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October 05, 2008

Cubs versus Dodgers: Game Three [by Peter Ferry]

October Requiem

Play ball!
Do or die.
Backs against the wall.
Ducks on the pond.
Can of corn.
Drat.
Frozen rope
Splittin’ the gap!
Two in.
It’s early yet.
Three up, three down.
Paintin’ the black.
Changin’ speeds.
One two three.
Working inside and out.
Goose eggs.
Tryin’ too hard.
Pressin’.
Tryin’ to do too much.
Gettin’ late.
Atom balls.
Big train: 101 mph.
No chance.
Study in futility.
Down to their final chance.
Strike three!
You’re out of here!
You’re history!
You’re toast!
Wait ‘til next year.
Again.

-- Peter Ferry

October 03, 2008

Cubs versus Dodgers: Game Two [by Peter Ferry]

There are six of us (four Democrats, two Republicans, all Cubs fans) in a cottage on the beach near South Haven, Michigan, and the waves are breaking hard on the sand outside. We’ve come together to cook and eat Paella Valenciana, watch the vice-presidential debate, and root for the Cubs. The pundits are saying that this is a must win for both Sarah Palin and the Cubs.

“May I call you Joe?” Palin asks Biden as they shake hands. Palin is aggressive just like Alfonso Soriano who singles to lead off the game and Carlos Zambrano who comes out firing like his old self. She’s all “hecks” and “darn rights.” She invokes the name “John McCain” in virtually every sentence and the word “fight” or “fightin” in most. But out at Wrigley Field the fans are on their feet screaming with two outs and Soriano on second in the very first inning. They already sound a little desperate.

Oops. The Cubs make two errors in the second including a blown double play that would have ended the inning, and the Dodgers are suddenly up by five runs. Biden makes no errors, but he can’t get a hit either. It’s all Palin so far. Did she just wink at me? Cubs fans and Democrats alike have an all too familiar sinking feeling.

Now it’s six nothing, then seven. The Cubs make another error. Griffin calls from college in total despair. Ron Santo is on the radio wailing, “Oh my God! Oh my God!”  Dick Stockton says the Cubs need a big inning. So does Biden, but unlike the Cubs, he gets his. He hits, if not a home run, a double off the wall when he recites a litany of ways in which McCain’s policies are no different that George Bush’s, who’s about as popular in the debate as a billy goat in a box seat; Biden can’t say his name enough and Palin never does.

Beating Palin to the sympathy punch, Biden knocks one over the wall when he says, “I know what it means to have a son who may not make it” with a catch in his voice. Late inning rally, and in the end the talking heads say that Biden probably won the debate, but that Palin didn’t lose it. Both kept their cool and played errorless ball.

Not so the Cubs. Out at Wrigley Field it’s ten to one when I go to bed. The best team in the league looks like the worst and its “insurmountable lead” at home has turned into a landslide for the Dodgers.

Say it ain’t so, Joe. Or Lou.

Now their only chance is to go to LA and win three in a row.

Course they did do that once before this year.

Stay tuned.

-- Peter Ferry

October 02, 2008

Cubs versus Dodgers: Game One [by Peter Ferry]

       The only post season Cubs game I ever attended was the first one in 1984, after a summer I’d been to nearly half the team’s home games.  I spent $75 on a bleacher seat, and the Cubs won 13-1, but it was invasion of the body snatchers out there.  None of the regulars were in the bleachers, not the gamblers betting on every pitch in the seats just below the concession stand, not the Trixies working on their tans, not the two blind guys listening to their transistor radio and doing funny color commentary, not the college kids measuring manhood by the number of beer cups they had accumulated, one within the next.  No, they had all been replaced by the college kids’ parents, men with sweaters tied around their necks and women asking beer vendors if they had any Pinot Grigio.

