Keyboard Quarterbacks

Under new management

2007-02-10T20:28:00.000-05:00

If you're at this page, you just learned about the imperfect world of Internet search engines.

We're under new management. You can read the Keyboard Quarterbacks at http://www.newsday.com/keyboard-quarterbacks.

Mets musings

2005-06-02T10:53:00.000-04:00

Ponderings from behind the keyboard. . .

What's the over/under on Aaron Heilman taking a job in the Mets' starting rotation? My optimistic side hopes it's sooner rather than later, but my realistic side tells me the more time passes, the deeper he digs himself into the long reliever pigeon-hole. Every winning team needs a strong long-man, and Heilman certainly has looked the part, but his early-season success as a stopgap starter earned him the right to a few more starts.

Victor Zambrano and Kaz Ishii, no doubt, will continue their off-again, on-again adventures. Willie Randolph has already made it clear he's going to stick with those guys (and he sort of has to, based on whom they were traded for), so it may depend a lot more on injuries than it will on the performances of Ishii, Zambrano, or even Heliman himself. Over/under: July 15, two weeks before the trade deadline.

* * *

It's been a strange couple of months for the Mets' lineup, which seems to get hot and cold on almost daily basis. First, Cliff Floyd was hot. So was Doug Mientkiewicz, for about a week. Then Mike Piazza had a couple of "Piazza-like" games. Then Mike Cameron came back, and he got hot. Now David Wright is hot, although he's starting to cool slightly. Jose Reyes has had some terrific games, but almost as many clunkers.

Carlos Beltran is even harder to figure. As bizarre as this sounds, the one player to whom I can best compare him is Alex Rodriguez. He's got tremendous talent -- a transcendent five-tool player -- and has put up great (or, at least, very good) numbers, but for some reason hasn't found his place with the fans yet.

Fans always expect more from free agents who breeze into town with big hoopla (see: Giambi, Jason; Glavine, Tom). We're are never as forgiving to hired guns as are to homegrown stars like Derek Jeter or Reyes. However, I would be remiss not to go to bat for Beltran, who was booed after going 0-for-4 and leaving four runners in scoring position Tuesday night.

Beltran's defense has been the one key aspect that has gone, it seems, almost completely unnoticed. He's gotten a few ovations for strong throws from the outfield, but it's his intimidation factor that makes him an almost nightly force for baserunners to cope with.

Example: In Wednesday night's game, the Mets led 2-1 with two outs in the ninth inning. Pinch hitter Tony Clark singles, then Alex Cintron follows with a shot to center. Beltran fields the ball quickly and fires it in. Clark, the potential tying run, does not even try to advance to third. In that situation in any of the past, oh, 43 years, Clark is probably on third base.

I don't need to tell any knowledgeable fan the significance of keeping a tying run off third. It's good, fundamental, winning baseball. That's what Beltran brings to the Mets, and that's why he'll be a great influence to players like Reyes and Wright, who certainly have a lot to learn before they can ascend to the his stratospheric level.

* * *

Did a quick check of the All-Star voting yesterday and discovered the Mike Piazza was the leading vote-getter for NL catchers. Mike's a good man, but this only strengthens every argument against allowing fans to vote for All-Star selections. I suppose I shouldn't get so bent out of shape about it, since the MLB All-Star game is about the fans, after all, right?

But more than anything else, it's a popularity contest. Piazza, batting .249 with 6 home runs and 26 RBIs, is having, by anyone's valuation, the worst season of his career. I've never had problem with aging stars playing in All-Star Games, but at what point do you have to try to be fair to others who have earned the right to start the game?

I'm probably overreacting. But one last note before I move on: Two of the other top vote-getters at their positions -- Cubs shortstop Nomar Garciaparra and Cardinals third baseman Scott Rolen -- are currently injured and probably won't even play in the game. And Tino Martinez leads all AL first baseman by nearly 100,000 votes... *shrug*

* * *

Dae-Sung Koo is on his last legs with the Mets. There's no denying that now. Koo's struggles have brought about Omar Minaya's first real challenge of the 2005 season. He's got a surplus of starting pitching and outfielders, and no reliable lefty reliever anywhere in the system. How he molds and reshapes that group could have a significant impact on the rest of the season.

Check back on Newsday.com tomorrow afternoon, when I'll talk to Newsday's Dave Lennon about Minaya's plans for the team this summer, as well as some possible trade candidates at relief pitcher. Perhaps he can shed some light on the critical moves the Mets are bound to make over the next two months.

* * *

Speaking of lefty relievers, it seems that John Rocker has finally corrected the control problems that plagued him early in the season with the Long Island Ducks. But the Mets would never sign him, would they? Well, you'd be surprised. Stay tuned...

E-mail Mike Casey at michael.casey@newsday.com

A fun year to be a Yankee fan

2005-06-01T01:29:00.000-04:00

June 1, 2005. Fourth-place Yankees.

Wow! There are two sentences you never expected to hear in that order. At least in the post-1994 era, back when the Yankees were running away with American League before the strike delayed Don Mattingly’s first playoff appearance another year.

Speaking of 1995, didn’t the Yankees win 25 of their final 31 games that season to capture the AL wild card? Yes, I believe they did.

Ever since, Yankee fans developed a sense of playoff entitlement, never once considering that the team might struggle along the way.

Have a heart, people. Even the 1995-96 Chicago Bulls lost 10 games. And they had MJ, who cannot be compared with A-Rod, simply because baseball does not allow for one-man dominance the way basketball does.

The 2005 Yankees might just be the most exciting team since 1998. That team won every night and it was relatively new to see such domination. Following them in 1998 meant staring at the box score in amazement over another Yankee win and another six-game win streak and another Tino Martinez home run and another Paul O’Neill punching of a water cooler because he only went 3-for-4.

In the years afterward, the Yankees beating everyone up became passé. Sort of like when that new song you love hits the radio. You buy the single, listen to it 32 times in a week, then get tired of it.

That’s what the Yankees have done to baseball. Every year, they are the favorite to win. Every year, they add another few million to the payroll, making it that much harder to root for them.

And I’m a Yankee fan!!!!

But I remember the 1991 pitching rotation, which included Wade Taylor. ‘Nuff said.

I remember 1985, when the Yankees had to go into Toronto and sweep to win the AL East. They won the first game, lost the second, and then Phil Niekro earned his 300th win on the final day of the season.

That was exciting.

And so is 2005. Who knows what will happen? As Yankee fans, we must now monitor Baltimore, Boston and Toronto. And whoever thinks the Orioles and Blue Jays will falter, you may be right, but it’s June 1 and we’re still talking about them. No one expected that.

Now we don’t know what to expect. Kevin Brown could pitch a good game. Or, he could just pitch like Kevin Brown. We don’t know.

Randy Johnson might strike a few people out. He might even serve up three bombs. We don’t know.

A-Rod could hit three homers, or make three errors. We don’t know.

Which makes being a Yankee fan fun again. The Orioles and the Red Sox wrap up their three-game series on Wednesday. Yankee fans must hope against a sweep. That’s the best case scenario right now because there’s no sign of the Orioles slowing down. Not with that lineup. Plus, they’ve stunk up the joint something awful in recent years, so any little bit of success means a lot to hungry players.

The Red Sox aren’t going away, either, even if Curt Schilling doesn’t pitch again this season and Johnny Damon keeps running into walls. So long as the Yankees refuse to intentionally walk, pitch around or brush back David Ortiz, the Red Sox will remain a half-game ahead of the Yankees.

Every game from here on matters. They’re all important because, even though the Yankees won 16 of 18, they also lost 19 of 30.

It should make for an exciting summer. Unless, of course, you became a Yankee fan in October of 1996.

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Random sporting thoughts

2005-05-26T01:44:00.000-04:00

* Dwyane Wade is an extremely good basketball player.

* Dwyane Wade is an extremely amusing basketball player, what with that dunk at the end of the game to give the Heat a 92-86 win. Who cares about the sportsmanship aspect? The spread was 4 1/2. Wonder how the bookies felt about that dunk with one second left.

* Why do Yankees fans hate A-Rod? This is baffling. The man only leads the major leagues in home runs, RBIs and runs. Plus he's hitting .318. Why no love for this guy? We'll explore that next week.

* Michael Irvin on the big screen? "The Longest Yard" could immediately become a Top Ten classic. The Playmaker is second only to Screaming A. Smith as television's most amusing sports analyst.

* Some days, I wish I was a professional athlete. Not for the money, or the impressive address book or the amount of females at my disposal, but rather for the keen ability to commit crimes and get off with a slap on the wrist and a $538 fine.

* Today is one of those days.

* Spurs vs. Pistons would be the most unwatchable NBA Finals since television was invented. Average score: Spurs 19, Pistons 18.

* Jerry Rice is dangerously close to becoming football's answer to Evander Holyfield.

* Which is worse: Agonizing over ways in which the Knicks can mess up the draft or Watching the Knicks actually mess up the draft?

* Who will instigate the brawl this weekend between the Yankees and the Red Sox?

* Any chance Tom Glavine will beat the Braves once more before his contract expires?

* That was a rhetorical question.

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The Boss takes center stage

2005-05-23T18:29:00.000-04:00

George Steinbrenner is a great owner of a great team that plays a great sport in a great stadium in a great city in front of great fans. He is a great Yankee.

That should just about sum up the Steinbrenner installment of "Centerstage" on YES that aired this past Sunday. Steinbrenner said the word "great" 4.2 million times in the 90-minute show. Upon further review, that number could grow.

