This past Tuesday night, I received my Press Pass from WCBS NEWSRADIO 880 to the Opening game of the Yankee-Red Sox series in New York, and I decided to record my impressions of the evening for this article.
I am first and foremost a Yankee fan. That is my main job. Although I am often critical of the team and its Manager, I don't pretend to hide my allegiance for the Yanks (except, of course, when I am in the Press Box. No rooting there.)
When I entered the stadium, I knew that I had a solemn duty to perform. Before the game, the press is allowed on the field, clubhouse and dugout. While the Yanks were having batting practice, I spent 10 minutes in the dugout sitting where Joe Torre sits during the game, to try to see things from his perspective.
This is the spot where 4 World Series Championships and 6 pennants have been managed by Torre since 1996. The very piece of real estate where Buck Showalter paced and Billy Martin fumed. I wanted to pause and soak up the moment. I felt as if I were in Church-and I was. No matter what I think about Joe's in-game management decisions, this seat deserves respect.
After reflection, I slowly got up and ambled out to the field. Johnny Damon stopped and said hi. We briefly exchanged pleasantries. Damon is a favorite of mine because he goes out of his way to be accommodating and share information. (He really likes to talk about his injuries.) To my left, Hideki Matsui was patiently signing autographs, and to my right Joe Torre was talking to a group of kids that had been invited as guests to the field.
The interaction during batting practice is one of baseball's most enjoyable traditions. It's the opportune time to slowly walk up to a player, writer, or even a GM and strike up a conversation.
Many times the talk around batting practice centers around what's happening with other teams-Seattle's sudden skid, Carlos Delgado's drop in offensive production, Gary Sheffield's injury being worse than Tiger GM Dave Dombrowki is letting on, how Josh Beckett has solved his blister problems, and other assorted minutia.
The improved play of Johnny Damon was a popular topic of discussion among the folks milling about before the game. Johnny does seem like a new, improved version of himself lately. Since July 20 he is at .347/.407/.545. Those numbers don't lie. He looks spry and sharp. Maybe all those off days are paying off down the stretch.
I spotted Brian Cashman talking to Tom Verducci and I patiently waiting for an opening to speak with the Yankee GM. I got my chance when Verducci slipped away. (Verducci has a strangely elegant way of walking. He appears to be gliding on a level escalator. There is something very regal about the venerable scribe.)
Cashman told me he was very aware of the clamoring among Yankee fans
for Chris Britton when he mentioned to me that he sent Henn down for the hefty righty. I am quite sure Cashman or one of his people reads NYYFANS, NOMAAS, and other lesser sites on occasion to see what fans are thinking. No, he will not make decisions based on this, but he does care what the fans want. He sees it as part of his job.
Always friendly and cordial, Cashman projects the aura of a well-groomed New Yorker, in stark contrast to the casual, relaxed Theo Epstein. Cashman was in his suit, perfectly manicured, sporting his yellow power tie. Epstein was lounging in the Red Sox dugout in last year's jeans and black polo shirt. It did appear as if Theo was having more fun, but that may have something to do with having an 8-game lead.
(Just as an aside, when approaching a player, it's important to read his body language and follow the unwritten rules of when to approach someone and when to leave him alone.
For example, if Kyle Farnsworth is ritually sacrificing a deer and ripping various fibrous parts off its bones with his teeth before dragging the carcass down the runway which leads to the clubhouse, and flinging the blood-spattered mammal protein into his locker, causing his numerous animal-shooting magazines to crash to the floor, it's best to leave him alone. You really don't want to talk to Kyle when he is "busy." Trust me on this.)
As I mingled in the Red Sox dugout with a buddy from ESPN, I felt two strong hands grabbing my shoulders. I turned around and it was John Paplebon making nice with the Press. Paplebon then sat down next to Theo for a few minutes and also chatted with Dan Shaugheneesy.
Shaugheneesy, by the way, is one of the most pleasant guys you'd ever want to meet. He is helpful to other writers, enjoys sharing information, is cordial-and hey-he revels in Red Sox misery, so what's not to like?
For whatever reason, Manny Rameriz was in a foul mood Tuesday night. He cut his batting practice short after a spirited argument with the Boston batting practice pitcher…apparently Manny was taking issue with how the softballs were being lobbed up to him.
