Jeff Nelson – Keefe To The City

Tag: Jeff Nelson

Sep 7, 2012

Scorecard Memory: UFO Sighting and Roy White on the Phone

Sheriff Tom goes back to April 24, 1996 in Section 39 of Yankee Stadium for a Yankees-Indians game.

This is a recurring series of recollections, where I will be marching though my old scorecards from my halcyon days in good old Section 39 of the Yankee Stadium bleachers. You’re invited to join me. Please bring beer.

April 24, 1996: Yankees host the Cleveland Indians.

A Wednesday night affair at the Stadium, one of those comic 10-8 games that featured balls bounding down both lines, walks galore, and more mosh-pit celebrations in Section 39 celebrating deep Yankees tags. Be that as it may, we could not combat what they had going on that night in Detroit, where the Twins were pounding the Tigers 24-11 (or I should say the Vikings were beating up the Lions, apparently) as we watched that score flip around on the scoreboard like the National Debt Clock and laughed all night.

I had come walking in with my headphones and a wee one named Christina immediately accosted me and wanted to listen. I’m guessing she was somewhere around five years old at the time. I had some 80’s thrash metal in there, a folk/pagan metal act named Skyclad. I put the phones on her ear and before I was able to lower the volume she pushed play and the music screeched and bleated. I expected her to shy away at best, to throw the headphones in horror at worst, but she ended up listening to that damn cassette tape until the batteries ran out a couple of innings and hours later. To this day, even without seeing this note on the scorecard I could never play that band again without thinking of that kid and that night she commandeered my Walkman.

It was a night for enterprising by creative fans. First some fans set up a “K Corner” off the loge for Scott Kamieniecki of all people. Always a fan favorite, Kammy ended up leaving the game in the sixth with a whopping two Ks tacked to the wall, so there wasn’t much return on that investment. Yet some more fans that wanted in on the action had made a sign for Paul O’Neill, each of them holding up a letter of his last name … on loose leaf paper! Are you kidding me? Yeah, that will stand out from the batter’s box. Someone in tribute to this lackluster effort drew a tiny circle on my scorecard and promptly held it aloft, stating that it was now a home run target of the magnitude of the mini O’Neill tribute out there.

There was this idiot out there nicknamed Bird, a lanky guy that would shuffle around and annoy any and all. He was walking around with Slim Jims, offering them out like anyone would want them. Here’s something weird on here (aside from creepy Bird) … a UFO sighting at 9:19 p.m.! No, it was not yet another home run given up by John Wetteland. It was a mysterious hovering light overhead that was zipping about in a seeming trajectory that no plane, blimp or copter could do in our thinking. Nothing else came out of this big UFO news aside from a note in the margin of my scorecard that night that we saw it. For the record, I was never privy to another “UFO sighting” out there, in all my 600 games or 6,000 beers.

In the fourth inning, Tino Martinez clouted his first home run in Yankee pinstripes, setting off another pile-on out there in the bleachers. I don’t know what was taking security so long to put a stop to this dangerous endeavor. I mentioned current Cowbell Man Milton was flying all over the place, and I also mentioned that Gang Bang Steve once again ended up on the very bottom each and every time.

This is funny. That relic Dennis Martinez started for the Tribe and got the old heave-ho in the fourth for arguing balls and strikes. He was not long for the ballgame regardless, as before he left the mound he was tagged for seven runs and probably was looking to go out with a bang. He ended up leaving, an ejected man, to a savage chorus of boos. It was always fun to show the old-timers respect!

Ah, I see this was the night I actually spoke to Yankees legend Roy White on the phone from my bleacher seat. As alluded to on here before, a bleacher elder had something going with him, which seemingly everyone knew about but me. Well, at one point this now somewhat-forgotten woman walked up to me out of the blue and told me Roy White was on the horn, and I could say hello. I exchanged a few pleasantries, none of which I remember beyond referring to him a few times as Mr. White and him never telling me I could just call him Roy.

A couple of random musings on here. A tune from A Flock of Seagulls was blared over the sound system, causing a “What is this, 1982?” snarl. Some guy was wearing such a large and clunky hat he was promptly dubbed “Pepperoni Pizza Box Head.” There’s a mention that pro wrestling’s “The Giant” had won the WCW World Heavyweight Championship a few days before (he competes to this day as “The Big Show”). There was apparently a “box seats-bleachers altercation,” but sadly no further details. We even engaged in a pleasant conversation on how odd it was that after all the hoopla we had seen in previous seasons to this regard, not one person had been seen by any of us running on the field at Yankee Stadium so far that year.

