I guarantee you that! So it’s the Yankees 8, and the Devil Rays 7, in what they’ll probably refer to as “the Greatest Game Ever Played. We’ll be back with the clubhouse report after this…

Not to mention, individual performances (as long as they come from Yankees) are the stuff of legend. Sterling came as close to an on-air orgasm as possible when Melky Cabrera robbed Manny Ramirez of a home run back in early June, immediately referring to it as “the play of the year.” (Hold your horses, John. Did you see Gary Matthews Jr.’s catch? Of course you didn’t – he’s not a Yankee.) Three weeks ago, I was listening to the Yanks play the Indians, and Randy Johnson had not given up a hit going into the fifth inning, which prompted Sterling to declare that THIS start was one of the “three or four best of his career.” Whoa, whoa, WHOA! It’s the fifth inning, John! Calm down. And not only did Johnson go on to give up a hit that inning, he went on to give up three runs. It’s almost as if Sterling had totally neglected the prime of Johnson’s career, when he consistently tossed three-hit, complete-game shutouts. He was so excited to be watching Johnson (finally) pitching well as a Yankee, that he had to beat us over the head with it.

I cannot stress enough how much I despise this aspect of John Sterling’s announcing. We’re intelligent baseball fans. We know when we’re listening to a great game. We know when we’re listening to a moderately good game, and we know the difference. We know when it’s nice outside – we’re not cuddled up next to a radio in a dungeon somewhere. A great day, great performance, or great game can never speak for itself when John Sterling is around, because John Sterling feels compelled to speak for it.

John Sterling cannot see. We discussed last season’s now infamous call of a ball that miraculously went “off the wall, and…into the stands!” Yikes. But just last week, I heard this one (I won’t quote it because I cannot remember it verbatim): He takes a strike…and hits it into…center field, for a base hit. Wait, what? Did he hit it out of the catcher’s glove? How does someone “take a strike” and get a hit on the same pitch? I’m confused. Sometimes I think you can actually hear John Sterling squinting. Also, three weeks ago, Jorge Posada hit a pitch, and this ensued: Jorge CORKS one, to DEEP center field!…It’s BACK, it’s a-WAY back!…Sizemore looks up…he’s at the track…makes the catch. Of course, this led to some rambling about how far the center field wall is at Jacobs Field, which is to say, it wasn’t Sterling’s fault that he messed up that call – it was the ballpark’s fault. Obviously. Which brings me to my next point…

John Sterling loves to say “obviously.” I mean, he really loves to say obviously. A quick sampling of fake quotes: “He doesn’t want to hit him with the pitch, obviously.” “The Yankees need to score runs, obviously.” “Suzyn has no idea what she’s talking about, obviously.” “Farnsworth needs to throw strikes, obviously.” “Joe Torre is wearing pants tonight, obviously.” You would think that, at broadcasting school, there is some kind of rule that states: If you feel compelled to say “obviously” after making a statement, you probably shouldn’t even bother with the statement in the first place. I’ve never been to broadcasting school, but I think that’s pretty obvious. (By the way, after that paragraph, that word has currently lost all meaning.)

John Sterling has definitely unknowingly quoted “Anchorman.” There is no doubt in my mind that Sterling, upon meeting someone who had the audacity to not know him, has said, “I don’t how to put this, but I’m kind of a big deal.” I’d put money on it.

John Sterling schills for the Yankees in a manner that is unprecedented in the realm of radio broadcasting. I don’t think I even need to go into detail about this. We all know - Torre is always right, Derek Jeter is the greatest player ever, other teams’ closers are mud underneath the spikes of Mariano Rivera (in fact, why do other teams even have closers?), Randy Johnson is one start away from “getting it” and is also very attractive, we should all be ashamed of ourselves for criticizing A-Rod, Bubba Crosby would be an all-star on another team, and so on and so forth. I bet he covers his ears whenever somebody mentions “Giambi” and “steroids” in the same sentence. It’s not only that he constantly praises the Yankees – he also has subtle ways of bashing the other team (except the Red Sox, a team he deems worthy of competing against the Yanks…way to go Boston!). I can distinctly remember him poking fun at the waist sizes of Sidney Ponson (while with Baltimore, of course) and Bartolo Colon in the past. If a mediocre pitcher is doing well against the Yanks, Sterling can’t hide his shock. Sometimes, I don’t even think he knows the players on the opposing team. During the Cleveland series, he combined Grady Sizemore and Travis Hafner to form a player whom he described as “Grady Hafner.” (By the way, that is my third or fourth mention of the Cleveland series from a couple of weeks ago. Not Sterling’s finest work. Obviously. Okay, that word is back!)

The main reason I mention this is because, as a Yankee fan, it’s embarrassing. Sterling seems to encompass a nationwide perception of Yankee fans as pompous know-it-alls who care only about the Yankees, and who could care less about the rest of the baseball world. This couldn’t be further from the truth. I realize that Sterling is the radio broadcaster for the Yankees, and that he should lean their way, but his affection for the franchise is shameless, and his announcing is bereft of any objectivity whatsoever. (Sometimes when I’m listening to a game, all I can think about are those “Daaa Bears” SNL skits, and I picture four John Sterlings sitting around a table trying to decide what would happen if Derek Jeter faced Mariano Rivera.)

So yeah, all that is why I can’t stand listening to John Sterling. Plus all the other stuff I mentioned last year.

But on the other hand, he has a good voice. So it almost evens out.

Right, Suzyn?

Suzyn?

Joe Torre on love, life, and how to pick a winner

Well, I landed the big one. After playing imaginary phone tag for the past few months, I was finally able to reach Yankee’s manager Joe Torre, and convince him to sit down for the most exclusive of exclusive interviews. How did I do it? Let’s just say that my in-laws, like Torre, are from Brooklyn, and once that connection was made, any kind of refusal on Joe’s part would have been the equivalent of him wearing Red Sox underwear. People from Brooklyn stick together, whether they like it or not. Plus, I told him this was to benefit charity, which was a lie on my part. But whatever works. Anyway, here it is.

Me: Hi, Mr. Torre! It’s a pleasure to sit down with the most renowned Yankee manager since Stump Merrill. Can I call you ‘Papa Joe?’ That’s what my wife likes to call you whenever she sees you on TV.

Torre: Ummm, sure, I guess so. Why not.

Me: Great! Papa Joe, let me get this out of the way now, so there’s no confusion. This isn’t going to be like one of those “Center Stage” interviews, where I’m lobbing you softballs, and then patting you on the butt after you hit it out of the park, laughing hysterically all the while at whatever you say. I have more credibility than that. Are you cool with this?

