Oye

  In a week where my son and daughter and a group of friends actually stood in the queue and then on the solemn grounds of Wimbledon (where they got sunburned through the unforgiving English clouds, I ended up watching Opening Day action, hoping for a glimpse of my children and their entourage. No such luck but I did see Coco Gauff lose to Sofia Kenin, a former Grand Slam champion and Venus Williams playing but really having no chance against a younger Elina Svitolina. Hang it up after the U.S. Open, Venus. Please. 

With the heat of July combined with unusually high humidity, exercising has been more difficult if done after 10:00 a.m. Even the relative comfort of my indoor gym has left me sweatier than I have been in a long, long time. Water—and plenty of it—has been my constant companion. 

I know that when I was younger, I could absorb the heat better. I have played tennis and softball in 100 degree heat. Sure, I was thirsty, but my recovery was much quicker. Even my one year of freshman football in the pre-Labor Day sun, while it left me parched and caused me to drink lots of milk with lunch when we had twice daily practices, was doable—even if aided by salt pills (now frowned upon for retention of liquid).

Watching baseball in many locales, both in person and on television, made me think how much the present day baseball player differs from players from 50 or 60 years ago. At Franklin and Marshall, we wore wool uniforms for my first three years before switching to double knit uniforms which were popularized by the St. Louis Cardinals and other teams. 

The wool was heavy—great for cold days but bulky and heavy when the warmer days came about in April and beyond. Plus the wool stirrups we had were itchy and created problems inside of the spikes. 

So if we suffered, imagine what the old times in baseball must have dealt with on a hot day or night in July and August in the big cities with stadiums which didn’t allow for much air to filter in. I went to a Cleveland-Washington Senators game on a Sunday afternoon at the old R.F.K. Stadium in Northeast D.C. This multi-purpose facility had moveable stands for both football and baseball. They shook heavily when fans stomped on them, but the closed stadium with the retained heat on the metal created a sweltering environment in a city already known to be almost unbearable in the summertime. 

Imagine a heat index of over 100 degrees in wool jerseys in the blazing sun and no advanced drinks like Gatorade or even more modern concoctions. Sitting in the stadium was intolerable. Running and being secreted in a dugout must have been worse. With only water and maybe a run into an air conditioned clubhouse to save the athlete from heat prostration—which might have been the rare before air conditioning became more advanced and commonplace, those athletes, not making close to what the lowest-salaried MLB players earn, suffered greatly. 

Fast forward to today’s ballplayer. Their hydration is highly monitored and it is the rare to see a pitcher, catcher or even umpire cramp on the field or in the dugout and have to be replaced. There are fans or cooling units inside of dugouts. The uniforms are nowhere near what their ancestors wore. And fans come in lots of heat-beating attire, in more open-air stadiums (or even domed ones to avoid the heat and humidity in Florida, Texas, Arizona or yes, Wisconsin) and no longer wear ties and jackets with straw hats.

It must be almost bearable to play in California, unless the Santa Ana winds wreak havoc with the temperatures. Plus there are few rainouts up and down the coast. But in Las Vegas it will be imperative to build a dome—look at the daily heat records just this week in the Southwest. 

What made me think about all of the present weather conditions relative to baseball in the Northeast is how the Yankees have been playing. During a seven game homestead against a good Baltimore club and a so-so Chicago Cubs team, the floundering Bronx Bombers have been really good or simply atrocious. 

I would like to pin this team’s unevenness on the weather. It hasn’t been the greatest and in the team’s last road stop in St. Louis, they looked frightful, losing to the Cardinals former Yankees lefty Jordan Montgomery. I wanted to blame the lousy performances on the heat—the Yankees had flown in from cooler Oakland for the three game set and played two of the contests like they were in the deep freeze of March and April. 

Yet in the mugginess of the South Bronx, the team awoke for two games against the Orioles and looked like the dominating force fans expected. Only to succumb to the second place team in the last two games of the four game set, including a dismal 14-1 setback.

In came the Cubbies, playing better lately, including a couple of wins in Milwaukee. Chicago Manager David Ross, a former catcher and then ESPN analyst, took issue with the Brewers closing the roof at American Family Field to create different shadows and an advantage for the home team. Chicago lost that game and came to New York in an ugly mood.

My take on this is simpler and more personal—it can be unbearably hot in the direct sun—my wife and I did that for three hours and were roasted. Thus I wished that the roof had been closed on June 21st when it was a reasonably comfortable 82 degrees. 