Devils fan Billy (famous for once calling the Twins’ Marty Cordova “someone who would be remembered in time as the best left fielder of his generation”) was talking about the circus for whatever reason and someone snapped, “Why don’t you go back there with the rest of the clowns?” And speaking of clowns Gang Bang noted on the card I spent most of the game making funny clown faces at Christina. Hey, I was always good with kids out there, and she did have my headphones after all. I mentioned at one point that Steve “threw a cup,” but explained it away as simply “subterfuge,” which leads me to believe all these years later he was doing it to cover up for someone else at the time to keep them out of trouble.

Out on the field (speaking of clowns again) the Yankees pulled off a wild 10-8 win. Kammy got the win with a modicum of help from Jeff Nelson and John Wetteland, though they were both bopped around a bit. The Yankees had 13 hits, including pairs from Bernie Williams, Paul O’Neill, Ruben Sierra, Mariano Duncan and Derek Jeter. Tino drove in three on the night, and eight different Yankees scored a run. Your Yankees lineup was:

1. Wade Boggs, 3B
2. Bernie Williams, CF
3. Paul O’Neill, RF
4. Ruben Sierra, DH
5. Tino Martinez, 1B
6. Tim Raines, LF
7. Mariano Duncan, 2B
8. Joe Girardi, C
9. Derek Jeter, SS

On the Indians’ side of the ledger they mustered 11 hits with Yankee killer Manny Ramirez and Jim Thome each scoring three runs. Thome also drove in four, including a three-run jack. Omar Vizquel, of all people, also had a home run. After Martinez saved himself by getting the toss we were lucky to see Jim Poole, Eric Plunk and Paul Assenmacher (whose last name Steve managed to morph into an obscene word on the pitching line) on the hill for the Tribesman. Your Indians lineup on the night, met with boos, went like this:

1. Kenny Lofton, CF
2. Julio Franco, 1B
3. Carlos Baerga, 2B
4. Albert Belle, LF
5. Eddie Murray, DH
6. Manny Ramirez, RF
7. Jim Thome, 3B
8. Sandy Alomar, C
9. Omar Vizquel, SS

Lets do a quick profile, and we’ll go with the aforementioned Mr. Dennis Martinez, affectionately referred to by many, but not me as “El Presidente.” Not like most of you need a reminding of him.

He was no Tippy Martinez, that was for sure. Anyway, he hung around from 1976-1998, pitching for Baltimore, Montreal, Cleveland (’94-96), Seattle and a wrap with the Braves. He won 245 games, so no joke there. He lost 193 games and had an impressive 3.70 ERA. He made 562 starts (692 games) and has a whopping 3,999 innings on his ledger. He walked 1,165 and whiffed 2,149, by far the highest totals of each in my dozens of profiles over time. Actually, I don’t think all of the pitcher totals I ever did added up to Martinez’s stats in that regard if you combined all of them together. I had always found him pedestrian, but he was a solid hand for a long time. He never won more than 16 games, but reached double digits in wins 15 times. He was one to remember. Born in 1955, this Nicaraguan was signed by the Orioles in 1973. His profile page on Baseball-Reference has 70, 949 views as of today, which seems sadly low. Cheers to Mr Martinez, may he enjoy his golden years, the jerk!

As for the game itself, only a ragtag group of 20,187 came out for this one, and the game dragged on for three hours and 37 minutes. I bet Michael Kay was mad. Hell, as games started after 7:30 at this time, I was probably mad too! Your umpires on this cool evening (61 degrees apparently) were Gary Cederstrom (HP), Mike Reilly (1B), Terry Craft (2B) and that moron Rich Garcia (3B). They were also booed.

Blogs

Aug 23, 2012

Scorecard Memory: First Hawaiian Shirt Night in the Bleachers

Sheriff Tom goes back to August 17, 2001 in Section 39 of Yankee Stadium for a Yankees-Mariners game and the debut of Hawaiian Shirt Night in the bleachers.

Friday, August 17, 2001: Yankees host the Seattle Mariners.

Ah, Hawaiian Shirt Night. August means a lot of things in the Yankee Stadium bleachers including complaints about how it’s too hot, proposed pitching rotations for the inevitable playoff action and a night when a couple of dozen bleacher fans saunter to their seats in loud tropical wear. Here is today’s history lesson.

It had been weeks in the planning, as we were always looking for new and dumb things to do out there, but the fruits of our labor finally came to fruition as the first Hawaiian Shirt night commenced in Section 39, a full 11 years ago, on August 17th, 2001. My treasured scorecard from this evening is currently missing in action, which actually alarms me to no end, but I safeguarded a number of notes from this landmark event on an old bleacher message board and can put together this puzzle and recall this night, as I sip a tropical drink at my computer at 2:30 in the afternoon to keep with the theme.