Torre: Sure, I think I can handle the hardball questions. But just as a curiosity, where did you get your journalism degree?

Me: HEY! I’ll be asking the questions here! Okay Papa Joe, I’m going to be honest here. You haven’t seemed like yourself lately. You seem perpetually upset, or even agitated. You’ve been snapping at reporters. You’re not the Joe Torre I knew back in college – you’ve changed, man. You’ve always come across as one of the most approachable men in the game of baseball, but when you walked in here today, I was scared to approach you. Be honest with me here – is it A-Rod? C’mon, you can tell me.

Torre: Ya’ know, I don’t feel any different than I’ve felt in years past. But I think that things are getting to me a little more than they used to. Believe me – you can only hear so many questions about the Red Sox, and about your starting pitching, and about George Steinbrenner, before you start to snap. I probably do need to cool off a bit. And no – my change in demeanor has nothing to do with A-Rod.

Me: So, how many more game-ending double-plays will A-Rod have to ground into before he DOES start to affect your mood?

Torre: One more. Then you might actually see me run out of the dugout throwing haymakers.

Me: Now THAT’S what I’m talking about! Seriously though, we all know you looooooove to defend your players. You’d rather use words like “pressing” and “struggling,” instead of the more appropriate, “blowing chunks,” and “sent down to Columbus.” Other managers in the league have taken their players to task through the media. Why have you always refused to do this?

Torre: Because, what good would it do? With this team, and with pretty much any team I’ve had here in New York, it’s never been a question of effort with the guys. But players go in slumps. If Alex is struggling at the end of “big games,” then what good does it do for me to tell some reporter that he should be doing better in those situations? Alex knows that. It would only add more pressure, and that pressure is exactly why Alex is pressing.

Me: Do you know that you used the words “struggling” AND “pressing” in that response? Why don’t you try – just try – to say those last couple of sentences over again, using my advice. I think it might make you feel better.

Torre: All right. I’ll give a try. Ahem…If Alex is blowing chunks at the end of “big games,” then what good does it do for me to tell some reporter that he should be doing better in those situations? Alex knows that. It would only add more pressure, and that pressure is exactly why Alex is sent down to Columbus.

Me: SEE! See what I mean! How good did that feel?

Torre: Actually, I can’t lie - that felt pretty good.

Me: Okay, since you’re on the subject of “not lying,” tell me how much you hate Randy Johnson.

Torre: All right, let’s not go too far here. I certainly don’t hate Randy Johnson. He’s just strug…er,…trying to locate his pitches better.

Me: Wait, you mean his pitches aren’t supposed to go over the center field wall?

Torre: No, not exactly.

Me: He stinks. Papa Joe, here’s an interesting rhetorical question: If Carl Pavano and Kevin Brown pitched against each other, who would get injured first?

Torre: Wow…that’s a tough one. I don’t think I can answer that.

Me: Do you give up? Ha! It’s a trick question. They can’t pitch against each other, cause they’re both on the DL.

Torre: Wait, you said that was a rhetorical question, not a trick one.

Me: Whatever. Same thing. Speaking of injuries, the Yankees have had a lot of them this year. Please rank, in order, the reasons for this: a) age, b) steroids, c) most of these guys are million-dollar pansies.

Torre: Listen, I can’t rank the reasons behind these injuries. They’re part of the game, and they happen to every team. It just so happens that, this year, it seems like every other day somebody’s going down. But we still have to go out there and win. And the young guys, like Melky Cabrera, Robinson Cano, and Andy Phillips have helped us immensely. That said, a, c, and b.

Me: Interesting. Because of those injuries, your team has suddenly gone from "overpaid bunch of underachieving jerks who everyone hates" to "rag-tag group of overachievers who have taken the country by storm, and who have restored a national love affair with the game of baseball." Would you say that the current Yankees are similar to the movie "Rudy?"

Torre: Well, not really. I mean, the young guys have helped us out. A lot. But we still have a bunch of all-stars playing everyday, like Jeter, A-Rod, and Giambi. Plus, "Rudy" kind of sucked.

Me: Wow...didn't expect that. Okay, Papa Joe – you are famous for being completely stoic in the face of adversity. Yankee Stadium could be burning down around you, and there you’d be, calm as all heck, telling stupid Kelly Stinnett where the nearest exit is. But you’re also a notorious dugout nose-picker. Please explain.

Torre: I don’t know what it is, but it seems like every time the camera pans to me in the dugout, I’m digging for gold. Especially during the playoffs. All I can say is, baseball is a long, sometimes monotonous game, and oftentimes you mistake the dugout for your living room. Maybe I’m too calm out there.

Me: Yeah, that’s nasty. But also funny. Here’s one for ya’. Can you pinpoint the exact moment when your love affair with Tanyon Sturtze ended? Personally, I thought that was a love that would never die.

Torre: Very funny. And yes, I can. It was the ninth inning of a 14-3 loss at Boston on May 9th. That’s when I’d had enough.

Me: Was it a tough breakup?

Torre: Not really. I think we both knew it wouldn’t last.

Me: Is it awkward now when Tanyon walks by your office and sees you with Scott Proctor?

Torre: Okay, that’s enough.

Me: I have to ask you this Papa Joe, because it’s something I’ve always wondered. Does John Sterling turn into a giggling schoolgirl whenever he sees you? Do you roll your eyes when you see him prancing around the field during batting practice while he’s wearing glasses and an ascot? Do you hate having conversations with him, because you know that whatever you say will turn into one of those on-air, “So I was talking to Joe the other day…” stories? Be honest.

Torre: Ummm, no comment.

Me: Hey - I thought we were playing hardball here.

Torre: Well then, I guess you just struck me out.

Me: Sweet. Listen, I had so much more to ask you about, but we’re running out of time. Please give “Jorgie,” “Jete,” “Mo,” and the rest of the guys my best. Tell them I said they have to come over for pancakes. They’ll know what I’m talking about.

Torre: Sure thing.

Me: I’d shake your hand, but I don’t know where that finger’s been.

Torre: Understandable. But thanks for having me anyway. By the way, what charity does this benefit again?

Me: Oh, ummm…the children’s one. Ya’ know, the one for all the kids, who have like, problems or something. I’ll send you the pamphlet, if I can find it.

Torre: Sounds good. Do you know my address though?

Me: You’re from Brooklyn, right? One of my in-laws will find you.


