Standing at the Altar of Greatness: Yankee Legends

My friends, Happy Opening Day! So begins another big season in the Bronx, despite what many experts may be saying. And even non-experts - my head keeps telling me it's going to be a Boston-Philly World Series. But make no mistake - my heart says as loud and as clear as possible: Mission 28 Will Be Accomplished.

Beyond the annual expectations of a Halloween Champagne Shower, we've got something else to look forward to in the coming six months: Three Thousand, followed by Six Hundred. Somewhere between Memorial Day and Father's Day, the Captain, Shortstop, Number 2, will become the first man ever to record 3,000 hits in pinstripes. Not Lou Gehrig. Not Joe D. Derek Jeter.

And if all goes well, somewhere in mid to late September, The Greatest Reliever in history should nail down Save #600. If he tags on 1 more, he'll tie the record for the most saves by anyone in history. The most deserving record by an individual in history. Total number of saves needed by the Sandman to achieve that? As luck would have it, Forty Two.

Neither is a guarantee, what with the advanced age of these legends. But both plateaus are eminently achievable. And it's not only a great day on the horizon for the future hall of famers themselves, but it's a great day for us. The other day, ESPNNY ranked the 50 Greatest Yankees of all time. Obviously it was an honor to have seen all or parts of the careers of Mike Mussina (50), Coney (45), Rickey Henderson (40), The Warrior (30), Big Dave (28), Jorgie (21), Bernie (19), Gator (17), Andy (16), reluctantly ARod (13) and especially Donnie Baseball (11).

But it's easier to be considered among the Top 10 Presidents of All Time than it is to be ranked as a Top 10 New York Yankee. And that's where we find our Captain (7) and The Closer (5). Of all the players in the Top 10 - none have played as long together as these guys. Sure, you had Murders' Row with Gherig (2) and Ruth (1). Yogi (6) bridged the gap from Joe D (3) to The Mick (4). For most of the Eisenhower Administration, the storied locker room included not only Yogi and Mickey, but The Chairman of the Board (8).

But we're talking intervals of 5 to 8 years of some of these legends sharing the same real estate. Derek Sanderson Jeter and Mariano Rivera have been among the best, if not the best, at their position every season since 1996. As much as it pains me to admit it, as I'd love nothing more than to be 170 lbs and drinking post-Game Six pink champagne till the sun comes up and ready to do it again the next day, that was a long freaking time ago.

It seems like forever since #51 graced center field in the old stadium. Andy's recently moved on. Jorge's in what's most likely his last season in pinstripes. The opening day catcher from that 96 team is going into his fourth season as skipper. But Jeter and Rivera have been the constant over what's arguably - considering expansion of teams and post season rounds - the longest extended period of dominance in the storied history of the New York Yankees.

We've been old enough to appreciate it, and fortunate enough to witness it. What makes it even more special - and yes, this is only the 1,348th time I've probably told you - is where we came from. Baseball as an institution is never better than when you're 10 years old. And when we were 10, the Yanks were brutal. But it's paid dividends one-hundredfold, and has made all of that bubbly taste even sweeter. It's become who we are:

• We are billboards for Brut, Getty, Marlboro and Manufacturer's Hanover Trust
• We are Phil Rizzuto, for six innings before bolting to beat traffic, wishing his paper boy a happy birthday
• We are Roger Maris, hair falling out from chemo - not pressure - embracing The Mick on his last Old Timer's Day
• We are Lay's Jacket Day for all fans 14 and under
• We are Jim Abbot's No Hitter.
• We are the soothing sound of Eddie Layton's fingers gracing the Hammond Organ
• We are #1 1/2 - Robert Merrill, singing the national anthem.
• We are FREDDY SEZ
• We are sitting in a stadium on a May school night with less than 15,000 in attendance against the Blue Jays
• We are the "next Babe Ruth" - Bye Bye Balboni
• We are Donnie Baseball
• We are the Core Four
• We are The Voice Of God, kindly asking us to please direct our attention to the area behind home plate
• We are Wade Boggs - not on a horse, but feebly grounding out to seal Raghetti's 4th of July No Hitter
• We are Paul O'Neill's "Teenage Wasteland" 
• We are Sterling & Kay, and know NYY radio hasn't been the same since they split. 
• We are NOT Kevin Brown, Roger Clemens, Jason Giambi, or Carl Pavano
• We are Danny Tartabull and Andy Hawkins though
• We are Dale Berra and Bobby Meacham both being tagged out at home. At the same time. 
• We are reluctantly accepting of "Cotton Eyed Joe"
• We are not a 40 foot HD Jumbotron, but rather a glorious black scoreboard donning amber light bulbs
• We are forever grateful to Gene Michael and Buck Showalter (And Boggs, O'Neill and Jimmy Key) for the turnaround
• We are Joe Torre - but we're also Stump Merrill
• We are Luis Sojo asking "Coney, Why don't you have a dance?" 
• We are George Michael Steinbrenner III
• We are deserving yet appreciative of the sheer greatness we've seen the last 15 years.