A lot of the initial partakes actually showed up that night with tropical garb and a sense of trepidation, thinking it was all an elaborate gag on them, and they would be the only ones while the rest of us laughed. Feelings of joy, relief and good cheer were sure to spark in them when they noticed as they strolled up to the gates of Yancey Park across from the Stadium for some hot pregame action a dozen guys, beers in bags, bedecked in the ugliest collection of shirts since the 1970s Houston Astros. Palm trees, tropical drinks, boats, sand dunes. For some reason our buddy, 41, wore a shirt that had cars on it, but knowing him it could’ve been worse. It could have been the band KISS on the shirt. Walkman John, missing the point a bit, had an Oriental theme going on, though the colors were acceptable. Bald Ray was wearing a mesh Hawaiian shirt, something I had never even heard of. “Fat Rak” Scott topped all on this inaugural effort with a tropical shirt blasting with color, complete with nubile women playing golf on it. In one of the trivial oddities of the time “Mr. Make It Happen” Phil and Israeli Joe had the exact same shirt on. This was unusual because everyone who went to buy a shirt that summer and every summer could pick from literally hundreds of choices on every rack, and these two had a personal beef simmering at the time, so this was big news in our little world.

Strolling in that night we saw one of the legendary security grumps, “Old Man 200” ensconced by the rail. He got this monicker from wearing a navy blue cap with a big “200” on it for whatever reason (not the most stylish of headwear). Well, he actually didn’t wear “200” often since the number seemed to change without reason, but his dislike for our antics never did. On this night he was sporting No. 175. “Way to slide 25 spots!” we hollered in friendly greeting. He got me back an inning later, accusing me of “misdirecting people” who could not find their seats, only to spark a feisty exchange with Queen Bee Tina, who was in fine form and fighting with everyone like she did in my early days out there. Another well-known Creature of lore, Crazy Dave, was roaming around passing out photos he had taken of the group throughout the season, and was promptly dubbed “Johnny Photoseed.”

Just about 30 Creatures went with the theme that night, which oddly has remained one of the higher turnouts! This night is one of those that is derided by the grumpy (aside from me), those who don’t like all the bells and whistles and those who think that attire simply looks dumb. Ignorant Evan added to the fanfaronade by handing out lei’s, while MetsSuckBalls waved around the same Tiki statue that screwed with the Brady Bunch on those classic television episodes. Bald Vinny proudly proclaimed he had his “hula girl boxers” on and showed them proudly to people as early as his 4 train ride up to the Stadium.

Basically, according to my notes, these names will go on in posterity as participating on this landmark night (read through for a romp through memory lane and see who you can pick out of a lineup): Uptown Mike, “Mr. Make it Happen” Phil, Walkman John, Midget Mike, Big Tone Capone, Bald Vinny, Bald Ray, Milton the Cowbell King, 41, “POS” Diggity Dan, Navy Tommy, two guys I really didn’t know, me, Justin, MetsSuckBalls, Cuban Monica, Felix, Fat Rak and his friend Paul, Ignorant Evan, Water Girl Debbie, X-Pac Kenny, Kwik, Israeli Joe, Frankie Vybe, Laura, Rachel and Stacey. Of all people, Junior missed the boat on this one, although he seemed to wear a tropical shirt every other night he showed up. Big D also didn’t wear one, but I was too afraid to ask him why. And, of course, in one of the more amusing bon mots in bleacher lore, Mike “Donahuge” was not there even though this whole thing was pretty much his idea along with mine. Ironically enough, he was on the beach in Florida (possibly posing for pics from whale watchers back there in his now fondly remembered heavier days), but the show must go on, and without him it did.

The shirts themselves went over as expected from just about everyone else in the bleachers as they were met with disgust. I went over to Section 37 to rap with chicks and the consensus over there was that Midget Mike had the worst one going, a red-based anagram of putridity. My shirt was a pale orange hue, but had met my initial goal going in. Along with the requisite water and boats, my shirt featured some native folk climbing trees hanging with coconuts. Some were featured on the shirt holding this prized booty aloft with enthusiasm not even shown by champions holding aloft the Stanley Cup. One native was sitting behind a mound of coconuts, which looked more like a drum set. “Check out the guy rocking the kit!” someone shouted with glee as they pointed at my ugly shirt.

Late in the game the girls in 37 pointed out that one of the natives on my shirt, standing in a flimsy looking boat, had a strange protrusion extending from his shadowed self, and upon closer examination I must admit I managed to get a Hawaiian shirt for this event featuring a guy on a sailboat sporting a rampant boner.