Manny pointed, guffawed, and skulked back to the dugout screaming apparent obscenities in Spanish. His doo-rag askew, he looked even more slovenly than he does during the game. Of course when the bell rung, he was ready, as he laced an opposite field line drive home run. He did leave the game with lower back strain, so it will be fascinating to see how long he is out. (Interestingly, the man who replaced Manny, Bobby Kielty, also left the game with lower back strain.)
Gazing back at the Red Sox taking their pre-game hacks, I couldn't help but notice the different approaches taken between Mike Lowell and J.D. Drew. Lowell approached B.P. with a plan, drilling line shots to the opposite field and working on situational hitting. Drew enjoyed putting on a show, lofting pitch after pitch into the right field stands. Of course, it's just one game, but Drew struck out twice Tuesday night and hit into a double play, while Lowell went 2-4…Just saying.
By game time, the Press Box, and the Auxiliary Press Box, where I sat, was filled to capacity. As I walked through the maze of bodies I spotted the self-proclaimed "Mayor of Idiotville," Peter Abraham, cranking away on his keyboard. No one works harder than Pete. He keeps his blog updated constantly and answers his hordes of posters consistently, even though some of the posters in his comments section are clearly escapees from some of the finer insane asylums in the Tri-State Area. With the level of breaking information and clubhouse tidbits that Pete provides, he has taken sports blogging to a new level, and he should be commended for it--even if he did run Josh Phelps out of town J.
During the 2nd inning of the game, a skinny, nervous fellow brushed past me and set up shop three seats to my left, right behind Verducci. Most of the other writers were calmly typing into their laptops. But this guy made a lot of noise fidgeting and fussing as he dropped pens, shuffled papers, reached in his pockets in search of some artifact and opened and closed his cell phone constantly. As he scratched his right armpit with his left hand, he cradled his phone in his left shoulder and made a loud, whiny phone call to some unfortunate recipient. Ladies and gentlemen: The Yankee Stadium Auxiliary Press Box was graced by the presence of WFAN's Chris "Mad Dog" Russo.
Apparently, Russo was suggesting during the day on his radio program that the Yanks' were using Joba Chamberlain in blow-out situations. (Man, that's news to me.) I didn't hear him say this because I was away from the radio and at WCBS during the day, but when Russo arrived at the Press Box, Sweeny Murti went up to him and provided him with ample evidence that he was wrong.
Sweeny enlightened the Little Poodle by chronicling the game situations in which Joba has appeared for the Yanks, but Russo kept attacking him. Sweeny, always prepared, was logical and respectful with Russo, and he used these things called "objective statistical facts," but all the while Russo whined, flayed his arms about wildly, and stomped his feet while spouting out his anti-Yankee propaganda. (Facts seldom get in Russo's way.)
At the end of the debate, Sweeny shook his head, smiled amiably, and said, "You know I love you, Chris." Russo said, "Love you too, Sweeny." It's apparent that Murti is used to this sort of thing with Russo.
Hey, it doesn't matter to me that Russo hates the Yanks. The problem is his arguments are not based in fact. It would be like me writing a piece proclaiming that Paplebon was not an effective closer. Absurd! He's the best young closer in the business right now. Whether or not I cheer for his laundry is irrelevant.
When the 8th inning rolled around, Chris Russo was long gone, no doubt safe and snug in his little wool jammies at home. That's when Joba Chamberlain entered the fray. Each Joba appearance is a story unto itself. Flashbulbs light up the night, the roar of the crowd wakes up people from miles around, little foul-pole climbing squirrels turn around and take note. Each strike from Joba is met with thunderous applause.
Talk about a mythical figure from central casting, Joba even has the maturity of wise baseball elder. In fact, Joba relishes his chance to learn what he can from his elders, Roger Clemens and Andy Pettitte. He told reporters: "This game can be taken away from you in a heartbeat," he says. "It would be a sin to be around guys like that and not ask questions."
Ask away, Joba, you seem like a quick learner.
After Mariano shut down the Sox in the 9th, it was a mad dash for everyone to get their stories in and go down to the clubhouse. After weathering this scramble, I rode the subway back to Manhattan.
The talk on the 4 train was the Yanks' win and the growing Seattle collapse. Baseball talk among the unwashed masses--it's all exquisite poetry to me.
I didn't get to bed until after 3 A.M. It was a long, but very satisfying, night. I am convinced that the Yanks are headed to the playoffs once again. And when they get there, the Red Sox will meet their match.
I wonder if Chris Russo will be on hand to see the games?
E-Mail Story
Print Story
