"I've gotten off to a pretty slow start and when he's gotten opportunities, he's been swinging the bat really well," Gardner said of Cabrera. "We need to have the guys in there who are hot right now, who are giving us the best chance to win the ballgame. He's swinging the bat well. He deserves to be playing."

Am I happy that in about two weeks, I'm going to be rooting for a minor league player with good speed and more bunt singles than balls that have left the infield? Not really; I wish he'd do better. Am I glad I bought his jersey (the first baseball jersey I ever bought) with his name on the back despite the fact that the yankees don't feature last names on their jerseys? Nah. Not happy about that. Am I happy I told people to punch me in the balls if I ever posed questions for the sole purpose of answering them? Yeah, some part of me is.

But read that quote. That's what I root for. A guy who doesn't count on anyone but himself for his success. He couldn't possibly be upset at being benched for a (currently) more productive player. He's too busy being pissed at himself for not making it an obvious choice in his favor. If he isn't earning it, he doesn't want it. Sometimes I wish there were a few more roster spots on NYY for that attitude. It's a rarity that a quality player arrives in NY not already certain of his greatness, and those who do arrive hungry soon get fed and full (Cano). I root for Brett Gardner, not in the context of Major League Baseball, but in the context of the New York Yankees.

It's self evident to most fans of any team: You are capable of more intense hate for your own team than the fans of any rival. The volume and intensity of vitriol expressed for NYY makes people forget that about their fans sometimes. NY fans spend so much time defending them in public that you never imagine the frustration and cursing and "giving up" that goes on in the privacy of the home. Like a good brother. You beat the shit out of your little brother when you're at home, call him names, tease him. But the second you get outside, and someone crosses him in any way, you become his most ardent defender.

So no matter how harshly I deride Brett Gardner for not being able to get the ball out of the infield, or for, as my Dad says, "being the worst hitter in major league baseball", I know he's got a lot of good inside him. I just hope it comes out in time.

ESPN Glosses Over Golden Boy's Cheap Shot

While watching the Dallas/San Antonio half-time show, TNT showed a play that happened earlier in the night, during Orlando's win over Philadelphia. Dwight Howard was bumping in the paint with Samuel Dalembert and appeared to throw a right cross with his elbow as he brought it down. Upon further review, yep, it was a cheap shot and 2 things immediately came to my mind:

1. Dwight Howard is some kind of cheap shot prodigy. Nobody saw the elbow. He wasn't thrown out of the game and none of Dalembert's teammates saw it. Even Dalembert looked like he didn't know what happened.
2. Dwight Howard will not be playing in the next Orlando game and I wouldn't be surprised if he was suspended for 2 games.

Howard is the NBA's Golden Boy though and David Stern will give him 2 games with the understanding that he can appeal it down to 1 game. Almost any other player would get 3 games. David Stern has no doubt already hired lawyers, physicists, and psychologists to testify that Howard's elbow was inadvertent, and that Dalembert actually moved into the path of Howard's elbow. Dalembert will either take a 5 game suspension or wind up in a ditch.

The worst part? Here's ESPN's take:

Howard and Sixers center Samuel Dalembert got tangled up going for a rebound in the first quarter, and Howard was called for a technical foul on the play.

Watch the play. It was clearly a dirty shot. Imagine if that was Ron Artest.

-PSon

The Paradigm Has Shifted

I don't believe in curses. Not many people do. But I think people like to talk about curses after long periods of failure in sports because it's fun to think about some third party force having it in for your team. When your team loses, it's not because the men that you root for couldn't get it done against the men someone else roots for. Your team sucked for a long time, how boring. It's because the men you root for are fighting an uphill battle against destiny. And voila! You're all set up to legend status once you finally end the drought. Thrilling.

In the midst of a brutally painful first series between the Yanks and Sox this past weekend, I had a revelation. I believe we are 4 years into the new paradigm of the Yankees-Red Sox rivalry. For decades, the Sox fought, albeit futilely, to match the success of their rivals. The fight, the losing, the resilience, the willingness to try again united Boston fans. The winning, the overcoming of the pressure, the conceit, the defense of the spending united NY fans. I can't say what set the events of the past 4 years in motion. I don't think anyone can. In 2004, the Red Sox were down to their last out, down 3-0 in the ALCS to the Yankees. I truly believe that every Yankee fan was poised for another victory, and every Sox fan ready for another loss at the hands of the Evil Empire. Amazingly, literal moments before its collapse, the empire was at it's apex. No slow decline. Just shock. Probably the greatest team story in the history of sports. Sometimes it doesn't matter how much one's ability to reason lets you know you can do something; you must actually do it to believe. But once you do, you know. And so does your opponent.

