Farmer Ted

I was going to re-release this on opening day but couldn't wait any longer. Thanks Big Al. Enjoy. FROM SHEA TO THE AIRSTRIP: A NIGHT IN HELL Submitted by: Big Al on September 29,1999 12:47:29 PM I knew it was a bad sign when my ex called me at work to tell me my boy wouldn't be coming down to the city to go to the game with me. She says he had a math test in the morning and she didn't want him getting home at midnight. I razzed her about that it was only one test, the Mets had their backs against the wall, it would be a good night for him and me, and on and freakin' on and then she just comes out and, blammo, hits me with the whole thing. She doesn't want the boy hanging around with me anymore after what he saw last time in the city, which was this girl who lives downstairs from me flopping on the couch. Also she said I was a drunk and I said doesn't going into N.A. and A.A. count for shit with you? But when I went into the rehab again that just set off all kind of alarm bells with her. She had forgotten that I had a problem I guess and it worried her that the boy would be hanging around with a man always on the verge of heading over a cliff. I said Come on! I haven't touched even a freakin beer in three months. But forget it. My son would not be going to the ballgame with me. You know I am not like these season ticket holders. I am in a "share" and go to a few ballgames a summer. I thought I was being cagey as hell, back in the winter, when I selected this Sept. 26 Atlanta game as one of my nights as Shea. For the last month or so I'd been staring at the ticket and thinking I was some kind of freakin genius. You and I, we were made for each other! That was my attitude. Even two weeks ago, I thought I was going to be present for the climax of the pennant race. But it turned out a whole hell of a lot different. And not only was creaky old Hershiser on the mound for a game that was just a backs against the wall game instead of a true pennant fight game, but my kid couldn't go with me... and my new boss at this new freakin place where I have been on my "best freakin behavior" for two months was holding me back, keeping me at work until almost 8 freakin o'clock. Christ, I hit the N and took it to Queensborough Plaza, switched to the 7 train there. Read that free paper, New York Press, on the way. That rag always depresses me. I was also listening to the game on the FAN. Down 5 nothing. Didn't bother me. I thought, "I will be there when we make our comeback." I had almost that same thought one Sunday night earlier this summer when I was helping the junkie girl through a bad time, and the Mets were down 5 zip to the Phils in the 8th and I nearly turned the radio off but something told me NO and we rocked Schilling for 5 runs in the ninth. What a ballgame that was. But that's a long freakin time ago now. Anyways, there was Shea. First thing I tell myself is, "I will not get a beer tonight. I will not get a beer." Because that could start the whole slide all over again. A losing streak of my own. I go in gate B with my two tickets and right away hit the Italian sausage cart. The line was long and I swear the guy was makin us wait for no good reason. You always see a lot of funny guys at Shea, guys who really make you laugh, and the guy in front of the sausage line was watching the guy turn over the onions and green peppers with his spatula and searing the meat until it had black stripes on both sides, and the guy was saying, he said, "I'm gettin' delirious here! I'm having a hallucination, I'm so hungry. Finish cooking it already!" But the cook kept taking his damn time. I guess that was the one power the cook had over other people, making them wait for their freakin sausage, and he was going to take every advantage of it that he could. I do the same kind of bastardish things at my job, too, I guess. Because who wants to be a freakin worker, an employee, a cog? Nobody. We were all kids once. Nobody aspired to be middle management or to stand at a hot sausage cart. Christ. So I said to myself, "Christ. This world is fucked up, get me a beer." And I paid the freakin $5.50 for a 16 ounce can of Bud poured agonizingly slowly into a cup. Got to my seat. I saw Weissman seated a few rows ahead of me and to the left. I wished my life were simple like Weissman's. Belief in God. Belief in a team. No alimony payments. No woes beyond what Valentine did or did not do. The girl sitting right in front of me was just a peach. Man, she looked like a young Stockard Channing. I always liked Stockard Channing. I have a thing for her. My wife used to say, my ex wife, I mean, used to say, "What do you see in her? She looks like a puppy dog! With you it's her and Swoozie what's her name. Why can't you be normal and like Christy Brinkley and those kinds of girls," and I would say, "Stockard and Swoozie just kind of do it for me, what can I say?" She secretly liked it, that I wasn't into the supermodel types. I quaffed down the beer. God it tasted good. It felt good too. I immediately kept my ear open for the beer man but now they got those bonehead waiters by the field and the beer man never comes. This Stockard Channing girl was damn smart and she knew it. Her boyfriend was a bonehead. He says to the other guy they were with, "She was a classics major. Do you even know what a classics major is?" And the guy goes, "Sure, Roman and Greek." As the girl starts talking about studying at Oxford and tra la la la di da, I did something I don't usually do. I started just winking