Note: This was not a real interview. If you thought it was, consider yourself “Punk’d.” Or something similar.

Championship dreams now six feet under

I wanted to sit down and write something important about the 2005 New York Yankees. About how, as a fan, it was darn near impossible to fall in love with this team. About how they teased us into thinking they were tough and resilient, but in the end, they were just underachievers. About how they managed to sleepwalk through various parts of the season, and then somehow expected to “turn it on” when it mattered, although ultimately they couldn’t. About how I refused to believe in the death of a dynasty after Game Seven in 2001, but now I’m convinced.

But whatever. Who cares, right? The problems surrounding this team aren’t under the surface somewhere – they’re staring us all in the face. So I refuse to be one of the eight million people with a keyboard who is going to wax poetic about what, exactly, is wrong with a team whose payroll exceeds the next highest team by $100 million. Instead, I’m going to hand out individual epitaphs for every relevant 2005 Yankee. Because in the end, they all played dead.

***Note: In the upcoming issue of The Courier, these comments appear on tombstones, which make them a little bit funnier. I hope. This blogger site, unfortunately, does not a have a feature for "graphically-produced fake tombstones," so I apologize.***

Jason Giambi: To all of you who left me for dead, look at me now!

Robinson Cano: Am I poised, or do I just not care? You decide.

Derek Jeter: It’s harder being clutch when everyone else isn’t.

Alex Rodriguez: Most Valuable Player, Los Angeles Angels.

Hideki Matsui: In Japan, “Godzilla” means “ground out to second base.”

Bernie Williams: See ya!

Gary Sheffield: I was wrong - Derek IS the leader. Talk to him.

Jorge Posada: If it weren’t for April, May, June, July, and August, I would have had a really good year.

Bubba Crosby: New York Yankees’ center fielder. Yep.

Ruben Sierra: Productive off the bench. Except for the “productive” part.

Tino Martinez: We’ll always have April.

Randy Johnson: Yeah, 2005? Sorry about that.

Mike Mussina: Momma always said, “Life is like a box of Mike Mussina. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

Chein Ming Wang: Kevin Brown makes HOW much?!

Shawn Chacon: Ace.

Jaret Wright: There’s no “I” in “Disabled List.” Oh wait – yeah there is.

Aaron Small: Diamond in the rough.

Tanyon Sturtze: Wait – you DON’T want me to give up any runs? My bad.

Tom Gordon: The reason Mo gets a two-inning save when it matters.

Mariano Rivera: Don’t look at ME.

Joe Torre: Alright Donnie, think you can handle this?

2005 New York Yankees: The new Atlanta Braves. Only richer!

A tale of two cities, and their ballparks

Wrigley Field and Yankee Stadium are similar in that they are both old, legendary venues where baseball is often played.

And that’s about it.

I traveled to Chicago with my wife a couple of weeks ago to catch my first Cubs’ game. I had always wanted to go to Wrigley Field because the park has so many qualities that are unique, not the least of which is the ever-present stench of disappointment. And my wife was happy because she was able to see the landmark that is the famed red “Wrigley Field” sign on the front of the stadium, not due to her innate sense of baseball history, but because it reminded her of “Perfect Strangers.”

Ironically, it’s how perfect strangers are treated that sets Wrigley Field apart from the place I am accustomed to watching a professional baseball game, Yankee Stadium.

Wrigley is known as “The Friendly Confines,” and everyone who works there tries hard to maintain the legitimacy of that moniker. The people at the concession stands actually call you over and encourage you to purchase things like beer, which was a coincidence because I was in the market to purchase some beer anyway. (By the way, a full cup of beer is $5.50 there. $5.50. That may sound like a lot to the average person, who realizes that one can buy six beers at a liquor store for the same price, but it’s a full two dollars less than what one costs at the Stadium.) The workers ask you where you’re from, smile, and demand that you enjoy the game. Yankee Stadium also has concession stand workers, but they don’t call you over. In fact, even when it is your turn after waiting in line for 20 minutes, and you are standing in front of a register, they still may not come over because they are discussing what they did last night by the popcorn machine, at which point they will get mad and roll their eyes when they notice that someone is waiting for service, because you had to yell, “Hey! – Can I get a hot dog over here?” Then they will mumble something about how you owe them $80.

Yankee Stadium also has ushers, whose job it is to look at your ticket, and then point you in a general direction, like up. And those are the good ones. Some of them are 103 years old, and when they’re not yelling at you for being in an area of the stadium that you’re not entitled to be in, they are just standing there, staring blankly into outer space, waiting to get hit by a foul ball. In fact, to be an usher at Yankee Stadium, it is required that you have a) a grammar school degree, b) a metro card, and c) pants.

There are ushers at Wrigley Field as well, but they have many more responsibilities. For starters, they are all extremely friendly, and refuse to allow you to perform the laborious duty of finding your seat on your own. They will walk you there, all the while engaging in pleasant conversation. They are each in charge of specific sections, like a waiter who is responsible for certain tables at a restaurant. Our usher’s name was Betsi, and after she accompanied us to our destination, she cooled off our seats, which were roasting in the hot sun (Wrigley Field is famous for hosting day games), with a wet sponge. She then did us the favor of taking several pictures of us, and seemed surprised that neither of us were used to such treatment at a baseball game.

Overall, this is the inherent difference between the two ballparks with regards to how its patrons are treated: Yankee Stadium gives off the aura that YOU should feel privileged to be there, while at Wrigley Field, you’re always acutely aware of how happy THEY are to have you.

Now, that said, there are other differences between these two venues that give Yankee Stadium a distinct advantage. For one thing, Wrigley Field does not have urinals in the men’s bathrooms. Instead they have troughs, where, on a busy day, you can do your business while rubbing shoulders with, who else – perfect strangers. Now that I’ve used both, I’m pretty sure I prefer the privacy of a Yankee Stadium urinal, even if it is filled with half a pretzel and an empty cigarette box.

More importantly, much has been made of the “aura” of Yankee Stadium, and I’m telling you – it’s the real thing. Even during a Tuesday night game against the Royals in early May, you KNOW you’re in a special place. You can feel it. I didn’t really feel it at Wrigley Field. The fans generally seemed almost indifferent to what was going on (Though keep in mind I wasn’t sitting in the notorious outfield bleachers.) Everyone seemed preoccupied, which was especially odd considering Cubs’ ace Mark Prior was on the mound for seven innings. There was no buzz – no spontaneous chants ever started, and no belligerent fans began yelling obscenities, which is always fun. Even when the Cubs won in the bottom of the ninth inning on a pinch-hit single by Aramis Ramirez, the place didn’t erupt as it would have in the Bronx. Now, this could be a result of years and years of broken hearts from Cubs’ failures, or it could simply be the fact that I personally wasn’t as involved because I wasn’t watching my favorite team. What can I say – I know I’m biased.