In Sunday's game, with the bases loaded in 2-1 ball game, Jacoby Ellsbury executed a straight steal of home against Andy Petite and Jorge Posada. It was one of the most exciting plays I've ever seen in real time. (Watch the video here: http://mlb.mlb.com/news/article.jsp?ymd=20090426&content_id=4446346&vkey=news_mlb&fext=.jsp&c_id=mlb) The play was symbolic of the relationship the Sox and Yanks have had over the past few years. The Red Sox refuse to be denied, and the Yankees wear whatever the Red Sox throw on them. Posada must be able to see Ellsbury coming, because there is a left handed hitter at the plate, but he does not motion to Petite to get the ball home as fast as he can. More importantly, Posada receives the ball behind the plate, refusing to get up out of his crouch. Ellsbury actually trips and stumbles into a head first "dive" and beats the tag. Jorge has the reputation for being an "old school" player; he was embarrassed by Nick Swisher's laughter on the mound after striking out Gabe Kapler a few weeks ago. I would love to know how many "old school" catchers would let a cocky young lead-off man for his franchise's greatest rival slide headfirst into home plate and find anything short of shin guards and broken noses waiting for him there. Even if Petite hasn't yet gotten him the ball, Posada needs to be standing up and blocking the plate, ready to make Ellsbury regret it, even if he does get home safely. Such an incredibly gutty, exciting play by Ellsbury and such an incredibly soft and careless play from Posada. That play made me feel like I bet Sox Nation used to feel when the Yankee's would roll into town and just always find a way beat them, whether by their own greatness, or a Boston shortcoming. This play had both, but for now, and I'm afraid to think of how long, it had the Yanks on the losing end. Combined with the two blown leads on Friday and Saturday, it's starting to feel like an inevitability.

VoML text update: Between Aaron Curry and Michael Oher, I haven't seen this many tears since the Broncos forgot Cutler's snack packs

VoML text update: The Raiders select Darrius Heyward-Bey over Michael Crabtree at SEVEN! Crabtree looks like someone slapped him in the face.

Nug Love

The following is a guest post by avid VoML reader and resident Denver Nuggets expert, Popes. Popes came to Denver at a nice time, the team was young and exciting and they had a franchise player to build around in Carmelo Anthony. As with most teams who experience success after years of ineptitude, the Nuggets have their fair share of bandwagon fans. I can attest that Popes is not one of them.

I’ve been following the Nuggets ever since I moved to Denver in late 2004. Over that period I’ve slowly built up my attachment and knowledge of the team. I’ve watched Melo meet a new supporting cast at the beginning of each season. I stood transfixed at Iverson’s first game in the Pepsi Center, convinced that his personality and style of play would get the Nuggets further in the playoffs. I grew depressed this off-season as the Nugs dealt away a couple of my favorite players, Najera and Camby, for unknown returns. And finally, I watched from the upper reaches of the Pepsi Center with rapt (re: drunk) attention as the Nuggets put together a great season in 2009.

I didn’t know what to expect going into the Playoffs. The Nugs had a soft schedule for their last 10 games and they rolled through them, ending up with the 2^nd seed in the Western Conference and winning the Northwest Division. But I was still unsure about them, they seemed to still have that fragile feeling about them, much like years past when the Playoffs arrived, all strategy, teamwork, and discipline were thrown out and replaced with one-on-one contests of athleticism . So on Sunday night, I sat rather uncomfortably on my friend’s couch (he was at the game, I was borrowing his cable, squatting if you will), wondering what was going to happen.

And now, 4 days later, I sit at my desk at work, still slightly buzzed from the first 2 games of the 2009 playoffs in which the Nuggets beat down the New Orleans Hornets. I couldn’t be happier with my team.

What happened on Sunday and last night prompted much reflection on how good this team can be and the risks of believing in what they could do. Saying someone or something has potential is easy, it rolls off the tongue as a pleasant platitude. Believing and hoping that that thing or person comes through on what you dream for them is another animal entirely.

I’ve just begun to wonder what the Nuggets can do.