Jameson Taillon, the former Yankee pitcher allowed to walk away in free agency, came to town sporting a beard and one of the worst E.R.A. for National League starters. What does he do to the Yankees lineup—he holds the Yanks to one hit over eight dominant innings, out dueling Carlos Rondon in his first outing in pinstripes. 

On Saturday, the bats awoke enough to support ace Gerrit Cole. Giancarlo Stanton hit a mammoth blast then a pole scraper for his first two HR game since May of 2022. The good Yankees were back. Would it be a visit of one or more days?

Sunday’s game proved promising. Back-to-back home runs by Anthony Volpe and Kyle Higashioka staked Domingo German, he of the perfect game in Oakland to a 4-1 lead; German allowed one hit in six strong innings.

However, as soon as German allowed a seventh inning walk, Manager Aaron Boone removed German after 74 pitches. The roof then caved in, first with an error by second baseman Gleyber Torres, then with shoddy pitching. The final score was 7-4 Chicago. 

I went beserk, shutting the TV off, cursing with my frustration. I wanted to blame all this on the weather. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t the heat and humidity. It was the coaching.

During the week, I watched the best team in baseball, the Atlanta Braves. The starting lineup sported no batting average less than .254 and they have aces like Spencer Strider on the pitching staff. Everything looked calm inside of the team’s dugout. Players actually had smiles on their faces. 

The Mets even started off the month of July with a six game winning streak before tumbling to an equally-underperforming Padres team in San Diego. I actually watched them for awhile. The Mets are better than the Yankees currently are. 

Cincinnati, behind phenom Elly De La Cruz, who slugged a long homer after Washington Manager asked the umpires to check his bat and then consecutively swiped second, third and home, looks so much better than the Yankees. Last I looked, it was quite hot in D.C., just like when I was there. 

I had enough when the Yanks folded on Sunday. I went to Netflix’s The Diplomat and enjoyed myself much more. Until I groused again once the episode was over. 

GM Brian Cashman, who never fires a coach in season, did so with the hitting coach. He should have been gone long ago. When rookie phenom Anthony Volpe self-corrected flaws in his swing while watching video over chicken parm at his home in Watchung, I said the hitting coach was no good. 

Harrison Bader letting hittable fastballs go by and repeatedly striking out or hitting weak grounders on pitches outside of the strike zone is the result of a coaching philosophy. One which has messed up the swings of nearly every Yankees hitter in some way. 

The coaching staff failed the players. I wanted to blame it on the weather but I couldn’t. It bothers me more. 

Is the season salvageable? I don’t know. I don’t like the feeling of being let down by a team which should be producing. Too many high-priced veterans for this team not to be in the playoffs.

In the sage words of incoming AFC Richmond manager Roy Kent, who wouldn’t blame the weather, this describes the current plight of the New York Yankees: oye. 

Fate. Luck.

  In a week’s time there can be a ton of sports news or there can be very little. It is only in season for baseball and sports like tennis and golf. 

And the latter two are more defined by their “majors.” The ones which are not sponsored by a corporate entity and are called The US Open or Wimbledon, for example. 

Yet hockey and basketball made themselves newsworthy this week. Hockey because the NHL Draft happened for another year and this is the time of trades and free agency for the NBA. 

Not to be left out was football. Of course it was to single out four players for gambling and for their respective teams to jettison them off of their rosters for their morally reprehensible actions. While the teams line coffers with gambling money from the fans. 

In basketball, it was James Harden trying to force the Sixers to trade him to another contender where he could mess up the chemistry while being paid an exorbitant amount for his services. While female players like Brittney Griner toil for much less money, fly commercial and are accosted by crazies. 

Or maybe it was free agent-to-be Draymond Green acting foolish on the made-for-TV golf “match” between the Kansas City Chiefs’ all-everything QB Patrick Mahomes and his all-everything TE Travis Kelce versus Green’s Warriors teammates Klay Thompson and Steph Curry. I recognized Green’s presence as an omen that he would re-sign with Golden State. Sure enough, he did, for the princely amount of $100 million over four years. 

Basketball free agency has become the NBA’s version of baseball’s hot stove season, arriving in the colder months when baseball is not played. It allows the experts like Brian Windhorst of ESPN to have a show for an hour Friday evening, pre-empting the 5:00-6:00 “Happy Hour” lineup of Around the Horn and Pardon The Interruption.