If you've never seen "Centerstage" before, Yankees broadcaster Michael Kay sits down for a one-on-one interview with famous people. The show is usually 60 minutes and it's taped in front of a studio audience which gets to ask questions in the latter part of the broadcast. It's actually a fairly decent piece of original programming on YES. Not great, but not bad, either.

These days, Steinbrenner rarely says more than a few sentences on his own. Most of his outlandish comments that we love to hear and read come in the form of statements released through his spokesman Howard Rubenstein. Basically, Rubenstein is to Steinbrenner as the mask is to Darth Vader.

So, for YES to land this interview was pretty impressive. Granted it's Steinbrenner's network and Steinbrenner's team and Steinbrenner's world, but he still had to agree to the interview. Of course, there were no hardball questions but the average fan doesn't care about that anyway. Kay served up a few softball questions that had you wondering if YES interrupted the interview to bring us another showing of Javier Vazquez pitching to Johnny Damon in Game 7.

When Steinbrenner wasn't using "great" like it was the world's preeminent adjective, he was answering Kay's questions and only answering Kay's questions. Very little elaboration on Steinbrenner's part. Just a lot of "How did that feel?" followed by "It felt great." That kind of stuff. At one point, you start to feel bad for Kay. Then, a commercial cuts in and any sympathy is washed away by advertisements.

The curt answers and the quick questioning afterward to avoid dead air created a choppy sequence of editing. There were times I wondered if Kay and Steinbrenner were in the same room. For a moment, I thought I was watching the scene in "Heat" where Al Pacino and Robert DeNiro are talking in the coffee shop. The editing in that scene gives the appearance that they are the same table talking, yet Pacino and DeNiro are never on screen at the same time.

Steinbrenner did offer a little insight into his psyche for those who don't anything about him. He yapped about how important winning is and how it's the only thing. Uh oh! I just used the verb yapped, which never has a positive connotation. Remind me to have someone else start my car for the next few days.

He laughed a bit, almost cried a bit, too. He went on about how he loved all these Yankees and how they were all great competitors, great men, great Yankees. Not too much on Howard Spira, Richard Nixon, Mr. May.

It was an interesting interview to watch. Not the best, but certainly better than anything Magic Johnson ever did on his late-night talk show back in the day.

Even with the boisterous Boss taking center stage for this show, Gary Sheffield won the award for Best Line.

In a clip from his appearance on "Centerstage" last year, Sheffield discussed his meeting with Steinbrenner as a free agent. "I told him he can bring in the greatest player in the game, but I'm still gonna be the best player on this team," Sheffield said, give or take a word. (Note: Not trying to pull a Mitch Albom here, but I just don't remember every single word from the quote, but that was the gist of it.)

That's a great line for a great player to drop on a great owner of a great team before signing a great contract.

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Top Gun Golf

2005-05-16T02:32:00.000-04:00

Every golfer has an Iceman hole once in a while. I have an Iceman hole once every nine holes.

You may not even know what an Iceman hole is. Let me learns you a bit here. The Iceman hole takes its name from Val Kilmer’s character in the 1980s classic “Top Gun.”

Kilmer’s call sign was “Iceman.” In the target-rich environment known as the bar, Goose (Anthony Edwards) explains to Maverick (Tom Cruise) how Iceman got his nickname.

“It’s the way he flies,” Goose said. “Ice cold. No mistakes. Wears you down. After enough time, you just get bored and frustrated, you do something stupid, and he's got you.

Starting to make sense now, isn’t it? How many times did you break a 9-iron over knee because you should have hit the 6-iron instead? How many times did you birdie the 4th hole, then hit driver 14 feet, top your 3-iron another 37 feet, shank the 4-iron onto the wrong fairway, chip into the trees, chip over the green, chip back over the green, chip onto the green and then three-putt on the 5th hole?

That, my friends, is an Iceman hole. That, my friends, is “Top Gun Golf.”

Footnote necessity: Lawyer friends Steve and Tim coined the phrase in golf terms.

I went ballistic on the fifth hole at Overpeck County Golf Course in Fort Lee, N.J., last Friday. It’s a seemingly average 418-yard, par 4.

I shank my drive to start the hole. I do that often, so I’ve had many Iceman holes. But practice makes perfect, so I have a better save percentage than Armando Benitez. Not exactly the best person to compare myself with, but after an approximate 126-yard drive, I’ll take what I can get right now.

Time for the trusty 3-iron. I hit “I’m not a player, I just crush a lot” shot and I’m back in the game.

Approaching my ball, lying 2, I noticed there’s a big ol’ weeping willow tree about 30 yards in front of me. A true golf stud would pull out the wedge and chip over the tree and plunk it on the green from 75 yards out. That was my first thought. Then I realized I’m not a true golf stud.

So, I turn toward my bag. Hurricane friend Fletcher asks what I’m doing. In true “Top Gun Golf” fashion, I say, “I’m too close for missiles. I’m switching to guns.”

Translation: I’m going to take out a low iron and punch it low under the tree and onto the green.
“You’re going ballistic?” Hurricane friend Fletcher said.

My 4-iron strikes the ball . . . and the ball does a fly-by of the green at over 400 knots. Not good. I walked around to the far side of the green and chip on . . . and off the green. Potential Iceman hole alert! Potential Iceman hole alert!

I walked passed Hurricane friend Fletcher, who politely tells me “Slider, you stink!”

Enter Maverick, who saves Iceman by chipping on the green and one-putting for the double bogey. For many a golfer, that’s not good. For me, that’s expected.

After About-to-be-lawyer friend Schatzie shanked his 12th straight drive, Hurricane friend Fletcher asked, “If you had to play in a charity golf tournament, would you want Schatzie with you?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know,” I responded.

The 413-yard par-4 15th hole wore me down. I got frustrated. I did something stupid. Ditton on the 454-yard par-5 17th hole

We’ll begin in tee box, the birthplace of many an Iceman hole. Time to hit driver. Time for the ball to start off along the right side of the 15th fairway, then put the blinker on and wind up on the far end of the 14th fairway. Vanilla Ice alert! Vanilla Ice alert! Check out the hook while my Big Bertha revolves it.

I followed that with a monster 5-iron that faded slightly at the end, hit a tree branch and fell straight to the ground. Cue up the spiked hair and a volleyball scene because this has Iceman written all over it. Next shot has a brook in front of it that doesn’t really factor into my shot, except for that nice slab of concrete they call the wall of a foot bridge. Whammo!

My nice pitching wedge hugged the ground like a caterpillar and goes slamming off the front side of concrete. In any other world, the ball would have gone screaming back at my face and popped my eye out. But these must have been Mr. Tipton’s Laws of Physics at work here because the ball went left. Way left.

The ball settled next to a tree on the far side of the 14th tee box, some 60 yards left of the green. But, hey, I was pin-high. I lodged my patoot against the tree and launched what looked like a nice shot. Oops, too long. Chip onto the green. Two-putt. Seven. Triple bogey. Iceman.

On to the 17th, which featured a 53-foot swinging-bunt single for a drive, a nice long iron, a bad long iron, a “Caught in a jet wash” short iron, a crash-and-burn wedge and a “You’ve lost that loving feeling” putt that lipped out. Double bogey.

That’s Top Gun Golf.

The plaque for those shooting over 100 is downstairs in the ladies room. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.

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We must be in the front row

2005-05-12T20:58:00.000-04:00

Row A at Yankee Stadium means when Luis Sojo coached third base, "Oooooh, he's so close, it's like i'm having a cup of coffee with him in the kitchen," Mama La Monica said.

Row A at Yankee Stadium means when $252 million Alex Rodriguez made the first of his two errors Wednesday afternoon and got yelled at by fans, "This is like going into IBM and yelling at the chairman," Papa La Monica said.

Row A at Yankee Stadium means when Alex Rodriguez made the second of his two errors Wednesday afternoon, he had no choice but to hear one fan yell out, "Pagliarulo would've made that play."

I was that fan. Life in the front row is pretty cool. Not that I'm an A-Rod hater, but he made two huge mistakes and had to be called out on it by a fan who knows what it's like to sit in the upper deck's Row U (that's pretty much above the lights) and Row W (that is pretty much on the moon) for a game.

But this was Row A. Time to capitalize on the opportunity.

Papa La Monica scored tickets along the third-base line for Wednesday's game. It was Papa La Monica's birthday, too, making it even more fun.

Ever watch a game on television and say to yourself "How did those people get those seats?" when the cameras pan around the first few rows. These were those seats. We were those people.

This was a Bob Uecker commercial come to life. Whoa! We really must be in the front row.

Mama La Monica, excited enough to be within the same zip code as Derek Jeter, even waved and yelled out to Skippy, the left-field ball boy.

In this gated community, (OK, it was chained off but in a stadium built in 1923, you take what you can get), the seats are cushioned. Typically, I have to bring my own patoot-softening device.

In this oh-so-chic section, you get served. Typically, I have to go rent the movie.

A Stadium employee runs around with some sort of Palm Pilot situation and takes your order. Menus are available, stuck in the cup holder. Cup holder? Cup holder! Typically, I have to bring a safe to the Stadium to store my $5 souvenir cup of soda under my seat so I don't have to worry about Coke-soaked peanut shells and soda-saturated sneakers.

In this posh part, the only people sitting in front of you are the corporate clowns that paid a lot of money to sit in the seats that were installed several years ago so that corporate clowns could pay a lot of money to sit the seats. Most of these fans bought an unlimited-ride Metrocard on the bandwagon.