George Karl has for once been playing the right players at the right time, actually managing the game. Anthony Carter is an undersized guard with questionable abilities, he shouldn’t be playing in this series because there’s no good match-up. I’ve had the pleasure of watching his minutes decline these last 2 games. Linas Kleiza, for all his improvement last year, has largely been a disappointment this season. He isn’t bringing anything unique to the line-up and his strengths aren’t nearly as strong as they should be to warrant more PT (re: 3 point shooting). His minutes have also declined.

But it isn’t about who George ‘Tony Soprano’ Karl is sitting, it’s also been about who he’s playing.

Karl has told Dahntay Jones to harass Chris Paul which is great because it’s the only thing that DJ is capable of doing well. I don’t want DJ shooting the ball, I don’t want him dribbling, I want him hacking the shit out of Chris Paul. Foul out, get T’d up, I don’t care, just make sure that CP3PO knows who was guarding him.

Chris Anderson is playing out of his head. I don’t know much of his career prior to his mystery drug suspension (was it is the Chinaman’s nightcap, the Yam-yam? We may never know) but I do know that whatever he was doing before, he wasn’t doing it nearly as well as he is now. He’s getting solid minutes, hovering somewhere in the mid 20’s is my guess. And he’s producing, blocks, rebounds, energy, hustle, and the occasional basket. Opposing players are changing their shots because of him and when they don’t, he smother chickens them (see what Birdman did to Rudy Fernandez a couple weeks back). Last night, I witnessed him light up the Pepsi Center with a put-back dunk, a play that I'm convinced broke the Hornets.

I could go on about all the players… Melo playing solid, not getting huge points but making up for it with D and hustle and the occasional primal scream, K-Mart making David West a non-factor, Nene scaring Tyson Chandler, Chauncey… nothing needs to be said, JR Smith’s puppy like enthusiasm and unbelievably short memory, but I’ll save it for later. The series isn’t over, there’s still basketball to play, and even though it’s only the first round, I’m not ashamed about how fired up I am. The Nuggets are playing up to their potential, the way I’ve hoped they would.

-Popes

I Think We're Alone Now

The A-Rod/Jeter relationship is one with many layers. In one hand you have a beloved hero. Women want to be with him, men want to be him... and in some cases, they also want to be with him. In the other hand we have the embattled prodigy. A man who refuses to give us a real glimpse into what drives him and what torments him. Until now.

The following is an imagined scene in an imagined film, or better yet, a daytime soap.

Derek and Alex stand in the locker room at the new
Yankee Stadium.  Jeter drops a magazine on the table.
The tension is palpable.

This is a disaster! I brought you in
here to help me run this team, not act
like an a-hole.--

Now wait a minute...








--And confuse me








Derek...








--And here I am for the fifth year
in a row with my professional
reputation at stake--





Hold on!






--Ready to falsify documents to pin
this on Clemens because you need a way
to walk away from this.






I know what I'm doing and I want to be
here; I want to help you win!





Look Alex, I don't care if you have poor
rapport with the fans-- I don't care
if you get a few boos, don't you dare
undermine what I'm trying to do here.





"Undermine?"





I have a gift and with that gift comes
responsibility. And you don't
understand that my career is at a
fragile point--





I'm at a fragile point. I've got
problems--





What problems do you have, Alex,
that you are better off on a poor team
taking meaningless at bats or here in
New York hanging with drug dealers--






Why do you think I do that, Jete?







You can't handle the pressure, the
pressure has gotten to you.



Why do you think I'm hiding? Why drug
dealers? Why don't I trust anybody?
Because the first thing that happened to
me was that I was abandoned by the people
who were supposed to love me the most!





Here we go again, Alex--





--And why do I hang out with my cousin,
a steroid dealer? Because any time the
pressure gets too high, he'll come in
here and put the spike in my arm.
It's called loyalty!







Oh, that's nice--


--And why did you think I could handle it?
I push people away before they have
a chance to leave me. And for 14
years I've been alone because of that.
And if you try to push me away,
it's going to be Seattle all
over again. And I didn't want to let
that happen!

Now don't do that. Don't you do that!
Don't infect me with the idea that
it's ok for you to quit. That it's okay to
be a failure, because it's not okay!
If you're angry at me for being
successful, for being what you could
have been--




--I'm not angry at you--





--Yes you are, Alex. You resent me because
I'm beautiful and successful.
And I'm not going to apologize for any
success that I've had.






--I don't have any anger at you--





Yes you do. You're angry at me for
doing what you could have done. Ask
yourself if you want to feel that
way for the rest of your life, to feel
like a failure.