Between June’s NBA Draft and free agency, the teams will fill out for the 2023-24 season. Players will be happy where they are, like Harrison Barnes, who re-upped with Sacramento. Or there will be others leaving Harden, looking for that elusive championship in a new home. Then again, he might stay, just to madden the normally manic Philly fans. 

I guess this sates the fans who flock to watch these self-serving programs—after all, ESPN does air MLB, NFL and NBA games. Me—I don’t watch and I read things occasionally. The big stars will make news if they do land an outrageous contract in a different place. 

It really does not affect me if Damien Lillard is going to leave Portland for Miami or another venue, or he stays in “The Rose City.” When the games are televised, then it will matter to me. 

Speaking of ESPN, the sports network apparently is hemorrhaging money. So much so that 20 very well-known and well-compensated on-air talents were let go on Friday. I am particularly sad that Hall of Fame QB Steve Young was let go, along with another veteran, Suzy Kolber. 

Yet the biggest surprise was the jettisoning of Jeff Van Gundy. The former Knicks and Rockets head coach, an encyclopedia of information and never unopinionated, no matter how outlandish his thoughts might be, was the perfect foil for stellar play-by-play man Mike Breen and Mark Jackson, his former Knicks guard and once a coach off Steph Curry at Golden State. I am pretty sure that he will end up somewhere soon. 

I have seen players come and go. So, too, with announcers and analysts. Not everyone has a gig like Vin Scully did with the Dodgers—and he was easily replaced. 

We all thought Marv Albert would announce forever. Kevin Harlan is ensconced in Marv’s seat at TNT and Breen became the preeminent man both at MSG and on ABC with the NBA Finals. They will someday be replaced. 

In this instance, ESPN felt compelled to get rid of big contracts. The replacements will come from within or maybe a fired catch like Doc Rivers might snag a gig. They will become popular, because the games themselves are the driving force. 

These drafts are so heavily promoted or free agency so inspected and speculated because it justifies the money in advertising revenue that is so sorely needed to cover the cost of buying the rights to the programming. It is all a vicious circle. 

Connor Bedard was drafted first in the NHL Draft by the Chicago Blackhawks. Bedard has been anointed as a savior in the Windy City—much like Patrick Kane, who led Chicago to three Stanley Cups, or Sidney Crosby in Pittsburgh, where Sid the Kid brought three Cups to The Steel City and gracefully succeeded Mario Lemieux as the on ice hero (He actually lived with Lemieux and his family for a number of years at the beginning of his career).

Those names, along with icons Wayne Gretzky and Mark Messier, are among the greats in the sport. That is some comparison for Bedard, and has generated much expectation for the youngster. 

As great as Kane and Crosby were and might continue to be (although Kane was traded late last season to the New York Rangers and is a free agent who is awaiting hip surgery), they were surrounded by great talent. So was Edmonton with Gretzky and Messier on the same team and a bevy of Hockey Hall of Fame players on the roster. 

Bedard does not start with that kind of team in Chicago. Crosby continues to chase the dream of another Stanley Cup at age 35, where injuries have worn him down, making his goal very elusive. 

There are only very few who have incredible success. Gretzky is the G.O.A.T. in hockey. Tom Brady, Michael Jordan and Bill Russell have won the most NBA titles. You have to look at the New York Yankees of the late 1950’s and early 1960’s to find Yogi Berra, who won 10 with the Bombers. Derek Jeter is of more recent vintage, and he won 5. It isn’t easy to win consistently—look at LeBron James and Steph Curry with four each—that’s a lot of championships in this day and age. 

For Bedard to live up to live up to the great expectations of his team’s fans is outrageous. I wish him well—except when he plays the New Jersey Devils and that team won its three Cups with goaltending from the greatest goalie ever—Martin Brodeur and two hallowed defensemen in Scott Stevens and Scott Niedermayer. 

Finally, I want to acknowledge the perfect game hurled by Domingo German on Wednesday. He sat down the Oakland A’s on 99 pitches, which included nine strikeouts. The Yankees right hander, suspended this season for too much rosin on his hands, had only one hard hit ball against him. 

German joins Don Larsen, David Wells and David Cone as the only Yankees pitchers to have thrown a perfect game. German’s gem broke a tie between New York and the Chicago White Sox, who have three perfect games. 