Since that's a man-made hazard and therefore not part of the original infrastructure of the Stadium, it can't change the fact that we're sitting in Row A and they're not.

(Note: When those corporate clowns left after the 7th inning - how predictable! - Papa La Monica and I jumped down to their seats. It's a pretty cool view.)

Having chair service is an interesting experience for a family that used to save enough coupons from the Dellwood milk cartons just to get four free seats in the upper deck. The Stadium accepts credit cards down there in Row A, so I had to charge something while sitting down there in Row A if for no other reason than I could charge something while sitting down there in Row A.

But, I also had to get up and buy something from the concession stand. Mama La Monica wondered why. Two reasons:

1) I never forget where I came from, which is somewhere in the tier reserved section (that's the upper part of the upper deck).

2) I wanted the security guy to stop me trying to come back to my seat so I could show him my ticket, drop a Lil Jon/Chappelle "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?" on him, and then walk past all those other lettered rows and resume my game-watching from the comfortable position of Row f-bombing A!

The game began and I offered my obligatory "What's up, guy?" to A-Rod, Jeter and Sojo. More importantly, I know they heard me. That makes four Yankees to hear my signature line (sure, it's stolen from Nicky Eyes in "Goodfellas," but I'm more famous than the actor who played him, so it's mine now). Gary Sheffield was the first, back when I got booed at Yankee Stadium. So far, I've received zero responses. Not even a complimentary "Howyuzdoin?"

Oh well. I can live with that. I'm in Row A.

Brother La Monica joked before we left for the game that he was taking all the money from his accounts and betting it on the Mariners. This seemed a smart play, considering Papa La Monica is better known as Frankie Mush when it comes to Yankees games. He's 0-2 this season, and roughly 2-35 since we started going to games as a family in the early 1980s. One of those two losses this season was the Mariano Rivera five-run ninth inning against the Red Sox. Mama La Monica had no choice but to go 0-2 this year, as well.

Case in point: In the early 1990s (or maybe it was the late 1980s, we're not quite sure anymore), Papa La Monica had to work in San Francisco for a few summer months. The Yankees were on a West Coast trip and went 10-1. The one game they lost was the Oakland. Yep, he was there. Frankie Mush!

I clearly inherited his genes. I was 0-2 this season, with those losses being a blowout by Baltimore and a Randy Johnson loss to Tampa Bay before Randy Johnson remembered he was Randy Johnson and not Randy Jackson, dog.

So, the La Monica family was 0-4, and clearly the betting parlors didn't know we were going to the game because the Yankees were still favored.

When the Mariners scored five runs in the first, we had no choice to laugh and blame Frankie Mush. So much for my theory of two negatives becoming a positive.

But, this was Row A, so let the game last 12 hours. I don't care. Boss friend Jon was kind enough to let me come to work late, but I had to add in a "Work on the laptop during the car ride home" clause for the commissioner to approve the trade.

Brother La Monica was telephoned with one out in the first inning and the Yankees trailing 5-0. He simply couldn't believe it. Well, he could believe it, which is why he couldn't believe. Such stark reality can appear imaginary when it happens live.

The Yankees rallied back for the 5-5 tie in the bottom of the first. Brother La Monica was telephoned. The Mariners took a 9-6 lead. Brother La Monica was telephoned. The Yankees tied it at 9. Brother La Monica was telephoned. The Yankees took a 12-9 lead. Brother La Monica was telephoned.

That Tino Martinez homered to tie it at 9 meant Mama La Monica made the right decision in wearing her new Tino Martinez shirt. She considered rocking the Jeter home jersey, but "Tino's doing good, so I had to wear my new shirt."

Can't argue with Mama La Monica, even if Mother's Day already passed.

The Yankees won, 13-9. We reversed the curse!

No more Frankie Mush. Well, at least for one afternoon.

Row A means the next time I go to a game at the Stadium, I'll be back with the steerage. Row A means it was definitely worth it.

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The Great waste of time

2005-05-11T20:04:00.000-04:00

Talk about a non-story. Wayne Gretzky might coach the Phoenix Coyotes.

Can someone tell me just what he is going to coach them to do? They clearly won’t be playing hockey next season. One could argue that there hasn’t been hockey in Phoenix for a few years anyway.

The NHL gets worse every day the lockout goes on. This is a sport that is now listed under Tennis and Women’s Basketball in the navigation of ESPN.com. A sport whose top headlines include news of Patrick Elias’ bout with hepatitis, breaking news about USA Hockey and U.S. Figure Skating executive directors resigning and finally news on how the NHLPA wants to block replacement players.

Block replacement players! As if they could do anymore to assure that hockey will never be played again in North America. Since the end of football season and because of my absolute refusal to watch NBA basketball, I have been stuck watching rodeos, NCAA baseball and even NASCAR over the weekends. I even watched the Masters in hopes of seeing someone check Tiger Woods as he got ready to putt in the playoff.

Meanwhile, Mike Milbury just returned from a scouting trip to China. Unless they can get Yao Ming in a trade for Alexei Yashin, the Isles might be better off if the NHL never returns.

Forget Giacomo, just call the Guru

2005-05-11T03:52:00.000-04:00

Horses are beautifully strange creatures. Those who gamble on the horses are just strange.

So, for a brief 25 minutes on Tuesday, I was clinically strange. (This is different from my everyday life, where I’m 4 degrees before tap-dead-center strange.)

Many a horse race begins with the horse you picked starting off strong. Then that horse drops to the middle of the pack. Then, if you’re lucky, your horse makes a mad dash to line and wins the race by a length.

So, let me get this straight: Starts off strong, fades to virtual oblivion in the middle, then races to glory at the end. Hmmm, add in a six-day cocaine bender and we’ve got ourselves a VH1 “Behind the Music” special.

On this particular afternoon, I entered an OTB. I was there to cash in on the best bet from the eighth race at Belmont on Saturday.

A little recap for you horseheads out there: Saturday was the Kentucky Derby. I had gone to a different OTB with Papa La Monica. He’s retired these days, which is code for “Let’s go play the horses because I’ve got nothing else to do and my back hurts from playing golf yesterday.”

I played the chalk trifecta of Bellamy Road, Afleet Alex and Bandini. My horse luck is more Rodney Dangerfield in “Easy Money” and less Richard Dreyfuss in “Let it Ride.” But I’m an Ivy League graduate, so I decided to hedge my action and played along with the Guru. He liked Exit to Heaven. I like the Guru. So the bet seemed like a good fit.

Well, Exit to Heaven came in third for a nice $5.30 payout. It cost me $6 to bet across the board, so that’s a sweet 70-cent loss. Nice pick, pal.

Fast forward to Tuesday afternoon.

I was in the neighborhood of OTB so I went in to pick up my $5.30, which promptly became $5 after the OTB took its vig.

With time to kill, I decided to make my money work for me. It was time to reinvest that $5. But what the frig do I know about the horses? Nothing. However, I know a guy who knows more about horses than horses do. Yes, that’s right, I called the Guru.

I flipped through my recent calls database on my cell phone. (I had called the Guru for Derby help, but he didn’t pick up his phone. Plus, I doubt he would have given me Giacomo, even if he is the most Italian guy with a non-Italian last name I know.)

Guru picks up the phone. I’m sitting pretty now.

“Kid, what are you doing, kid?” he asked.

“I’m at OTB cashing in your monster best bet from Belmont on Saturday,” I answered. “What do you got for me today at Belmont?”

“It’s Tuesday, kid, they’re not running at Belmont,” he said.

Great, now I’m a bigger idiot than I was 12 seconds ago. But, I’ve known the Guru long enough for him to let it slide.

“It’s all out of town tracks today, kid.”

“Well, Guru, gimme something outta town.”

“Let’s go to Calder.”

“OK.”

“Kid, second race, we’re gonna go with an exacta box on 6 and 5.”

Hey, works for me. He tells me the name of the horses I’m about to wager my lunch and dinner on. I can’t understand what he said, more so because my cell phone cut off than because he starts every sentence with “Kid.”

I strolled to the window, dropped some cash on 5-6 in an exacta box. I feel like my dad. I feel like his dad. And I’m clearly the youngest person in here by at least 75 years.

I found the television showing the races at Calder and plopped myself down in a chair. Twelve minutes to post.

Five minutes.

Two minutes.

Race time.

Here’s comes the 6 horse, racing out. The 5 horse isn’t even on the screen. Great! Nice pick, Guru. My cell phone is open and I’m ready to call him up and tell him he’s a jerk and he owes me dinner. What’s the use in having a hookup if he leaves you hanging?

Around the second turn, the 6 horse is lagging, the 5 horse is taking a nap in the gate.

Around the third turn, here comes the 6 horse. The 5 horse seems to remember there is a race going on.

Down the stretch, it’s all about the 6 horse. And the 5 horse is making a Giacomo-like run on the outside.
At the finish, it’s . . . it’s . . . it’s the 6 horse in first and the 5 horse in second. Guru is off the hook.

I sat in my chair laughing my patoot off for about seven minutes. I felt great. I felt like a degenerate. I felt like I wasn’t alone.

An older gentleman asked me what was so funny? I kindly responded, “Kid, the Guru strikes again!”

And I still don't know the names of the horses. I don't even know where Calder Race Track is.