Wrigley Field was an amazing experience, and it certainly satisfied my lifelong desire to go there. It is a gorgeous and pristine place to watch a baseball game, just oozing with history. It is distinct amidst the surplus of cookie-cutter stadiums crowding the market these days, and the people who work there specialize in hospitality.

But it’s not quite Yankee Stadium. Sure, the place is old and concrete, and set amidst the backdrop of the less-than-spectacular South Bronx. And yeah – there’s an excellent chance of being told off if you request that somebody cool down your seat with a wet sponge. But that’s kind of the appeal. I mean – it’s home.

And now that I think about it, maybe that’s the only difference that matters.

An open letter to Kevin Brown

Dear Kevin,

When the Yankees traded for you and then signed you two years ago for $800 billion, I was so excited. I hadn’t been that happy since the time I looked down at my feet and saw that my athlete’s foot had gone away, even though it came back the next day.

Anyway, I’ve been a big fan of yours for years, and I’ve followed you throughout your career. All those great times in Texas, when you were leading the Rangers to the Promised Land, except back then the Promised Land was fourth place in the AL West. Not quite the Land of Canaan, but hey – whaddya gonna do? It was probably Juan Gonzalez’s fault. The Orioles then took you on board, followed by the Marlins. Then you made it to the World Series with the Padres, but the Yankees got lucky and swept you guys. That wasn’t your fault either – I mean, could Tony Gwynn have BEEN any fatter? Was he eating the batting donuts by accident? Sheesh.

Anyhoo, I knew even back then that you’d be a perfect fit for the Yankees – what with your surly attitude and ability to never crack a smile (even that time when Phil Nevin was tickling the bottom of your feet in the Padres’ dugout. Man, I thought you were going to KILL him!). You were all business – even after business was over and everybody was sleeping – and I LIKED that about you. After all, there’s no room for joy in baseball, not when the rosin bag has been carelessly placed on the WRONG side of the mound, and somebody on the grounds crew needs to be fired.

Then you went to L.A., and I thought to myself, “Man, that’s a lot of stops for such a great pitcher!” Luckily, every city has a place called the DL, which is where you could usually be found, icing down your strained collateral tendonitis shinbone, or whatever was ailing you at the time. Fortunately for me, you came back in 2003 virtually injury-free, and pitched well enough for the Dodgers to convince the Yankees to scoop you up in the offseason, via a trade for Jeff Weaver. Mr. Weaver had great “stuff” - and by stuff I mean hair - because most of his pitches ended up somewhere in Queens. He obviously couldn’t pitch in New York, and I wasn’t sad to see him go, because we were getting YOU, even though you were already 39 years old, and your back was being held together with duct tape.

I can still remember the press conference when the Yankees acquired you, and you held up your new jersey for everyone to see. Actually, I was surprised that you didn’t injure yourself doing that, because those jerseys can be heavier than they look. Then you turned to Brian Cashman and whispered, “You guys have a DL here, right?” What a kidder you are!

Anyway, I would say that 2004 was a rousing success, except for all of the times you had to pitch. Nevertheless, I admired how you always looked on the bright side of things. For instance, if you gave up a hit, you were like, “No big deal – I’ll get the next guy.” And when THAT guy got a hit, you were like, “No biggie – I’ll get the next guy.” And when THAT guy got a hit, you were like, “That’s okay – I’ll get the next guy.” And when THAT guy got a hit, you were like, “My shoulder hurts.” You were never too hard on yourself, which seemed to rub off on your teammates. Like sandpaper. Even after the game against Baltimore, when you only gave up three runs and came back into the locker room and punched a wall, breaking your hand. To me, it showed remarkable restraint that you didn’t just tie yourself to some nearby railroad tracks and wait for the inevitable, because let’s face it – three runs is a LOT of runs.

Game Seven of the ALCS was also a lot of fun to watch. You were ON that night. On the mound, that is, giving up lots and lots and lots of runs. Oh well – it was just the Red Sox. No big deal.

Which is why I was thrilled when the Yankees didn’t lose faith in you for 2005. Well, I guess it’s hard to just lose faith when you still owe faith $27 million. Nevertheless, you have so many great attributes that are irreplaceable, regardless of your horrendous pitching. Like, the way you talk to the media with that, “If you guys were a wall I’d punch you right NOW!” kind of ferocity. And your distinct delivery, where you look back to centerfield before you release the ball. Someone I know describes it as a “Please God, don’t hit this” delivery, even though they usually do. In fact, I think you’re the only pitcher in the league who looks into the outfield both before AND after he throws every pitch.

As I write this, you just left a game against the Pirates with a mysterious injury brought on by four earned runs. I think it was your back again. Or shoulder. Or ankle. Or finger. Or leg. Or armpit. Or scalp. Or athlete’s foot. Or buttocks. Wait – WAS it your back? I can’t remember. Anyway, I was just writing to remind you that we DO have a DL here, except it’s not actually HERE. It’s in Guam. And once you go, you can never come back.

And one other thing. When you’re packing your suitcase, try not to hurt yourself. And don’t forget the duct tape. All checks will be forwarded.

The Boss, and a case of mistaken identity

I discovered something last week, to my dismay. My cell phone number is only one digit off from Yankees’ General Manager Brian Cashman’s cell phone number, which goes a long way towards explaining why I, your everyday frustrated Yankees’ fan, was on the horn with George Steinbrenner himself at 3:30 am this past Tuesday. Fortunately, I was able to illegally record our dialogue, and I will now release it to the public, because that’s what he gets for waking me up from my dream about winning the Pulitzer Prize at an awards show hosted by Angelina Jolie.

Me: (Groggy) Hello?

George: Brian, wake up! What the hell do you think this is – sleepy time? We’re a .500 baseball team, and you’re acting like that guy who fell asleep for a long time, and then woke up and he was all old and wrinkled.

Me: Rip Van Winkle?

George: What? Winky who? What the heck are you saying? Stop talking gibberish, and explain to me WHY, the $200 million of MY money that YOU spent, has been magically transformed into a giant pile of pinstriped dog doody?!

Me: Wait a second. Hold up. Is this George Steinbrenner?