No matter how badly German pitches for the rest of the season—he was in a slump before facing the A’s—he will always be a darling for the fickle Yankees fans. And I am one of them who stayed up (with my wife) to watch the game to its conclusion after midnight here in New Jersey. 

With the player and personalities I have mentioned, no matter how hard they worked to get attain success, there are two four letter words which stand out for everyone who tries to become the best in some capacity. Fate. Luck. 

You’ve got to have those in your corner. 

In The End Everything Evened Out

  It is sunny, warm and humid here in New Jersey on this Sunday morning, punctuated by thunderstorms as I continue to write this installation of the blog. A far cry from the sterling blue skies which, except for one brief afternoon, enveloped our trip to the Midwest. 

I will get to that in a moment. For there are other sports stories to talk about during the past week. I don’t want to talk about Aaron Judge’s torn tendon or the pathetic bats of the Yankees. I will give a shout out to the determination of Max Scherzer. He has turned his anger into some heady pitching for the Mets. 

Let’s start with the suddenly relevant Cincinnati Reds. When the team’s management decided to call up prized rookie Elly De La Cruz, the balance of the NL Central shifted dramatically. It didn’t hurt that the Pirates finally tailed off from their inexplicably good start to the season. Nor did it make it difficult for another team to rise, given the way the Cardinals were cemented in the basement, the Cubs were playing so so baseball, and the Brewers resided at the top after sweeping Pittsburgh. 

De La Cruz became a one man wrecking crew, leading the Reds to win after win. Twelve in a row until NL East-leading Atlanta finally squeaked by the nascent Redlegs in a second tight tussle in two days. The return of Joey Votto, their mainstay, to the lineup added even more punch. 

It has reignited the fan base. The crowds are swelling at the Great American Ballpark, as Reds fever has struck the Queen City. And the young Reds are giving the fans much to cheer about. 

De La Cruz hit for the cycle on Friday night—the youngest to do such in eons. He rallied the team back against the Braves, although the final score on Saturday favor of Atlanta was 8-7. His speed and enthusiasm are infectious. 

No one expected this surge. Maybe the Reds and their young star will be privy to reality setting in for the rest of the season. But for now, the baseball world is awash with a new version of the Big Red Machine. 

Saturday night was not just another game for the Angels. Already above .500 and in the playoff chase, the team erupted in the thin air of Denver, thrashing the Rockies by a score of 25-1. After four innings, the score was a football-like 23-0.

Yes, this team is still led by Mike Trout and Shohei Ohtani. Ohtani is having another M.V.P. caliber season, smashing home runs, and is among the leaders in pitching. But for once, the Halos are in the hunt, perhaps squashing, at least for the moment, the rumors about where the two-way threat Japanese superstar will play next season. 

In basketball, the NBA world was stunned with deals that sent Bradley Beal to Phoenix, Kristaps Porzingis to Boston, Marcus Smart to Memphis and Chris Paul made his way from Phoenix to Washington to Golden State, as the Warriors are in the midst of trying to redevelop the team for one more run—which may or may not include free agent Draymond Green. 

The Webmanyana era has begun in San Antonio. The French youngster, awash with such promise, landed in the Southwest, ready to lead the Spurs back to the top. So many comparisons have been made to Spurs Hall of Fame  big men David Robinson and Tim Duncan. That’s a lot of pressure on the gangly kid. 

So my wife and I revived my quest to see big league baseball in every city with a trip to Milwaukee and then to see the White Sox and Red Sox battle at Guaranteed Rate Field. After seeing these games, I would only need to go to Kansas City, St. Louis and Boston.

I should have known that when our plane was delayed in its arrival from the Dominican Republic that this was going to be a different kind of trip. Then when the pilot landed too hard at O’Hare International Airport, veering left, then right, before recapturing the plane, I should have recognized the omens. 

We had been promised a sedan by Budget, but the plethora of SUV’s left us in a quandry—take a new model which would show our bags while we were inside the stadium in Milwaukee or wait for a car with a trunk. We opted for the latter. It was a big mistake. 

Our drive to Wisconsin was uneventful. The highways in and around Chicago are toll roads. So I hope that my E-Z Pass transponder worked. 

We learned that the Homewood Suites would keep our luggage while we attended the game. So we drove to the stadium worry-free. 

The place formerly know as Miller Park remains a beautiful edifice. On this sunshine-laden day, the roof at American Family Field was open. Which I wished I had thought twice about and that the seating diagram had informed me that the seats I chose would be in the sun for the entire game. For we now have very crimson coloring on our faces, necks and arms. 

