This? THIS is the tradition you bothered to carry over?

So while the Yankees see no problem pissing all over their fans, pissing all over their history, and pissing all over the greatest cathedral the sporting world ever knew, they apparently have a problem with their fans pissing all over their shiny new urinals, at least while one of the worst renditions of any song ever recorded is being blasted over the Fan Re-Education System.

I refer, of course, to the playing of "God Bless America," as recored by Kate Smith, during the 7th inning stretch, which is easily the one tradition from the Stadium I would not have missed if they hadn't brought it over to the Interactive Yankeetainment Experience.

And yet, in an impressive display of failing to appreciate the irony of the situation, some geniuses with badges decided to teach one fan the value of the freedom he was supposed to be singing about by proving that he wasn't even free to not sing about it if he didn't feel like it. Let's say that again, slowly, for those of you who think it makes sense:

(a) It's a free country

(b) The Yankees want us to show our appreciation of (a) by blindly singing along with a 400 pound dead woman while she asks God to bless our secular undertakings, thus devaluing both God and America.

(c) In a free country, one would theoretically be allowed to go to the bathroom during such a display as (b) if so inclined.

(d) If (c) is false, then (a) is false and (b) is all the more ridiculous.

(e) The "experts" who provide "security" at "Yankee Stadium"  believe (c) is false.

(f) Does anybody else see the irony here?

Look, I love my country as much as the next guy, provided that guy doesn't drive a pickup truck and insist on pronouncing it "Amurrica," in which case, he probably loves his country more than he loves anything besides Busch Light, and that's really none of my concern. But why should I have to engage in some hollow gesture to prove it? Why should anyone have to prove it at all? Does life here on planet Earth get one iota better or worse if I'm in the john while the Yankees continue to pretend to be the Philadelphia Flyers? I sincerely doubt it. If God is that petty, why are we asking for his blessing? If the notion of "freedom" is so flimsy that I'm not even allowed to make my own decision as to whether I feel like singing a song or hitting the head, then what good is a "free" country and why should anyone bother singing about it?

Oh, and to top it all off, they couldn't even be bothered to win the ball game. Thanks, Yanks.

Tempest in a (Bigelow Green) Teapot

Okay, so while I'm a voracious reader in general, no one ever accused me of having priorities in that (or any) department. And so I just, 5 minutes ago, finished reading The Yankee Years, having only gotten to it in my pile of books about a week and a half ago. Well, since everyone else has weighed in on the Joe Torre/Tom Verducci memoir several times over by now, I do believe it's my turn.

I'll approach the issue the way the confederacy of dunces who have seized control of my team in recent years would approach it: ass-backwards. 

I'll begin with the final verdict: Quite honestly, I can't begin to understand the flap this book generated. Was anyone really shocked by any of these revelations? Did we think A-Rod was a popular figure in the clubhouse? Did we think George Steinbrenner was still running the show? Did we think any of the people running the Yankees had any concept of how to remain competitive in the shifting landscape of contemporary baseball? Did we feel good about acquisitions like Jaret Wright and Kevin Brown? Did we think the older, richer, whinier Yankees of the last few years really had much in common besides their pinstripes with the championship teams of the '90s? Anyone who answered yes to more than maybe any two of these questions probably hasn't been paying attention.

Perhaps people were shocked, not by the revelations made by Torre and others to Verducci, but rather by the fact Joe Torre, with his nice-guy reputation, would take this project on so soon, while he's still in baseball, while he still has a bad taste in his mouth. But to that, I say why not? I just don't see how this qualifies as some sort of gratuitous hatchet job. Torre got the pinstriped shaft towards the end of his tenure in the Bronx, being held singularly accountable for a host of problems for which the front office deserved at least some substantial part of the blame. It didn't take this book for me to realize that, and I doubt I was the only one.

Is it "fair and balanced"? Well, only as much as Fox News. But there's a difference: this is a memoir. It says Joe Torre right on the cover. It makes no claim to being an unbiased, impartial accounting of events. It's Joe Torre's side of the story, and a side worth hearing. The Yankee brass spin their own narratives of infallibility daily, with their cathedrals to themselves, their appropriation of the past. History is written by the winners, even when a bunch of losers in cheap suits end up in the role of winners, and so the memoirs of a winner cast in the role of a loser are always at risk of sounding like so much whining. I guess some might see The Yankee Years as just so many sour grapes, but I see it as the product of a (perfectly valid, given the inauspicious parting of ways) desire on Torre's part to clear the air a bit.

I found it to be an enjoyable read overall, though if I had one complaint it would be the lengthy digressions on the steroid scene and on the Moneyball phenomenon. I realize those two trends help to set the stage for the actual narrative, but if the "shocking" revelations about Yankeeland were less-than-revelatory, the ones about Bud Selig-era baseball at large were almost painfully obvious. 

Next book review: The Year I Owned the Yankees, by Sparky Lyle with David Fisher.

This 1990 novel, nominally by Sparky Lyle, is one of the reasons I was late to the Yankee Years party. Well, really it only took me a day and a half to read it, but it was one of the books in the queue. At the time, it must have been quite the farce: computers dictating personnel decisions, a meaningless panel of fan-advisers intended to keep the masses at bay, new leadership for the Yankees quickly becoming just as drunk with power as The Boss at his very worst. Today it reads like a preview of a season yet to come. When I get around to a review, you'll be the first to know.

Welcome! Make note of the nearest exit, just in case...

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to my new blog. The way I see it, I spend enough time pontificating about baseball and general and the Yankees in particular, often with no basis whatsoever other than my own irrational opinions, to warrant further pollution of the blogosphere with yet another baseball blog.

My hope is to make you think (even if your thought is "this guy's an idiot!"), make you laugh (even if you're laughing at the fact this blog exists in the first place) and ultimately lend a new (if slightly bizarre at times) voice to the conversation/shouting match that is the Yankee-flavored area of the interweb. (If you're wondering, Yankee flavor is a mixture of stale champagne and overripe, past-prime pitching, with a dash of misguided hope courtesy of people like me). 

With the new season finally officially kicking off tonight (the Phillies are currently losing to the Braves in the first inning, which means the natural order of things...i.e. Philly and losing going hand-in-glove...might be returning to the land of baseball), I figured there was no time like the present. Further thoughts to come, whether you like it or not...