George: Ohhh, yeahhhh. (Clapping hands.) Bravo, Brian. You’re a regular Carrot Top there with your brand of comedy. WHO THE HECK ELSE WOULD BE CALLING YOU AT 3:30 IN THE MORNING – MEL FREAKIN’ GIBSON?!

Me: Oh, ummm, actually Mr. Steinbrenner, I think you may have dialed –

George: An idiot? Darn right I dialed an idiot! Did you WATCH the game last night, or were you snoozing away again, like your friend Henry Winkler?

Me: Ummm, actually, yeah – I did watch the game last night.

George: So WHAT happened? Why can’t we beat the MILWAUKEE BREWERS, Brian? Why is Mr. Randy Johnson himself pitching like he doesn’t even care? And did you SEE him at the plate last night, Brian? He looks like a giant pencil with an eraser on his head, and he swings like a girl! How much are we paying for this – to embarrass ourselves every night?

Me: Ummm, a lot?

George: DARN RIGHT A LOT! Why is Posada striking out with the bases loaded and no outs? When is Matsui going to get a hit? Is Mariano Rivera still on the TEAM, cause I haven’t seen him in THREE WEEKS?!

Me: I think he is, but I’m not –

George: Ya’ know, we start off the year playing like crap. Then we win 10 straight, 16 out of 18, and I’m thinking to myself, “Ya know George – maybe you DIDN’T waste millions and millions of dollars on a bunch of underachievers who have no idea what it means to play for the New York Yankees. Maybe they just needed a little kick in the rear – a little push on the old caboose.” Then the Red Sox come to town and THEY push us on the caboose all right! You might as well have taken a picture of David Ortiz standing on top of a pile of our pitchers, giving a salute, and sticking a Boston flag in the back of Carl Pavano. Just embarrassing, Brian. Then the ROYALS – the ROYALS, Brian! The last time the Kansas City Royals swept the New York Yankees you were probably in diapers, blowing your mother’s hard-earned money on thousand-dollar pacifiers! Ya’ know Brian, I wish I was still in the shipbuilding industry, so I could build a huge ship, invite you on it, and then throw you overboard.

Me: Ya’ know, Mr. Steinbrenner, I’m NOT –

George: Capable of making an informed decision? Ohhh – you don’t have to tell ME that Brian. Do you know how I look when guys like Javier Vasquez and Jose Contreras are pitching so well for other teams, and we get overpriced prima donnas like Brown and Johnson who come over here and crap the bed? It doesn’t make me look good, Brian. I’ll tell you that. That’s why I felt compelled to issue this conference call, to clear the air, and find out what’s going on here.

Me: Conference call?

George: Yes, conference call, you MORON! You know I never do things without a team of advisors. Say hello to former New York mayor Rudy Giuliani and my good friend, Donald Trump.

Me: Uhhh, hey guys.

Giuliani: Brian, it’s not good for my political career to be seen at games where the team I’m rooting for is losing. Do I have to start going to METS games, Brian? I hope not.

Trump: Brian, judging by your performance so far in 2005, if you were on “The Apprentice,” I’m sorry, but I’d have to say, “You’re fired.”

Me: Alright – that’s enough. I don’t know WHO you think you are waking me up at this hour to scream at me, and belittle me in front of others. This is YOUR team, GEORGIE boy. Our whole roster is made up of the overpriced and aging stars that YOU salivated over at some point, from Giambi, to Sheffield, to Brown, to Mussina, to Johnson. You tell Cashman who you want, and he goes and gets them. THAT’S his job. So don’t come crying to him when things don’t work out as planned. You saw Vasquez and Contreras pitch here, so don’t even try and tell me that THEIR absence is the reason we’re losing now. I know we’re not playing even close to our potential right now, but all we can do is hope that things turn around. This is our team – the manifestation of years and years of coveted free agents signing multi-year contracts. The bad news is we’re playing terrible baseball right now, we’ve depleted our farm system, and all of our underachievers are virtually immovable because of the money they make. The good news is we have a team centered around Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez, a pitching staff that can only get better at this point, the best manager in the game, and enough time to turn this thing around. We’ve made our bed, and it’s time to sleep. And speaking of sleep, that’s where I’m going back to right now. And Trump, shut up.

George: Okay, Brian. Points well taken, but I don’t know where you get the cojones to refer to yourself in the third person. Only I can do that, so take note. And we better get this thing turned around soon, cause I’m getting reeeeaaaal antsy over here. And you know what happens when I get antsy, Brian? People end up on the unemployment line - THAT’S what happens. If we don’t win it all this year, you owe me $200 million, so start saving. Do you hear me, Brian?

Me: (Click).

The less than dynamic duo

There’s something special about listening to baseball games on the radio. Maybe it’s the knowledge that fans of yore had only the radio available to acquire integral information about our national pastime, or maybe it’s the fact that 162 games provide numerous opportunities to listen to the action while driving. Or maybe it’s just that I’d much rather hear a catchy “Foxwoods” commercial (“take a chance…make it happen…”) than watch terrible local cable commercials (“Hi. I’m Denise, your warranty and parts manager”). Nevertheless, that said, after 26 World Championships and too many great moments to name, you would think that I’d have nothing to complain about as a Yankees’ fan. But after having to endure their 2005 radio broadcasting team for almost two months now, I feel compelled to file an official complaint. So here it is.

John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman are the broadcasting team for the New York Yankees. Sterling is the play-by-play guy, and has been for some time now. Waldman had served as the Yankees’ beat reporter for several years, and this is her first year in the booth. Unfortunately, these two mix about as well as ketchup and ice cream.

Now, in my opinion, the job of the baseball broadcaster is as such: He or she is responsible for adequately painting a picture, with words, of what is going on. He or she should call the game as they see it, work in some light-hearted conversation and interesting anecdotes, and then go home. That said, allow me to voice my displeasure with Mr. Sterling.

Suzyn Waldman is Sterling’s third broadcast partner in the past five years. He was previously teamed with Michael Kay (now on YES, though the two made an okay team), and then Charley Steiner (now calling games for the Dodgers, though while here, he seemed to serve only as a wittier version of Sterling — they even looked alike). This high turnover of color commentators seems to adequately represent Sterling’s dominant broadcasting style. He often comes across as annoyed when he perceives his partner is stealing his thunder. And by that, I mean “talking.” He did this with Kay and Steiner, though to a lesser extent, because he was forced to respect them somewhat. With Waldman, he can be downright condescending. Sometimes, he chooses to not even respond to her comments. And I’m not insinuating that this is done consciously, or because of her womanhood, but I get the impression that Sterling was less than thrilled when Waldman’s new position within the organization was announced. (As a side note, Waldman endured similar treatment from Ken Singleton when she made her infrequent visits to call TV telecasts on MSG.) It seems as though Sterling would be best suited with a broadcast partner similar to the one Bob Uecker had in “Major League,” who remained completely silent while Uecker’s character, Harry Doyle, took over the broadcast:

Doyle: [before the playoff game] Monty, anything to add?