at her blatantly and smiling and making goofy faces. Her boyfriend couldn't see me. He was directly in front of me. She was to the side. She smiled at me and gleamed up her eye for me and met my eye a couple time. God she was great. On the field the Mets were in hell. Cook couldn't get it over the plate. I felt funny from the beer and guilty. When Cook came out of the game and started giving it to the umpire, a weird thing happened to me. I started feeling all jittery. I was WITH Cook. You know what I mean? I know what it's like to be squeezed by an ump and it's freakin frustrating. I thought of all the calls I didn't get, maybe, and I stood and clapped like hell with everybody else. When Cook started covering the outer half of the plate with dirt, I tried to shout something, but my voice caught and I realized I was crying. Not like blubbering, but really tearing up and they were running down my face. I told myself this was not good. But I was really so touched by Cook and his frustration and the whole damn losing streak and my son not being there and paying that freakin much for the tickets and getting to the game late and the beer and the pretty girl it just sprung out of my eyes or something and I thought it was very beautiful, what Cook was doing on the field, and sad, too. And even as I was crying a little I wanted to kill the ump, too, and I mean really kill him. Chase him with torches through Queens. The Stockard Channing girl turned around to me. "Are you all right?" "Yeah, yeah," I go. "It's just... boy they were squeezing Cookie out there." She goes, like, "Whatever." Probably didn't know what "squeezing" or "Cookie" meant. I wiped my face. She still had the gleam. The boyfriend, a handsome soft guy, turns around and gives me the fish eye. "What are you looking at?" I go. He does the classic, "You two know each other?" I go, "Not yet." That was all. He didn't want a piece of Big Al. The bottom of the eighth inning was one of those beautiful baseball moments. The fans really got up and cheered, even before Henderson's single. It was loud, World Series loud, and everyone was following the counts and it was great. But then Piazza hit the ground out and Alfonzo had that soft, soft fly ball his second terrible swing of the night. I've never seen his swing the bat with such lack of authority. He is messed up right now. Either hitting sixth does not suit him anymore or he is in a radical slump and needs a night on the bench. All the "good" people filed out after that, including the Stockard Channing girl, who would not look at me now, after my little altercation with her beauty boy, and it was only the rabble left. I went behind home plate because I thought I saw an old friend of mine there, but it was someone else. A guy was wearing a Yankee jacket and a funny guy started giving him the business from a few rows away. "Yankees suck dick!" the guy shouted. The usher told him to can the profanity. And the guy said, "I said a bad thing. I'm sorry." Then he said things that were almost profane but not quite after that. Another guy started yelling at Rickey in the on deck circle. "You're old, Rickey! You can't do it anymore. Hall of Famers don't run, right, Rickey? Hall of Famers don't run!" Rickey shook his head and smiled. It got uglier thought when another heckler called him "boy." I wanted to kill that guy. That guy would have been cheering RIckey like crazy if things were going better, so why the "boy" crap? Why bring this racial shit into it? Man. Even in the field seats, the Mets fans can get freakin ugly. I mean, I will boo and yell, but not like that. After the ragged ninth inning, everybody left, but I noticed these two hot girls sitting with some guy. I mean, these women were incredible, one in tight leather pants with humongous cha chas under a tight sweater. "What's going on here?" I said to myself and waited for them to leave their seats. I followed them into the parking lot, and I was right. These were not usual fans. They were strippers from this place called the Airstrip and outside they and some other girls started passing out fliers to people. I took one. Christ. I got in a cab with some drunk fellows, Wall Street guys, who were going to check the place out. We got there and it was... you know. It's in the zone where you can legally have a strip club in New York. A "waitress" asked me what I wanted. I said Scotch, God help me. You know when Chris Rock does that routine, something about the girls don't do it in the Champagne room? Well, they do it, friends, they do it. I left there at about 5 A.M., much poorer both financially and spiritually. I was drunk, too, and couldn't find a cab. I walked out to the water. There was trash in it. What a losing streak. What a night. I had for some reason a pack of cigarettes in my pocket. I smoked one there. A guy was waking up by the dock. The planes started coming in from Europe overhead. The dirty seagulls and pigeons were battling it out as usual. I started walking until eventually I found the Jackson Heights subway stop and rode the 7 back to Manhattan. I stopped by my place for a shave and shower, slugged down a hell of a lot of coffee, went to work. And here I am at my desk, still looped a little bit, and the boss has been giving me kind of a cold look. I must look the way I feel. Hungover. This far from being a bum. But if that guy could have seen me when I was 17, 18, when my arm was at full strength, and you had the scouts and everything... ahh, Christ, what's the use. What's the use.

