Baseball

The New Yankee Stadium: Championship Shell, No Creamy Nougat Center

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yankeestadium.jpgI recently watched House of Steinbrenner, one of ESPN’s 30 for 30 documentaries directed by Barbara Kopple. It wasn’t remotely as powerful as Kopple’s Harlan County U.S.A., which is a bit of an unfair comparison, since the latter is a chronicle of a bloody clash between Kentucky mine workers wanting to unionize and Big Coal’s hired thugs, and one of the most gut-wrenching docs you’ll ever see. And yet, I was surprised by how affected I was by House of Steinbrenner.* Early in the film, you see fans walking around Yankee Stadium during its last game, knowing this will be their last trip there, tears in their eyes. I was moved by it, and not just in an empathic way. I was surprised by how much of Yankee Stadium, as seen in the movie, was familiar to me.

* I was also baffled by why Kopple seemed to be given a hard time by the Yankees brass in the film, particularly Hal Steinbrenner, even though her movie was basically a love letter to the team and the stadium. Perhaps because, despite being a devoted Yankees fan, she dared to admit that Hal’s dad drove the team into a ditch in the 80s.

I don’t talk about it too much, but my mom became a Jehovah’s Witness when I was a kid. Aside from making you go to “Kingdom Hall” three times a week, there are also two small, local conventions a year that take up a weekend, and another ginormous convention once a year. For many years, this ginormous convention was held at Yankee Stadium. In the summer. This stems from the Biblical precept that being even slightly comfortable is sinful.

Somehow, we always managed to snag seats in the shady mezzanine. Pity the poor folks stuck with upper deck seats for three days of biblical reenactments and two-hour speeches on what the prophet Ezekiel means for us today. At the time, my favorite book was The Sporting News’ Take Me Out to the Ballpark, a collection of the history of various stadiums past and present, each one preceded by a detailed illustration of the park and its notable heroes. So rather than take notes on the sermons, as I was supposed to do, I’d sketch the outfield wall of Yankee Stadium. All of its ads for French’s Mustard and Utz potato chips, the scoreboard, and even the 4 train as it zipped past the gap between the right field stands and the bleachers.

At lunchtime, we’d wade through the sweltering stadium corridors to get chicken sandwiches and juice, the food tables smashed against shuttered concession stands and dusty ads for un-Christ-like products like Budweiser and the New York Lottery. Then we’d stroll the local streets, browse through the sports shops on 161st Street (a real treat for a budding baseball nerd), and get some ice from one of the Bronx’s ubiquitous Coco Helado carts.

So as I watched House of Steinbrenner, and saw fans filing through the royal blue hallways, a melancholy feeling washed over me. Seeing the goopy, pitted paint, those cramped, low-ceilinged corridors behind the stands, those slatted metal windows, and knowing they weren’t there anymore–the absence really hit me.

I saw this just before visiting the new Yankee Stadium. I went there expecting to have one of two reactions: either to be turned off by its ostentation and the team’s huge monuments to themselves, or to be grudgingly impressed. I didn’t expect the reaction I wound up having, which was basically: Oh, this again?
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Technical Nonsense

Sharing Is Caring

buttons.pngYou’ll notice that Scratchbomb posts now have handy, convenient ways that allow you to share them with the world in just a few clicks. Or maybe you hadn’t noticed, but you surely must notice now that I’m telling you about. And if you’re not noticing them by now, you’re just being difficult.

Truth is, there always was a little sharing thingy beneath the tags, but I realized that it was obscured and obtuse and confusing. So now I’ve streamlined it via the only ways that people seem to share articles anymore: Twitter and Facebook.

To tweet about an article, just click the little Tweet button. That opens a window with a shortened URL so’s you can tweet away about my latest needling of Mike Francesa.

To “like” a page on Facebook, just click the little thumbs up button so all your Facebook friends will know how smart you are.

Please do this to spread the word about Scratchbomb’s fantastic-ness, and to also help me get my secret data mining project off the ground.

Football, Media Morons

Mike Francesa on How to Properly Disgrace Yourself

francesa.jpgI know I’ve said this many times, but it bears repeatin. The Jets are a uttah disgrace. I’m gonna say it an additional time, because I feel so strongly about it: The Jets are a uttah disgrace. And I’m gonna say this yet another additional time, just in case you forgot what I said while I was saying this sentence: The Jets are an uttah disgrace.

First of all, they did nothin but tawk all offseason. Tawk and tawk and tawk about how great they are. I’ve never heard anyone tawk for so long about so little. Sounded like a broken record. They gotta take a cue from me. I talk five hours a day, and I never repeat myself. Ever. Never, ever repeat myself. Ever.

First they got themselves on this Hard Knocks thing, and Rex Ryan’s cursing like a longshoreman. You don’t hafta work blue to motivate men, Rex. Just look at me. I don’t say a single cuss word on this show, and millions of people hang on my every word. These idiots could just go comment on a blog or the Tweetah or whatevah, and yet they wait on hold for three hours just to hear me yell at em. That’s called powah. Take a tip from the mastah, okay?

Then they harrass this reportah who’s just tryin to do her job. Whethah or not she was an actual reportah or actually felt harassed is not important. The point is, we were all talkin about it for weeks. Therefore, somethin bad happened.

Then you got Braylon Edwards blowin a 2-point-whatevah on the blood alcohol thing. You don’t get behind the wheel when you’re tanked on the sawce, Braylon. You’re lucky you didn’t kill a man like your buddy Donte Stallworth; then you would spent a whole 30 days in jail! You make a lotta money, fella. You can afford to get a drivah. Or to get your car outfitted with an IV drip of Diet Coke, like mine. That sobahs you up real quick.

If the Jets wanna know how to be a disgrace, they should take a page outta the Giants’ book. They were an uttah disastah on Sunday, but at least they had the decency to be quietly undisciplined and sloppy. None of this mouthin off, none of this showboating. They just went out and stunk up the joint. With class.

Eli Manning is a professional. When he throws a dumb interception with his left hand, he just hangs his head and walks off the field. And you don’t see none of this stupid celebrating on defense neither. Nobody was poundin their chest or doin the dougie when they commit an idiotic chop block in the end zone to give Tennessee a safety.

Rex Ryan could learn somethin from Tom Coughlin, too. He don’t curse at his playahs. He just bends at the waist and slowly gets reddah and reddah. A man’s skin tone can convey a lot more than a man’s words. That’s why I paint myself bright orange for Mike’d Up every week.

Folks, there’s a right way and a wrong way to disgrace yourself. The wrong way is the loudmouth, classless, criminal Jets’ way. The right way is the Giants quiet, dignified sucking. Of course, it’s best of all to not suck, but if you do have to suck, the Giants way is the way to do it.

Comin up, I’m gonna go over all the other NFL action this weekend. We’ll talk the Cowboys’ big win, and then I’ll covah all the othah games based on the same two-minute segments on SportsCenter that you saw last night. Then, I’m gonna talk about the Yankees for four hours. Back aftah this.

A potentially explosive collection of verbal irritants