Colorman: Ummm... no.

Doyle: He's not the best colorman in the league for nothing, folks!

Another problem I have with Sterling is that he relies too heavily on shticks. Of course, he is best known for his signature call: “The Yankees win, thaaaaaaaa Yankees WIN!” Okay, that’s fine. And every broadcaster has his home run call (Michael Kay’s “See ya!” and the Mets’ Gary Cohen’s “It’s outta here!” for example). But Sterling goes too far. When Alex Rodriguez hits one out, he chimes, “It’s an A-bomb, from A-Rod!” Not only is that just plain stupid, but it rather insensitively links one of the deadliest tragedies in world history to a home run. When Jason Giambi hits one, “It’s the Giam-BINO!” This one I didn’t mind at first, when Giambi was supposed to be leading the next generation of Yankees’ sluggers, but now, comparing Giambi to Babe Ruth borders on sacrilege. And the worst one of them all, “Bern baby, Bern!” for whenever Bernie Williams gets a big hit. That one actually gives me goose bumps of embarrassment, every time.

Sterling has a standard home run call as well, but he seems to be screwing it up more often these days, along the lines of, “It is HIGH…it is FAR…it IS…strike three.” Okay, so it’s not THAT bad, but he did have this gem a few weeks ago: “It is HIGH…it is FAR...it IS…off the wall, and…into the stands.” Obviously, that’s impossible, unless they were playing with one of those super-bouncy rubber balls; even “Mike & the Mad Dog” played that clip over and over again after it happened, marveling at the inaccuracy of it. The thing is, I remember the days when Phil Rizzuto was making little or no sense calling the televised games for WPIX, and he would often confuse near home runs with pop-ups to the shortstop. But there was something endearing about that, mainly because Rizzuto could laugh at himself. Sterling can’t, and his frequent mistakes are even more exposed by his stubbornness to admit that he ever made one.

As far as Suzyn Waldman is concerned, I’ve always liked her, even though she’s a removed Bostonian. She’s extremely knowledgeable, and very affable. However, her former job as the team’s beat reporter hasn’t translated well to her color commentary. Her observations are rarely her own, but rather some feedback she received from a player or coach. And while her voice is not really conducive to radio, this minor flaw becomes even more noticeable amidst the recognizable and soothing drone of Sterling.

Of course, my biggest issue with this radio team is something most likely out of their control. They too often serve as cheerleaders for this franchise, instead of providing the subtle criticism that this team sometimes deserves. I’m sure this comes down from the top, as it would be a cold day in hell before George Steinbrenner paid his broadcast team to critique the very team he owns. Nevertheless, it still reflects upon Sterling and Waldman, and it doesn’t sit well with someone looking for unbiased calls of a baseball game on a warm summer night.

The awkwardness of Sterling and Waldman is magnified by the fact that they share the same city as Gary Cohen and Howie Rose, the Mets’ excellent broadcasting duo. Cohen and Rose simply call the game, they never oogle at their own players, they joke around with each other while providing intriguing analysis, and they genuinely seem to like one another. And neither relies on shtick to get by. Across town, John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman are struggling to connect. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. But, at least I still have the commercials.

“Pop the cork…finger snappin’…”

A-Rod: An ‘interview’ with Public Enemy No. 1

Being an esteemed member of the “media,” I have access to many of today’s most popular athletes. Unfortunately, my “access” is usually limited to me watching them on TV. So in order to get integral information about these athletes to you (the reader), I often have to resort to improvising. For example, instead of having an actual sit-down, one-on-one interview with Yankees’ third baseman Alex Rodriguez, I have to simply make up what I THINK he would say regarding several important topics. This is called “journalism,” except, not really.

Regardless, my exclusive interview will commence…NOW!

Me: Hey there, Alex! Why don’t you have a seat…

A-Rod: There aren’t any chairs in here.

Me: Great. So, Alex — two years ago, you’re playing with the Texas Rangers, en route to winning the AL MVP. You’re widely considered THE best all-around player in the game. Today, you’re on the Yankees, and everybody hates your guts. Does this feel good, or bad?

A-Rod: Well, first of all, I wouldn’t really say that everybody hates my guts. I mean,…

Me: No, really — everybody does. I’ve talked to a lot of people.

A-Rod: Okaaaay. Uh, I’ve definitely noticed some hostility in my direction, but all I worry about is going out and playing baseball everyday. I try not to let all that other stuff bother me. And actually, that’s not what I came here to talk about, so I’d appreciate it if we could change the subject.

Me: You’ve been called a “phony.” Other players have implied that you’re a kind of “teacher’s pet” of an athlete — saying that your feeble attempts to be a “leader” and a “team player” reek of insincerity. Players say that, because they know how you act on the field, they find your public persona fake. Is this true, or is all this stuff simply jealousy from the fact that you make enough money to buy Europe? Ya’ know, if it was for sale.

A-Rod: I think jealousy is definitely a factor. I mean, if you go back and ask some of the guys I was close to while I was with Seattle and Texas, they’ll tell —

Me: I did. They told me to tell you that you’re a phony. And you smell. But don’t get mad at me — I’m just the messenger.

A-Rod: Listen — regardless of the reasons for all the criticism, I don’t really care what anyone has to say about me. Like I said, I’m solely focused on playing baseball, and bringing a championship back here to New York.

Me: I can’t stand when you wear those humongous, pointy sunglasses at third base during day games. What are those, “Oakley’s?” Didn’t they go out of style in like, 1989? Why don’t you just go all out and rock and half-shirt and Zubaz when you wear those things? Seriously, the eye black should suffice.

A-Rod: I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond to that.

Me: You don’t have to. I just wanted to get that off my chest.

A-Rod: (silence)

Me: Anyway, on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being like a trip to Chuck E’ Cheeses, how would you rate your enjoyment for playing in New York so far?