Let’s salvage some funny notes from this one, shall we. I knew this was going to be “one of those nights” when the first thing I noticed when I walked up was someone eating corn on the cob. While discussing our shirts and how we procured these fine duds, someone mentioned a magical bodega-ish sort of place where you could get “a Hawaiian shirt, a dish of beans and rice, and an umbrella all in the same place!” Quite the fantasyland! Early on a pack of nerdy guys walked up and Midget Mike snarled, “Finish your math problems later and find your seat!” Soon after, Big Nose Larry sauntered over, extended his hand to little Mike and said, “Whats up, can I squash you like a grape?” Junior hopped up and yelled at Jeter as he came to the plate, “Come on, pretty boy, get a hit!” and the ever-surly Mike loudly added, “Hey, sorry you can’t order champagne out there!”

Some dopey fan had a plastic horn and was bleating along and annoying any and all. Head security honcho Sean (a dead ringer for Honeymooner’s era Jackie Gleason) stomped up to take the offending instrument away. As he walked the offending and now crumpled horn out with him people shouted, “Play us a tune, Sean!” to no avail.

Meanwhile, Grover was as usual the life of the party, pawing through his oddball collection of Bazooka Joe comics with all the jokes in Israeli. For some reason a “USA! USA! USA!” chant kicked off to which Grover hollered, “Booooo! We should have lost the Cold War!”

Some oddball stuff was going on over on the scoreboard, as Fox News’ Bill O’Reilly was asking Bad News Bears trivia on there. A Mickey Mantle tribute video played,with the background music of Toni Basil’s “Hey Mickie!” which was sorta sketchy. I loved Mantle, but I would rather have seen Basil in the cheerleader costume she sported in her music video that night up there. To top it off, San Antonio native and bullpen stalwart Randy Choate had to actually answer a dumb question about the Alamo some doofy fan sent in on the scoreboard. I’m not sure what Choate said in response, but I’d imagine it was something like, “Hey, I didn’t shoot anyone.”

Junior was feeling very vibrant, hopping up in the air every time a Yankee hurler got to two strikes, which was seemingly every hitter. It got so annoying he was promptly dubbed a “Jack-off in the Box.” And to top it all off, I noted an overzealous fan came over, asked me to take a pic with him and said, “You’re the best! I’m a huge fan of the Tom drum! Whats your name again?” Um, alrighty then!

I remember for years recalling the game that night “nondescript,” but that’s not totally fair. The Yankees shut out the Mariners 4-0, behind seven strong by Mike Mussina. After Mike Stanton ducked in and out, Ramiro Mendoza locked it down with his fifth save on the season. One Paul Abbott took the L for Seattle, which amazingly brought his record down to 12-3 (WTF?) The Tankees did all their damage in his four innings of work and this included taters from Alfonso Soriano, Derek Jeter and Shane Spencer. In another fun note, current Yankee Icihro Suzuki was nailed attempting to steal, which I’m sure was met with joy.

54, 616 were on hand that night, with approximately 54,586 not in Hawaiian shirts. The game clocked in at 2:51, which is actually short for the usually notoriously long Friday night games we are all accustomed to. Your umpires on the evening were Matt Hollowell (HP), Jeff Nelson (1B), the life-saver and perfect game shatterer Jim Joyce (2B) and Tim Timmons (3B).

So yes, this is a tradition that has lived on for over a decade now. And yes, it’s a tradition that will never die. Next Friday, August 31, look for that cluster of tropical color in the bleachers in and around section 203, as the mantle for organizing this thing and fighting the establishment has gone to our good friend Rocky as it lives on. I will indeed be in there, making merry, but probably not until the fourth inning. Beer is cheaper outside than it is inside!

Aloha!

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Jul 19, 2012

Scorecard Memory: Grown Men Slapping Each Other, the ‘Gang Bang’ and Rusty Greer

Sheriff Tom goes back to April 12, 1996 in Section 39 of Yankee Stadium for a Yankees-Rangers game.

This is the first of a recurring series of recollections, where I will be marching though my old scorecards from my halcyon days in good old Section 39 of the Yankee Stadium bleachers. Let’s pick this up in 1996. You’re invited to join me. Please bring beer.

April 12, 1996: Yankees host the Texas Rangers. (My first game in ’96 and on a Friday night to boot!)

This year was huge. Obviously closing with a World Series win, but along the way we saw a no-hitter, the debut of some of your favorite Bleacher Creatures of lore, the passing of our beloved friend Ali the Cowbell King, vicious fights in the stands and all kinds of hubbub. To top it all off, in regards to scorecard fodder, my love affair with the beer bottle was seemingly at its zenith this year. Leafing through some of the cards without peeking too deeply at the jokes, I see a lot of scraggly, drunken scrawl and a lot of cards look beyond repair. But let’s get past that and kick this mother off!

