Programmed with a better OBP than Jacque Jones.

Anyone remember this game? It's REAL!!!

LOWELL WATCH: Picasso paints your house, the Yankees suck my balls.

Pablo Picasso, possibly the greatest artist of the 20th century. Only an rich asshole of remarkable degree would pay a painter of his caliber to paint his house.



Alex Rodriguez, plus shortstop, very toolsy. I wouldn't say that only a rich asshole would pay him to play third base, because his value at the plate relates well at third base. But I will say that it's a dubious move when the incumbent shortstop is of limited range, albeit maximum ability to make minimal plays look maximal via unnecessary jumping, and diving. Plus in 2001, he saved America. Quoth the Guiliani campaign, 9/11, 9/11, 9/11. (Pause.) 9/11.



Mike Lowell. Career year at the plate, but most dependably over his career, excellent third baseman. Only a rich asshole and his son would consider signing him to play first base, the easiest position on the field, and also one that Lowell has never played before. And that's what these assholes are trying to do! Because they already have a shortstop playing third base!

Yankee moves to come:

1) Megadeal nets RHP Johan Santana. Santana's golden arm goes to centerfield.
2) Second megadeal nets 3B/1B Miguel Cabrera. Cabrera moves to catcher, C Jorge Posada moves to leftfield.
3) Trade for 1B Richie Sexson. Sexson, being tall and lefthanded, is of course made into a starting pitcher.

As for Lowell, well, I hope he is hearing this shit out to scare Boston into giving him a better deal, not with a truly open ear. I can live with Mike Lowell as a Yankee: I can't live with Mike Lowell being moved out of position to be a Yankee. Forget about it, now. Say no go.

Is the Jackson 5 Alex Rodriguez? The Yankees?

In either case, the love is back...sorta. I feel oddly happy about this movement, actually. Count the blessings:

1) Alex Rodriguez would not be a Sox.
2) The Yankees would not have a chance of bumping up the price for Mike Lowell or signing him outright.
3) The New York tabloids will be entertaining for another year, especially the evil one. Evil and obsessive...all they do is think of you, Alex:



4) Scott Boras will be the first agent to negotiate himself OUT of the negotiations for a high-priced client! Brilliant.

But then, there's the problem:

5) A scary fucking (regular season) hitter would return to the Bronx.

Well, scary and hilariously competitive.



Yeah, come to think of it, sign him, New York. Sign him for fifteen years.

2007 AL Cy Young Award: C.C. Sabathia wins.

That's cool.

No, dude, it's totally cool. Yeah, yeah, Beckett was deserving, but that doesn't mean he deserved it, if you follow me, not in a year where the Cy Young candidates were this close. Wins, as anyone who reads Prospectus knows, is a silly, arbitrary statistic, so Beckett having the win lead is less than meaningless. And C.C. pitched, like, five more starts in the regular season. Four complete games. Didn't end up meaning anything that C.C. was tired in the postseason, either.

Boss Vaughn says drinks are on the house for C.C. and any Cleveland fans, and that I am not allowed to make any further belittlement of the excellent Cleveland lefty. Especially not fat jokes, which the proprietor's heard enough of for a lifetime.

We'll fire up the grill too, C.C. Have a light snack:



What?

Your 2007 Rookie of the year....directed by Daniel Stern!

Congratulations to 2007 Rookie of the Year Dustin Pedroia for proving legions of scouts wrong. A 5'4" 150lb second baseman with no particular speed or power can not only be a major leaguer, he can be a vital part of a championship lineup and cover Julio Lugo's ass from the other side of the keystone. All with a broken wrist. That's so solid, no one even need call it scrappy.

Congrats to the voters for not managing to think themselves out of the obvious pick. (Of course, they also went obvious in the NL, where I'da gone for Tulowitzki, but hey, that Braun fella is absorbent and homerun-tastic...plus I do have issues with Tulo insomuch as he's the first shortstop in the majors with Jeter as his hero, something that somehow makes me feel old too.)

And congratulations to me, for the worst MS Paint cut and paste ever. And now I will attempt to break my arm in a way that gives me a fastball.

Red Sox fans win, Red Sox fans who read Herald headlines lose.

Curt'n call. Pretty bad way to announce a pretty good bit of news: 1 more year of Curt at $8 mil, with a possible extra $2 mil in incentives. What about....?