A-Rod: I would probably have to give it a seven. All the other stuff aside, I’m having a great time here playing for the Yankees. The only reason I wouldn’t give it a higher rating is because we weren’t able to win the World Series last year. And because everybody hates me for no apparent reason.

Me: Is that story really true about how you, while in Boston a few weeks ago, saved a little boy from getting hit by a car, or did you just make that up to become more popular?

A-Rod: I can’t believe you would even ask me a question like that. Apparently, I can’t even save someone’s life without getting blamed for having a hidden agenda. Are you even a real member of the media? Where’s your press pass?

Me: I left it in my truck. Now let’s not get off the topic. How are you getting along with Derek?

A-Rod: Derek who?

Me: Ummm, Derek Jeter. He plays shortstop for the Yankees. Right next to you. Everyday. Ring a bell?

A-Rod: Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were on a first-name basis with him.

Me: Touché.

A-Rod: Derek and I get along just fine. The comments I made about him years ago in that “Esquire” interview were completely blown out of proportion, and the whole situation is water under the bridge now. In fact, I’m going over to his house tonight for a costume party. He told me it’d be hilarious if I dressed up like a French maid. That’s the kind of guy I am — I try not to take myself too seriously.

Me: That’s weird. He invited me over tonight too, but didn’t say anything about it being a costume party. Anyway, your talent is undeniable. But for this interview’s sake, allow me to deny it. You stink. What would you say to that?

A-Rod: Well, I would just tell you to check the numbers. Last year was an “off” year for me, and I hit 36 home runs, drove in over 100 runs, and hit just under .300. I changed positions for the good of the team, and made the transition from shortstop to third base like it was nothing. Granted, I experienced some growing pains in the beginning of last year, but tell me what player who is new to the Yankees hasn’t? I hit a game-tying double off the wall in the ALDS against the Twins’ marquee closer, and I was scorching hot throughout the playoffs, until I, along with the rest of my entire team, hit a brick wall against excellent Boston pitching. I never made any excuses for myself, I absorbed all of the subsequent blame that came my way, and I plan on turning things around this year. If I don’t, then you can hate me all you want. And as a side note, I couldn’t care less what the fans of the Red Sox have to say about me, because they were all drowning in their sorrows two years ago when their front office failed to land me in a trade. Now THAT’S “phony.”

Me: Well said, Alex. Listen, just to let you know, I don’t hate you. But you need to start coming through for the team more often. Nobody really cares if you’re saving the lives of little children when you keep leaving runners on base in big spots. We as Yankees’ fans WANT to love you, but you need to come through when it counts. That’s all it takes. Like, take last night for example. You hit three home runs and had 10 RBI. Just do that, like, all the time.

A-Rod: I’ll try my best.

Me: Okay, great. I’m glad we talked. And you don’t smell.

A-Rod: Thanks.

Me: THAT bad.

A-Rod: What?

Me: Just kidding. Listen — can I borrow five bucks?

How to have fun when the Red Sox are in town

We’re traveling into uncharted waters here. For the first time in 86 years, the Boston Red Sox are the defending World Series champions, and the Yankees are the ones in a drought, if you can even call it that, which you can, because I just did. It’s only been five years, but I’m mighty thirsty, especially considering the fact that it felt like I was swallowing sandpaper when the Red Sox won Game Seven of the ALCS, and then went on to win the whole thing. I have a very bad taste in my mouth, and it’s not from the cockroaches I had to eat for the pilot episode of “Fear Factor: Non-Twin Wannabe Writers.” (Coming this summer!) It’s the taste of defeat, and I need to wash it out with the sweetness of victory champagne. Hopefully, that can happen this year, with the Yankees bringing the glory back to the Bronx, and then inviting me into the clubhouse to drink that victory champagne with them. That’s really all I’m asking.

Anyway, before I went on that rambling tangent, I was talking about how we (Americans) are traveling into “uncharted waters,” which is true. The tables have turned, from a baseball standpoint. In 2005, it’s cool to be a Red Sox fan, which is kind of an oxymoronic statement considering, ya’ know, Ben Affleck. Regardless, it’s no longer looked upon as insane to root for the Red Sox, as evidenced by the fact that everyone seems to be jumping on the bandwagon, except for Ben Affleck, who only hops on bandwagons carrying bad scripts and ill-fated relationships. The examples are everywhere — there’s a new movie out about Red Sox fans, “Boston Rob” and Amber of “Survivor” notoriety are on another reality show, and news came out recently that Ted Danson from “Cheers” is still alive, which I did not know. At the same time, it’s also NO longer cool to support the New York Yankees. Again, the examples are everywhere — Jason Giambi and Gary Sheffield are mired in the steroid controversy, token ESPN Yankee-hater Jim Caple wrote a book entitled, “The Devil Wears Pinstripes,” and former Yankee Yogi Berra sued TBS for suggesting the term “yogasm” (from the show “Sex and the City”) meant having sex with Yogi Berra. I mean, really — that’s just nasty.

So, advantage: Boston. For now. Needless to say, Yankees’ fans are going to have to be on the defensive this year, with all the bragging rights on the wrong side. In fact, the chant that has spent 86 years in-the-making will undoubtedly surface this upcoming week, when the Yankees travel to Fenway Park. It is, “Year-Two-Thou-sand,” which signifies the last time Ben Affleck was considered a serious actor. But I’m sure that things will change the next time the Sox come to the Stadium, and I know that Yankees’ fans aren’t prepared to stand pat with regards to this rather unfriendly rivalry. In fact, I have several suggestions for chants that WE, Yankees’ fans, can counteract with during the upcoming season. (Please keep in mind that these chants are four syllable phrases, so as to be immediately followed by the necessary “clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.” Think of them as sports-related haikus, but without all of the annoying grammatical structure.)

No. 1: SCHIL-LING FAKED IT! This chant could, ney, SHOULD be accompanied by the dangling of some faux bloody socks for maximum effect. After all, the idea that Curt Schilling laid an egg in Game One of the ’04 ALCS, blamed it on his ankle, and then showed up for Game Six donning the bloody sock while throwing BBs all night seems a little suspicious, doesn’t it? As the old saying goes, “real men don’t show their bloody ankles.” Let’s let all those Red Sox fans know that we’re onto the hoax. Besides, I heard Hideki Matsui played every game last season with a torn testicular muscle, and didn’t even tell anyone. Now THAT’S a man!

