IGT - Subway Series I - Game 2

[Guest Rockin' Doc]

Well, at least not when throwing anyway.

[Guest Edgy DC]

The one who owes Cano some Schaefer is Julio Franco, who gets a hit on that and was in desperate need of a break or two.

[Elster88]

="Kid Carsey"]Seo: >>>Johnny Damon read the Yankee lineup before the game started.<<< Wright's version was lamer and Damon's was tough to top. Is Damon's wing that cripple or was he just kinda throwing into the pitcher?

I liked it. A lot.

A team with new names (or new identities): David Wright introduced the Mets batting order on the FOX telecast on Saturday in this way: "Jose Reyes, the most exciting player in the big leagues; Endy 'The Catch' Chavez; Carlos 'Mr. GQ' Beltran; Carlos Delgado, the Puerto Rican Mr. T; Yours Truly (Wright); Shawn 'I miss my hair' Green; Paul Lo Duca, our Eddie Munster; Damion 'Hit Man' Easley; and Tom Glavine, my favorite player when I was in grammar school."

Because Wright introduced himself as merely "Yours truly," MLB.com asked Lo Duca to provide something a little more creative -- and sarcastic. His offering was "David 'Dig Me' Wright."

Said Lo Duca: "You know he loves himself."

[Guest Kid Carsey]

Our mileage just varies, I like Dudley DoWright better.

[Guest Edgy DC]

A bond that can never be broken
Bob Burrows River Falls Journal
Published Thursday, June 28, 2007

He was born in Brooklyn, not far from Ebbets Field. He was a diehard Brooklyn Dodger fan and celebrated as a teenager when the Dodgers finally defeated the hated New York Yankees to win the 1955 World Series.

He grew into a hard throwing lefty at Curtis High School in Staten Island and played amateur baseball while pursuing a degree at New York University.

When the Dodgers left Brooklyn after the 1957 season he was heartbroken.

When he was 22 he married an Irish girl from Bayonne, N.J. The following year he had a son, and the year after that a new National League baseball team arrived in New York � the Metropolitans. Soon after came a daughter, then another daughter, and another son.

He played catch with his oldest son in the backyard, and when the yard became too small he took him to the park where he taught him how to hold a bat and keep his eye on the ball. He bought his son a Mets hat, because no self respecting Brooklyn Dodger fan could ever root for the Yankees.

He took him to opening day at Shea Stadium in 1969, where his son became captivated by the sights and sounds of baseball, much like he himself experienced growing up at Ebbets Field.

Later that summer his wife died, leaving him with four young children, the oldest son just 8. He leaned on his faith and kept the family together, the whole time also taking care of his late wife�s parents, who lived upstairs.

He fell in love again and married an Irish girl from Jersey City. One day he was late showing up for his oldest son�s Little League game. When he got there his son was in the in the on-deck circle. He leaned up against the chain-link fence and said, �Get a hit for your new little sister.�

His son stepped to the plate and ripped a stand-up double down the left field line. He smiled from the bleachers and his son beamed back from second base with the biggest grin an 11-year-old ever wore.

As the years went by he donned his suit and tie each workday and boarded a train to his job in Manhattan. He tried as best he could to make it to his oldest son�s ballgames, often arriving late after his eight-plus hour workday and hour-each-way commute.

When his wife�s father died, he took in his new mother-in-law to live with the family. He gave his brother-in-law a place to stay while he finished college and law school. And he kept taking care of his late wife�s parents until the day they died.

He also continued to share his love of sports with his oldest son, taking him to baseball and hockey and football games, and watching golf and horse racing and boxing on television. When his son figured out he could make a career out of getting paid to go to baseball and hockey and football games, he told his son he was proud of him.

Last month he and his oldest son watched one last baseball game together. The hated Yankees were playing the beloved Mets. His son sat on the couch while he lay in a hospital bed in the living room, dying.

�Who�s winning?� he would ask every now and then.

�The Mets,� the son answered, and he would smile and drift back off to sleep.

The next day his oldest son had to leave to return to his home 1,000 miles away. They both knew it would be the last time they would see each other.

�You�re my favorite person in the whole world,� the son said as he leaned down to give him a hug.

�You�re mine too,� he replied.

He died June 15, two days before Father�s Day.

He was my father. And I am his son.