SI.com has a pretty cool photo gallery with some shots of the Polo Grounds. http://cnnsi.com/multimedia/photo_gallery/1203/mlb-polo-grounds/content.1.html

I hear someone is looking for a lefty reliever... Edgin, a left-handed pitcher, struck out the only two batters he faced in the Mets' 8-6 win over the defending World Series-champion St. Louis Cardinals March 6 in Port St. Lucie, Fla. He fanned the Cardinals' Eugenio Velez, who has also played in the majors for the San Francisco Giants and the Los Angeles Dodgers, to end the game. Three days later, on March 9, Edgin pitched a scoreless ninth inning en route to the save in a 5-3 victory over the Atlanta Braves.

Is that Mike Piazza taking that photo, with an iPhone?

He's a poor man's Pat Misch.

He'll stay on my FB page. Forever. Miss you, Pat. Sob sob.

It's on TMZ so you know it's true. "Baseball Wives" -- a new show debuting tonight on VH1 -- is in meltdown mode, because one of the women is so out of control, she's threatening other BB wives with a 12-inch dildo. During a recent filming, Anna Benson -- the wife of former Mets pitcher Kris Benson -- got into it with Cheri Knoblauch -- wife of former Yankee second baseman Chuck Knoblauch. Anna got creative, pulled out a stun gun and set it on a table in front of her in a threatening manner, then produced a 12-inch dildo from her purse and started swinging ... which raises the question, Why such a big purse? Sources connected with the show tell TMZ ... some of the staffers are now threatening to quit, because they can't handle Anna's insane behavior. Sources tell us ... show execs are trying to contain Anna.

Toddler Ted will be bummed. Misch was her favorite Met.

Stoins!

New York appears to be shit brown in the bottom map.

The new Marlins unis are leaked before tomorrow's fashion show. This is what Jose could be wearing, essentially another set of major league pajamas. http://blogs.miaminewtimes.com/riptide/2011/11/the_new_marlins_uniforms_may_h.php

They could always trade for an infielder and convert him to a centerfielder. It worked with Juan Samuel. Right?

I still hat all yous guys.

"Ballin not a hobby. Its my occupation" I want to adopt your adopted on that quote alone.

Flushing Meadow Park.

Gotta like this central PA farm boy. 6-1, 220 of muscle with a 91-93 fastball and ever-improving slider. This kid has LOOGY written all over him and I'm bringing him home. 66 Ks in 66 innings, split between Savannah and St. Lucie last year.

I continue to scratch my head on this one. Here's a list of all vacant stadiums they could choose from. Not to mention that SteinYanker Field in Tampa holds 11,000 (but I'd guess the Rays would nix that one). http://www.baseballpilgrimages.com/ballparks/abandoned.html

The Yankees have a plan. While the stadium in Scranton undergoes a year-long renovation, the Yankees will use a SIX city rotation next year for triple-A home games. Rochester, Buffalo, Batavia, Syracuse, Allentown, and Pawtucket. Happy travels, Costanza.