            So no more expensive, on-sight disillusionment for me.  This year I’m going to be right in front of my t.v. or beside my radio or in a bar as I am this afternoon when the first pitch is thrown at 5:33.  This one is Charlie’s Ale House two miles north of Wrigley Field right up Clark Street.  It’s the kind of place that calls its chili “kick ass,” but it does have 23 beers on tap and 6 flat screen t.v.s.  I’d planned to be down the street at the Hopleaf which has wonderful Belgian beers, mussels and frites, and where I’ve been invited by Jessa Crispin of Bookslut to do a reading at 7:30 (I’m hoping for a six run lead by then), but the Hopleaf has no t.v.s flat screened or otherwise, a fact I’d salute any other evening, but….

            We bail out of Charlie’s after one beer and two innings.  The Cubs are up two/zero on the strength of Mark DeRosa’s opposite field home run, but Ryan Dempster is nervous and wild.  Out on Clark we follow the Metlife blimp as if it’s the star of Bethlehem to a Turkish pizza parlor called Konak’s next door to the Hopleaf where we eat an eggplant pizza and nurse the Cubs through two more innings while we talk to two dancers/baseball fans from The Chicago Tap Theater.  They are designing their Christmas show as they cheer for the Cubs.  God, I love Chicago!

           7:10 and time to go.  Dempster has thrown a hundred pitches already and now loaded the bases, but Piniella leaves him in to face James Loney, who promptly parks one in the center field bleachers. Down 4-2.  Shit.

           At a reading I’d agreed to give from my new novel, I read my piece to a crowd that’s much younger than I expected, and I know instantly that it’s the wrong one, but people are polite and attentive.  Afterward I excuse myself to go to the bathroom:  5-2 Dodgers in the seventh.  A couple more readers and another bathroom break.  6-2 Dodgers in the eighth.  I sign a few books, drink a couple bears, and hurry back to Konak’s.  There’s a soccer game on.  I hesitate, then ask the old guy at the end of the bar just to be sure.

            “Yeah, they lost.  7-2.  Same old Cubs.”

            -- Peter Ferry

Ed. note: Peter Ferry's novel "Travel Writing" has just been published by Harcourt.

August 26, 2008

True Dodger Blue [by Benjamin Weissman and Amy Gerstler]

Tuesday, August 19, 2008: Dodger Stadium,  Los Angeles CA
Los Angeles Dodgers versus Colorado Rockies

Our lovely seventy-five-year-old mother-in-law / mother (respectively) Mimi, a RABID Dodger fan for seventy years, was recently our guest at Dodger Stadium. Mimi_gerstler_2 Her Dodger obsession dates back to early childhood. As a tot of five living in Brooklyn, she ran away from home to neighboring Ebbets Field, because it was her favorite place on earth. Her parents found her happily sitting on the grass, singing to herself, and with some effort coaxed her home, probably with the promise that they’d bring her back to a game, real soon.


Ebbets_field_1_2 Ebbets_field_2_4 Ebbets_field_3_3

Ebbets Field: Paradise Lost.

Mimi has old wounds dating back to when the Giants’ Juan Marichal cracked the Dodgers’ Johnny Roseboro on the head in the heat of an argument in 1965. 

Marichal_2

Juan Marichal

Roseboro needed fourteen stitches. You can still make Mimi livid just by mentioning Marichal’s name. [Ed. note: I remember that game. Koufax pitched for the Dodgers.]

Sartorial commentary


Actor Chazz Palmenteri tossed out the first pitch. He was looking elegant and gaunt and Count Dracula-like, attired in black, with his black hair combed back, his cheekbones as dramatic and prominent as Bela Lugosi’s.

Dodger uniforms are way cuter than the Colorado Rockies' uniforms. The Rockies' uniforms look Star Trekky. The Dodgers' simple white and blue uniforms are elegant, dignified, classic, and show dirt right away from honest on-field activity like sliding into bases……while the Rockies’ strangely shaped black shirts and laundry-water gray striped pants look mismatched, like badly designed children’s pajamas. 