I had big plans for ’96. On the top margin of this evening’s scorecard I confidently wrote “my first of 50+” however, as I type this, I’m not sure of my exact number of scorecards when it was all said and done, but I know I sailed through 50-plus games, and that was sans playoffs. On the other hand, I was far from midseason form coming in. I lost my voice early on during this evening game, actually before 8 p.m.! It was a frosty April night causing at least half-a-dozen people to walk up the stairs and crack the same joke, “Is it spring yet?” Heck of a time to recall this too, in the midst of a spate of heat waves here in New York, but in marking down the crisp nature of the evening air, I can understand the cynicism as to the missing spring.

I’m getting ahead of myself. Before the game there was a madcap slap-fight outside on the bleacher line when some drunkard decided to take a tinkle right there on the sidewalk and peed on another guy’s leg. The guy getting sprayed slapped him in the face like they were wearing pigtails in a playground and the peeing guy stopped what he was doing long enough to slap him back. They exchanged a flurry of slaps, much to the amusement of everyone on hand that managed to stay dry through the whole encounter. “Throw a punch, for Christ’s sake!” someone hollered. I turned to a crony as things were broken up and said, “That’s going down on the scorecard.”

Let me address the idea of the “bleacher line” as it may confuse some used to the bleachers of today. Back then we had a “GA” situation going on. (General admission seats! You could sit wherever you want!) The gates opened at a certain time and until then you snaked along the sidewalk, patiently. Well, except the guy who was too impatient to hold in his pee. Most of us did not yet have a ticket, so we queued up to grab one once the grumpy guys opened the windows. It was long a favorite tact of bleacher legend Gang Bang Steve (that’s him pregaming to the left of me in the picture above) to get to the window and ask fervently, “Can I have a seat right behind Bernie? It’s my first time in town and I’m a longtime fan!” The ticket guy would snarl, “It’s general admission, sit wherever you want,” and Steve would throw his arms up in the air in mock exasperation, blustering, “You don’t understand! He’s my favorite player ever! I just want a seat right behind him. It would mean a lot.” It was like a Laurel and Hardy routine. This would play out all the time, and Steve used to walk the line here and there asking others to pitch in and ask the guy for a seat “behind Bernie.” (No wonder the ticket guys were so grumpy.)

It was a surreal scene outside on this night, which was par for the course. There was even a licensed pretzel vendor proudly wearing a Red Sox cap. I remember a few brazen Yankee fans not only cursing at him, but also taunting him that they were going to get him fired. All the while these same guys were buying pretzels from him.

Ah, I see we touched upon current events, a consistent scorecard theme over the years. Anyone remember the seven-year-old girl that crashed the plane? At the time she had been attempting to be the youngest person to pilot a plan across the United States, and I was one of many who had been howling about how ridiculously dumb this idea was. I was soliciting jokes for the scorecard, pretty much asking, “Anyone have any jokes about the seven-year old that crashed the plane?” Thankfully, there were none.

Random crack written down on here from Tina (the revered “Queen of the Bleachers” to this very day and beyond) that simply says, “Sit down already! We know you’re Puerto Rican!” to some mope that kept standing up at any and all times, and I would assume holding a flag aloft to claim this lineage. Someone else promptly dubbed the offending stander-upper “El Sucko.” This “standing up for no reason” was inherited by a Panamanian long-timer, who still haunts the seats to this day, named Junior. He would stand up if someone pointed out a pretty cloud. Junior is also known to go on beer runs for the crew and return with the one beer we told him not to get, or crashing on the floor of my old Long Island City apartment back in the day, only to wake me up at 7 a.m. the following morning because he would be watching Matlock with the volume up too high.

In regards to special guests for this game that made the scorecard, there was a George Foreman look-alike, and a gigantic gawky woman we promptly dubbed Big Bird. There was a Jim Leyritz look-alike, too.

The legendary cowbell mix master Ali Ramirez showed up late enough to where it became a topic of discussion. Ali was the kind of guy whose absence could not go unnoticed, and sadly we lost him a month later. On this night he rang up the first cowbell at 7:25 for the 7:30 game, and even “shook his ass” for the crowd while he did it. For a while (until the number of jokes scrawled on the card became beyond too voluminous for mundane minutia) I used to keep such archaic notations as actual times of cowbell serenades, vaunted entrances of the notoriously late and random bursts of the litany of songs that added to the festive atmosphere back then. So if you wanted to know how many times Ali clacked his bell, and more importantly at exactly what time on a certain date, I inexplicably had this information.