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So much for a relaxing night at the ballpark

2005-05-10T23:55:00.000-04:00

As seems to be the case a lot lately in Central Islip, there was an unusual buzz in the air Tuesday night. It was about a lot more than just a rematch of last year's Atlantic League World Series against the Camden Riversharks.

It was about a man. A man who has become the object of such intense scrutiny and curiosity that it belies his otherwise modest and friendly surroundings. You know who I'm talking about -- you're probably sick of reading his name. It's John Rocker.

Sitting in the press box at Citibank Park, I saw Rocker's impact on the team from a unique perspective.

First and most obvious, there was the media presence. Newsday sent two reporters and a photographer. The Daily News sent a photographer and a reporter. Even the Newark (N.J.) Star Ledger sent a reporter. Had it been a normal May 10 ballgame, I may have been the only writer in the ballpark. But it's hard to feel normal when John Rocker's in town.

During the pre-game chatter that usually fills the press box with light banter and talk of the local Major League teams, one cameraman detailed his efforts to photograph Rocker during pre-game warm-ups:

"He came out of the bullpen and I stood on the first baseline. When he saw me, he kind of turned his back to me and walked like, sidesaddle, towards the dugout."

Someone cracked, "Did he do the Moonwalk?" That was the kind of night it was.

A palpable feeling of tense anticipation permeated the press box, and indeed the entire ballpark, until Rocker entered the game in the 7th inning. At that point, the media contingent let out a collective sigh of relief -- they had not made the trip for nothing -- and the fans rained down their emotions -- some cheers, some jeers -- with passion uncommon in the normally casual Citibank Park atmosphere.

After the game, too, Rocker's presence was felt. When the Ducks' public relations staff informed us that "John Rocker will not be available for comment tonight," my first reaction was not to feel surprised, even though we'd been told Rocker would talk if he pitched in last night's game. After all, this is a man who's had so much trouble dealing with the media, he hired his own publicist -- and even that hasn't keep him out of trouble.

I even felt a little sorry for the PR staff, which is proud of the affable environment they've constructed and must feel a strain from dealing with a headache the size of the state of Georgia.

"He's a very positive influence around here," Ducks skipper Don McCormack told us after the game (a noble effort from a manager who's just trying to help his pitcher win games and get back to the majors).

But hasn't Rocker's presence made things a little more tense these days?

"Not for those other guys," McCormack said, referring to Rocker's teammates.

They must be the only people who haven't noticed.

Going down with the ship

2005-05-05T21:48:00.000-04:00

Most Yankees fans I talk to can hardly remember the last time they felt this badly about their team's fortunes. You would think it's been 111 years, not 11, since their team last missed the playoffs. Although, as good as they've been in the last decade, you can sort of understand why they'd feel that way.

All that winning has led to a much-deserved confidence/arrogance among Yankees fans that the team, as currently configured, will turn things around. But as I watched the Bombers go down to a third straight humiliating defeat against the Tampa Bay Devil Rays tonight, I got to thinking: What if they DON'T turn it around? Is this the end of the Yankee dynasty as we know it?

Invariably, when dynasties end, good people get hurt along with the bad. In much the same way, the Yankee cornerstones of Derek Jeter, Mariano Rivera, Jorge Posada, and Bernie Williams could be enjoying their last few months together. Sometimes you have to throw out the apple to kill the worms.

So I decided to handicap the odds that various players and coaches will be traded, released, or fired by the Yankees before the end of the season, assuming the team continues to falter. All bets/parlays must be placed prior to May 31 and sent to Newsday.com, c/o Mike Casey, Assistant News Manager, 235 Pinelawn Rd. Melville, NY 11747. Hmmm. . . On second thought, that's probably not a smart idea. Just use these for "recreational" purposes, like the point spreads they print in the newspaper:

DEREK JETER: 999 to 1.
Jeter is a cornerstone in the truest sense of the word. Take him out of the mix, and the entire team would crumble. His trade value is astronomical, but the Yankees wouldn't dream of dealing him. Not only is he a leader and team captain, he's one of the few players who hasn't underperformed this season. And he's still the most marketable and popular Yankee.

ALEX RODRIGUEZ: 750 to 1.
Good luck getting rid of this guy. Sure, he's got great numbers. But he's also got a $500 bazillion contract and zero World Series rings. Even if the Yankees wanted to trade him (they don't), they wouldn't be able to find a team that could afford him.

HIDEKI MATSUI: 750 to 1.
Matsui has been the Yankees' most reliable offensive player the past two seasons. He plays good defense and is a solid citizen. He never complains and he hits well in the clutch. No reason the Yanks would ever part with him, unless George Steinbrenner fired Cashman and replaced him with George Costanza.

MARIANO RIVERA: 500 to 1.
The Yankees wouldn't really considering trading Mariano, would they? No, probably not. But if -- and it's a big if -- he continues his recent run of mortality, and the Yankees drop out of the playoff race, someone desperate for a proven postseason closer could float a very appealing offer the Yankees' way. The deal would have to include someone the Yanks felt strongly could become their next great closer, though, and those guys just don't come along every day.

CARL PAVANO: 500 to 1.
The Yanks would be nuts to trade him. They've got him under contract through 2008 and he's practically a teenager (29) by Yankee standards. He's one of the few guys on this team who has a chance to still be in his prime three years from now. They'll keep him.

GARY SHEFFIELD: 400 to 1.
He's played very well and he makes a lot of money. That means two things: 1) The Yanks don't want to trade him. 2) The Yanks would have a tough time trading him. The only variable is if the team takes a serious nosedive and he pulls a "Milwaukee Brewer," mailing it in and becoming a clubhouse nuisance. But so far, so good.

RANDY JOHNSON: 250 to 1.
Ironic that he said he would only go to the Yankees because they gave him the best chance to win a World Series, isn't it? Steinbrenner paid a small fortune to acquire him, and he's got him under contract through next year. Johnson actually wouldn't make bad trade bait, but the Yankees have way too much invested in him to ever give him up. He'll stay in pinstripes.

BERNIE WILLIAMS 200 to 1.
Your natural inclination is to think Bernie is safe. He's won four rings. He's still immensely popular. But he's also in the last year of his contract. The Yankees would never resort to the embarrassment of releasing him, but they might consider trading him if a team desperate for a good switch-hitting pinch hitter comes knocking in July. Emphasis on might.

TINO MARTINEZ 150 to 1.
Tino is well-liked and respected in the Yankee clubhouse. But there's no reason to keep him around at his age if it's not going to be as a leader on a young or playoff-bound team. He could draw interest at the trade deadline from the Cardinals, Braves, or Angels as a solid lefty pinch-hitter or defensive replacement off the bench.

JASON GIAMBI: 100 to 1.
The Yankees would love -- love -- to unload this guy. But he's still owed about three Michael Jackson settlement's worth of money, which means a buyout is out of the question. If he ever got hot, which isn't likely to happen, Cashman would shop him all over town. Maybe they'd find someone dumb enough to take him. Is Kevin Malone still general managing somewhere?

JOE TORRE: 75 to 1.
It amazes me how many Yankees fans want him fired. It isn't that he's done such a great job with this particular installment of Bronx Bombers -- it's that I don't know who could do any better. Who exactly would the fans prefer to coach this bunch of indifferent moneygrabbers? The drill sergeant from "Full Metal Jacket?" Jimmy Doogan from "League of Their Own?"

Joe has never enjoyed a fully harmonious relationship with Gen. Steinbrenner, which means he could stand before the firing squad if this $200 million whale goes in the tank.

MIKE MUSSINA: 60 to 1.
Fight it all you want. The fact is Mike Mussina makes $19 million and has a 4.50 ERA. He's been decent as a Yankee, but not outstanding. His high price tag and reputation for being a snobbish clubhouse presence make him a fairly unattractive player to dangle as trade bait. However, his past credentials and detachment from the hearts and minds of the Yankee fan leave him as their most tradable starting pitcher.

JORGE POSADA: 40 to 1.
All the conditions are right for Posada to become the first member of the Yankee nucleus to leave town. He makes a somewhat manageable $11 million. He's played on championship teams, which increases his trade value. At 33, teams may believe he's still got a couple of productive years left in him. He's underachieved this season, but if you think teams won't overpay for a power-hitting, switch-hitting catcher at the trade deadline, see Nurse Ratched at the asylum.

KEVIN BROWN: 20 to 1
Forget about a trade. This guy is about as untradable as a 1992 Fleer Kim Batiste rookie card. He's a multi-million dollar albatross around the Yankees' neck. The only way they'll get rid of him is if the Boss takes a big bite out of the $15.7 million Brown's owed and swallows hard. As bad as he's been, and as disliked as he's reported to be in the clubhouse, it's not hard to believe that will happen.

TONY WOMACK: 10 to 1
He can still hit, he can still run, and he's not bad defensively. He wants to play for a winning team. If the Yanks freefall, Womack will be among the first to go. He's extremely marketable at $2 million, and he'd make a good trade deadline addition for any club looking to bolster a playoff-bound lineup.

BRIAN CASHMAN: 3 to 1
Brian is an upfront, honest guy. That's hard to come by in New York. But he's made one bad move too many, and he'll be the first to go if the house of cards falls. You might argue that many of the poorest moves he's made (Giambi, Brown, failing to re-sign Andy Pettite) were orchestrated by the Boss himself. Fair or not, he's going to take the blame. That how things work in Steinbrenner's world.

Comments? E-mail me at michael.casey@newsday.com

Rockin' out with the Ducks

2005-05-04T23:04:00.000-04:00

Watch my video intro

Bottom of the third inning. Time to trot out toward the Ducks bullpen in right field and see what's happening.