We are the fans, who will tell our children - and their children - that we witnessed the careers of two All Time Legends, from the first time they put on numbers two and forty-two, until the time those same numbers were unveiled in Monument Park.

Play Ball

90 For 90s: #80 - #71

I'm feeling another wave of 90's nostalgia coming on. Not quite sure why, but maybe it's because NATO's attacking a dictator by air and Newt Gingrich isn't pleased. Or maybe it's because I just discovered Portlandia on IFC. Or maybe it's because Elizabeth Taylor has died, and I was pretty sure that happened in 1996. Regardless of the reason, it's time to dust off the flannel and resume the countdown.

OK, that's a lie. I wore my flannel yesterday.

#80. TAKE A PICTURE, Filter. I'm going to let Wikipedia do the talking here: "Filter's frontman, and founding member Richard Patrick has said that the song is about him getting drunk on an airplane, taking off all of his clothes, and fighting with the flight attendants who tried to stop him" We've come so far since Bob Dylan sung about James Meredith's attempt to enter the University of Mississippi in 1962, haven't we?

#79. 40 Oz. TO FREEDOM, Sublime. Apparently there's no Sublime music videos on YouTube so I'll be relying on bootlegged user submissions for their multiple appearances on the list. I love every single premise of this tune, but none more than the notion that a woman looks so fine with her hair permed. How come nobody gets perms anymore?

#78. KILLING ME SOFTLY WITH HIS SONG, The Fugees. Lauryn Hill would've preferred her babies starve than I buy this song. I'm sorry, I truly am and I sure didn't mean to endorse infanticide. But I studied abroad for a semester in London in '97 and the jukebox rarely went 5 tracks without this being played. Weird that it wasn't played as much as Glenn Campbell's "Rhinestone Cowboy" though.

#77. APRIL 26, 1992, Sublime. Told you there was more Sublime to come. Anyway, I get myself in trouble when I speak too passionately about this track, so I'm just going to say I wish the folks in NYC had the gumption of those in LA after the Diallo Assassins were acquitted.

#76. SILENT IN THE MORNING, Phish. Ah, so begins my on-again-off-again love affair with Phish. Like a passionate partner, I've both loved and loathed them. A battle that rages on today. Some days, I consider it great music and a killer scene. Other days, it's simpleton lyrics, repetitive sounds and crazed cult of trust fund babies desperate in need of some Axe.

#75. DISARM, Smashing Pumpkins. Reluctant addition, not because I dislike the song. Quite the contrary. No, it has more to do with the fact that Billy Corgan is the most arrogant, self-aggrandizing POS to hit the music scene in my lifetime. OK, maybe Celine can challenge that, but she's not on this list.

#74. EVEN FLOW, Pearl Jam. So begins the first of the maximum six Pearl Jam entries. Actually I'm lying. For being the Band of the Decade, they're allowed 7. Truth be told though, I miscounted. I suck at math.

#73. SCAR TISSUE, Red Hot Chili Peppers. I love RHCP and still feel like I don't do them enough justice or give them enough credit. Talk about an absolutely remarkable career. I wasn't feeling anything off "Californication" in 1999 (I wasn't feeling much of anything in 1999 except Milwaukee's Best and a few other choice substances) but man has it aged well.

#72. DON'T LOOK BACK IN ANGER, Oasis. Yup. There's Oasis again. I guess I kind of have to admit to really enjoying their one legitimate album. Thank you, Pine Hall and the band of misfits who settled in during the fall of 1995.

#71. RUFF RYDER'S ALBUM, DMX. Yeah, for the most part, the rap on this list is going to consist of embarrassingly bad generic tunes enjoyed by white people. For the first part of the decade I was making the transition from hair bands to grunge. For the latter part, as my tastes were expanding, I was more interested in Dylan, the Dead and Pink Floyd than anything else. God's honest truth, until I bought this a few years ago, I thought TuPac sang it. And he was allegedly dead for 2 years before it's release.

An Irish Toast To All

It's funny how we chose to acknowledge cultural identity in America. The louder, albeit smaller, faction of the country wants you to adhere to this knowledge that we assimilate into some sort of a red-white-and-blue-robot, where you're ancestral traditions are to be disregarded and you're to be processed into a "real" (read: white) American who loves Pop Warner Football, Deep Fried Twinkies, Ford Explorers, Lee Greenwood and Smith & Wesson. Oh, and you better freakin speak English.

On the other hand, there's a train of thought that yes, regardless of how or why we came here, we are all Americans, proud Americans at that, but we're mindful of our own unique cultural identities and see no reason why they need to be whitewashed and wrapped up in a pair of cheap Wrangler jeans.