No. 2: WHERE’S-THE-GAME-BALL? This chant would best be used immediately following the inevitable “Year-Two-Thou-sand” that will be hurled at us from Sox fans. Since first baseman-for-hire Doug Mientkiewicz basically refused to give up the ball he caught for the last out of the ’04 World Series, we can pretend that whole thing never happened. Where’s the proof? And could you even imagine something like that happening in New York? If a guy like Charlie Hayes refused to give up the ball from the last out of the 1996 World Series, the Yankees would hire someone to “coerce” him to hand it over, and then we’d never hear the name “Charlie Hayes” again. In fact, maybe that’s exactly what DID happen.

No. 3: SUB-PON-EA WELLS! This one works because the idea that David Wells would get subpoenaed for the Congressional steroid hearings is as hilarious as the time he got beat up in a New York diner at three in the morning. Boy, I already miss those days of waking up and reading headlines like, “Yanks win, Wells denies charges.” Anyway, Wells is obviously not on ‘roids because he is grossly overweight, and because steroids don’t go well with alcohol. Therein lies the sarcasm of this chant, in case you missed it.

No. 4: JIM-MY FAL-LON! Trust me that even the most casual Red Sox fan (if there are any) is embarrassed by the fact that “Saturday Night Live” alum Jimmy Fallon was ON THE FIELD kissing Drew Barrymore when the Red Sox won the World Series. And why was he on the field? Because he was filming the movie “Fever Pitch,” in which a Red Sox fan has to balance his favorite team and Drew Barrymore at the same time! Wow — can you imagine the hilarity? Or lack thereof? Not to mention that during an interview a few months ago, Fallon claimed to have grown up a Red Sox fan, but changed to liking the Yankees while doing SNL, but now likes Boston again. Boy — where can WE get fans like that? If being a Red Sox fan WAS cool, it’s officially not anymore after Jimmy Fallon made a movie about it. I mean, “Taxi” was the reason nobody uses cabs anymore.

And finally,

No. 5: NINE-TEEN EIGHT-EEN! Hey — nothing is as frustrating as denial.

Now my last suggestion is not actually a chant, but should work just as well. Again, if you thought that being a Red Sox fan was cool, then I hope you’re aware that five Red Sox players — Johnny Damon, Doug Mirabelli, Tim Wakefield, Jason Varitek, and Kevin Millar — taped an episode of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” that will air on June 7. Because there’s nothing quite like watching your athletic heroes getting pedicures. So I highly recommend that Yankees’ PA Bob Sheppard, whenever one of those guys steps up to the plate or takes the mound, plays the theme song from the show: “Oh things just keep getting better…”

Ya’ know, now that I think about it, things DO just keep getting better.

JIM-MY FAL-LON!

Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap!

Gary Sheffield: You had me at "hello"

Big Time Sports' recognition of the feats of Gary Sheffield has been long overdue. In honor of Sheffield, I have been working on several opening lines to this column, like "The Shef is cooking up an RBI special, and it' delicious," and "Can you smell what the Shef is cooking? It's great baseball," and my personal favorite, "Shef boy-are-dese Yankees something else, or what?" But then I realized that none of these lines make any sense, and are all predicated on the assumtion that Gary Sheffield is an actual chef, which he is not. Nevertheless, he is very good at baseball.

I, along with Yankees' fans worldwide, had assumed that the off-season acquisition that would make the biggest impact in the Bronx Bombers' lineup this year would be, quite obviously, Miguel Cairo. But even though Cairo has played well this year, it's been Gary Sheffield that has separated himself from the pack. And that "pack" is not just Sheffield's teammates, but also the rest of the American League.

Let's talk numbers. Here are Sheffield's: .297 batting average, 33 home runs, 98 RBIs, and 101 runs scored. He also leads the AL in walks with 79. But Sheffield isn't all about the numbers. He likes words too. And if he were writing this column, some of the words he would probably say would be, "don't forget about my great plays in right field this year," and "what are talking about, steroids?" And he's right (about the defense) - Sheffield has eight outfield assists this year, tied for second in the American League. That figure doesn't even begin to describe how many base runners have thought twice about taking an extra base, out of fear that they will be gunned down like the scum that they are.

But even though Sheffield does enjoy playing great defense, his favorite part of baseball is hitting, as evidenced by his infamous bat wag. The bat wag is not just a timing device, it's also a means of intimidation on Sheffield's part, similar to Dikembe Mutombo's finger wag, except that it's intimidating, and not hilarious. The bat wag tells opposing pitchers, "throw your junk my way and you'll be using a bed pan for a month,' or something similarly vindictive. You can just never tell what phrase the bat wag will come up with next.

What has made Gary Sheffield so valuable to the Yankees this year is not just the fact that he earns over $12 million, and that theYankees just could not afford to lose him somewhere, like in the airport. Okay, fine, maybe they could. But regardless, Sheffield's abstract value lies in the fact that almost every one of his hits has been a "big hits", as in Wham!'s "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go." Just last week, Sheffield hit a game-winning two-run home run to give the Yankees a much-needed win over the Cleveland Indians, and snap the team's five-game losing streak. Two weeks ago, Sheffield muscled a down-and-away slider against Minnesota Twins' closer Joe Nathan for a home run that would help the Yanks win that game as well. Three weeks ago Sheffield hit a game-tying two-run home run against the Oakland A's, a game that, you guessed it, the Yanks would go on to win. It seems like every time there are runners on base in a big situation, Gary Sheffield brings them home, as if they were his kids, and were not having a good time at summer camp.

Unfortunately, there are some negatives to Gary Sheffield. It is rumored that he may put steroids in his Frosted Flakes. I do not know if this is true or not, but I must admit that, going into this season, I was very skeptical as to how Gary Sheffield would perform in New York, especially in the middle of a steroid controversy. And not only has he won me over with his great play, but he has repeatedly denied the allegations against him, saying, "I eat Cap'n Crunch." And I have to believe him. Why? Because I want to.

One concern I do have about Sheffield is that his shoulder may fall off of his body and land in the outfield grass. You see, Sheffield suffers from bursitis in his right shoulder - which is a disease that causes your baseball bat to wag involuntarily - and has received cortisone shots to numb the pain. The pain is so bad that he even recently hinted that he may retire after this season, unless George Steinbrenner pays him enough to buy another shoulder.

Sheffield is currently struggling through an ankle sprain that has kept him out of the last few games, and the Yankees haven't been the same without him. But by the time you read this, Gary Sheffield will probably be back in right field, still in one piece, and still vying for an AL MVP Award that he may certainly win when all is said and done. Until then, try the delicious RBIs. In fact, the Shef recommends it.

(I'm sorry. I couldn't resist.)