By now, the alcohol should start taking its effect on those consuming such beverages at Citibank Park. I can only imagine what a bunch of rowdy Long Islanders will yell at a defenseless John Rocker sitting in the bullpen watching his team play. I'm thinking it's somewhere between typical Yankee Stadium chants from the bleachers and what John Rocker said six years ago to make John Rocker become, well, John Rocker.

I've been looking forward to this study on human psyche/stupidity for a few days and could barely sleep Tuesday night after hearing of his spat with a fan in Atlantic City earlier that day.

Damn! He's not even out here.

This is disappointing.

Shut down for four days with what the Ducks officially called a "dead arm," Rocker was nowhere to be found. I'm quite upset. Rocker is the one we (CIRCLE BEST ANSWER) curious/crazy/degenerate people pay to see. Rocker is the one that brought the reporters. The New York Post, New York Daily News and Westchester Journal News traveled to little ol' Central Islip for an independent Atlantic League baseball game. To a town in Suffolk County that may as well be home to Donald Duck or Kevin Duckworth, let alone the Long Island Ducks, for all these news outlets care.

And I'm probably the only one of the card-carrying sports media horde willing to go rogue and string together these four words in this powerful order: John Rocker is awesome.

Yeah, I said it.

You're probably ready to dye my hair purple and throw me on the No. 7 train for a few hours right about now. Please don't. Here's why.

Rocker spoke his mind. Though I don't agree with his assessment of the people who ride the No. 7 subway, I admire him for saying what he thought. He may have insulted every New Yorker, but in a world where athletes speak for hours without ever saying anything, his honest emotion was refreshing. Immature and primitive, but refreshing.

Then again, that was six years ago, and everyone deserves a second chance. Think about how many of us wouldn't be where we are if not for second chances. If Hockey friend Zamboni hadn't stepped in for Jersey friend Tiny to give me the Heimlich maneuver hours before Game 2 of the 1998 World Series, I'd have choked on my barbecue chicken sandwich and missed Tino Martinez's grand slam off San Diego's Mark Langston. I'd also be dead.

But enough of Johnny Rock, at least for now. You can read about him at http://www.newsday.com/sports. With Rocker nowhere in sight, it's time to appreciate some of the other treats offered at a Long Island Ducks game at Citibank Park. Let's take a walk and see what's available to the 6,000-plus fans who spend their 7, 9 or 10 bucks per ticket:

* Dominick's, the official sausage of the Long Island Ducks.
Any sports team that has an official sausage company deserves respect.

* A chance to see former Yankee greats.
Who could forget the immortal Donovan Osborne? Or the once indispensable Todd Erdos? And what if the Yankees had held on to almost-an-All-Star Chris Latham?

* Pete Rose Jr.
Haven't seen a guy getting by on name recognition like this since Eddie Murphy in "A Distinguished Gentleman."

* $2.75 sodas.
Or, if you want to splurge for the souvenir Ducks cup -- and, frankly, who wouldn't? -- it'll cost you a whopping $3. For those counting at home, that's cheaper than it costs to use an ATM at a bank that's not yours.

* Speaking of franks, how about the $3.25 hot dog, and $3.75 jumbo dog.
Sure, it's not the 3 for $3 deal on the service road of the L.I.E., but they taste extremely good and you don't have to stop on the service road of the L.I.E.

* $4.75 beers, $5.50 if you're a serious drinker.
About the best deal imbibers will ever come across at a sporting event, at least until one team develops the guts to offer "Rollback Prices" night.

* The concession stands workers who appreciate a great movie quote dropped in the course of everyday life.
"We're not making any more jumbo hot dogs. They didn't even tell us," one young fella said.
"Maybe they didn't come up there and tell you," I responded in proper Goodfellas format. "No more shines."

* The Rafael Palmiero lookalike sitting in Section 212.
Not sure if he's a season-ticket holder, but I bet he can put it over the 325-foot sign in right field quite a few times.

* The fans.
Half of them don't even know a baseball game is going on.

* The stats.
They appear meaningless to most in attendance, which is rather refreshing in an obscure way.

* The games.
No, not the game. Out by the Ducks' bullpen, they have a game where fans can throw a strike, or a ball, and get clocked on the radar gun. The true beauty of this game is that the clock is not visible. Would-be hurlers are told their speed. C'mon Ducks. You're defending champions and sell out the park nearly every game. Splurge for the display. Is Joe Torre in charge of this game? (For the record, in 10 minutes of viewing, I thought Tom Glavine was pitching. That's how many strikes weren't thrown.)

* The games, part deux.
Plenty of kids lined up to take part in radar. Plenty of parents walking around drinking drinks their children will have to wait until the next decade begins to purchase legally. Yes, I hear you begging, so here's my question: Who's driving home?

* The ninth inning.
In the Atlantic League, no game is over until the final out. Some of the strangest things have occurred while watching Ducks games.

* Free junk.
72 home games, 54 promotional giveaways. And six fireworks nights. Not too shabby.

* John Rocker.
Johnny Rock will rise again!

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The Boss and Bellamy Road

2005-05-03T01:36:00.000-04:00

One stable boasts a champion in waiting. The other stable is full of financial champions and just a sprinkle of true champions.

So what would happen if George Steinbrenner, the 74-year-old owner of early Kentucky Derby favorite Bellamy Road and the underachieving New York Yankees, gets confused? What if he has a “senior moment” this week and starts barking out final-authority orders to the wrong people?

Some things we might see:

1) There he is, waiting on the final turn at Churchill Downs, Luis “Send ’em home” Sojo, waving Bellamy Road around to the finish line.
Anticipated result: Bellamy Road finishes out of the money, just like every Yankee runner that gets thrown out at the plate by 15 feet with Sojo coaching third.

2) No way? Way! Steinbrenner finally sends Kevin Brown out to posture.
Anticipated result: Brown winds up in your next bottle of Elmer’s glue.

3) Bellamy Road faltering at the finish line and Brian Cashman having to answer to the Boss.
Anticipated result: Steinbrenner buys the Derby winner and races him at the Preakness and Belmont Stakes.

4) Bellamy Road’s jockey makes a bad move and gets pinned in along the rail.
Anticipated result: The jockey gets dealt to the Newark Bears and is hit by a John Rocker fastball in the eighth inning. Before the end of the ninth inning, Rocker is signed by the Yankees.

5) New centerfielder Hideki Matsui makes three errors this week.
Anticipated result: (TURN ON BOB SHEPPARD VOICE) “Ladies and gentlemen. Batting second, playing centerfield, Bellamy Road.” (TURN OFF BOB SHEPPARD VOICE)

6) Bernie Williams does not play the rest of the week.
Anticipated result: Williams is put out to pasture.

Oops, that one already happened. My bad.

7) Bellamy Road jockey’s whipping mechanics get all out of whack.
Anticipated result: Organizational pitching guru Billy Connors is called in to fix the situation.
Anticipated ripple effect: Javier Vazquez and Jeff Weaver win big on a High Fly-Don’t Get Mad exacta.

8) Bellamy Road wins the Derby.
Anticipated result: “He’s a true Yankee.”

9) The Tampa office and New York office of the Yankees meet to hammer out issues.
Anticipated result: Nick Zito becomes the new pitching coach and Bob Baffert the new third-base coach. Joe Torre retires to wash the horses in the stable and Sojo becomes a rider.

10) Mariano Rivera blows an easy save on Saturday.
Anticipated result: Joe Pesci, reprising his scene from the movie "Easy Money," sprints onto the field and jumps on Rivera.

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My surreal Paul O'Neill moment

2005-04-26T12:45:00.000-04:00

On Saturday, I covered the Yankees for the newspaper, which was kind of funny, since I hadn't even been to Yankee Stadium in 10 years. As surreal as it was to make my return to the Bronx as a member of the working press, it was more surreal to find myself in a clubhouse with Jeter, A-Rod, Mariano, and Bernie. Down the hall and to the right, Joe Torre's office, decorated with photos of his finest baseball memories, included a framed shot of he and Don Zimmer celebrating with their arms around each other. It was a Yankee fan's mecca and and a baseball fan's heaven rolled into one. And even as surreal as all that was, my most striking out-of-body experience came at a most unexpected time.

During the third inning, I slinked off the men's room and soon found myself standing next to the Yankee legend known as Paul O'Neill. Paul was working with the YES Network, hence his skyscraping presence in the media restroom.

My first thought was, "Good lord, he's a tall man!" I think my next thought was "I guess even legends have to answer the call of nature." Then I thought about how funny it was that I was standing next to one of the most popular Yankees of all-time, one of the most emotional players in recent memory, and now here he was, calm as could be, standing next to me -- a young reporter he's never heard of -- in the media restroom. We were peers. I mean, what's more unremarkable than standing next someone in a men's room at a baseball game? (Don't answer that).

I wondered if it felt as surreal for him to be a part of the media as it did for me to be standing amongst the stars in the clubhouse. In the media workroom, O'Neill almost could have been 'one of the guys,' except for the fact that he was the only one over 6 feet tall, the only one wearing a size 68 suit (that's a rough estimate), and the only one who the players smiled at when he walked in the clubhouse.

My mind wandered, and just that quickly, he was gone. He brushed past me and sprinted back to the broadcast booth. The fourth inning had begun. He had to get back on the air. And I had to get back to my laptop. And that's what it's like to cover the Yankees.