Our seats were in the seventh row, which was four rows behind the visiting team dugout. Great seats, despite the harsh sun. I could easily see the strike zone and we could hear the chatter from the visiting Arizona Diamondbacks, the NL West leaders. Since it was a Senior Citizen’s Day at the ballpark, I saw the largest amount of sunburned old folks in one place since South Florida. 

Arizona broke open a tight pitching due to win 5-1. Starter Zac Gallen was great, going seven innings, allowing a single, a double and a homer, the last two struck by Brewers who had previously hit well against the right-hander. Gallen is among the NL leaders in many categories, and he raised his season record to 9-2 with the win. Also impressive was reliever Scott Mc Gough. Both pitchers struck out 4 batters, as both threw strikes (Gallen 51 of 92 pitches and Mc Gough 17 of 22 pitches were strikes).

Milwaukee failed to impress me, while Arizona looked like a legitimate for a playoff spot. The D-backs left Wisconsin for a make up game in D.C., then chartered cross-country to San Francisco where they promptly lost the first two games to a very good Giants squad. I think they will get their bearings back once back in Phoenix. The NL West could be a four team race if San Diego gets its act together. 

Thursday was our travel day. I had mapped out a journey to the University of Illinois to get another Big Ten school under my belt, continuing on to the state capital of Springfield to see the dome and Supreme Court, as well as where my first Rabbi at Temple Sha’arey Shalom started his career.

Alas, our Honda Civic died at the Mile Square Rest area on Interstate 57 South, about 40 miles north of Champaign. We waited on Budget to do something for us. They did—they removed the vehicle and told us they would arrange a ride for us to Bloomington, Illinois to retrieve a car. 

Except they didn’t get us a ride. We had to rely on the generosity of an Illinois State trooper who took us to the Champaign airport (think that might happen in New Jersey?) where we somehow secured a Nissan pickup truck to drive back. Two firsts I never thought I would undertake—riding in the back of a State Police car and driving a real truck. We missed lunch and quickly had subs at Jersey Mike’s before hitting the road around 7:00 p.m. 

On Friday, the truck was exchanged for a Toyota Camry SE and we went to Guaranteed Rate Field. Boston, winners of 8 of 10, defeated the White Sox 3-1, sending Chicago to its 10th loss in its last 13 games. The White Sox ace, Lucas Giotlito, pitched well, surrendering 3 hits and 3 unearned runs, including a 434 foot blast off the bat of Rafael Devers. Watching Devers before the game and during it, I have a greater appreciation of how good he is; he is an All Star-caliber third baseman and a clutch hitter. 

In our wanderings around the metro area, we saw the Illinois Institute of Technology, Chicago State University and a place called Harper College in addition to the University of.  Illinois. In Milwaukee we passed Marquette University, adding a Big East school to my record. Other places of interest included the law schools at Illinois and Marquette; Weber Grill HQ in Palantine; and the American Academy of Pediatrics. There is probably so much other stuff we saw that I forgot. Sadly, we did not make it to Springfield or Bloomington, where I would have seen Illinois State University. 

Our final day was hellish. We endured a 3.5 hour delay at O’Hare, which included deplaning. People watching I observed men wearing a Augustana College, West Liberty University and North Central baseball shirts (the last guy had put on some years and pounds); a man wearing a sharp North Carolina State sweatshirt; a woman decked out in yellow and purple for LSU, including hot yellow sneakers—with her husband in an LSU white polo trailing behind with two suitcases; a CSKA Moscow assistant basketball coach with his wife; a Kansas City Royals fan wearing a Mike Moustakas jersey on the day he was traded by Colorado to the Angels; and a soccer club waiting to catch a flight to Zurich.

The plane ride was good, as I saw SportsCenter four times (I had it memorized) and watched the thrilling end to the extra innings Game 1 of the College World Series, won by LSU over Florida. We landed at Newark, sat on the tarmac for 15 minutes until a gate was ready, and stepped over and around people who were on cots, sleeping everywhere or in line at the United Customer Service area to ostensibly rebook canceled flights.  The airport inside and outside was an utter mess.

We had mostly great times and some not so good ones. And oh yeah, for good measure, I saw a woman wearing a Swarthmore basketball shirt at Shop Rite, taunting my bleary eyes. 

In the end, everything evened out.