I'm not quite sure where this began, and I'm pretty sure it's not going to end during my lifetime. But for what it's worth - put me in the latter camp.

I'm a proud American of Irish descent. It's always tricky when I go down that path. For rather obvious reasons, it's considered a little different for those of us who trace our roots to Europe. Those "Real Americans" respect it because, well, Europeans are white and have been there for some time. Those of non-white ancestry, while respecting the point of view, must think how easy it must be, considering the horrible, xenophobic, racist disregard in which their backgrounds are often treated. I'm not saying this is true across the board, I'm just basically saying that's how I'd look at it if I was walking in another set of shoes. 

I mean, I'm not aware of the simple truth here: I was born a white male American. Any obstacles I've had to face have been primarily the result of my own laziness, stubbornness or apathy. While the Irish who emigrated to America a century ago or before had to deal with their fair share of bigotry and social roadblocks, that simply hasn't been the case since immigration patterns shifted after World War II. 

All in all, I'm rather fortunate. I don't say that to gloat, I say that with all sincerity. I am the child of an Irish immigrant. My Grandfather took his family from Dublin to North Jersey not long after the nation's first Irish President was assassinated. I have relatives overseas that, thanks to the miracle of social networking, I communicate with on a near-daily basis.

I argue vehemently that the Irish Potato Famine is among the most horrific genocides in human history. I will put Guinness up against any other beverage on earth. I sing "Fields of Athenry" in my sleep. I married a fair skinned beautiful woman with familial roots in Cork. There are no Stars and Stripes outside my house but I have four  Irish flags adorning my property. I rank Oliver Cromwell up there with Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot and the rest of them. And heck, I never even held Chappaquiddick against poor Ted.  

Yet I've been afforded the luxuries of never having my "Americaness" questioned, save for political debates when I dare question the wisdom of a bullshit war or the deprivation of basic health care coverage. Because to some, there's nothing more American than bombing brown people and shitting on the poor. But that's not today's point.

On this day when everyone proclaims to be Irish and uses it as a platform to get blind drunk and exploit the last remaining socially acceptable stereotype, my wish is that every American who chooses to acknowledge their lineage, customs and culture is afforded the same respect, acknowledgment and acceptance as the Irish.

We ARE one people. We ARE one nation. But nobody gets to dictate what our cultural norms are. The fabric of our DNA is not uniformity into a one-size-fits-all McCulture you can buy at Wal-Mart. Quite the contrary: What makes America great is that we are a diverse potpourri of peoples from across the globe. We are truly a remarkable experiment that I still believe will prove to be successful once we get out of our own way and realize that the foundation, expansion, industrialization, and future of this land was, and continues to be built by all, not one. 

Thank you for celebrating my heritage today. Please be as kind and welcome to my friends, neighbors and fellow countrymen of every other descent.

Nuts in the Can

Some politicians will love to tell you how if you want to connect with "Real" Americans, you should go to the Diner or some local neighborhood dive bar (you know, where white people hang out). Me? I like bathrooms. Albeit this isn't scientific, and it cuts out 50% of the population (because when I accidentally end up in a Ladies Room I keep to myself, avoid eye contact and get the hell out ASAP), but then again, politically reasoning with women under fifty is rarely a problem.  

Last Friday night I had the pleasure of attending the wedding of a very close friend of 16 years, and his beautiful bride. It was really like anything I had ever seen. The wedding hall itself was top of the line. The food was out of this world. To call the drink selection "Top-Shelf" would be doing it is a disservice. I mean, Johnny Walker Blue at a wedding? Unheard of.

What's not unheard of though, is my penchant for talking politics from time to time. An overwhelming majority of the time, I'm the asshole that seeks out the fight. But I have to be honest, that hasn't been happening too often over the last few years. In fact, after Hurricane Katrina, I could probably count the number of legitimate, person-to-person, Left vs. Right debates I've had on one hand. Partially because of my concerted efforts to avoid spending time talking to Bush loving troglodytes, but more so because of the simple truths that we hold self-evident: Unless you were living under a rock for the last five years, you've seen the manifestation of Republicanism in all it's many forms. Be it the economy, the wars, or just sheer competence. If you don't want to sound like an idiot, you're not going to defend any of this.

But then again, there's the fact that we now have a black President. That still doesn't sit well with some people. Which brings me back to this fabulous wedding that took place in one of New Jersey's bluest counties. 

Long after I had my Don Draper going on, but before I completely devolved into Charlie Sheen, the Makers Mark Manhattans began to do a number on the bladder so it was off to the cavernous and elegant bathroom (which had a sitting area that I'm still not sure what purpose it served). As I was minding my own business (as always in such a situation) hunched up against the urinal, over my back I hear a lisping jackass berating the bathroom attendant. 