Schill's last thrill!
Schill back to the hill!
Curt's like a knife!
Curt back for 8 million more schillings!
Curt back to put on the hurt!
Curt Curt Curt! Derp de derp!
Give Curt his schillings or else they will be killings:

Victory Parade: DANCE! DANCE! DANCE!

Big notes post coming later this week. For now, enjoy the parade galleries and the utter insanity of our closer.

No context necessary, post-world series edition.

(He's so dreamy.)

WORLD SERIES GAME FOUR PREGAME: B.T.S.

Any Yankee fan knows the danger of letting a team down 0-3 linger. As Manny Ramirez said, "We don't want to go eating the cake before your birthday." Birthday? Your? Point received, but let tonight be a funeral. Insert classic cold beatdown track on the jukebox:

WORLD SERIES GAME ONE: Rocks-a-tumblin'

A guide to landslides above. Writing to come when there's actual baseball to write of.

(a knuckleball continues spinning and the jukebox plays)

Barkeep here. Just putting two songs for the jukebox and breaking them down a bit. The Breaks is a great way to actually dig for samples if you choose to.

1. Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians, "What I Am"

Thanks to UMG for actually making this video available. This song got too big for its own good when I was seven or so watching MuchMusic. Y'know, the Canadian music channel?

Lemme just put it this way. J and the Family Roam was in Ecuador then. I loved this song. Then I heard "Slow Down" by Brand Nubian about 15 years later and loved that too.

2. Crooklyn Dodgers (Original Squad), "Crooklyn"

Loose and beautiful track by three amazing emcees...if only for one track. An all-star team that actually is in continual rotation with a hook placed in between them.

Q-Tip of A Tribe Called Quest is a great producer. The song's about Brooklyn of that moment (1994) and of a different time (the 1970s, which Crooklyn was about).

Beautiful samples to my ear here include a championship call (Brooklyn wins! Brooklyn wins!) and the hard-ass DJ Premier/Guru collaboration "The Place Where We Dwell." (Never taking shorts 'cuz Crooklyn's the borough.)

And now let's switch to the walking headphones. G'day.

(mo speaks for a minute.)

Hey. Proprietor speaking. We're cleaning up this place. Had to send the barkeeper home; he's working too hard on his other nine jobs. Just catch up for awhile. Try the jukebox and don't even watch this guy's hands. I had hands like that. They build buildings now. Good night.

WEEKEND POST-GAME: First we cook, then we chill.

Alright. Nice Sunday. Ate at Joe's, wandered and discovered that if "Williamsburg" isn't dying, it's at least being pushed further and further South. Drank a couple beers here as the Angels hung tight and then got absolutely manhandled. Enjoyed the company of an Ozzie Sox fan among others. Wrote a couple rewritten lyrics.



gooooodbye anaheim angels...
I can't hang a name on you...
when it changes every new day...
I'm not gonna miss you...

Took the train. Heard via cell phone by field reporter Nay Ratzoo, #3 Marmaduke Fan in the world, that Clemens was down, Clemens was down, and Trot hit a homerun. Good.

(To my field reporter: give me a better name than what I just spat out there. Any name.)

Saw a brilliant show by a brave woman.

Passed by Slainte and saw that the Yankees were...ahead? Whatever. No, not whatever. Good. May as well see if anyone knows how this happened. Explained a bit of baseball to a dude from the U.K. because he asked me. Apparently I know more about cricket than I thought.

(Hello, across the pond: Jen, Dan, and Lil' E.)

Ordered a club soda just to be a customer. talked a bit of Chicago with some Bears fans, talked a bit of...business? with Packers fans. Fun.

Far as the [New York Highlanders] versus the [Cleveland Spiders], I have three words for you. Blood, blood, blood.

I'm cooked, now I chill.



And then I listen to this. Gorgeous song by a brave man composed as he lay dying, mainly just with some records, samples of which may never have cleared to my knowledge. Played by a Korean punk-rock band. I have been over this before. Wow. Wow. Wow.



Then I sleep. Bar's closed on "Columbus" Day. Um, enjoy it. But stare at this a minute and think. I'd love to know what you think, because...zzzzzz....

NLDS REQUIEM: WHO GIVES A SHIT, IT'S GONE!

Yes, the National League still has great players in it. Yes, I'm supposed to enjoy...what am I doing here?

I don't care. St. Louis was a good team (yes, they caught a young, rusty team on too much rest at just the right time...I feel for you DJ Canoli) ...but... I still don't care.

Cubs. Done.

Phillies. Done.