Apparently there were a lot of “Chinese guys” out there as well causing me to muse how cool it would be if we could get a Chinese guy to sing the “Gang Bang” sometime. For the uninitiated, the “Gang Bang” was an early staple that had a run of quite a few years, surprisingly so given the general surliness of the security staff through the years. Here’s a video of Dr. Dirty John Valby for you to get the picture. Now take that picture and imagine that song being belted out nightly by dozens of rowdies in the bleacher seats. Better yet, here’s vintage footage of this very grandiose presentation with our own Gang Bang Steve leading a very raucous crowd through the bouncing ditty in Section 39 in 1996. (You can even spot yours truly, expertly multitasking as I can be seen scribbling away on my scorecard while lustily partaking in verse.)

In oddball bleacher trivia, this is how Gang Bang Steve came upon his moniker, as he was a noted ringleader for this caustic tune, although the air of mystery as to how he got his name always added to the frivolity when he would be introduced to people over the years. Eyebrows would raise when anyone was offered a handshake to someone introduced as “Gang Bang Steve” and many times I’d hear, “He sure doesn’t look like a swinger.” (The reaction upon introduction was a hit at my wedding.) Speaking of the “Gang Bang” song and the aforementioned Steve, I commented proudly on the card that Gang Bang Steve was back at my side, helping keep score and providing some of these very jokes. So blame him if you’re not entertained! One of the first things he did upon settling in for the night was draw the “Joey Cora infield” on the scorecard, including a first base line that takes a hard right and loop back towards first, in a nod to Cora’s getting away with running out of the baseline during that sickly playoff the year before.

Time for a story. For years Steve was entered into my cell phone simply as “Gang Bang.” This passed by without incident to a time where I was training at what was then my new job, sitting pretty much shoulder-to-shoulder with my new boss, who was teaching me some things on the computer. Well, my phone, just to right of the computer on the desk, started blinking that a call was coming in. It was on mute, so I was just going to let it go until I saw the words “Gang Bang” flashing on and off the screen. My boss never asked and I never told, but I know she saw it as it was directly in front of her, and human nature would surely make one wonder why someone’s phone would flash such a tawdry remark. She must have thought it was an appointment reminder. Add to this that only days before I had shown up for my first day at this new job with a black eye and my boss must have really been wondering what the hell was going on with me, and how I passed the background check.

Ah, back to the night’s affairs. One guy came up bedecked in a stunning array of bling, and I remarked that he “Looks like a real G.” This guy Chris promptly responded, “No, he looks like a real A.” He then added, “As in a–hole” though that was superfluous.

DING, DING! Looks like Gang Bang Steve got the first home-run ball of the year that was tagged out to the bleachers, and it came off the bat of none other than Ruben Sierra. I don’t know if it was on the fly or a series of bounces off empty seats as I was too busy marking times that Ali clanked on his bell to recount this admittedly more interesting factoid, but Steve got it and it’s mentioned multiple times on the card. I need to ask Steve if he still has that ball, though I’m sure he amassed quite a collection over the years from our drunken forays into the Stadium for BP. Ironically enough, just before Ruben’s jack, someone said (and I quote), “I want to see Ruben go yard!” and we laughed at the phrase “go yard.”

Not much more on here, which I suppose I shall attribute to the cold temps making writing not fun. We busted on a fellow fan ID’d as “Lee” for his “Little Rascals haircut.” We ripped into some Coneheads, the wacky crew with dunce caps on their head, who were back for more with David Cone on the mound. “School’s over, put the dunce cap away!” A “Dickheads! Dickheads!” chant sparked up as the Coneheads sat there with sad expressions at this vitriol. They wore out their welcome fast. I remember them being met with mostly apathy and tolerance in 1995, but by ‘96 their fellow fans had had enough of them, and Tina especially was on the warpath when it came to them. I guess our sort of exclusive pack were the only ones out there allowed to have nice stuff. The same thing befell the folks who would show up in “Moose” antlers when Mike Mussina would take the mound. They were not exactly “fan favorites.” To cap off the card I also mentioned we actually got to hear some Loverboy (one of my favorite old-school bands, bless them) over the Stadium PA. I suspect I was doing some air guitar, too, and hopefully others joined in.

Some interesting names from the past on here include our elderly and mysterious friend “Godfather” (who used to skulk around in the old days putting the “voodoo” on Yankee foes) and on this night he muttered, “He’s doing bad, take him out,” as John Wetteland was imploding in the ninth. We let Angel, the ex-girlfriend of the previously mentioned George (Big Nose/Little Drummer Boy), keep score for an inning somewhere on here. She was well known for once gazing at Cal Ripken Jr. out at short with a long-sleeved black sweatshirt on under his jersey and saying in a confused manner, “I didn’t realize Cal Ripken Jr. was black?” Tina, who was considered more of a strict boss back then than the honored elder she is these days (much more on her to come), had one of her patented temper tantrums at 9:25, but sadly the reason for this particular outburst is lost to history.