Baseball's stupid (and unwritten) rules

2005-04-25T01:33:00.000-04:00

How many more times can we hear a baseball analyst drop some brainiac analysis of a pier-6 slobberknocker brawl such as "That's baseball. A pitcher has to protect his hitters"?

For me, the number is slightly less than zero. Next analyst that looks into a television camera and says that, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, better duck because I'm firing my 73-mph cheese into the studio. Hey, sorry, but a viewer has to protect his television set.

It's one of those unwritten rules of baseball that people love to glorify. The reason they are unwritten is simple: If they were actually written down, then players could read them and realize just how stupid these rules really are.

How much more damage does a pitcher do to his team by getting ejected from the game, especially if he's pitching well?

On Sunday, the Devil Rays and Red Sox got into several brawls in the seventh inning of shame. It began on Friday when batters were hit and Tampa Bay's Eduardo Perez crushed a homer and flipped his bat. On Saturday, Curt Schilling plunked Carl Crawford in the ribs with a fastball as if he were playing pin the tail on the Devil Ray without a blindfold. David Ortiz hit a monster bomb and flipped his bat the exact way Perez did a day earlier.

In the sixth inning on Sunday, Bronson Arroyo pegged Tampa Bay's Aubrey Huff. Seems Arroyo has his best control when he aims outside the strike zone (just ask A-Rod). In the top of the seventh inning, Tampa Bay reliever Lance Carter fired behind Manny Ramirez. Ramirez homered on the next pitch.

Four pitches later, Ortiz was knocked on his considerable patoot by some high heat. He erupted, benches cleared. Ejections followed. As did another beanball. In the bottom of the seventh, Arroyo nailed Chris Singleton in the leg. Another bench-clearing. More ejections.

Typical stupidity of baseball players. Forget testing for steroids. How about some IQ tests?

Pitchers are expected to "protect their hitters." But by throwing at a player in retaliation, all they've done is up the ante again and put yet another teammate in harm's way. If Schilling didn't plunk Crawford on Saturday, perhaps Carter wouldn't have felt compelled to go after Ramirez. If Carter hadn't gone after Ramirez, perhaps he wouldn't have felt compelled to go after Ortiz, either. If Carter hadn't gone after Ortiz, perhaps Arroyo wouldn't have felt compelled to go after Singleton.

And if Woody had gone straight to the police, none of this would have ever happened.

We've reached the point where a pitcher cannot hit a batter without reporters asking the interested parties if it was intentional. Sure, sometimes it is (just ask Tino Martinez about Armando Benitez). But, sometimes it's just a very bad pitch. Things happen. We don't always perform to our best. Hey, if i write 150 columns in one year, one of them has to rank No. 150. (Note: This isn't that one.)

But by continually retaliating, the situation escalates. That, in turn, creates more bad blood for the next inning, the next game, the next series.

Protecting your teammates is a noble cause. But if a pitcher does not retaliate, then odds are no one else on his team will get hit, punched, kicked, scratched, body-slammed, put in a figure-four or hit with a steel chair.

And the players who speak up about their pitchers not doing something are just exacerbating the situation. They make the pitchers, both those involved in a particular altercation and those on the outside looking in, more conscious of pleasing their teammates.

Not fair.

These pitchers have enough to think about, what with trying to find the strike zone and throw a pitch that won't get crushed. If you think I'm wrong about pitchers' concerns, then why did only 18 starters in the majors have an ERA under 3.50 last season?

If a pitcher must hit a batter, do it with a curveball so the opposing team thinks it's accidental. This way, you've pleased your teammates and you get off scot-free because no one would think a curveball was thrown intentionally at a batter.

If a pitcher must be stupid, he should learn how to be an idiot savant.

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Mocking the draft

2005-04-22T13:54:00.000-04:00

Alex Smith or Aaron Rodgers? Aaron Rodgers or Alex Smith? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

By now, you're so flooded with NFL mock drafts and "Who's going No. 1" speak, FEMA has approved disaster relief funds and musicians are lining up to do a benefit concert to save you.

But, here in Keyboard Quarterbacks, a safe haven from mainstream nonsense (we prefer our own brand of nonsense), we don't care who goes No. 1, who trades down, who trades up and who's that girl?

We'd much rather enjoy mocking the silly things that could occur on draft day. Here goes:

* The Minnesota Vikings miss their first-round pick for the third straight year and have to scurry to the podium to get their selection before another team jumps in and steals their guy.

* Unlike previous drafts, Vikings head coach Mike Tice did not scalp his tickets to the Jacob Javits Center.

* With the Oakland Raiders back in the first round, the odds of an early afternoon "I didn't even have him on my board" outburst from Mel Kiper Jr. went up by a factor of 10.

* No first-round pick for the Jets means no Blair Thomas and Jeff Lageman repeats.

* The idiocy of Eagles fans could reach legendary status this year. With the No. 31 pick in this year's NFL draft, the Philadelphia Eagles select "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO." Eagles fans boo for no good reason, like it's their unalienable right to bash their team's management. If Auburn running back Ronnie Brown inexplicably dropped from the top five to No. 31, fans would be pissed when the Eagles drafted him. It's as if years of arguing Geno's cheesesteaks vs. Pat's cheesesteaks finally turned the brain matter into cheese whiz.

* Which college player will outdress Michael Irvin?

* Over/under on number of times Irvin says, "The U," a reference to his alma mater Miami Hurricanes: 7.

* Over/under on number of uses of the phrase "He makes plays" in the first round: 17.

* In the first day: 416.

* Number of clips shown of a defensive player that was just drafted missing a tackle in a game: 0.

* Michigan wide receiver Braylon Edwards is a terrific player and potential top 5 pick. Let's just hope the team that drafts him doesn't throw any footballs on stage. Edwards has a knack for dropping%

In defense of Sheff

2005-04-15T01:17:00.000-04:00

First reaction on the latest Red Sox-Yankees fan fight was that the guy was simply trying to reach over for the baseball and accidentally grazed Gary Sheffield's face. It seemed as if these two people just met at the wrong time in their lives, not unlike when Sonny whacked that no-name in the street because he smacked Joe Pesci's windshield with a Louisville Slugger in "A Bronx Tale."

Upon further review, that is a load of hoo-hah! This was Bostonian scummetry at its best, which the rest of America understands to be the dregs of human lifeform.

It was a complete cheap shot at Sheff. With the help of constant replays on ESPN, YES, the Web and some assistance from the DVR, here's the tale of the tape:

* This Bostonian ham-and-egger fan didn't even try to bend down to get the ball. The ball was bouncing low to the ground the entire way and only the infield at Calhoun High School in the mid-1980s could generate an alternate hop high enough to change its path.

* The Boston fan was barely watching the path of the baseball.

* He swiped his hand at the ball after the ball was beyond his reach.

* The beer that turned Sheffield's Yankee jersey into a throwback Mickey Mantle uniform complete with the stench of alcohol was intentionally dumped. Don't believe the hype! It was completely intentional.

* Two fans to Sheff's left held cups of beer. The one closest to Sheff was a woman and she held on to her cup for as long as possible. The second person was a man who dumped his beer on Sheff just before Sheff came up to push the fan.

* Sheff did not throw any punches. He used his glove and his right hand to shove the Ma$$hole out of the way.

"These people shouldn't be allowed to walk the streets much less come to a ballgame," Yankees manager Joe Torre said.

Ordinarily, players should never go anywhere near striking a fan, no matter how much they deserve it. (And fans definitely deserve a solid pistol-whipping.)

The fools in Detroit deserved some sort of beatdown, and this Bostonian deserved a shot heard 'round the world with a Pesky Pole to the noggin.

He took a blatant cheap shot at a major league baseball player. It's no different than if in a bar or a sidewalk. It's attempted assault, but since it happened in a stadium during a sporting event, no one will ever see it as anything more than a fan who drank too much. (Note: The level of alcohol consumption of this man on Thursday night is not known, but drunkenness will be the popular assumption.)

Sheff was perfectly within his right to shove back once. The tape also showed Sheff heading toward the stands looking to lay the smack down on this fan's candy patoot. But somewhere between the foul line and the wall, he had a Ron Artest flashback and thought better of building a woodshed at Fenway Park and dragging this fan behind it.

Credit Sheff for showing restraint. The natural reaction to getting hit in the face is to strike back like Debo from "Friday." But Sheff makes more than $13 million each year to hit baseballs, not fans. This fan surely does not stand to lose as much as Sheff.

"It would have been worse if I lost my composure," Sheffield said. "I almost snapped, but I thought about the consequences."

Sheff should be fined $5,000 by Major League Baseball for his conducts because Bud Selig has some of his droopy, cheeky face to save. But Sheff was definitely not wrong.

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He HAD to be there? Get outta here

2005-04-13T08:23:00.000-04:00

It's rare that I can actually stomach more than a few minutes of WFAN's Chris Russo "taking" calls from listeners ("taking" more like "deflecting"). But every so often he stumbles upon a topic that is both pertinent and interesting to the sports fan.

Tuesday's subject du jour? Should Pedro Martinez have skipped the Mets' home opener at Shea Stadium in favor of attending the Boston Red Sox's World Series ring and banner ceremony at Fenway Park?

"This isn't about Pedro and his relationship with the Boston front office or the Mets fans," Mad Dog howled. "Pedro's been a Met for two weeks. This is about baseball history."

"For the sake of baseball history," he said, "Pedro had to be at Fenway. He HAD to be there!"