Happily, rumors that recently acquired Dodgers slugger Manny Ramirez had cut off or substantially trimmed his trademark flowing rasta braids are untrue. Were Manny to cut his locks, it would be a hair crime on the scale of Samson’s unfortunate barbering in the Old Testament. Fans were sighted at Dodger Stadium sporting at least three different styles of Manny hats. One: batting helmets with fake Manny braids attached. Two: regular baseball caps with fake Manny braids attached. Three: Manny style blue babushka kerchiefs/doo rags (he wears one under his baseball hat) with the aforementioned ropy faux dreads dangling down. Take your pick. All look great.


Cuisine notes


Mimi consumed a super Dodger dog with relish, mustard, catsup, and a triple helping of minced onions -- the full compliment of condiments available for dog eaters at Dodger stadium. She enjoyed the dog so much she kept closing her eyes while she ate as though she were listening to Mozart. Upon finishing the dog she requested a fork so she could eat the leftover onion bits out of its paper wrapper. She also shared a bag of famously salty Dodger peanuts (salted in shell! how do they accomplish this? are they soaked in brine before roasting?) and a diet Coke.

Dodger_fries More_fries

The garlic fries at Dodger stadium are top notch: prodigiously greasy yet marvelous visibly garlicky, flecked with parsley, creating a personal garlic cloud for eater and seatmates. One of the best Dodger Stadium foodstuffs. Eat them and you won’t get a cold for weeks.


Beer glasses with a little ring of flashing strobe lights around the base of the glass (like a sunken UFO at the bottom of your beer) are now sold at Dodger stadium and were a popular, if slightly distracting item.


Snacks from home: We brought carrot slices and hummus, tortilla chips and red seedless grapes. One twenty-four ounce beer, $12.


Literary criticism


“DodgerVision” is an enormous video screen on field. It’s the largest Standard Definition video screen in Major League Baseball (tied for that distinction with the Cincinnati Reds).


When players come up to bat, their huge, usually nervously grinning or grimacing  image appears on screen along with some of their recent stats and allegedly amusing text about them. Two substandard Dodgervision puns from said texts may benefit from editing:


For Nomar Garciaparra: “NO MAR MESSING AROUND!”


For Manny Ramirez: ‘SHOW ME THE MANNY.”


Actual game-related remarks


The Dodgers had just acquired forty-two-year old legend Greg Maddux from the Padres that afternoon, and although he did not pitch, there he was suited up in his new blue and white uniform that evening. The following conversation ensued:


B: having Maddux on our team is like having Confucius in the dugout. He has wowed teammates and coaches by accurately predicting where every hitter in the lineup will hit the ball.

A: Uh oh, our pitching coach is walking to the mound.

B: I always thought Honeycutt was an odd choice for pitching coach as during his days on the mound he was once thrown out of a game for having an emery board hidden in his glove.

A: So he could do his nails during the game?

B: No, so he could scuff the ball for enhanced gripping, which affects the movement of the pitched ball and makes it do freaky, subtle things.

Postscript: The Dodgers have long held the terrible ability of acquiring superstars after their prime. Pittsburgh Pirate batting god Bill Madlock wa a Dodger before retiring. The list of almost pensioners they’ve acquired in the eleventh hour is endless, embarrassing.

The Rockies scored two runs on three hits in the first inning. When you play the Rockies. you have to survive the dangerous Holliday/Hawpe duo and we did not.  Holliday lined a comebacker off Kuroda’s left foot and one pitch later Hawpe homered. Kuroda said about the homerun pitch, “I wasn’t able to transfer my will to the ball.” Then we had a string of sketchy middle relievers -- Jason Johnson, Hong-Chih Kuo, Tanyon Sturtze and Ramon Troncoso -- who gave up several more runs. The bullpen has been a Dodger strong suit, but not if the starting pitchers falter every game, with minimal run production adding to the pain