For the record, the first “MO” of the season (Mystery Out, of course) was hung on Joe Girardi, during his at-bat in the sixth. (I can and will do a separate column on the wonders, and the astounding frequency, of the infamous “Mystery Out.”) The “Mystery Out” was another longtime friend in the bleachers that never left and one we would visit time and time again. I’m happy that Phil Rizzuto shared this same propensity on his own scorecards, although he earmarked his missed plays as “WW” for “Wasn’t Watching.”

Always like to see this: I noted that Yankees history was made on this same day, as the team signed Juan Rivera to a contract as a non-drafted free agent.

As for the game action, the Yankees took this one 4-3 behind a strong performance by David Cone (one run, unearned, in seven innings) and solid setup work by new Yankee and former foe Jeff Nelson, who recently enjoyed a visit to the bleachers, where he sat for nearly eight innings with the modern crop of Creatures. I like to think he would have had more fun back in ‘96 when we were allowed to carry on without the shackles of security, but cheers to him for the gesture and nod to the merry. Wetteland almost coughed it up in the ninth – a recurring prospect – getting tagged for a deuce, but escaped with his first save of the season, albeit amidst some grumbling from the crowd. That relic Ken Hill took the loss for the Rangers, and we got to see none other than the likes of Dennis Cook and Matt Whiteside also toe the rubber for Texas.

The Yankees only mustered six hits on the night with two off the bat of Sierra, who homered and plated two runs. Your Yankees lineup was:

1. Wade Boggs, 3B
2. Mariano Duncan, SS
3. Paul O’Neill, RF
4. Ruben Sierra, DH
5. Tino Martinez, 1B (Welcome!)
6. Bernie Williams, CF
7. Dion James, LF (He was still here?)
8. Joe Girardi, C
9. Derek Jeter, SS

The Rangers countered with:

1. Darryl Hamilton, CF
2. Pudge Rodriguez, C
3. Will Clark, 1B (Just this week he was being touted for the freakin’ Hall of Fame by some delusional fan online)
4. Juan Gonzalez, RF
5. Mickey Tettleton, DH (We deemed him a racist for putting up a “KKK” line on the scorecard with three whiffs)
6. Dean Palmer, 3B
7. Rusty Greer, LF
8. Mark McLemore, 2B
9. Kevin Elster, SS (LOL)

The Rangers only managed five hits with Palmer nabbing two of them, including a mighty clack off of Wetteland to scare us in the ninth.

How about a quick profile? I always enjoyed doing these to add to the shine of those old days. (Fear not, I’ll keep it brief.) Rusty Greer it is!

Greer was quite the gamer, and he’s looked upon fondly. He stuck around Texas from 1994-2002, getting out of there with a .305 lifetime batting average. In 1,027 games (3,829 at-bats) he knocked 119 taters and drove in 614. His aggressive play could never be credited for art of speed, as he managed only 31 stolen bases in his nine years, while being nailed 15 times. He walked almost as many times as he struck out (555 strikeouts, 519 walks), which is an admirable feat in itself, but he was a better player than I gave him credit for. Well, come to think of it, his estimated salary data has him pulling in nearly $40 million over his career, so he made his bones. In ‘96 and ‘97 he batted .332 and .321 respectively, so we saw him here in a flourish. Born in 1969, he was originally a 10^th-round pick in the 1990 draft and the only player ever drafted out of the University of Montevallo in Alabama in his native state. As of July 17, 2012, his monumental page on Baseball-Reference has been viewed 30,582 times, which sounds shamefully low to me. His passion for the game and his firebrand style of play is sorely missed!

Only 20,238 were on hand for my first Friday night game of the year in the cold, and the game took 2:51 to play, so at least we got out of there in reasonable fashion, (most likely to drink the night away). Thank you, Red Sox, for not being in town, and getting us out of there before 11:30. Your umpires on hand were none other than Dale Scott, Rocky Roe, the late and lamented Durwood Merrill and Gary Cederstrom.

Welcome to 1996. Please enjoy your stay.

Blogs • Yankees

Feb 11, 2010

Plenty of Relief In Sight

No bullpen is perfect and no bullpen is unbeatable, but for the first time in a while, the Yankees might have one close to those things.

Every season I like to believe the Yankees bullpen is going to be better than it was the season before. For the first time since Mike Stanton and Jeff Nelson were building the bridge to ninth inning, it looks like the bullpen in the Bronx will be the best it’s been in quite some time.