I'm sorry, let me get this straight: The Mets spend $53 million on a stud pitcher, annoint him the new face of the franchise (the batters eye will attest to that) and he's NOT going to be at their home opener? After two brilliant games, you're not going to give the fans a chance to cheer their new hero?

Let's think for a second about the kind of a message that sends to Shea's paying customers. Yeah, well, uh, thanks for showing up. I know we got this new guy but, uh, he's not around right now, so, uh... just clap for him and we'll show you highlights of him wearing another team's jersey while you try to get excited about your 1-5 team.

Seriously...

As much as "Baseball" needed Pedro to be at Fenway, the Mets needed him at Shea. For the sake of a fan base that hasn't had an ace since Dwight Gooden; for the sake of a team that's trying to forge a new identity; for the sake of Mets fans who love the pomp and circumstance of Opening Day, Pedro HAD to be at Shea.

Sure, it would have been nice if Pedro had gone to Boston. It would have been nice for Bosox fans to see him smile and wave his new ring. All those things could have happened, too. All Boston had to do was sign on the dotted line.

E-mail Mike Casey

Vote: Pedro on Opening Day

I got booed at Yankee Stadium

2005-04-09T12:02:00.000-04:00

Brian Roberts homered to right field on Friday night and my future autobiography earned itself an unexpected new chapter. In the seconds following the Baltimore Oriole’s blast, I got booed at Yankee Stadium.

On this fateful night, I was sitting with my boy Joey Colskore in Weatherman friend Mike’s season tickets. Section 23, Box 91. Great view of the entire field and the rightfielder can hear everything you yell at him.

Roberts’ blast hit off the screen attached to the foul pole and bounced back down the foul line. Gary Sheffield came over, scooped the ball and looked toward the stands like a smart, fan-friendly player should. The thing of it was that Sheff was no more than 5 feet away from me.

I jump up. Colskore, seated to my left, boxes out the fake Pedro Martinez, two innocent Yankee chicks and Scorebook guy like the shortest Shaquille O’Neal you’ll ever see. I box out three guys to my right like I’m Bill Russell reincarnated and snatch that baseball with my right hand.

What an amazing feeling to hold a baseball from a live game in my hand. Never happened before. This was my first foul ball/home run ball ever, and I’ve been going to Yankee games for the last 19 years. I came close twice. The first time, Papa La Monica couldn’t box out the 8-foot Nordic guy from three rows behind us with arms like telephone poles. The second time, I was on a beer run for my friends, I came back to the seats (upper deck, right field) and they’re showing me a Mo Vaughn foul ball. I already disliked the taste of beer, but this sealed the deal.

So there I am, holding a major league baseball in my hand. The leather was soft and I could feel the pine tar and dirt that was rubbed in it before the game started. It was quite a moment.

Then Colskore pulled a Fredo and turned on me. He started screaming “Throw it back! Throw it back!” The entire section joined in. Soon, most of right field is screaming at me to throw it back. What the hell am I supposed to do? Sheffield was kind enough to look me in the eye and toss the baseball in my direction and I’m supposed to slap him in the face and take a dump in his hat by throwing it back on the field? That doesn’t seem fair.

On the other hand, it was a home run by an opponent, and as a rule, those should never be kept. If you want a souvenir that bad, spend the extra 50 cents a get the 44-ounce soda in a souvenir cup. Or splurge for some ice cream in a Yankee helmet.

Then there’s the Mama La Monica factor to consider. She’d be pissed if she knew that I had the baseball and gave it up. On the other hand, she’d probably be happy that I did it because it was the product of something bad happening to the Yankees (and by default, her “honey buns” Derek Jeter). And Papa La Monica would be mad because then he couldn’t take the ball from me, use it for his baseball team, The Legends, and save $9.

The smart move is to throw it back, a sign of disgust toward the Orioles and a virtual “Stick it up your patoot, Roberts!” But if I throw it back, odds are I’ll get kicked out. It’s the third inning. The seats were good (and free). No sense in getting tossed this early.

But I can’t keep this thing, even if that means symbolically spitting on Sheff.

All these thoughts took place in a span of 12 seconds. So, I turn to my left and give a Jason Kidd no-look pass to the right-field line. That’s right. I gave the ball back. I was content with my decision. Besides, roughly 43,127 of the 43,128 in attendance have never been in the Yankees clubhouse interviewing Sheff, A-Rod, Jeter, Torre and the rest. So I got that going for me, which is nice.

However, due to my sneaky pass, most of the Stadium thought I kept the ball, so they booed me for keeping an Oriole home run. I was booed in Yankee Stadium. An amazing feeling. By Colskore’s estimation, roughly 29,000 booed me for at least 7 seconds. Do the math. That’s a lot of boos. I felt like Bernie Williams striking out for the 38th time in four games this season. I felt like A-Rod grounding out with runners in scoring position again and again ………and again.

If only these fans knew the truth. Well, here it is. I gave the ball back and kept my seat at the same time. Take that, you non-observant fans. Boo this!

Now, I just have to smooth things over with Sheff.

E-MAIL ME

"The Sports Surreal Life"

2005-04-08T11:11:00.000-04:00

Just when it seemed Mariano Rivera was headed for a comfortable spot as a washed-up has-been on the sports version of “The Surreal Life,” along comes John Rocker, fresh off a five-year run as the most hated sports person in New York not named Reggie Miller or Rich Kotite.

Rocker signed with the Long Island Ducks of the independent Atlantic League on Thursday, which arguably is the best thing to happen to Suffolk County since getting its own zip code a number of years ago.

When will News12 or Telecare do a “Behind the Music” documentary on Johnny Rock?

The reliever with the big left arm and bigger mouth will become a fan favorite instantaneously if not sooner, kind of like Peter Brady (allegedly known by his real name of Christopher Knight) reinventing himself as a mack daddy and being courted successfully by America’s top model, Adrianne Curry, on the fourth season of VH1’s “The Surreal Life.”

Hmmm, speaking of “The Surreal Life,” which puts has-beens, former B-level celebrities, wanna-be-but-got-cut-by-the-coach celebrities, and assorted other famous-for-a-minute-or-more people in the same house for a few weeks, it’s amazing to think this hasn’t crossed over into the sports world yet. With the wave of reality crapola television destroying the brain cells of America, it seems a natural fit to combine the two worlds.

Let’s hope a network executive is out there reading this. If so, here’s a suggestion for the first season’s six-person cast of “The Surreal Sports Life.”

1) Jose Canseco
He’s in the news more now than when he was trying to sleep with Madonna in New York City during his playing days. But his gel job and outrageous clothing give him amazing star power. Other perks of him taking up residence in the house: He could offer another opinion on steroids; a trip to his probation officer in Florida would make for great television when the whole cast goes with him. He also fills the slot of relatively recent athlete.

2) Mary Lou Retton
She likely hasn’t grown much (vertically, that is) since winning Olympic gold in 1984 and her schedule these days probably has a few open weeks. The sight of this gymnast standing next to Canseco makes her a must for this show. Given her pedigree, she could easily fit the role of house ruler and lay down the law on a weekly basis. This would also help alleviate any post-Olympic trauma that may be lingering 21 years after the fact. Plus, every series needs one of those “Oh my God, I can’t believe she’s still alive” cast members.

3) Charles Barkley
Though Dennis Rodman may seem like a more obvious choice, he’s been more exposed than a porn star. Sir Charles is the perfect man for this job. He’s a Southerner who is not afraid to say what he’s thinking. From mind to mouth, there are no filters when it comes to the Round Mound of Rebounds. Can’t you just picture Regis and Kelly or the women on “The View” talking about Barkley’s latest insensitive comments? It’s very likely that Barkley would beat up Canseco, sleep with a cast member on the pool table, insult everyone on and off the show and at the same time be loved by America.

4) Amanda Beard
We need someone to pull in the young crowd. We need some sex appeal. And we need someone outlandish enough to have people talking about that sex appeal. Beard is an Olympic champion, so by definition she has some celebrity status but not too much because Olympians are rarely remembered more than once every four years. But everyone remembers this swimmer posing for Maxim, Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit issues and other flesh-infested magazines.

5) Rich Kotite
Though it’s true the FCC outlawed the spoken usage of those two words in succession, surely we can seek a temporary injunction. This clown may be the worst coach in NFL history, and that history includes Ray Handley, Mike Tice, Joe Bugle, Mike White, Gene Stallings, Dick MacPherson and the bevy of coaches who haven’t even been born yet. Ask a Jet fan which he or she would prefer: a) The Doug Brien field goal fiasco in Pittsburgh; b) Kotite as the head coach. Even Kotite would choose A. However, the show needs an old man and a whipping post, so Kotite fills both roles.

6) Morganna, the kissing bandit
What’s a reality show without an old celebrity who was never really a celebrity but became popular because she was blond and, uh, well-endowed in that area above the stomach and below the shoulders? For those wondering, Morganna used to run onto a baseball field and kiss a player. It was one of those strange things that caught on in the 1980s, sort of like leg warmers and painter’s caps with the tails. Couldn’t you just picture Morganna running across the patio to kiss Canseco as he was injecting Kotite with some Deca or Winstrol? That’s why TiVo was invented.

E-MAIL ME

Oh, by the way

2005-04-06T00:01:00.000-04:00

E-MAIL ME

My Carolina blue heaven

2005-04-05T02:01:00.000-04:00

I tried to front like the outcome of Monday night's NCAA national championship game didn't really matter to me. I even convinced myself it was possible. Wow, what an amazing lie that was.