Manny

Manny being Manny


Manny can’t do everything, as the L.A. sports page announces three times a week, but he has been able to boost Jeff Kent’s batting average by twenty points by simply being there; Kent is getting tasty strikes to hit, because Manny's on deck. Mr.
Kent had two hits in the game, briefly raising his batting average to 280 from the 250 zone it has been in for half a decade. Mr.  Kent, National League MVP in 2000, was once the possessor of outrageous numbers: 33 HR, 125 RBI, and 334 BA. (His lifetime BA is a more modest but still impressive.289.) He is one of the slowest second baseman in the history of baseball, and when he dives for a grounder, take note of the vain effort, which resembles a lethargic dinner guest volunteering to do the dishes after three quarters are already drying on the rack. He, Kent, was at his best when he played for the San Francisco Giants, frequently giving teammate Barry Bonds a piece of his mind.

Manny is beautiful, like a bouncy lumbering bear. He plays loose and free, and most of his new teammates appear to love him. He’s kid-like. And never hits a ball gently. His pop ups scrape the sky; his foul balls are lethal weapons. One foul curved in our direction (field box, first base side), whipped away at the last minute like a muscular dragon’s tail, and bruised a sequence of human palms before slamming into an abandoned seat.

The other Dodger delights include Matt Kemp, who combines power and speed, and has become a more disciplined hitter; James Loney, an elegant, reliable first baseman with a Ted Williams swing; and Russell Martin, the Canadian, who, earlier in the season, had “Play that Funky Music White Boy” played before his at-bats. (Dodgers get a snatch of their “favorite song” played when they’re batting at a home game.) Most joyous: brooding Nomar Garciaparra wisely selected “Low Rider” by War as the song to play before his at-bats. Nothing could be more nearly perfect for Dodger fans.

-- Benjamin Weissman and Amy Gerstler

May 06, 2008

Happy Birthday, Willie

Willie Mays making the legendary over-the-shoulder catch in the 1954 World Series.

The most famous catch in World Series history: Willie Mays catches up with Vic Wertz's clout and the New York Giants are on their way to sweeping Cleveland in 1954.

Happy Birthday, Willie. 77 years old today.

May 03, 2008

Hail the Conquering Hero

The Mets eagerly wait for Shawn Green's arrival at home plate after his walk-off homer in the 11th.  (AP)
(AP)
This is what Shawn Green saw when he approached home plate after his walk-off round-tripper won a tense eleven-inning contest with the Cardinals. The Mets prevailed, 2-1 (June 25, 2007)
*
Quiz: "Such, such were the joys / When we all, girls & boys, / In our youth time were seen / On the Ecchoing Green."  Who wrote these lines?
*
-- DL

May 01, 2008

Buzzie Bavasi

Buzzie Bavasi, possessor of one of the great baseball names, died today. He was the general manager of the championship Dodger teams of the 1950s and 60s -- the Brooklyn Dodgers of Duke Snider and Carl Furillo, the LA Dodgers of Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale. Buzzie was ninety-three years old. His real name was Emil Joseph Bavasi.

Buzzie Bavasi

-- DL

April 23, 2008

Johnny Podres (1932-2008)

Johnny Podres, who died on January 13, 2008, has just shut out the New York Yankees in game seven of the 1955 World Series -- and the Brooklyn Dodgers have won the world championship for the first time. It is October 4, 1955. It is 3:43 in the afternoon.
Quiz: What is the title of the poem composed by ardent Dodger fan Marianne Moore in tribute to the 1955 Dodgers?
-- DL

February 29, 2008

More Toots [Shor] for the Buck

The ballplayer, the blonde, and that's Toots between them. The marriage lasted nine months.

And in the background Al Jolson sings "Toot, Toot, Tootsie, Goodbye."

-- DL

Here's to you, Toots

Kristi Jacobson has made an excellent 85-minute documentary (Toots, 2006) about her grandfather, Toots Shor, and the eponymous joint he opened in 1939 at 51 West 51st Street. Among the cats who went there during the following two decades were Jackie Gleason, Whitey Ford, Edward R. Murrow, Jimmy Hoffa, and the two fellows pictured above. I recommend it.

-- DL