I won’t have to convince myself this spring that the Yankees can catch lightning in a bottle four times in one season with four different relievers. There’s no more Brian Bruney. No more Phil Coke. No more watching late leads disappear into the right field bleachers. No more needing to worry about how the day’s bridge to Mariano will be constructed, or if it will be sturdy enough to reach the ninth inning.

The acquisitions of Curtis Granderson and Javier Vazquez this offseason will overshadow Brian Cashman’s decision to ship away Bruney and Coke, but I think these moves deserve just as much recognition. Cashman was able to take away two of Joe Girardi’s most used relievers, two pitchers who inspired zero confidence among fans, and whose only roles in the major leagues should be serving as mop-up men. Bruney and Coke combined for 116 appearances last season, and not once in any of those 116 pitching changes was there a feeling that the opposition wouldn’t add to their run total.

The obvious problem with the Yankees during the beginning of last season was behind the outfield wall in their bullpen. The absence of A-Rod from the lineup and Mark Teixeira’s early offseason woes didn’t help matters, but the real dilemmas began when Girardi went to the mound to pull his starter. The Yankees were a $200 million team with a $200 bullpen. On Opening Day, the bullpen consisted of Rivera, Bruney, Coke, Damaso Marte, Edwar Ramirez and Jose Veras. Outside of Rivera, there wasn’t one pitcher capable of getting important outs on a consistent basis. (Marte only remembered how to pitch in the postseason, and thankfully he did then).

All of the books and DVD specials about the 2009 championship season will focus on a number of elements: the return of A-Rod; Mark Teixeira turning it around offensively; the walk-off wins against the Twins; and Joe Girardi’s Billy Martin impression in Atlanta. All were notable turning points in the quest for No. 27, however, three dates that won’t be recognized when it comes to the club’s remarkable turnaround are May 18, June 8 and June 13.

May 18 was Edwar Ramirez’s final game with the team before being sent down until September call-ups. June 8 was Phil Hughes first appearance out of the bullpen – the most significant decision the team made all season. June 13 was Jose Veras’ last game as a Yankee before being traded to the Cleveland for three pouches of Red Man and two daily passes to the Rock and Hall of Fame.

The destruction and rebuilding of the bullpen midseason was more necessary than any walk-off home run or come-from-behind win. The reconstruction of the bullpen allowed for the late-inning heroics to take place, and turned the Yankees from postseason hopefuls into postseason favorites.

The decision to make Hughes the setup man and the emergence of David Robertson changed the late innings for the Yankees, by shortening games and allowing starters to know their winning decision wouldn’t vanish at the hands of Bruney, Coke, Ramirez or Veras.

This season, the Yankees enter spring training with Rivera, Robertson, Marte and Alfredo Aceves as sure things in the bullpen. Chad Gaudin will likely join them as the long reliever as will someone from the Mark Melancon-Jonathan Albaladejo-Boone Logan group. That leaves one spot for either Joba Chamberlain or Phil Hughes.

Even when the Yankees have finally decided on a set role for Joba, the debate as to whether he belongs in the rotation or bullpen will never end. The discussion is not going away anytime soon and will likely control the baseball talk once the Yankees make their decision on him for 2010.

I have been an advocate of Joba being a starter since the transition was made in 2008. More importantly, I am an advocate of the Yankees winning games and right now, putting him in the bullpen gives the Yankees the best chance to win.

It would have been satisfying to see Joba mature as a front-end starter and be a staple of the rotation for years to come, but it doesn’t look like he is going to get that chance. In this market on this team, there isn’t time for Joba to gain experience as a starter by failing at first. There just isn’t room in the rotation for a 4 1/3 inning pitcher, especially when that pitcher has had immediate and exceptional success as a reliever.

After Joba’s postseason dominance – aside from one fastball to Pedro Feliz – and the return of his high-90s velocity, it doesn’t seem possible that he will begin 2010 in the rotation, and it doesn’t appear likely that he will ever return there.

There will be enough words written in the city between now and Opening Day about Joba’s role on the team, but common sense has him beginning the year as a reliever. With Joba in the bullpen, Phil Hughes will slide into the No. 5 spot in the rotation, in what is currently the best rotation in baseball. Sorry, Boston.

Someone will take the fall as the mop-up man this season, but at least there won’t be several people deserving of that role. On paper, this bullpen has the potential to be the best in baseball, and the best in the Bronx since the last time Yankees went back-to-back and belly-to-belly in October.

No bullpen is perfect and no bullpen is unbeatable. There is usually a Kyle Farnsworth or a Scott Proctor on every club. There will always be a game where a three-run lead turns into a two-run deficit, but as currently constructed it’s hard to pick out who will be this season’s LaTroy Hawkins. For the first time in a while, there might not be one.