Lucas Duda. Professional hitter.

Mets now looking up at the Nats in 3rd place.

WSJ.com When the Mets' Willie Harris hunches over the iPod in his locker, as he seems to spend hours doing, he is not just going through the clubhouse motions of killing time before a game. Very deliberately, almost subliminally, he is sending messages to his teammates. This song, he tells them through the music and a cranked up speaker, should accompany one of you to the batter's box. This song is you. Harris puts hours of thought into those 30 seconds of at-bat music, not just for himself, but for everyone he plays with. If he hears a song that might suit someone, Harris makes it his job to plant the idea in his teammate's head by playing it when he is nearby. "When you're a utility player, man, it's so much more than on the field," Harris said. "You're a utility player in the clubhouse. These guys, they don't have time to listen to music like I do." Harris, who has over 6,000 songs on his computer, said he takes on the job of at-bat-music-consultant-in-chief wherever he goes. At any given time, he guessed, there might be half a dozen players throughout the league coming out to songs he suggested, including his clubhouse neighbor Jose Reyes and the Milwaukee Brewers' Nyjer Morgan. The only players he can do nothing for are those in the mood for a country song. Players select anywhere from one to five songs to play before their at bats, sometimes rotating with each turn at the plate. Most of the time, they are set at the beginning of the season and do not change much after that. But for those who like to mix things up�players like Reyes and Harris for the Mets, Russell Martin and Nick Swisher for the Yankees all have that reputation�the process is simple. They burn a CD with the relevant clips or write the song names on a scrap of paper and give it to a member of the public relations staff. From there, the change is run upstairs to the person in charge of the public address system and the change is made. Perhaps surprisingly, Major League Baseball does not have strict guidelines governing walk up songs. It only specifies that the music must be over by the time the batter reaches the dirt cutout surrounding home plate. As for the content of the song, baseball leaves it up to the clubs to "use good judgment." While it may seem like a fairly insignificant piece of the baseball routine, image-conscious ballplayers relish the chance to express themselves as the spotlight shifts to them at home plate. And most tastes are accounted for. Latin and Caribbean music are healthily represented from merengue, to salsa, to the Puerto Rican dance beats of reggaeton. Hip-hop is a permanent fixture�Jay-Z is by far the most popular artist in the Mets' and Yankees' lists. Metal and grunge fans get their chances to rock out, too (The Mets' Jason Bay has "Alive" by Pearl Jam as his standby song). And players from the South tend to provide the country and western elements (Brett Gardner of the Yankees uses Jason Aldean's "Dirt Road Anthem"). "We always rag on Gardy, because he's got a country song when he comes to the plate," Swisher said. "But that's him, man, he's a country boy." New releases usually find their way into the mix as well (the Mets' Justin Turner comes out to a song by Lupe Fiasco that was released less than a year ago). And every so often a player will turn back the clock with a song older than he is. The best example is 25-year-old Lucas Duda, who comes out to the sound of Jimi Hendrix grinding out All Along the Watchtower in 1968. And finally, there are the wild cards. On the few occasions he has to bat, Mets pitcher R.A. Dickey, a self-confessed Star Wars nut, borrows his walk out music from Darth Vader�the Imperial March by John Williams. It all depends on a player's taste and what he expects his song to accomplish. "Some of them have meaning to me," Mets' outfielder Angel Pagan said. "Some of them I use to keep myself positive, you know, pump me up a little bit when I'm going to hit. Sometimes I just put a salsa song for my wife." Of all the major leaguers in New York, Reyes probably has the most involved selection process. For a period of about two weeks during the offseason, he conducts research. That means reviewing his extensive music collection, polling his friends, and casting a wide net for new music. He said he has to weigh "what is hot, what is in the moment," what might be popular with fans and what contains "some positive message for the people." "It takes