Paraphrasing the simpleton, "Really, Obama? Hasn't he taxed you enough? Cause he sure has taxed me enough with his socialism". 

As I was washing my hands I kindly asked the jackass how exactly Obama was a socialist. His answer, straight from the Glen Beck school of rationale: "He wants the government to control everything". 

I noted that Obama, while, not in the Senate at the time, stated he disagreed with the PATRIOT Act specifically for that reason. His response, to no surprise, "Health Care".

So I took my deep breath and pointed out that the Health Care Reform bill was the biggest handjob ever given to private industry, opening existing insurance companies to a whole new demographic of customers, and my personal objection was that it in no way shape or form was it Socialist enough.

To which he defaulted to "What about the taxes". I pointed out that taxes for all people - except those below the poverty line ironically - are at the lowest point in history since the dawn of the Income Tax. He added that Obama wanted to raise them. 

The guppy took the bait. 

When I asked what levels he wanted to raise them to, he said "All the way back to Bill Clinton's levels". I didn't even bother to go into how prosperous the country was under Clinton, I just decided to go right for the money shot and opined "So you'd prefer he went back to Reagan for individual taxes". He agreed completely. That's when I pointed out that Bill Clinton actually lowered individual income tax from Reagan levels, and we had a booming middle class, unlike any we had seen in the previous 35 years at the time. 

Dumbfounded, he simply told me I was lying. 

And that my friends, is how a drunken bathroom conversation can serve as a microcosm of society. It exemplifies the difficulties that reasonable people have in conversing with uneducated, bigoted zealots who rely solely on the Faux News demagogues and how their propaganda continues to ensure electoral victories for these modern day Reaganites, who couldn't give a flying you-know-what about middle class struggles, yet rely almost exclusively on those middle class struggles to keep them in, or return them to office.  

I wish I had a solution to offer, and I'm all ears if you've got one. But time and time again, I find myself in these uphill struggles to argue reason against ideology.

I miss the days of being called unpatriotic cause I didn't support Bush's bullshit war. At least then, those dolts could hang their hat on someday finding WMD. 

Now, they got nothing. But these birds you can not change.

Boners and Hand Jobs

Jobs make a great campaign issue. For simple people trying to reach even simpler people, it's quite easy to get on the campaign trail or cable news and say "Mr. President, Where Are The Jobs?" For starters, it's what Republicans like best: A shortcut to thinking. Secondly, it fits with their attention span: "You're With Us, or Your With the Terrorists", "These Colors Don't Run", "Love It or Leave It", and if you really want to stretch the conservative syllabic limits: "Why Do I Have To Press 1 If I Want To Speak English?". But much like the rest of the red carribou meat they feed to their base, once you take the plunge and vote against your own interests, you find out that really, it's just another load of mooseshit. 

Up until, and through, election night, the message emanating from the right was "Jobs, Jobs, Jobs".  But it quickly became all about abortion, unions and spending once the gavel was passed. It's one thing to ignore the issue outright, but in their first major attempt at legislating, Speaker Boner and his merry band of lunatics not only ignored the alleged most important issue facing the nation, but actually introduced a budget's incomprehensibly counter-intuitive to job creation:

Moody’s chief economist, Mark Zandi, projected that the House proposal would cut real GDP growth by 0.5 percent in 2011 and 0.2 percent in 2012. That, in turn, would lead to 400,000 fewer jobs being created than expected by the end of this year and a total of 700,000 fewer jobs by the end of 2012.

Boehner's response? So Be It.

Their issue was never about creating jobs. It was about creating as favorable an opportunity as possible for a challenger to run against an incumbent President Obama in 2012. Heck, they don't even disguise their seedy intentions: 

"The single most important thing we want to achieve is for President Obama to be a one-term president." -- Senate minority leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY)

Yet somehow, for reasons a logical human being struggles to understand, this is the party that's routinely associated with "Patriotism". If it wasn't so heart breaking, it'd be laughable. The biggest nightmare for the GOP is a 2012 electoral cycle with unemployment trending downward, a majority of Americans liking the idea that they are no longer slaves to the health insurance industry, and fewer troops in harm's way in the Middle East. And they're not about to let that happen.

Face it, the only "Job" the Republicans have ever been concerned with was the one Monica gave Bill. Their base, their bread and butter, hasn't been impacted by the recession in the slightest. Stocks are up and banks are profitable. The only "adverse" impact their donors have felt was  Congress' attempts to regulate them from pulling off the same schemes that led to the global financial meltdown in the first place.

John Boehner does not care if you have a job. In fact, John Boehner prefers that you don't have a job - and to boot - you can't collect unemployment benefits, because John Boehner thinks that under those circumstances, you're much more likely to blame the black guy with the funny name than you are the people who created this mess in the first place.