That's it. That's why I don't come to
the goddamn hitting sessions! Because I
can't stand the look in your eye when you
see me! You think I'm a failure! I
know who I am. I'm proud of who I am.
And all of you, you think I'm some kind
of pity case! You with your hot coeds and
adoring fans following you around.
And your Goddamn Ring!

--Is that what this is about, Alex?
The World Series Ring? Do you want me to
go home and get it for you? Maybe let you
kiss it--


--I don't want to kiss your ring and I
don't give a shit about it! 'Cause I
remember you when!! You and Tino and
Brosius and Bernie. I remember you when
you were homesick and pimply-faced and
didn't know what side of the plate to bat
from!



That's right! You were more talented than
us then and you're more talented than us
now! So don't blame me for how your
life turned out. It's not my fault.



I don't blame you! It's not about
that! It's about me! 'Cause
I'm a good kid! And I've had this
happen to me.  Griffey and...
I can't let you make me feel like a
failure too!





You're already a failure, but you can
change.





If you push me into something, if you
keep riding me--





You're wrong, Alex. I'm where I am
today because I was pushed. And because
I learned to push myself!






I'm not you!  I love you Derek!





A beat. Jeter recoils and look away, something
catches his eye. He turns to look and sees someone
standing in the doorway. It's Tex. His arms are
crossed, a perplexed look on his face.




I can come back.






No, that's fine, Tex. I gotta get
out of here.  Lets go.



There is an awkward moment as Jeter gets his
coat and leaves, without even looking back.
Tex follows Jeter, laughing as gives
a light tap to Jeter's buttocks.

Something changes in Alex.  He turns to a large mirror
in the room. He approaches it.




Well, I'm here now.
(beat)
So, is that our problem? We're afraid of
being abandoned? That was easy.




Look, a lot of that stuff goes back a
long way.  And it's between me and him
and it has nothing to do with you.







Do you want to talk about it?






Old Alex smiles. A beat. Young Alex sees a magazine on
a table.





What's that?







Oh, this is nothing... It-- it's an
article about steroid use.  Alex... I'm sorry
but our name is in it.






Steroids?  But why?  We're the best
there ever was.




Old Alex smiles.





So what's it say?








You want to read it?







No.
(beat)
Have you really experimented with that?






Fourteen years of ball playing you see a
lot of--








--No, have you had any experience with
that?







Yes.  I was young, I was naive...







(frowns)
That sure ain't good.




-- FLASHBACK -- ALEX SITTING AT HIS LOCKER IN SEATTLE
From Alex's P.O.V. we see a man, partially obscured by a
locker. The man turns toward the P.O.V.

                  CUT BACK TO:

YANKEE STADIUM -- PRESENT DAY

(after a pause)
Jeter used to make me walk down to
the park and collect the bats he was
going to bat with. Actually the
worst of the battings was with Paul O'Neill.
He would practice with me, saying
how he wanted to teach me right, so Jeter
wouldn't get angry.  His bats were so heavy--

Old Alex pauses, reflects.  Tears welling up slightly.




Griffey used to just put a fungo, a
corked bat and a wooden bat on the rack and
say "choose."



-- FLASHBACK -- ALEX AT HIS LOCKER IN SEATTLE

A large, calloused hand sets down a fungo next to a corked bat.

                  CUT BACK TO:

YANKEE STADIUM -- PRESENT DAY






Gotta go with the wooden bat there...





I used to go with the corked.








The corked, why?








Cause fuck him, that's why.






A long quiet moment.





Is that why we left the comfort of
Seattle? Is that why we took the juice?







I don't know anything anymore.  I can't
even remember where we got off track.




(beat)

I don't know a lot, Alex. But let me
tell you one thing. All this history,
this shit...

(indicates magazine)

Look here, man.


Old Alex, who had been looking away, looks in the
mirror.




This is not your fault.






(nonchalant)
Oh, I know.









It's not your fault.







(smiles)
I know.








It's not your fault.






I know.










It's not your fault.







(dead serious)
I know.








It's not your fault.








Don't fuck with me.






(inches closer to the mirror,
sits in front of it)

It's not your fault.






(tears start)
I know.








It's not...







(crying hard)
I know, I know...





Alex presses up against the mirror, he sobs like a baby.
After a moment, he brings his arms up and holds himself,
even tighter.
The camera pulls back to see this image.

SCENE

-PSon

*This may have been taken from a movie.