me a long time to figure it out, because it has to be perfect, man," he added. Reyes, who moonlights as a reggaeton singer and owns a record label, has used some of his own songs in the past. At various points in his career, he has also tried to boost some of his buddies in the music industry by including their songs in his rotation. The pick of the bunch�and certainly the most original�must be the track a friend of his recorded for him in 2008. The clip Reyes selected, to the casual listener at least, seemed to only feature two words: Jose and Reyes, repeated over and over again to a merengue beat. According to Reyes, though, there was a little more to it in the rest of the song, which told of his fleet-footed adventures on the base paths. These days, Reyes has five different songs that accompany him to the plate. The latest addition�a mid-season callup�was "Otis" by Jay-Z and Kanye West, which also happens to be Derek Jeter's song of the moment. Naturally, it was a carefully planted Willie Harris selection. "He's been on the DL for a while and the song is about, 'I got my swagger back, I'm back,'" Harris said, referring to Reyes' series of injuries. "It was the perfect song for him." Of course, not everyone takes it quite as seriously. The Yankees' Andruw Jones said that he could not remember half the songs he has used in his 16 years in the majors, while the Mets' David Wright claimed he did not know what his at-bat songs even were�this season, he let his brothers pick them out. Then there are those hitters who pick one song and seem to stick with it for their entire careers. The same brassy riff has introduced Jorge Posada for years. And for nearly his entire stay in Flushing, Carlos Beltran would announce that he had arrived with "El Esta Aqui" (He Is Here). When it comes to poor choices in at bat songs, the former Yankee Nick Johnson always gets a mention. He came to the plate to Miley Cyrus's "Party in the USA," reportedly because it was his daughter's favorite song. "But I've got to give him credit," Swisher said. "If I have a daughter, I'll do the same thing for her." Still, neither Swisher, nor anyone else in the Mets or Yankees' clubhouses said they would stoop far enough to use what might be the single worst at bat song on record. Pagan said he had heard it during his days it in the Mets' farm system and belonged to a teammate he declined to embarrass in print. It was the theme from "SpongeBob Squarepants." "SpongeBob?" Pagan said. "What's crazier than that?" The Baseball Jukebox Here are the songs the Mets and Yankees have selected to play at their home stadiums when they come to bat: Mets Artist Jose Reyes Jay-Z & Kanye West � "Otis" Justin Turner Lupe Fiasco � "The Show Goes On" David Wright Beastie Boys � "Sabatoge" Jason Bay Pearl Jam � "Alive" Angel Pagan Tiempo � "Mas Poderoso" Willie Harris Field Mob, Jamie Foxx & Ludacris � "Georgia" Scott Hairston Paper Boy � "Ditty" Daniel Murphy Dropkick Murphys � "Shipping Up to Boston" Lucas Duda Jimi Hendrix � "All Along the Watchtower" Ike Davis The Rolling Stones � "Start Me Up" Yankees Artist Derek Jeter Jay-Z & Kanye West � "Otis" Curtis Granderson Busta Rhymes � "Put Your Hands in the Air" Mark Teixeira Twisted Sister � "I Wanna Rock" Alex Rodriguez Jay-Z & Kanye West � "Welcome to the Jungle" Robinson Cano Pitbull � "Give Me Everything Tonight" Russell Martin RJD2 � "Ghost Writer" Nick Swisher Mann � "Buzzin'" Brett Gardner Jason Aldean � "Dirt Road Anthem" Andruw Jones Ace Hood� "Hustle Hard" Eric Chavez Grandmaster Flash� "The Message" Jorge Posada Hector Lavoe � "El Dia De Mi Suerte"

RA was bummed about Bay not getting a homer to left the other day (the ball bounced off the wall). "It would have been a homer anywhere else in the universe." Well, true, but you need to be careful RA. That wall has probably saved a few points on your ERA as well.

Marquez, badass. http://blackamarillo.us/wp2/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/l9agk9-l9agil092410ohsamarillofb5web.jpg

Lo Duca doing color for the East Little League regional on ESPN. Not bad, he's nailing these Italian names from Paramus.

Ollie, rocking double-A. ERIE -- Oliver Perez carried a two-hit shutout into the seventh inning, and Erik Komatsu enjoyed his best game in a Senators uniform as Harrisburg bounced Erie 6-1 Sunday afternoon at Jerry Uht Park. The victory keeps the Senators (64-51) in first place in the Eastern League's Western Division and gives them a series triumph over the SeaWolves (55-59).