Rockies. (My sentimental favorite...the team name was an NHL team once too.,..try Uni Watch on the sidebar) Still Alive.

Two sweeps. Great. Fuck it.

I really like the designated hitter, and I also enjoyed David Ortiz playing a good enough 1B in the 2004 World Series.) Oh, and remember Reggie Jefferson? Liked that guy too. Boss Vaughn rarely DHed.

And I'm a designated hitter. (Or at least this article got me a job at Air America Radio...that network had no real plan though.)

This ain't no threat. But hey, take it personal:



(DJ Premier is spinning at the Knitting Factory tonight, New York beat junkies...I'm not going because I have to go to a more personal show...and God, I hope she's healthy and putting the CAN in CANcer.)

ALDS GAME 2 POST-GAME: Hey, that's just [ You/me/Manny Ramirez] being [You/me/Manny Ramirez]

For the record, ESPN.com and your headline writer, the bugs did not simply help the Cleveland Indians win last night. It was a tight, tight game. Andy Pettite is both good and lucky. Fausto Carmona wasn't enjoying the eighth plague either, but he went Nine and gave up ONE run. As a dear Yankee fan friend of mine (of ten years...man, I'm getting old) said as I was watching that game at his place, probably not trying to be that funny:

"Fausto Carmona is the fucking Lord of the Flies!"

And yeah, Joba Chamberlain is not a golden god so be careful how you mythologize anyone. Personally, one of the most awful moments in my life, even in the moment, was when someone I later found out was younger than me said I was wayyyy cool. I was actually feeling pretty down. I hope you're doing alright, John, wherever you may be.

Manny Ramirez got something off his chest last night, especially the play where his hat fell off and he flopped around and turned what could have been an out into a double, if we had Coco Crisp playing in every outfield position. We also wouldn't score any runs if we had Coco Crisp playing every outfield position.

Look at this interview with Manny Ramirez and remember it's his first interview with any media this year. He is really emotional. I look forward to his swing now that he can finally say, "Fuck it." See ball, see if ball is a strike, attempt to hit ball. You know, in a couple Seconds. Try it sometime.

(No, seriously, try it right here. It's fun, but I sure suck at it. If not, just visit the San Francisco Exploratorium sometime, no matter what age you are.)

And now for an attempted monologue.

Manny Ramirez, at the plate. It isn't any particular game. This is his internal monologue.

MANNY

I like my hair. I like my hair. I'm not cutting it. My hat fell off. Whatever. Fuck you, you paid me. Cleveland, oh, I should have stayed in...Cleveland was nice, but..

Ball goes straight down the middle of the strike zone for a strike.

Was that The pitch? Maybe. No. Doesn't mattter. No. Focus. Be nice to hit a pitch, but....

Good slider. Manny doesn't swing as it goes out of the zone.

Not that pitch.

Manny breathes.

Fastball, slider, and...what's next? Fastball's an okay guess. Go with it.

A changeup is thrown. Manny barely hits it foul...it floats, but it goes into the seats.

This guy is good. He isn't that good. But he's good. Count's 1-2. Checka 1-2. Ha ha ha. Okay, focus.

Fastball, high, Manny checks his swing. Or does he?

I DID NOT SWING AT THAT PITCH.

Catcher appeals to first. Umpire takes a second, and then says, no, he did not swing. Manny sighs.

Phew. High fastball, eh? Not a bad idea, Miguel, but...something's going on behind there. I watched some film of this guy. Young. Very young. Cuba? No...D.R., baby. The glasses. What's behind the eyes? He's more frightened of me than I am of him. I could walk. I could hit. Take a short swing? Of course. All of my swings are short. Where's the pitch going to be? Inside? Okay.

Inside fastball. It nearly hits him. Manny takes a second longer than he should to glare at the mound because it wasn't that close to hitting him.

Asshole. Fuck your mother. (Untranslation: Chinga tu madre, cabron) No, wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. He's throwing a fastball now. I think he actually has some...no...I don't know what he's going to throw. It is still a game, even if it's no longer just a game. Just wait. Just wait. Just wait.

Outside fastball. Not as outside as intended, however. Manny CRUSHES it to right. He just knows. He just stands there. He half-smiles, half sighs.

Hey! Not bad!




...
...
...
P.S: Fuck yeah. One win to go.

Bar's closed until at least Monday, maybe Tuesday if I can somehow get the day off. Drink water. I'm not hungover, yet that's what I'm doing right...after....this.