I really thought I wouldn't mind if North Carolina lost to Illinois and Roy Williams continued his pursuit of being the new Phil Mickelson.

By halftime, my stomach was in knots. It may have been the first known occurence of a hangover without the consumption of alchohol. UNC led, 40-27, but that's no safety net. CHEAP SHOT ALERT! CHEAP SHOT ALERT! Nothing is safe with Raymond Felton throwing the ball like Braden Looper. Plus, as a Raiders fan since 1983 and a Jets fan since 2001, I've seen my share of ridiculous defensive collapses late in games. (Then there's that little matter of the Yankees up 3-0, then down and out 4-3 to Boston in last year's ALCS).

I followed every shot of the second half. Work be damned! The stories can wait. My Tar Heels were on the verge of something the world hasn't seen since forever and I was not about to miss a minute. Plus there was always the possibility of my DVR not working and I simply was not about to take the chance of missing a play and never being able to recapture all its glory.

The lead soared to 15, then plummeted to zero with about five minutes left. Then, Ray-Ray put up a ridiculous three from MTV Rock 'N Jock distance while being double-covered. Swish. UNC up, 68-65.

Fast forward. Game tied at 70. Rashad McCants, who probably hired an agent at the half given his 0 points in the final 20 minutes, got silly and gave the world a look at one of my patented driving layups -- up and under with a ridiculous one-handed hook scoop that doesn't go in. Fortunately, Marvin Williams brought in the hands team from Madden '95 and got the tip-in for the 72-70 lead. Then Ray-Ray comes up with the big steal and some free throws.

Next thing you know, I'm standing and clapping at a 13-inch color television and screaming in my head. (Hey, I had to at least have the presence of professionalism in the newsroom, or at least fake it best I could.)

I then sat down, exhausted.

But wait, here comes "One Shining Moment." Can you believe some people had the nerve to speak during the year's best moment of sappy television? Such insanity. Where did these people grow up? CHEAP SHOT ALERT! CHEAP SHOT ALERT! They're probably Duke fans.

E-MAIL ME

Random shining thoughts

2005-04-05T01:47:00.000-04:00

Things that ran through my brain during the three or so hours of North Carolina's triumphant return to the top of college basketball:

* Sean May is a stud. Should he declare for the NBA draft and my hunch is he will, it will be really fun to watch the Knicks bypass him in the lottery.

* Raymond Felton has an amazing knack for making UNC fans hate him in the first half and love him in the second. He'll make lazy passes in the first 20 minutes, then amazing ones in the second. He'll commit dumb fouls in the first 20 minutes, then none in the second. He'll miss shots in the first 20 minutes, then drain 25-footers in the second. Then again, if I had to choose, I'd prefer a second-half player.

* Rashad McCants will turn pro in a matter of minutes.

* "One Shining Moment" is without a doubt the greatest moment of sappy, emotional string-pulling in television, and I let it happen to me every time.

* Or, as Editor friend Dave said, "If you don't like get emotional during 'One Shining Moment,' then you don't have a pulse."

* Roy Williams is no longer "Best coach to have never won a national championship." Somewhere, Oklahoma State coach Eddie Sutton is pissed at Williams. He's got one more year left and his best players won't be Cowboys next season.

* Special shoutout to Doctor friend Christy, Writer friend Jason and Editor friend LaRonda, all of whom happen to be Duke fans: Eat it!

* Back-to-reality disclaimer: I fully understand that Duke's program over the past 15 years has been more consistent than North Carolina, but at least for a day or two, please let me have my shining moment. After all, it'll take another 12 years or so for the Heels to win another one.

* Marvin Williams should stay in school another year. Maybe then he'll learn how to catch the ball.

* Of the 10 starters in Monday's night game, there's a chance none of them will be in college next year. Note: Only four are seniors.

* It seems I should donate a few thoughts to baseball's opening day, what with that always being the best day of the sports year. So here goes: Nice pitch, Looper!

E-MAIL ME

Restoring the pinstripes

2005-04-01T03:27:00.000-05:00

Opening Day is Opening Night this season for the Yankees. It also, just by sheer coincidence, happens to be against the Boston Red Sox the season after the Yankees took a 3-0 lead in the American League Championship Series then lost such a series, 4-3, to those same Boston Red Sox.

Wait, let me rephrase. It also, just by shear coincidence, happens to be against the Boston Red Sox the season after the Yankees took a 3-0 lead in the American League Championship Series then completely choked and got a fresh "how's ya father" while losing the next four games in a row to those same Boston Red Sox, the archest of archenemies.

Oh yeah, the Red Sox won the World Series, too.

Watching the Yankees become the first baseball team to do such a thing certainly was interesting from a historical perspective. This city has seen its share of championships. At some point, it gets boring, at least for a little while. This may be why far too many men cheat on their wives.

But as 2005 begins, the Yankees must still wonder how it happened. There will be constant reminders in the next two weeks. From April 3-12, the Yankees play nine games. Six are against the Red Sox. At least one of those games will be on national television, and you can bet the other five will be scrutinized by every John Kruk and Harold Reynolds seconds after the final out. Screaming A. Smith may even get in the mix, just for fun.

It will be impossible for the Yankees to forget about what happened last October. They will say all the right things when scribes and TV puppets ask their questions. They will conduct themselves as if they lost to Detroit in a six-game series that was a battle the entire way. The average person will marvel at how calm and collected the Yankees appear.

But no matter what they say, the collapse has to creep into their minds somehow. Forgetting it would be like trying to buy The Godfather Trilogy on DVD and asking the store to not charge you for “The Godfather III.” It won’t work. (I’ve tried.)

Right now, the Yankees are like 25 versions of Austin Powers running around in search of their mojo, and there’s no Heather Graham waiting at the end of this scene. Just a Fat Bastard named David Wells waiting to steal it once again.

The voice inside their heads is no longer little. It’s louder than the heavy metal music Wells used to play in the clubhouse on days he pitched. Shoot, it’s louder than Wells. How does a team respond after engineering the greatest choke in baseball history?

We could argue that it begins this weekend with a few wins at the Stadium, and continues the following week by beating the Red Sox in Fenway the day they receive their rings. We could, but that would be a load of hoo-hah the likes of which we haven’t seen since Biff crashed his car into the horse manure truck in “Back to the Future II.”

We could argue that the therapy continues throughout the season and every win is a step in the right direction. That’s nice, but they’re not recovering alcoholics.

The only way to atone for such transgressions is to win the World Series this year. There is no other tolerable course of action. And if the Yankees can beat the Red Sox on their way to a fifth ring in 10 years, well, that’s quite all right, too.

E-MAIL ME

Psyched? You might say that

2005-03-30T09:18:00.000-05:00

Finally, a long, cold New York winter has subsided. For Mets fans used to spending the majority of the offseason trying to justify a junk heap's worth of hot stove moves, it was the most satisfying winter in team history...

* * *

...It was one of those signature sporting moments -- the day I found out the Mets signed Carlos Beltran. I was at my friend Kevin's house, had just woken up after a three-hour sleepover at Penn Station obliged due to a missed last train home. The Broncos-Colts playoff game had quickly devolved into a reasonable facsimile of Super Bowl XXIV (possibly the worst sporting event ever propagated upon mankind). So like a good (bored) Newsday.com minion, I decided to see how our site was looking.

That's when it hit me.

Beltran! The Mets were supposed to sign Beltran that day. Sure enough, like clockwork, Jon Heyman had sent in an early-for-web story pronouncing the good news. Beltran was Amazin'. The era of the New Mets had officially begun. And a half-decade of second-guessing finally ended.

For Mets fans, there's no need to rehash the whole painstaking itinerary. But for the sake of dramatic effect, I'll do that.

First there was the A-Rod debacle, the tipping point that led to the decline following the Mets' 2000 World Series appearance. Then came the Robbie Alomar trade, the can't miss deal that did -- badly. The Mo Vaughn trade (shudder). Jeromy Burnitz. Cliff Floyd and Tom Glavine, not the difference-makers the Wilpons claimed them (and paid them) to be. The Vlad disaster of '04. And ohhhh the talk radio. The way fans -- fans of the Mets! -- would lambaste Fred & Jeff and Phillips & Duquette. The only thing missing was another idiotic Bobby Bonilla or Roger Cedeno acquisition -- or no, wait -- there was one of those, too, wasn't there?

But at last -- at long, long, sweet last, Mets fans have what they've been longing for. Not one, but TWO, difference-making players who actually have a shot to earn some of the ridiculous money they're being paid to play ball.

Are there problems with Pedro? Sure, there could be. Is it possible Beltran will suffer a meltdown? Yeah, I guess. But is there anyway you can second-guess Omar Minaya for bringing them to Shea? I can't imagine there is.

With the instant credibility a pair of stars like Pedro and Beltran bring to the Mets, they've suddenly got one of the most star-studded lineups in baseball, not to mention a decent pitching rotation. Of course, Mets fans have become used to disappointment from their top stars. But it hasn't always worked out that way. Mike Piazza sure delivered on his promise, didn't he? In fact, wasn't the Piazza trade -- a deal for a high-impact, high profile star in the prime of his career -- the singlemost significant deal in Mets' rise from mediocrity in the late 90s?

This was the kind of winter Mets fans have only dreamed of until now. And as with the heady optimism of spring, there will be great expectations and disappointments and peaks and valleys throughout the season. But the Mets are in the ballgame. They matter again -- and right now, that's all that matters. Welcome to the New Mets.